Ox Fall Down

No news from MGH. Curious as to the schedule for the final meeting before treatment. At least I'm in line and the heavy lifting's been done. Hurry up and wait.

Feeling last minute wanderlust. I've been to London and Italy and Paris each fall for the last three years. I want to go for a fourth year. Plus, there's stuff happening over there. Cano and Kristen just had their first child - Margaret, what a pretty name; and Justin says Omala is getting very girly without uncles to toss her around. I regret not traveling.

But it's easy to see that what I partially love about other countries exists in spades in hospitals. A sense of otherness. Although English is spoken they use another dialect in the hospitals. It's just different enough so that you have to strain your ear. You have to pay attention or you'll miss out.

There's also a sense of worldly imperfection in the hospital. Clearly I wouldn't be here if things were going according to plan. But beyond that there's a slowness shared by hospitals and travel. The doctor arrives when the doctor arrives. Like Asian buses. There's a temporary relinquishing of responsibility in both. There's a sense of relaxing, of what the Catholics might call "giving it up." Paul Theroux writes that he loves boarding trains but hates debarking....nothing to do on board but read and write and watch through the window. It's when you're on the street that you have to work hard. Board the plane, enter the infusuion room and it really is in God's and your oncologist's hands. As long as you turned over every stone in finding the right hospital than your mind, at least, can take the day off.

I wrote earlier about the attraction to the specialists. It's fascinating to listen to these guys. Vanguard acumen. After visiting hospitals in Paris and London and NY it's nice to know that Boston is the best city for sarcoma.

Spoke with Penny last week about traveling to off-the-beaten-path places. We shared stories of traveling at home. Stories of nights above 125th Street. Clubs where we stood out. Clubs that weren't entirely comfortable. Where the newness and the anxiety were the experience. That's what will have to matter now. I understand the potential for rationalization. Still, difficult and different will suffice. That's what the next two months will be. It will be istanbul in cold rain. Dirty looks and backs turning on you in the suq in Damascus. 11 year olds throwing stones at you in Mea Sherim. Not exactly Piazza San Marco at midnight. But sufficient, nonetheless.