B*&^h, don’t kill my vibe. A Nepalese love story.
“Divide into four groups”, the chief of Bhaktapur Cancer Hospital says to our group of twenty-three, ten of which are cancer survivors. Bhaktapur Cancer Hospital is the indigent care cancer hospital in Bhaktapur, Nepal, a suburb of the capitol city, Kathmandu. “Blood cancers follow Mr. Hematologist, breast cancer survivors to the right, sarcoma survivors in the hall, and Caregivers stay here”. First, I need to make a decision…blood cancer or breast? My non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma (NHL) was probably, though it’s debatable, the cancer that rocked my world more than my early stage breast cancer. I go with Mr. Hematologist.
We walk up three flights of stairs to a large, open windowed room at the end of the hallway. There are about ten beds in the room. Eight of which are occupied. The beds are wrought iron and painted white- like you might see in a World War II movie. The bedding is a green gingham pattern and tattered. Mr. Hematologist welcomes us to the room and starts describing each patient. They are in various stages of treatment for leukemia and lymphoma. The ages range from sixteen to seventy. They are each allowed one family member at their side to provide many of the duties usually performed by nurses in the US. We learn that the “R-CHOP” therapy, like what kept me from dying a premature death five years ago, is also available in Nepal. However, there is no insurance system and patients must pay for the treatment fully out-of-pocket. Some patients are able to do so, others, to save money, opt to drop the “R” and just get the CHOP. Doing so, of course, diminishes the success rate. And, unfortunately, many others cannot afford the treatment at all. The chemotherapy treatment takes about 5–6 hours, same as in the US. However, unlike the US, the Nepalese blood cancer patients are admitted overnight so that crucial patient education can occur.
The room is somber and there is a feeling of awkwardness in the air. Our guide has not introduced the patients and we are feeling voyeuristic. The Above + Beyond Cancer group, including me, asks some specific questions about what being a cancer patient in Bhaktapur and Nepal is like and the doctor responds to each inquiry dutifully. I am relieved when Teresa comes in with several quilts to give to the patients. Finally! We are able to interact with the patients and hopefully provide some support. I spy the quilt that my mom made and I ask to be the one to give it away. I choose the frail, elderly man right in front of me. He has NHL like me and I want to provide him warmth and hope. The doctor translates for me as I tell the man that we have NHL in common, that I am now cured, and I hope the same for him. I tell him that I want to personally give him the quilt that my mother made and that I hope it provides him comfort and warmth. Though he seems utterly confused as to why this crazy woman from America is talking to him and giving him a gift, he humors us all by smiling gingerly for a picture with me. “Namaste,” I say to him. “The divine in me, honors the divine in you.”
I step back to my place along the wall as the interactions continue to be a little forced and clumsy. A soliloquy on the state of health care in Nepal is in progress when I look up to see the old man’s grandson tenderly wrapping a scarf around the man’s neck and then placing a stocking cap on his head. When I see what is embroidered on the stocking cap, ‘Bitch don’t kill my vibe’, it is all I can do to keep from spitting out the water I had just sipped and laughing hysterically out loud. Several of the group and I are laughing with our eyes and trying to hold it together!
Where did that hat come from? Are they mass produced or did a Nepalese grandmother from the villages in the foothills lovingly embroider it specifically for this man? Though imagining the latter tickles me, I suppose it’s the former. Though, why would the grandson, who almost certainly speaks some English, get it for him? Was it on sale? Did he know what it said? Was he trying to be funny? Or, is it an ancient Buddhist phrase that he wanted his grandfather to have prominently on top of his head??
Suffice it to say, the story, and the picture of the old man with the ‘Bitch don’t kill my vibe’ spread like traveler’s diarrhea amongst the group. That night over a couple of Mt. Everest beers, we laughed so hard our tummies were hurting and tears of laughter were flowing.
And for the rest of the trip ‘Bitch don’t kill my vibe’ was used as effective comic relief. Many group members shouted the phrase to the leeches they found on themselves after a very wet trek in the Himalayas. My new friend, Mark, shouted “Bitch! don’t kill my vibe” as soon as he saw me after being lost in the mountains the very same day (I avoided the leeches)(stay tuned for the post about the “getting lost” adventure). I’m pretty sure Rhonda said it to the motorcycle driver who hit her while trying to cross a busy street in Kathmandu(she’s going to be okay).
Though a little crude, ‘Bitch don’t kill my vibe’ might actually be apropos for this group, for this trip and for life. I imagine it as the themes of ‘living life to its fullest’ and ‘practicing compassion’ rolled into one. Much like ‘Don’t rain on my parade,’ ‘Don’t burst my bubble,’ or ‘Don’t take the wind out of my sails,’ the point is that the speaker is trying to live life to its fullest and needs support and compassion from friends and family, as opposed to someone who “kills the joy” in that moment. One beautiful example where no one killed my vibe or rained on my parade occurred the next day. We came across impromptu dancing and singing in the street with a crowd of Nepalese women dressed in red saris. Though I felt a little shy about dancing with them in my t-shirt and baseball cap, I did it! Talk about feeling the vibe!!
So, my friends… go forth and practice compassion in all that you do and with all those that you meet, and please, don’t kill anybody’s vibe.
