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Fake Cancer, Real Epiphany: On Malta, Winter, and the Freedom of the Unknown

I don't do well in winter.

In 2023, I got sick and remained unwell for 9 months. An X-ray of my lungs found a suspicious lesion—an apt term, as it was up to no good.

Soon, I had a pulmonologist, and he sent me to an oncology center where I received a contrast injection—a radioactive drug called a tracer—into my vein, whose warmth schooled like fish through my body and onto the PET (Positron emission tomography) scanner I flopped.

Adding to my growing collection of doctors, I was given an oncologist.

My brother Eddie came with me to the oncologist to hear the results of the PET scan (wearing a long lavender wool coat, which got him surprised nods of respect). My sister called in from abroad, and pointing to the image of the suspicious lesion, the oncologist identified all the "hot" areas where the scan clustered around the lesion.

He diagnosed me with fake lung cancer.

My oncologist was 70% certain I had lung cancer. This wasn't too surprising—I did smoke for 21 years, and my maternal grandmother died of lung cancer—but I'd not had a cigarette in 15 years. The doctor reassured me that my fake cancer was in the very early stages—Stage 1, but we still needed a biopsy for confirmation. The bad part was that I had to wait 6 weeks for a biopsy.

For 6 weeks, I assumed and readied myself for Stage 1 lung cancer. He said I would only need surgery to cut out the cancer and probably no radiation or chemotherapy.

And then I had the biopsy and it was negative, which meant I did indeed have fake cancer.

They tested the lesion for months to uncover what I had. They said it could be Mycobacterium Avium complex (MAC) or a non-tuberculosis granuloma.

Essentially, they didn't know; they never figured it out.

Their best guess was that it was environmental.

That guess might be the most accurate because the last two winters I’ve gotten sick in November and remained sick until February.

That's why I decided about 8 months ago to face facts: I had to become a snowbird (a person who makes verbs out of seasons and WINTERS in a warmer climate.)

I lived in Western Europe for a little over a year in 2002-2003, traveling with the Cirque du Soleil, with an old boyfriend who starred in their show Saltimbanco, and it's where I felt most at home (in Barcelona and Menorca, especially).

So, I went on Home Exchange, looking for a 3-month exchange. Harder to find than I anticipated from a site called Home Exchange. Then, a woman contacted me one day saying she needed to be in NY for a month. Did I have any interest in coming to Malta?

MALTA?!

Despite not knowing where Malta was located, I didn't hesitate to say yes.

So here I am—RIGHT NOW—in Malta. I arrived 4 days ago with my dog Busy.

I'm here to work on two books—a proposal to turn this newsletter into a book, and a novel. But also to visit Malta and hear what it wants to tell me.

To that end, I've been researching things that interest me, and offer me a taste of local culture. Every event that seems cool, I’m putting into my calendar. Every Thursday, a cultural center called Kixott screens beloved movies and overlooked gems. Then they drink and talk about it. I'm going.

I'll check out a poetry bar called Rumi on March 5 for this event. 👇

But here's the thing…In New York, I sort of dread going out.

I love staying home and making things. I've always been like this, but I was definitely more social pre-pandemic. I didn't have the same dread I have now, but being away and knowing no one has re-ignited my interest in going out, and the dread of leaving home has lifted.

I want to see art, hear from local authors, and learn about the arts culture here.

Going to a film club alone in NYC—I'd bail at the last minute. Going to a poetry bar in NYC—that would never happen. I'd groan and be silently judgy and feel defensively superior.

There is absolute freedom in having zero associations with anyone or anything. A poetry bar in Malta? Hell yeah. A poetry bar in NYC? Only in the 90s.

In New York, the unknown is infused with familiar and anticipated fears. But in a place I've never been, the unknown is exciting, uncharged and open. It's new and unused uncertainty, accompanied not by dread but anticipatory enthusiasm.

The novelty of that feeling is, itself, freedom.

Part of being far away is seeking to re-engage what's been worn down through the years. Perhaps I can reactivate it, or better yet, ignite something novel and entirely unexpected.

I have this one hack I use a lot in New York, and it finally makes sense why it works—I pretend I'm in a different country. It makes traveling to other boroughs and neighborhoods an adventure instead of a chore. When you’re in a rut, try it out and see what happens.

Getting here with a dog and all it required (lots of paperwork, vet appointments, and confusing government forms and portals) was overwhelming. Doing the things I thought I'd long conquered (figuring out airports, how to get from arrivals to departures in another country, and getting to my destination from the airport in Malta) all exacerbated my anxiety.

It was a reminder that our fears aren't ever entirely conquered, and we must, from time to time, face them anew.

There were two times I nearly broke down, but I didn't.

But, reader, I DID IT.

Now I'm here, in a country whose narrow sidewalks are the width of a fava bean, trying to understand a bus system that requires fluency in applied mathematics, and whose architecture, with its exuberant pops of color, make the country feel constantly expressive.

I’m here for a month—until the end of March—and these newsletters might be less research-heavy and more personal until then.

I hope that's okay with you. I value your time and attention and don't take it for granted.

If you want to come along on my adventures, follow me on Instagram.

From Malta, I still remain…

P.S. Thank you for reading! This newsletter is my passion and livelihood; it thrives because of readers like you. If you've found solace, wisdom or insight here, please consider upgrading, and if you think a friend or family member could benefit, please feel free to share. Every bit helps, and I’m deeply grateful for your support. 💙

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