Update: There is no update. It's been about a week since the biopsy, but no word from the cancer agency. Which gives me hope. Usually, if they don't get back to you asap, that means there's nothing exciting to say. Except that I would consider it exceptionally exciting to have no cancer.
On Friday, Chloe had a little freak-out when I dropped her off at school. The night before, she asked me about the bandage on my chest from the biopsy. She asked me, "Mama, did they put a hole in your lung?" I assured her that it was just a little boo-boo from a test and that it didn't hurt. She seemed okay with that. But when I dropped her off at school the next day, she cried after me when I went out the door. She said, "Mama! Don't leave me! Don't go!" I came back and hugged her and told her that I would see her at the end of school. After a few moments of soothing, she was okay. One of her teachers followed me out the door, and I explained to him that Chloe was asking me about my biopsy scar, and it scared her. Then I just busted out into sobbing in front of him and the community centre manager. I was just overwhelmed in the moment, in the fear in Chloe's eyes. It sucked.
Anyway, so I spent this weekend just playing with the kids and not worrying about anything else. We had a fun time building stuff and playing with dolls.
Then today, Chloe and I were sitting in the Costco food court waiting for DH and Mylo to show up. She was munching on roasted seaweed (her favourite treat). Then she asked me, "Mama, did you die when you went to the big doctor?"
I said, "You mean when I went to the hospital? I didn't die. See, I'm alive, talking to you."
Chloe said, "Yeah, you're right. Cuz when you die, you go under the ground. And then aliens come and take you away and you never come back."
I replied, "Yeah, something like that. Some people think there's God and they either go to heaven or hell. Some people think you come back as an animal or another person. Some think that nothing happens. But no one knows. So aliens is a good idea too."
She said, "Yep."
I think Chloe is a prophet.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
There's a Hole in my Chest, dear Liza, dear Liza
The biopsy went okay yesterday. The radiologist used three different sized needles to try to get a tiny speck of flesh from me (14, 16, and 18 gauge). And scissors--she used scissors to cut open a hole so the needle would go in easier. Luckily, I didn't feel a thing after the local was administered (the local, by the way, stung like a mother, but oh well). She kept asking Dude if he was okay or if he was going to pass out, and I couldn't understand why, but then I realized that he could probably see the hole in my chest and I couldn't. Not that it was a big hole, but I guess the idea of using scissors on my body could freak some people out. But not DH--he's brave.
I should get the results in a few days, but I'm still confident that it's just fat necrosis.
I should get the results in a few days, but I'm still confident that it's just fat necrosis.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Funny Cancer Thought of the Day
Nothing will take you out of wallowing in self pity faster than your kid vomiting deep-fried bananas and chocolate ice cream at 11:30 at night.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
How Things Fit
Today, as I was walking up the hill on Ash Street to the cancer agency, I was messing with the waistband on my skirt. I had this feeling that girls get sometimes when they're wearing skirts (please tell me I'm not the only one) that the back somehow had moved to the front. So my hand moved down to the waistband in the front to see if the tag was there or not, or sideways. Instead, my fingers only felt my underwear. I looked down. My waistband had migrated down to the pubic area. Good thing both my underwear and the skirt were black.
I can't tell where and how my clothes are fitting me anymore. I mean, I guess I haven't been able to for a while, since the surgery. But it was only recently that I've stopped wearing support garments as frequently; I used to wear those girdle panties, a girdle, sports bra, etc--anything to keep the stitches tight and stuff. But I a) just don't want to wear that shit anymore (it's difficult not to feel like an 80-year-old with all that armour on); b) am lazy (you know how long it takes to suit up?); and c) think it's time to experiment with regular undergarments again. Thing is, even when I'm not wearing that stuff, I feel like I am. My abdominal area and chest are still pretty tight and numb, with little sensation. Which is why I didn't know that I was practically flashing people my thong. And which I why I didn't know that my bra was riding up halfway on my chest, threatening to choke me, during most of Wednesday, until I stripped to take a bath that night.
All this is to say--I'm having a really hard time feeling "normal" again. I mean, shit, I don't even know how to wear clothes properly anymore, apparently.
Perhaps I have a wild imagination (yeah, okay, so I do), but things seemed to get even more abnormal today. Before I set off for my ultrasound, I got a call from a dude from CBC who was doing a story on the report that come out today stating that genetic screening for breast cancer doesn't cut it for Asian women (Risk of Breast Cancer Mutations Underestimated for Asian Women). He said he heard me talk about my story before on CBC radio, and he confirmed that I'm Asian. I said, actually, I'm half Caucasian too. But the focus of the discussion was on this twist for me: the Asian part. It's true that I've filled out the paper work for genetic screening, as my cancer was determined to not be hormone receptor positive. And because I'm under 35 years old, that makes me more qualified for genetic screening. However, I did run into difficulty when I came to the part where I had to write up my family tree and state when and where people where born, and if they had died, when and how. I sat down with my parents and asked them for all the information they could give. My mom and dad had a helluva time figuring out the Vietnamese side. It was this nearly total void. If anyone on my maternal side had ever been affected by cancer, I will never know. And that's kinda a bitch when it comes to being a woman with breast cancer. And that's how it's always been for me: when it comes to my family medical history, I'm an orphan.
So now, according to this study, I'm even in more of a bind. Some of the key variables that are plugged into that genetic screening program aren't accessible for me. And now, even in its most complete state, turns out the test wouldn't be accurate for half of me anyway. WTF?!
Anyway, as CBC dude was chatting with me about this, he apologized to me for being the bearer of bad news. He asked me how I felt about all this. Honestly, I hardly felt anything. I mean, after all I've been through, it does kinda come down to, "so what?" I thought about this. Have I already counted myself a goner, that my years are destined to be cut short? Yeah, kinda. I mean, I do have dreams of making it to see my grandchildren some day, but I also know that there's more of a possibility that I won't get to see my kids graduate from high school.
So now, more than anything, I have dreams of just wanting to live. That sounds so cheesy and Zen, but what else is there? Yet it is one of the hardest things for me to do.
Then we come to the ultrasound today. They know me there, on each of the six floors of the cancer agency. I got off on the third floor, where they do all the diagnostic tests--the ultrasounds, xrays, MRI's, mammograms, blood tests. The receptionist said, "You know where the ultrasound is, right? Down on the left, sit by the photocopier." Yeah, it's that fancy.
Then I see my good ol' buddy, Mr. Ultrasound Dude. Sorry, I don't know this guy's name, even though he's seen my boobies more often than most people. But this was the first time he saw them post-op.
He's an alright guy, Mr. Ultrasound Dude. The first time I saw him, he wasn't what I would call "warm." But after a while, he started getting nicer, telling me to tell him when he was pushing down too hard or hurting me. Today was much the same like the other times. Except I never spent that much time in that room, with that man, before. He musta took a billion images of my lump, which is extending itself out into a ridge. He also took images of my lymph nodes on my left side. He took measurements of the lump. When he finished the imaging, he went to his computer at his desk and took a closer look at some of the images and wrote down notes.
I lifted my neck and glanced at his monitor. I could see two images enlarged on his screen; the dual image of the lump looked like evil black alien eyes. I closed my eyes.
He sighed, came over, and we chatted a bit about the surgery, the discovery of the lump, and what's been done since I found it. Since he's a technician and not a radiologist, he's not allowed to give me any information or advice on the imaging. But he did say that it was odd because there's no visible scar tissue surrounding the lump. Then he quickly muttered that he couldn't see whatever it was that well, and that it would take a week to get the report. Yeah, I've heard that before.
When I left the ultrasound room, I felt so very tired. That's all--just tired. I waited for the elevator. It took forever. I thought, I'm not patient; I'm not a good patient. I'm certainly not a patient patient. Most of all, I'm pretty damn sick of cancer, and I think denial is a good thing.
I'm good at denial, until the problem is completely in my face. I've had a bum foot for a couple months now, but I said, "Oh, it's just my bunions. Whatever." So then I signed up for tap dancing class. And then I went to said tap dancing class on Wednesday. On Thursday--yesterday--I was at the doctor's office. My foot throbbed and burned. So then I also got an xray, and I'm going to see a podiatrist. A bum foot is a good distraction from cancer, no? But I thought I should probably cancel tap dancing and ballet, just to be safe. But not bellydancing--that starts next week. And bread making, too.
I'm going to knead my worries away.
I can't tell where and how my clothes are fitting me anymore. I mean, I guess I haven't been able to for a while, since the surgery. But it was only recently that I've stopped wearing support garments as frequently; I used to wear those girdle panties, a girdle, sports bra, etc--anything to keep the stitches tight and stuff. But I a) just don't want to wear that shit anymore (it's difficult not to feel like an 80-year-old with all that armour on); b) am lazy (you know how long it takes to suit up?); and c) think it's time to experiment with regular undergarments again. Thing is, even when I'm not wearing that stuff, I feel like I am. My abdominal area and chest are still pretty tight and numb, with little sensation. Which is why I didn't know that I was practically flashing people my thong. And which I why I didn't know that my bra was riding up halfway on my chest, threatening to choke me, during most of Wednesday, until I stripped to take a bath that night.
All this is to say--I'm having a really hard time feeling "normal" again. I mean, shit, I don't even know how to wear clothes properly anymore, apparently.
Perhaps I have a wild imagination (yeah, okay, so I do), but things seemed to get even more abnormal today. Before I set off for my ultrasound, I got a call from a dude from CBC who was doing a story on the report that come out today stating that genetic screening for breast cancer doesn't cut it for Asian women (Risk of Breast Cancer Mutations Underestimated for Asian Women). He said he heard me talk about my story before on CBC radio, and he confirmed that I'm Asian. I said, actually, I'm half Caucasian too. But the focus of the discussion was on this twist for me: the Asian part. It's true that I've filled out the paper work for genetic screening, as my cancer was determined to not be hormone receptor positive. And because I'm under 35 years old, that makes me more qualified for genetic screening. However, I did run into difficulty when I came to the part where I had to write up my family tree and state when and where people where born, and if they had died, when and how. I sat down with my parents and asked them for all the information they could give. My mom and dad had a helluva time figuring out the Vietnamese side. It was this nearly total void. If anyone on my maternal side had ever been affected by cancer, I will never know. And that's kinda a bitch when it comes to being a woman with breast cancer. And that's how it's always been for me: when it comes to my family medical history, I'm an orphan.
So now, according to this study, I'm even in more of a bind. Some of the key variables that are plugged into that genetic screening program aren't accessible for me. And now, even in its most complete state, turns out the test wouldn't be accurate for half of me anyway. WTF?!
Anyway, as CBC dude was chatting with me about this, he apologized to me for being the bearer of bad news. He asked me how I felt about all this. Honestly, I hardly felt anything. I mean, after all I've been through, it does kinda come down to, "so what?" I thought about this. Have I already counted myself a goner, that my years are destined to be cut short? Yeah, kinda. I mean, I do have dreams of making it to see my grandchildren some day, but I also know that there's more of a possibility that I won't get to see my kids graduate from high school.
So now, more than anything, I have dreams of just wanting to live. That sounds so cheesy and Zen, but what else is there? Yet it is one of the hardest things for me to do.
Then we come to the ultrasound today. They know me there, on each of the six floors of the cancer agency. I got off on the third floor, where they do all the diagnostic tests--the ultrasounds, xrays, MRI's, mammograms, blood tests. The receptionist said, "You know where the ultrasound is, right? Down on the left, sit by the photocopier." Yeah, it's that fancy.
Then I see my good ol' buddy, Mr. Ultrasound Dude. Sorry, I don't know this guy's name, even though he's seen my boobies more often than most people. But this was the first time he saw them post-op.
He's an alright guy, Mr. Ultrasound Dude. The first time I saw him, he wasn't what I would call "warm." But after a while, he started getting nicer, telling me to tell him when he was pushing down too hard or hurting me. Today was much the same like the other times. Except I never spent that much time in that room, with that man, before. He musta took a billion images of my lump, which is extending itself out into a ridge. He also took images of my lymph nodes on my left side. He took measurements of the lump. When he finished the imaging, he went to his computer at his desk and took a closer look at some of the images and wrote down notes.
I lifted my neck and glanced at his monitor. I could see two images enlarged on his screen; the dual image of the lump looked like evil black alien eyes. I closed my eyes.
He sighed, came over, and we chatted a bit about the surgery, the discovery of the lump, and what's been done since I found it. Since he's a technician and not a radiologist, he's not allowed to give me any information or advice on the imaging. But he did say that it was odd because there's no visible scar tissue surrounding the lump. Then he quickly muttered that he couldn't see whatever it was that well, and that it would take a week to get the report. Yeah, I've heard that before.
When I left the ultrasound room, I felt so very tired. That's all--just tired. I waited for the elevator. It took forever. I thought, I'm not patient; I'm not a good patient. I'm certainly not a patient patient. Most of all, I'm pretty damn sick of cancer, and I think denial is a good thing.
I'm good at denial, until the problem is completely in my face. I've had a bum foot for a couple months now, but I said, "Oh, it's just my bunions. Whatever." So then I signed up for tap dancing class. And then I went to said tap dancing class on Wednesday. On Thursday--yesterday--I was at the doctor's office. My foot throbbed and burned. So then I also got an xray, and I'm going to see a podiatrist. A bum foot is a good distraction from cancer, no? But I thought I should probably cancel tap dancing and ballet, just to be safe. But not bellydancing--that starts next week. And bread making, too.
I'm going to knead my worries away.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
Maybe it's a big deal, maybe it's not. Of course, my mind immediately rockets off into thinking it's the biggest deal in the world.
Today, I was feeling good about myself: doing my homework for my MFA writing workshops, getting some writing done, meeting with a friend and her kiddins, having a nice California roll lunch, going about my business throughout this wonderful city we live in. Then out of nowhere, I get a call on my cell from the cancer agency. They want me to come in for another ultrasound--this Friday afternoon. Maybe it's just my paranoia and imagination, but the woman on the other end of the line sounded particularly saccharine--like the kind of cheery that makes you wonder what's really up. Like when someone who's a meanie to you is suddenly nice. It's like cancer itself called and said, "Hey, there, remember me?" Yeah, cuz for a moment, I kinda forgot.
Anyway, I suppose I should be thankful that someone is trying to keep tabs on this lump, which yes, is still here. So on Friday, I'm getting an ultrasound on the left chest area, so I was told by the jovial woman today, who said, "Awesome" when I reluctantly said, yes, I can come in on Friday at 1pm, thanks. So there you go.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Still Waters
I just realized that my laptop power cord wasn't plugged in this whole time I've been on the computer. I thought it was. I hate it when shit like that happens. Like, you think things are as they should be--time to power up--but actually, the energy is draining. I think you might know where I'm going with this.
Part of me being a bad blogger here is that I feel embarrassed and ashamed. The whole time I was going through chemo, radiation, and then the lead up to surgery, I was kind of my own best cheerleader. I remember thinking, "I will get through this, and I will laugh at cancer, and I will kick its ass, and when it's over, I will get back to my crazy old self, except even crazier--and it will be so...so...FUCKING CRAZY! but in a good way."
Also, when the shit's over, everyone who loves you wants to be happy for you that you're done with the bullshit and the pain, that you can move on, and everyone thinks you will, and everything will be fine.
But yeah, it's not fine. In some ways, it's worse. Look, this is how it goes. I'm
suppose to be better. I fucking beat cancer! But...but. I feel like shit. I'm tired all the time. I want to do nothing; I have zero motivation. This, then, makes me feel guilty. I got a second chance, and what I do want to do with life? A lot of times, nothing. But I should be getting out there, writing like crazy, living life and loving it.
In terms of how my emotional/spiritual/motivational/inspirational state of mind goes, I can't deny that there's no constant--and I'm a big fan of denial. I want to do so much, but I'm so freakin' tired! I want to get out there, but I want to hide. I just want to sleep...a lot.
And I still have my nice little fatty marble stone thing. It's okay. I'm only 10% worried about it.
When I was at Inspire Health a couple weeks ago, I was looking at their library. They switched it up and rearranged everything, so suddenly, the books I looked at for almost a year seemed new. As I was scanning the shelves, I saw two books sitting side by side: Picking Up the Pieces: Moving Forward After Surviving Cancer and Dancing in Limbo: Making Sense of Life After Cancer. My immediate thought was, "Okay, okay, I get it. I see the sign." Here's why: when I had what I thought would be my last appointment with my oncologist, she went to great lengths to prepare me for the post-treatment crap that is typically experienced--the funk that no one anticipates. She wrote down these two books and said that they would help me greatly on my journey after cancer. But being stubborn and cocky like I can be on the rare occasion, I put the paper away and didn't bother with the books. But lo and behold, there they were, sitting there, just waiting for me at Inspire, telling me to take them.
So I've been reading them in chunks, trying to make sense out of why I still feel like shit. Why do I have anger, bitterness, fatigue, depression, unmotivation, survivor's guilt, bullshit and puke? But I also have happiness, gratitude, and drive. All this together is one big mushy yuck blah. And a lot of times, I just want turn it all off.
Alas, next week, I have to end the pity party and get back to business. School starts--for everyone in our household. Chloe's off to kindergarten, Mylo's off to daycare full-time, Dude's back to being his academic rockstar awesomeness (not like he ever quit), and me--I'm back to the MFA program. Life must move on. I'm terrified, but it's all systems go.
Despite my whining, I will admit the summer has been quite rockin'. We've gone to many wonderful places and done a lot of amazing things, and to wrap it all up, we went on a grownups-only gourmet kayaking trip last weekend. The trip was organized and offered through Edible BC and Blue Planet Kayaking Adventures. It was freaking awesome!!!! You know how I like to bitch and complain? I cannot complain about one single thing on this trip. We were even blessed with gorgeous weather the first two days and, yes, BLESSED, with rain on the day we had to paddle back and catch the ferry. I was glad we got some rain so we could experience the excitement of choppy waters, almost-killer waves, and feeling the rain beat down on our heads.
We started off at 5 am on Friday. We took the ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Nanaimo at 6:30 am. We got to Nanaimo at 8 am, where we met James Bray, our gourmet chef/kayaking extraordinaire tour guide. He packed us all into this full-sized van, towing a trailer of kayaks, and we drove to the boat launch site, where we met up with Kirsten, his assistant. Everyone was all smiles and eager to begin our adventure!
Two of our friends had the most experience kayaking, and the rest of us had little or no experience at all (I'd belong to the latter category). But as the sun shone down on us, we were all confident we'd do alright.
We paddled for about 3 hours to the campsite at Pirate's Cove Park on De Courcy Island. We passed gorgeous sandstone caves and cliffs. A lot of the cliff faces looked alien and mysterious yet undeniably beautiful.
Here's one of those alien formations.
Our guides, James and Kirsten, go by the "boob" rocks. Boobs of all shapes, sizes, and ages!
We check out the boobs. After all, that's what this trip was about!
When we got to the campsite, James whipped up a delicious and delicate tuna sashimi nicoise salad, or something fancy like that. It was good.
Then we set up our tents, got settled in, and started in on the wine. Mind you, we managed to bring 5 bags of wine with us in those kayaks (cuz we're classy), not to mention the legit bottles of wine that James brought with him for dinner, and our bottle of Dead Arm. That added up to, like, 30 LITRES of wine. In case you don't know how much that is, it's a lot. It's obscene.
After a nice hike through the park, we ate dinner. And part of the dinner was this lovely cheese plate. Unfortunately, I was too busy getting plastered to eat any cheese, but my kayak mates finished the whole thing off.
When dinner was finished, we engaged in a furious game of Uno. Even in my extremely drunken stupor, I managed to lay down cards as I was passed out on the picnic table. At one point, I had to go #2 in the outhouse. I was pitch-black dark, and I had my headlamp on. So without telling anyone where I was going or what I was doing (I later found out they thought I was leaving the table to pass out in the tent), I headed off toward the outhouse. In order to get to the outhouse, one had to go down a path, go down a considerable flight of stairs, go up another path, and go up a ramp to the potty. So I did all this, but when I got to the ramp and looked up at the outhouse, my immediate thought was: "I can't go in there. There's a serial killer in there. I've seen the movies. I will be hacked up into little pieces and eaten." Fear--no, terror--struck, and I started telling myself, "Stupid! How could you come down here by yourself! Now you're going to be killed!" So I turned to go back to the group and get Dude, but all of a sudden, I had no idea where I was! I looked left--there was a path. I looked right--there was another path. I went with my gut, and--whew!--there were the stairs to go back up to the tents.
When I got back to the picnic table, everyone was laughing at me. They were watching my little bobble light the whole time and wondering what the hell I was doing, especially when I turned around without going to the bathroom. Anyway, it was time to call it a night (yeah, after I took the husband back down to the outhouse with me and did my business).
The next morning, I was the first one to wake up despite my killer hangover. But thanks to James's delicious cheese-stuffed French toast and coffee, we were all ready to go to our day's destination, Blackberry Point on Valdes Island.
Here's a group shot of us enroute:
Yes, I did the single kayak thing on the way to Blackberry. Let me tell you--it was so hard! You definitely can't sit back and cruise and let someone else do the work for a bit when you're by yourself. Good thing the water was calm and the weather was nice.
And here are some logs on the beach, including DH as a log.
When we got back to De Courcy, James whipped up a lovely halibut dinner.
We definitely ate, drank, and were merry that night. And luckily for us, my sister-in-law had the foresight to buy TowTabs. Yes, her husband made fun of her for buying these, but he was soon singing her praises, as you can see in this video. And as asked on their website, "How do you TowTab? On a hike, with your bike, when you fish, when you wish," we TowTabbed like crazy. It's like a Dr. Seuss invention.
If you think TowTabs are weird, hold on. This is even weirder. So we're all guffawing our asses off (GOAO, I believe the cyberspeak would be), when this cute young couple passes by. We saw them before but never chatted. So we started talking and invited them for a drink. Then the young man, Eli, and I were talking about why our group was on this trip. I said it was because I was diagnosed with cancer last year and we were celebrating life, so he said that his mom goes to an acupuncturist named Gerard! I said that I do too! And then I realized that I've seen him and his mom before at Inspire! Freakin' crazy!!! It was like totally full circle at that moment.
We had a lovely time with Eli and Adrienne, and eventually, we got them sufficiently wasted, and they went back to their cabin to do what I imagine young people must do.
And other than Lou-Anne rolling down a cliff and hurting herself, but not too much, thank god, we had an awesome time! We want to do a reunion trip! Incredible!
Here are some souvenir shells from the trip, holding our own home-raised, organic cilantro-fed caviar d'escargot. Yes, that's right. I ate my pet snails' babies. They were good.
So the moral of this epic story: life can be shitty; just don't go to the outhouse alone in the dark, and you'll be okay.
Part of me being a bad blogger here is that I feel embarrassed and ashamed. The whole time I was going through chemo, radiation, and then the lead up to surgery, I was kind of my own best cheerleader. I remember thinking, "I will get through this, and I will laugh at cancer, and I will kick its ass, and when it's over, I will get back to my crazy old self, except even crazier--and it will be so...so...FUCKING CRAZY! but in a good way."
Also, when the shit's over, everyone who loves you wants to be happy for you that you're done with the bullshit and the pain, that you can move on, and everyone thinks you will, and everything will be fine.
But yeah, it's not fine. In some ways, it's worse. Look, this is how it goes. I'm
suppose to be better. I fucking beat cancer! But...but. I feel like shit. I'm tired all the time. I want to do nothing; I have zero motivation. This, then, makes me feel guilty. I got a second chance, and what I do want to do with life? A lot of times, nothing. But I should be getting out there, writing like crazy, living life and loving it.
In terms of how my emotional/spiritual/motivational/inspirational state of mind goes, I can't deny that there's no constant--and I'm a big fan of denial. I want to do so much, but I'm so freakin' tired! I want to get out there, but I want to hide. I just want to sleep...a lot.
And I still have my nice little fatty marble stone thing. It's okay. I'm only 10% worried about it.
When I was at Inspire Health a couple weeks ago, I was looking at their library. They switched it up and rearranged everything, so suddenly, the books I looked at for almost a year seemed new. As I was scanning the shelves, I saw two books sitting side by side: Picking Up the Pieces: Moving Forward After Surviving Cancer and Dancing in Limbo: Making Sense of Life After Cancer. My immediate thought was, "Okay, okay, I get it. I see the sign." Here's why: when I had what I thought would be my last appointment with my oncologist, she went to great lengths to prepare me for the post-treatment crap that is typically experienced--the funk that no one anticipates. She wrote down these two books and said that they would help me greatly on my journey after cancer. But being stubborn and cocky like I can be on the rare occasion, I put the paper away and didn't bother with the books. But lo and behold, there they were, sitting there, just waiting for me at Inspire, telling me to take them.
So I've been reading them in chunks, trying to make sense out of why I still feel like shit. Why do I have anger, bitterness, fatigue, depression, unmotivation, survivor's guilt, bullshit and puke? But I also have happiness, gratitude, and drive. All this together is one big mushy yuck blah. And a lot of times, I just want turn it all off.
Alas, next week, I have to end the pity party and get back to business. School starts--for everyone in our household. Chloe's off to kindergarten, Mylo's off to daycare full-time, Dude's back to being his academic rockstar awesomeness (not like he ever quit), and me--I'm back to the MFA program. Life must move on. I'm terrified, but it's all systems go.
Despite my whining, I will admit the summer has been quite rockin'. We've gone to many wonderful places and done a lot of amazing things, and to wrap it all up, we went on a grownups-only gourmet kayaking trip last weekend. The trip was organized and offered through Edible BC and Blue Planet Kayaking Adventures. It was freaking awesome!!!! You know how I like to bitch and complain? I cannot complain about one single thing on this trip. We were even blessed with gorgeous weather the first two days and, yes, BLESSED, with rain on the day we had to paddle back and catch the ferry. I was glad we got some rain so we could experience the excitement of choppy waters, almost-killer waves, and feeling the rain beat down on our heads.
We started off at 5 am on Friday. We took the ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Nanaimo at 6:30 am. We got to Nanaimo at 8 am, where we met James Bray, our gourmet chef/kayaking extraordinaire tour guide. He packed us all into this full-sized van, towing a trailer of kayaks, and we drove to the boat launch site, where we met up with Kirsten, his assistant. Everyone was all smiles and eager to begin our adventure!
Two of our friends had the most experience kayaking, and the rest of us had little or no experience at all (I'd belong to the latter category). But as the sun shone down on us, we were all confident we'd do alright.
We paddled for about 3 hours to the campsite at Pirate's Cove Park on De Courcy Island. We passed gorgeous sandstone caves and cliffs. A lot of the cliff faces looked alien and mysterious yet undeniably beautiful.
Here's one of those alien formations.
Our guides, James and Kirsten, go by the "boob" rocks. Boobs of all shapes, sizes, and ages!
We check out the boobs. After all, that's what this trip was about!
When we got to the campsite, James whipped up a delicious and delicate tuna sashimi nicoise salad, or something fancy like that. It was good.
Then we set up our tents, got settled in, and started in on the wine. Mind you, we managed to bring 5 bags of wine with us in those kayaks (cuz we're classy), not to mention the legit bottles of wine that James brought with him for dinner, and our bottle of Dead Arm. That added up to, like, 30 LITRES of wine. In case you don't know how much that is, it's a lot. It's obscene.
After a nice hike through the park, we ate dinner. And part of the dinner was this lovely cheese plate. Unfortunately, I was too busy getting plastered to eat any cheese, but my kayak mates finished the whole thing off.
When dinner was finished, we engaged in a furious game of Uno. Even in my extremely drunken stupor, I managed to lay down cards as I was passed out on the picnic table. At one point, I had to go #2 in the outhouse. I was pitch-black dark, and I had my headlamp on. So without telling anyone where I was going or what I was doing (I later found out they thought I was leaving the table to pass out in the tent), I headed off toward the outhouse. In order to get to the outhouse, one had to go down a path, go down a considerable flight of stairs, go up another path, and go up a ramp to the potty. So I did all this, but when I got to the ramp and looked up at the outhouse, my immediate thought was: "I can't go in there. There's a serial killer in there. I've seen the movies. I will be hacked up into little pieces and eaten." Fear--no, terror--struck, and I started telling myself, "Stupid! How could you come down here by yourself! Now you're going to be killed!" So I turned to go back to the group and get Dude, but all of a sudden, I had no idea where I was! I looked left--there was a path. I looked right--there was another path. I went with my gut, and--whew!--there were the stairs to go back up to the tents.
When I got back to the picnic table, everyone was laughing at me. They were watching my little bobble light the whole time and wondering what the hell I was doing, especially when I turned around without going to the bathroom. Anyway, it was time to call it a night (yeah, after I took the husband back down to the outhouse with me and did my business).
The next morning, I was the first one to wake up despite my killer hangover. But thanks to James's delicious cheese-stuffed French toast and coffee, we were all ready to go to our day's destination, Blackberry Point on Valdes Island.
Here's a group shot of us enroute:
Yes, I did the single kayak thing on the way to Blackberry. Let me tell you--it was so hard! You definitely can't sit back and cruise and let someone else do the work for a bit when you're by yourself. Good thing the water was calm and the weather was nice.
And here are some logs on the beach, including DH as a log.
When we got back to De Courcy, James whipped up a lovely halibut dinner.
We definitely ate, drank, and were merry that night. And luckily for us, my sister-in-law had the foresight to buy TowTabs. Yes, her husband made fun of her for buying these, but he was soon singing her praises, as you can see in this video. And as asked on their website, "How do you TowTab? On a hike, with your bike, when you fish, when you wish," we TowTabbed like crazy. It's like a Dr. Seuss invention.
If you think TowTabs are weird, hold on. This is even weirder. So we're all guffawing our asses off (GOAO, I believe the cyberspeak would be), when this cute young couple passes by. We saw them before but never chatted. So we started talking and invited them for a drink. Then the young man, Eli, and I were talking about why our group was on this trip. I said it was because I was diagnosed with cancer last year and we were celebrating life, so he said that his mom goes to an acupuncturist named Gerard! I said that I do too! And then I realized that I've seen him and his mom before at Inspire! Freakin' crazy!!! It was like totally full circle at that moment.
We had a lovely time with Eli and Adrienne, and eventually, we got them sufficiently wasted, and they went back to their cabin to do what I imagine young people must do.
And other than Lou-Anne rolling down a cliff and hurting herself, but not too much, thank god, we had an awesome time! We want to do a reunion trip! Incredible!
Here are some souvenir shells from the trip, holding our own home-raised, organic cilantro-fed caviar d'escargot. Yes, that's right. I ate my pet snails' babies. They were good.
So the moral of this epic story: life can be shitty; just don't go to the outhouse alone in the dark, and you'll be okay.
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