On kindness, and chemo

On the morning of my first chemotherapy appointment three weeks ago, feeling nervous and scared, chemo bag packed with blankets and gin gins, I opened my front door to head to Georgetown Hospital with Arif around 8 am, only to find 20 of my closest friends and family on the street below with banners and balloons and posters that said “Here for you Salma” and “You can!” and “Salma’s tribe”, all singing in the most harmonious angelic voices, “Lean on Me”.

Lean on me, when you’re not strong. And I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on …

It took my breath away.

I have never been more surprised in my life, or more moved by an act of kindness showered on me. It took me a few minutes to navigate the steps outside my house, I was literally stunned. As I hugged each person, I could feel their love and positive energy, and their sheer desire to transfer on to me their confidence that I would get through the day, and the days to come.

As I sat in the chemo chair a couple hours later, with my head throbbing in a frozen helmet to mitigate permanent hair loss, my hands and feet in ice packs to prevent neuropathy, getting one and then another dose of chemotherapy infusions, I kept looking at the photos and videos of the ‘Salma parade’. It got me through one of the most difficult days of my life.

Since then, not a day has gone by that someone hasn’t stopped by with nutritious salads, soups, salmon, broths, kebabs, kichri; fresh flowers from the farmer’s market or made of origami; homemade granola, artisanal chocolates, ginger teas, and pints and pints of ice cream for caretaker extraordinaire Arif. Not to mention the calls, texts and emails from every corner of the world...and so much more.

It feels like each person is thinking of how they can share a special kindness in their own unique way. A friend sent me card with a heartwarming message which made me smile; three days later another arrived, then another, then another; they haven’t stopped. They line my desk, now in double layers. Another sent me duas for healing, which I add to my notes app for easy access. Another sent me an uplifting song—Tu Jhoomfrom Pakistan’s Coke Studio—that I’ve been playing on repeat, the words are so perfect. I embrace pain within my heart, yet I keep smiling. Both my sorrows and joys are my own, this is all I know. There’s nothing in my control, understand this my heart. Let it go, dance, dance, dance. Another drove me to the shelter so we could drop of KindSoups collecting in my freezer. Others take me for walks. Dear friends from Houston came to visit, stocked my freezer with kebabs, and organized my dreaded jewelry drawer; I smile every time I open it now. I mentioned to my bestie in Rome that I want to try my hand at water coloring; this Friday when I got home from my second chemo session, there was a coffee table book of wildflowers for painting inspiration on my doorstep.

I have to say it's not easy for me to accept from others, especially in such abundance; I’d much rather be the one giving. But I’m learning, and it’s a beautiful lesson to let go and feel cared for. I feel like I have such tight concentric circles around me there’s no way to fall—a giant group hug that is layers deep.

It’s the power of kindness. And it reminds me of one of my most favorite poems, Kindness by Palestinian poet Naomi Shihab Nye.

I love the way Emma Thompson recites this poem, so I tried my best here, if you’d like to listen to it. I even shared it while chemo’ing this past Friday; my cousin said my tears dried in an instant and my whole demeanor transformed.

Kindness, Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

I think kindness is what makes the world go round; I think it’s at the heart of who we all are. That’s why ‘kind’ is in the word that defines us—humanKIND—and why I chose this as the title of this newsletter. It takes just a minute to share a bit of kindness but the impact of that gesture is boundless, priceless, and has ripples we will never know about.

On this Mother’s Day, a special message for my mom and my mother-in-law for whom this time has been particularly difficult. Please don’t worry, I really am doing fine. To my aunts who treat me like a daughter, thank you for your abiding love and prayers. To my sister/cousins and besties who hold me up, I love you.

And to all of you, my love and deep gratitude for all your kindness,

Salma

PS: my word box is filling up with some amazing words, from magnet, strength, delicate, grace, fortitude, and magic; to a couple vying for most original—schublade (German, ‘a container for all the golden messages you receive’) and saudade (Portuguese, sadness for missing and happiness for having experienced the feeling); and one that makes me chuckle—gummies! If you’d like to add your word, please hit reply and I’ll add it to my schublade!