Tran-Tram

I'm pretty shitty at taking pictures. I mean, I'm not a shitty photographer, but I'm shitty at remembering to take pictures. This problem has been compounded by the fact that I dropped my camera and busted the LCD screen. So I'm limited to taking pictures the old-fashioned way--using the viewfinder. The horror!

Sadly, I took one picture during the entire time we were in LA, and it is of my girlfriend Irene and her man Peter:


[How cute! And how Irene!]


But I try to see the busted camera as a challenge. The point-and-shoot method with the arm sticking way out in front of me is a game of "how many shots can I take that will turn out decent?" And then the fun of it is that I have no immediate judgement--I have to wait until I download the pics onto my computer before I see how they turn out. So here's me trying to capture my new hair:






I've been told how hip, artsy, cute, and pixie I look. My hair also attracts attention, which in turn makes people pay more attention to my various accoutrements, such as my tattoos and my glasses. It's pretty cool and boosts my self-esteem, which is something that I've been in serious lack of in recent months. Alas, there are still moments when I'm called "Sir" or "Senor," but whatever. There's a certain sexiness to being androgynous.

As the day for the surgery draws near, Dude and I have random discussions about it, which signify to me that even though we're trying not to freak out about it, we think about it all the time. A couple nights ago, we wondered if in fact I could get have a normal pregnancy again, should we choose to have a third child. Right now, we're not even sure if my reproductive system will heal from the chemo, as I haven't even had a period since I started chemo. We were told that early menopause could be a side effect. In any case, should I be able to have children again someday, would I be able to carry a child, given that my abdominal muscles will no longer be there, and in their place, I will have a wire mesh to hold in my innards? So we looked this up online, and indeed, few women have ever carried their babies to term after having this surgery, and fewer still had the exact surgery I'm having. Most women are beyond childbearing age when they have the TRAM-flap surgery done, and those who have had it done and had children only had one breast removed and reconstructed. I found exactly ONE woman online who had a bilateral mastectomy and TRAM-flap reconstruction who got pregnant, but I don't know how it ended up for her, as she didn't make any more posts on the forum that she posted on. It's a question that my plastic surgeon didn't bring up, probably because she's not accustomed to discussing such issues with her patients.

In any case, we are moving along as planned. And we will deal with these issues in the future, if we must. The problem with our lives right now is that there is so much that is uncertain--big ticket items--but there's nothing we can do about that uncertainty. We can only move forward the best way we know how.

Sunny Southern California, Riding the Waves

The husband and I are in LA at the moment. Actually, we're in Santa Monica, but same difference. Dude is sound asleep, while I'm sitting at the kitchen table at our friends' house, enjoying the blindingly bright sunshine blazing outside. Inside, the air is cool, and I'm warming up with a cup of Irish Breakfast tea (hey, the Irish drink tea too!).

As to be expected, I got a lot of how-are-you-doing's, hugs, head rubs (my head is like a soft downy chick), kisses, smiles, and well wishes. Last night, we went to dine with some friends, and at the table were two other women besides myself who had battled cancer. It wasn't like we intended for it to be like that ("if you don't have cancer, you're not invited!"), but it just happened. So we supported each other, traded chemo war stories, and cast a bunch of downward glances. I felt warm.

LA is always a trip when we come back. On Thursday, my former co-workers at the Asian American Studies Center at UCLA had a lunch for me and Dude. After that, we went to my brother-in-law's interment, which was a nice simple quiet ceremony. On Thursday night, Dude, his sister, my soul sister Mae and her husband George, and I went to Koreatown for some karaoke and Korean food late at night. One of my little secrets (I guess not so secret anymore) is that I LOVE karaoke, even though it hurts to even hear myself sing. So now all these songs are playing on the turntable in my head, especially in the quiet moments....classics like Every Rose Has Its Thorn, 18 and Life, Living on a Prayer, Eternal Flame, Sweet Child O' Mine, and a new favorite--thanks to George--the Monster Mash. It was a blast. I'm going to kick cancer's ass so I can karaoke my little tone-deaf heart out!

On Friday, my dear pal Victoria took me on a pedicure outing in Beverly Hills, so now my toenails are pretty. Unfortunately, my fingernails are still trying to grow out the chemo (tells you how long the chemo stays in the system), so they were unworthy of a mani. But then we had a nice lunch at this little place called Cuvee. It's fun being a girl, especially with Victoria!

Seriously though, I think I needed this trip to tell me that everything going to be alright, and even more so, I want it to be alright, it will be alright, it IS alright. The idea of the surgery has been freaking me out for two months (probably more), but now, I'm looking forward to it. I mean, hell, I get a morphine drip! How fucking kick-ass is that?

Today, we will spend Easter soaking up the sun, seeing more friends, and packing up to head back to Vancouver tomorrow. We miss the kiddins, but anyway, they're having a blast with all four grandparents showering them with attention and doing fun things.

And oh yeah--my CT scans came back clean, except for the arthritis, which we already knew about. So no evidence of metastasis. That's a wonderful thing! Couldn't ask for better news.

Celebrate Good Times

I've been a bad blogger lately. But in a way that I'm sure people would understand, I've felt like retreating from the world, real or cyberwise. Still, I've had great interactions with people, had some nice company lately. Last week, I was honoured by the Chinese Canadian Historical Society of BC for the work that I've done with the writing workshops I taught and the books I edited and published. My parents, Dude's parents, Dude's sister and her husband were in attendance, so it was nice to have all this family support. My "students" (I still feel weird calling them my students since they're more like my friends) got up and roasted and toasted me. And Professor Jan Walls made up a Chinese clapper tale about me, which I will post a clip of once DH gets around to downloading the film. It was a really sweet and touching event.

What was really cute and cool was that I don't think my mother had any clue about why we were at the dinner, even though I tried telling her it was because I was being honoured. I don't think I could even describe it in Vietnamese if I knew the words. Usually, in Vietnamese culture, young people just aren't honoured in that type of way. So my mom couldn't fathom it. Imagine her confusion when all these people started getting up and staying all these nice (and otherwise) things about me! My favourite moment was when I stood up to thank everyone, and I mentioned that my parents were in the audience, and how special that was to me. My mom stood up, smiled, and pageant-waved to everyone there (there were over 100 people in attendance)! She was so proud. It was really cute. Here are some highlights:



[This is the dinner menu. The organization made colour, laminated copies for me and my parents.]




[My students worked together on a secret project, a surprise for me: a book of recipes from our Iron Chef-style "Yam-Off" competition between the two workshops.]



[Another surprise: a little illustration of how I whipped them into shape.]



[This picture was taken by Roy Mah. Here's I'm accepting a gorgeous bouquet. Check out the hair I grew just for the occasion!]


In addition, I got a real treat when author Wayson Choy introduced himself to me at the dinner. A few days later, DH and I went to a reading that Wayson gave, and he was just as gracious and inspiring there as he was at the dinner. Inspiration is what I really need right now.


This Wednesday also happened to mark DH's birthday. March has always been the month of birthdays in our family, including our niece's, our brother-in-law's, and finally, DH's brother. The Monday before Dude's birthday, we went out to Fortune restaurant to celebrate, and we were treated to Alaskan king crab (I think this one was a 12-pounder) by my in-laws:



The funs times are good and much needed. To be honest, there's an imbalance of fun times and darkness—though I believe that even if I had fun 20 hours out of the day, there would still be that imbalance, heavy on the negative. It's exactly one month until my surgery. On Wednesday, I had a CT scan in my chest, abdomen, and pelvic region, for re-staging my cancer. That basically means they want to see what exists in those regions (if there are any metastases, any shrinkages). I see my oncologist on Tuesday for the results. Yesterday, Dude and I went to St. Paul's hospital for a pre-surgery education clinic, when we met with a nurse who told us what to expect on the day of and the days after following surgery, and we met with an anesthetist who explained the "going under" process. And then there was more blood-work (I used to be a champ when it came to needles, but ever since my vein has hardened from the chemo, it's become a little bit more uncomfortable). The reality that the surgery is only a month away is a shock. And this period of waiting—and getting more tests done to determine my health situation—places me back at square one. I kinda feel like I did back in July when I was first diagnosed, and I would wake up every morning for the first few weeks and realize with a shock, "I have cancer."

The timing of all this couldn't be any weirder to me either. It was just five days after my brother-in-law died of lung cancer that I was diagnosed. Now, next week—which will be three weeks before my surgery—we will be going to his brother's interment in Los Angeles. It will be a quiet private ceremony, which we and Dude's sister will attend.

Going to LA also means seeing friends and getting some sunshine, so the trip will be bittersweet, as life in general mostly seems to be right now.

I have a lot of fear--but I have much to hope for too. As Wayson Choy said at his reading, "I want to see what happens tomorrow."

Kicking Ass and Taking Names

Ever since I've been diagnosed, many people have told me stories of survival in order to encourage and support me through my treatment. I'm grateful for those stories, but the ones that really keep me fighting are the stories and experiences of my own family. Besides thinking of my brother-in-law, who passed away from lung cancer this summer, I also often have on my mind my great-aunt Betty, who passed away from breast cancer over twenty years ago.

And now, I'd like to pay tribute to my Uncle Pen, who kicked cancer's ass about ten years ago. Uncle Pen is definitely my favorite uncle. He had a pet raccoon (which he tamed himself); he caught wild turkeys and wrestled them in our family's pig pen; and he always gives me awesome deer jerky (uh, yeah, if you haven't figured it out by now, this blog is not vegetarian-friendly). He's a real-life Paul Bunyan, even to this day. And while I don't catch animals with my bare hands and kill them on the spot, I think I'm kicking cancer's ass with the same kind of spirit.

Here's me and Uncle Pen, about 30 years ago:

Sunny Days, Sweeping those Clouds Away

The weather in Vancouver has been splendid. Fifty degrees, sunny, clear blue skies. My parents, who arrived last week from Pennsylvania where the temperature is frigid and there are buckets of snow, think it's cold here. Their perception of the weather reminds me to remember--everything in context.

I'm riding a roller coaster around and around. Sometimes, I sink into an unforgiving existentialist mindset that sucks. Other times, I feel like skipping down the sidewalk, despite the sharp breaks that threaten to trip me up.

For instance, last night, I felt brave enough to pick up "The Idiot's Guide to Living with Breast Cancer" and flipped through it before going to sleep. The book has been collecting dust on my shelf for, oh, six months. As light and supportive as the authors try to make the material out to be, my mind got hooked on the fact that I was reading a handbook that included a straightforward chapter on dying and accepting death. I'm really not ready to learn this how-to. I don't feel this is my context, yet.

My situation is serious. My chart at the cancer agency says so. But I don't feel like it is. Sure, some days I feel like the biggest pile of poo ever, but I don't honestly believe that I'm going to die any time soon. I just don't. How could I? I have two of the loveliest children to ever have been born, a wonderfully caring and scary-smart/charismatic husband, family and friends who care enough to write/call/email me and say "you're not a loser!"...Yeah, I'm not going to die. I am invincible right now, in this context.

I'm a Loser, Baby

I need to fess up: life isn't all that great with radiation. Well, anyway, it seems to be getting worse.

I was told by various health care professionals that I could look forward to life not sucking as much with radiation, that it's much better than chemo. Sure, I might get a little tired and some skin irritations, but compared to chemo, it's not that bad.

I'm finding out that that's a load of crap. I'm pretty fucking tired, and because I had all these expectations that it would be better, I'm also getting kinda depressed. I'm frustrated, I'm pissy, I'm sick of it. So yeah, I feel like ass. And I feel like I failed.

The gentle side of me says, "You didn't fail. You're still fighting." But the loud side of me says, "Suck it up. It isn't as bad as chemo, stop whining. Don't be a loser. Drink more coffee and get to work." So I feel stuck and sick to my stomach that I'm so exhausted and don't want to do anything but lie in bed.

My parents were scheduled to come stay with us on March 19th, but things have gotten so bad that Dude asked me if maybe they should come earlier. Thankfully, they do want to be here as much as I need them to be here, so they are coming next Wednesday. I am thankful for their support, but still, I feel like I've failed.

Surgery has been scheduled for April 15th. While I joke about and make light of getting new boobies, I'll also admit that I'm freaked out. I mean, sure, my boobs aren't the greatest pair of jugs to have graced the planet, but still, they have been a source of pleasure for me (lovely sensory nerves) and a source of food for my kids. Aesthetically, I will have decent boobs (I hope), but what will I feel? And it's going to be weird to be nippleless for six months, until I get new ones tattooed on. Weird, weird, weird.

I'm back to where I started: cancer fucking sucks.

Oh, my aching. . .

Guess what? Things are okay. Mostly. Life is...moving on and ahead. Last week, I saw my chemo oncologist, and we got on the topic of apparently two chemo/cancer-unrelated health issues that I now have: arthritis in my lower back/pelvic region and a hernia. The ct scan I got before starting chemo way back when showed the arthritis, but no one bothered to tell me because we had bigger fish to fry. But now my back is pretty much in pain most of the time, and sometimes my legs ache. My hernia will be taken care of when they open me up in April for surgery. But just in case (in case of what?), my family doctor wants me to see the surgeon yet again on Thursday. Seeing the surgeon, as nice as she may be, isn't on my list of fun things to do. Her office is a little disorganized and a lotta stressful sitting in there. But what am I gonna do?

So this might be the last entry for a while, unless something interesting happens. From now until April, my focus is on what's on my secret priority list, which I can't talk about here because, well, it's secret.

shhhh.....