marriage and mamograms

I was recently back in the states for a whirlwind tour of a variety of doctors offices and of course, to attend my mom's wedding. I think it's a pretty clear choice on which I preferred going to.

The wedding itself was very nice; we got luck with the weather and aside from some very hungry flies, the ceremony was fantastic. My mom looked as beautiful as ever and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. I loved getting to see all of my family in one place, especially since there was a time restriction for how long I'd be back in the states and I don't think I'd have gotten to see everyone otherwise.

Among the doctor's visits, I got the okay from my orthopedist to use my knee again, but the frown when I asked if I could climb or really do anything with my shoulder. I was given a prescription for physical therapy, something I could not bear to do while back there, considering how many other appointments I had scheduled, so I continued to will my shoulder to recover. So far, it seems to be working since I can actually raise my arm high enough to get dressed without crying. Progress! (A word of advice on this one: Should you ever encounter a deranged man with a possibly deranged monkey, give him some money to let go of your arm, even if you are afraid of said monkey biting or shitting on your bare skin. Do not attempt to run away and possibly leaving part of your rotator cuff in his clutches. I learned this the hard way and will forever associate Marrakesh with excruciating pain.)

I got an appointment to see my doctor for my annual physical and lucky me, she found two "questionable" lumps in my breasts. This led to a fun filled week for me. The week consisted of 10 (yes, TEN!!!) mammograms (something I do not recommend one partake in the week before her period), an ultrasound, a needle biopsy and some waiting. Not exactly the kind of thing I had planned for myself on my "vacation". I assumed this whole time that I had cancer, since my mom was so young when she was diagnosed, and since her mother, too, has had cancer. So, I pretty much resigned myself to a malignant diagnosis and made furtive plans in my head about my coming mastectomies (my mom will assure you that this kind of exaggeration and assuming the worst is easily within my personality) and was so proud of myself for finding the silver lining that I could have liposuction on my stomach to rebuild my breasts.

Imagine my surprise, when, a week later, it turned out I did not in fact have cancer. The cells biopsied were not even "pre-cancerous," whatever the hell that means. Aren't all cells, in theory, capable of mutating and therefore, aren't all cells in a way, precancerous? So, instead of being bummed about having cancer, I had to cancel all of my made-up plans to have liposuction. Now I'm kind of pissed that I have to keep my stomach the way it is, unless I want to starve myself or find some other way to escape from my genetics. I guess not having cancer is better.

So, I went to a few other appointments, none of which were nearly as exciting as the cancer scare. Went up to Stowe, VT for a long weekend with some friends to celebrate Robyn's birthday, kayaked a bit, ate a lot of cheese and returned to hang at my mom's for the remainder of my time in Boston. Then, off to Morocco for my return to studies.

I had a (thankfully) uneventful, but long trip through Paris to Casablanca, where I was met at the airport by my boyfriend. Yes, this very elusive man that I don't talk much about, mostly because I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I've kept him around for more than a month. Let's not jinx it all by actually discussing him. We took the train back to Rabat (which in reality is not nearly as romantic as it sounds...to be picked up at the Casablanca airport and to take the train with one's boyfriend. At least, it's really not very romantic when you have not slept in 30 hours and have 140 lbs of luggage you've schlepped halfway around the world and have not showered or brushed your teeth in what seems like an eternity).

Back at my school, I found that a lot of my Arabic had mysteriously decided to stay on vacation in Boston and I had to hit the books pretty hard to regain some of the vocabulary I lost. So, immersed back in both Arabic and Derija (the Moroccan dialect I speak with my host family and to anyone outside of my school), I did not have time for much adventure. These are some photos taken before I left to return to the states, back in mid-June.

However, I was invited to go to a wedding with my host family last Saturday night and although I was not feeling especially energized, I went and luckily remembered to bring some extra batteries to better capture the whole craziness of the Moroccan marriage. I've written about this before, but really, it's a spectacle not to be missed if at all possible when visiting Morocco. The whole event is centered around food, music, dancing and the bride changing her costumes. Not unlike American weddings, there is a lot of food, music and dancing. However, most American weddings are winding down around the time that their Moroccan counterparts are getting warmed up. We arrived at the hall around 10:30 pm, a respectable time and just over half of the tables were vacant, so we (thankfully) got choice seats as far from the band as possible. I know I sound like an old fart when I say that I wanted to sit far from the music, but really, I learned my lesson last time and my eardrums were grateful for the reprieve.

I'm also thankful that we did not stay for the entire wedding, as we did last time. We ended up leaving around 5 am and I was in bed by 5:30. I really don't get it how all those old folks can go to so many weddings and stay up and aware until 7am. They must drink all the tea that's offered and eat all the sugary stuff that comes at the end of the wedding to make it that long. I just can't eat like that in the middle of the night! As it was, we had dinner served around midnight, beginning with fresh juices, then cookies covered in burnt sugar, like on creme brulee. Then, a round of savory hors d'oeuvres including some caviar topped something, which I totally avoided. Next, there was pastilla (pronounced baas-till-a in Arabic), a strange concoction of phyllo dough layered with shredded chicken cooked with cinnamon and sugar, hard boiled eggs mixed with cilantro and parsley and a layer of ground almonds and more cinnamon and sugar. All of this sweet/savory combination is covered on the top layer of dough with powdered sugar and a design of cinnamon. Don't forget that each layer of the dough is smeared with plenty of oil so the whole thing flakes apart and is probably about a million calories per bite. I find it to be heavenly. Then, each of the 13 tables was served half of a lamb, roasted and served intact (at least the head, tail and feet were chopped off). This, of course, was eaten with the hands, ripped off from the carcass in strips and dipped in dishes of salt and cumin. It was actually really good. Next came a disgusting "ice cream" cake which tasted more like frozen cool whip and I passed on, then a huge bowl of all kinds of fruits. After this, a selection of cookies and of course, tea full of sugar.
We skipped out before the next round of cookies, which would have been followed by the wedding cake. Finally, after the wedding cake, they serve breakfast which is always harira soup (a tomato based soup with chick peas, parsley, onions and whatever else you have on hand and is always served to break the fast at the evening meal during Ramadan), fried breads, more cookies and assorted other things either filled with sugar, or served with honey on the side to make sure they are sufficiently bad for you. Please note that there is no alcohol served and this makes for a remarkably memorable time, as in, you can't get totally wasted and forget some parts of the night. This also makes for lots of boredom on my part and a couple of surreptitious games of Tetris played on my cell phone beneath the table. I passed the rest of the night by counting how many outfits the bridge changed into and watching women dance together (in kind of a provocative way for Muslims!). However, I paid good money for my Moroccan outfit and I'll be damned if I'm not going to get some good wear out of the darn thing! So, I'll be going to more weddings this summer for sure.