The Joy Luck Club is a nickname my four girlfriends and I started calling ourselves after 12 years of trials and tribulations in our treasured friendship. We have also joked that we are Sex in the Suburbs kind of friends. Phuong, Kat, Karen and Kim are all college friends of mine from our halcyon days at the UW. We shyly introduced ourselves back in 1994 and tittered through most of our Accelerated Vietnamese 214 classes, taught by an actual professor from Hanoi. It was not a Vietnamese language class per se, but more of a reading and writing mentorship for expatriates who could speak the language but not decipher any accent marks beyond the elementary perusal of a restaurant menu- and only because there were pictures of the traditional foods we most loved to eat. Out of that class, a small but tight group of both guys and girls clung together over the years, savoring the fact that we all had the shared experience of straddling two cultures. We used to call ourselves simply, "The 214". Other 214 classes in subsequent quarters could not match our camaraderie or bravado, so we became known as "THE 214". Our group became legendary for our massive dinner parties, playing hooky for coffee and bagels, nights passed out on each other's floors, spontaneous ski trips, muddy flag football games, clubbing, biking the Burke-Gilman en masse, etc. Now we are all old and married with children, but it could be said that we grew up together. As the years marched on, it was mostly the girls who stayed in touch. We let the guys tag along only because two of the girls, Kat and Karen, ended up marrying two of the guys.
I will tell you that these friends of mine have become so near and dear to me that they are like family. Together, we have weathered graduation, breakups, family tragedies, marriages, births, everything that a family might go through together. These friends were there for me when my mom passed away and they have been steadfast friends all these years. There is a joy in knowing that our kids are growing up together and could become the next generation of friends. And we are also celebrating the most recent announcement of Kim's long-awaited pregnancy and Lam's upcoming wedding. They were the last holdouts in their respective departments. There has been so much laughter and fun over the years, but we've also been there for each other in the darkest moments. We all have strong supportive families of our own, but somehow the fact that we have this extended, extra family has been a comfort and boon to us. Visiting each other's houses, playing with each other's kids, makes us feel that we have arrived in our parents' shoes somehow. Instead of being the kids running around having fun and sitting at the kids' table, WE are now the adults. How could a bunch of crazy college buddies have foreseen this?
These are the same friends who have taken me to treatment, made food to drop off at the house during my convalescence, brought me bunches of flowers, told me funny stories to keep me laughing, and have cheered me on during my recovery. They have been there in good times and they are certainly here for me now during my worst of days. Kat even stopped by the other day and gave me a pedicure and manicure while I drowsed away after taking my pain meds. Phuong made me the tuna salad I craved and brought peanut butter & jelly too. Kim, in her beautiful glowing maternal state, made a fantastic apple & arugula salad from a Bon Appetit recipe. Karen, despite devoting herself to a sister who recently suffered from an aneurism, also brought food and her unflagging sense of optimism. I am lucky enough to have these women as friends for life, and we have all pledged to grow old together. With friends like these, I intend to keep up my end of the bargain. We are The Joy Luck Club by definition.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Return from the Abyss
I'm creeping out of the fog of exhaustion and pain medication to briefly say hello to the world again. After my last chemoradiation treatment on Monday the 14th, my oncologist admitted me to Overlake Hospital for symptom management. After 25 regular radiation treatments and 3 boosters as well as 6 weeks of constant chemotherapy, my body was wrecked and I was in a lot of pain. I had the equivalent of third degree burns in the treatment area due to the intense radiation treatments, all of which made going to the bathroom extremely painful and exhausting. The first two weeks of radiation treatment caused no visible side effects other than fatigue, but after the third week I started to succumb to the peak of the side effects. By this time, it became painful to walk, and I shuffled around slowly with my arms held close to my body like a T-Rex. The 5FU chemotherapy severely dehydrated me, and the skin on my hands began to peel away in strips and flakes. My fingers were darkly pigmented and were scattered with brown freckles. My tongue had brown spots and I also suffered from stomatitis, sores on my lips and in my mouth, which made it difficult to drink and eat. I was sensitive to light and had hot flashes several times daily followed by chills despite the 70+ degree weather outside.
At the hospital, I was given an IV for saline and hydration. I also received two bags worth of blood in transfusion because my own blood had become low in the component that carries oxygen throughout the body. I was grateful to be in a safe environment to recuperate since help and pain relief were just a click away. I spent most of the time sleeping, healing, and getting the kind of pain management that only a round the clock hospital staff can provide. It gave me relief from the constant pill swallowing that I was doing at home, which did not succesfully hold the pain at bay. With three meals a day being presented to me, I started to eat again very cautiously. At home, I had developed a psychological block to eating and would have no appetite for days in a row. I know it was weakening me not to eat, but the sores in my mouth and the fear of having to make a painful BM later prevented me from making the rational decision to eat. My days passed quickly and I lost track of time and dates. My family came to visit often and so did a few friends. There were moments where I felt my strength returning and others where I felt like I was backsliding into the abyss. Good memory, concentration, focus and lucidity were not my constant companions during this time, but my body was at least on the mend now that the relentless attack of radiation beams and chemo drugs had stopped.
I asked my oncologist if my admittance to the hospital was similar to the experience of other cancer patients. In some way, I felt disappointed and scared to have made it all the way through treatment only to end up in the hospital. She said that it happens quite often since treatment is really intense and most patients either opt not to finish at all or they want to stop and start again in order to rest in between. I didn't realize that I had that choice as a patient, but I am glad that I didn't know so that I could just forge ahead and be done with it. The doctor said she was actually surprised that I lasted that long before being admitted. She said it will be about 10 to 14 days before I start to feel remotely normal again, but it may be a month before I'm fully restored after the residual side effects start to fade away. I have 6 to 8 weeks to rest and shore up before my operation in September.
After 5 days, I was discharged from the hospital with an armload of prescription pills to help ease my transition home. I had a lot of anxiety about leaving the safe haven of the hospital. I am back at home resting on the couch which has become my permanent station during recuperation. I have a tray table with my water bottle, medications, lotion for my hands, tissues, my book, all within easy reach. I can reach up and open the window to let in cool air during a hot flash or close it if the chills overtake me. Visitors can easily stop in and sit with me for a while and I can watch my kids play when they are home for the weekend. It is much cheerier than being stuck in my bedroom the whole time. The kids are back up at my dad and stepmom's house getting love and attention and lots of playtime with my half-sister Diane. Winston is at work all day. Right now, I am reading a book called "Colon Cancer: Beating the Odds". My cousin Thuy in Hawaii sent it to me and I've been reading it during the brief moments I'm awake. It's an actual memoir written by an OB nurse who was diagnosed with colon cancer and her fight to get through it. Since I don't know anyone right now who has colon cancer who I can talk to, this book has been my comfort and my companion since I can relate to everything she's going through and she is giving the reader so much insight into the experience.
Anyway, I am surprised that I was able to write this much but I need to go and rest now. I will read a few more chapters of my book and then surrender myself to sleep. Thank you to all of you who called, visited, sent cards, left voicemails. All of it cheers me up. And although I may not always be able to respond, I want you to know that your friendship is appreciated and is contributing to my healing. Signing off for now, with love, Di.
At the hospital, I was given an IV for saline and hydration. I also received two bags worth of blood in transfusion because my own blood had become low in the component that carries oxygen throughout the body. I was grateful to be in a safe environment to recuperate since help and pain relief were just a click away. I spent most of the time sleeping, healing, and getting the kind of pain management that only a round the clock hospital staff can provide. It gave me relief from the constant pill swallowing that I was doing at home, which did not succesfully hold the pain at bay. With three meals a day being presented to me, I started to eat again very cautiously. At home, I had developed a psychological block to eating and would have no appetite for days in a row. I know it was weakening me not to eat, but the sores in my mouth and the fear of having to make a painful BM later prevented me from making the rational decision to eat. My days passed quickly and I lost track of time and dates. My family came to visit often and so did a few friends. There were moments where I felt my strength returning and others where I felt like I was backsliding into the abyss. Good memory, concentration, focus and lucidity were not my constant companions during this time, but my body was at least on the mend now that the relentless attack of radiation beams and chemo drugs had stopped.
I asked my oncologist if my admittance to the hospital was similar to the experience of other cancer patients. In some way, I felt disappointed and scared to have made it all the way through treatment only to end up in the hospital. She said that it happens quite often since treatment is really intense and most patients either opt not to finish at all or they want to stop and start again in order to rest in between. I didn't realize that I had that choice as a patient, but I am glad that I didn't know so that I could just forge ahead and be done with it. The doctor said she was actually surprised that I lasted that long before being admitted. She said it will be about 10 to 14 days before I start to feel remotely normal again, but it may be a month before I'm fully restored after the residual side effects start to fade away. I have 6 to 8 weeks to rest and shore up before my operation in September.
After 5 days, I was discharged from the hospital with an armload of prescription pills to help ease my transition home. I had a lot of anxiety about leaving the safe haven of the hospital. I am back at home resting on the couch which has become my permanent station during recuperation. I have a tray table with my water bottle, medications, lotion for my hands, tissues, my book, all within easy reach. I can reach up and open the window to let in cool air during a hot flash or close it if the chills overtake me. Visitors can easily stop in and sit with me for a while and I can watch my kids play when they are home for the weekend. It is much cheerier than being stuck in my bedroom the whole time. The kids are back up at my dad and stepmom's house getting love and attention and lots of playtime with my half-sister Diane. Winston is at work all day. Right now, I am reading a book called "Colon Cancer: Beating the Odds". My cousin Thuy in Hawaii sent it to me and I've been reading it during the brief moments I'm awake. It's an actual memoir written by an OB nurse who was diagnosed with colon cancer and her fight to get through it. Since I don't know anyone right now who has colon cancer who I can talk to, this book has been my comfort and my companion since I can relate to everything she's going through and she is giving the reader so much insight into the experience.
Anyway, I am surprised that I was able to write this much but I need to go and rest now. I will read a few more chapters of my book and then surrender myself to sleep. Thank you to all of you who called, visited, sent cards, left voicemails. All of it cheers me up. And although I may not always be able to respond, I want you to know that your friendship is appreciated and is contributing to my healing. Signing off for now, with love, Di.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Update from Nina
Di is being discharged from Overlake today and will be recovering at home. Thank you for all of those who called and visited and sent your well wishes during her hospital stay. We are all looking forward to Di's recovery period from radiation and chemo in the next 6-8 weeks. Di will update her blog once she is home.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Update from Nina
Friends and Family of Di,
I am updating Di's site so that you all have the latest news. Di ended her radiation and chemotherapy treatment today. Her doctors were concerned with some of the side effects of her treatment and to be cautious about possible infection, she's been checked into Overlake hospital for the next 3-4 days. She has some discomfort but the doctors and nurses and working to keep her comfortable. I'll provide more updates as she progresses through the hospital stay.
I am updating Di's site so that you all have the latest news. Di ended her radiation and chemotherapy treatment today. Her doctors were concerned with some of the side effects of her treatment and to be cautious about possible infection, she's been checked into Overlake hospital for the next 3-4 days. She has some discomfort but the doctors and nurses and working to keep her comfortable. I'll provide more updates as she progresses through the hospital stay.
Monday, July 7, 2008
In Absentia
Five weeks down and one to go! Posts are few and far between due to side effects and drug-induced haze. Wouldn't want to be responsible for any crazy posts in the meantime. Powering through this last week. Thanks for all the support and well-wishes. I'll catch up on phone calls and emails next week when I hope to feel better and start to heal. I am encouraging guest posts, so if anyone is interested in keeping the blog going while I'm out of it, please let me know. Love you all....
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Is Cancer a Word or a Sentence?
There's not much to be done about the physical pain. Sure there are pills and ointments, but you reach a certain pain threshold and then it becomes programmed into your daily routine. It's not the cancer itself that hurts, because the tumor sits there like a silent killer hoping not to draw attention to itself. It's the side effects from the daily chemoradiation that knock me down. If pain is the price I have to pay, then so be it because I will assassinate this tumor before it assassinates me- take no prisoners. This temporary pain will eventually pass and be duly filed away and dimly remembered, much like the pain of childbirth for most women. However, time heals some kinds of pain, but it intensifies others. My emotional state is what I can control, and I realized that the emotional health of others is just as important as my own during this battle. Everyone reacts differently and has their own coping mechanism, and I've learned to be sensitive to that and take care of others as much as they are taking care of me.
As my mom battled her own cancer, she would not communicate with us to any real extent about her state of mind or her emotional needs. She would never finish the conversation if I broached the subject. She wanted to protect us, to be brave for us, to battle silently so that she might spare us from her own horrific experience. But what she didn't realize was that we were on the trip anyway, with no pilot. Only as she lay in her morphine-induced sleep would I hear her recalling names, random bits of stories, and even see her shedding silent tears. I wish that I could have understood what she had been thinking and feeling at the time because she must have been grieving for herself even as we grieved for her. Even though she fought bravely for two years and we had all that time to say goodbye, we could not mine the depths of her heart and her mind so we were never ready to let her go. After my mom passed away, my siblings and I did not grow closer. We actually all retreated into our own separate lives and grieved in our own way. Over the years, we found our way back to each other and became closer than ever after the birth our nephew Connor and eventually the birth of our little half-sister, Diane. My cousins went through the same kind of hazy experience with their mom when she died of liver cancer, and now they are celebrating the birth of their first nephew, Zuri.
The cycles of life and death will draw families and friends closer or tear them apart. But it is just as important to test your love and faith in each other in the moments in between. Cancer is so much more than a word, but it's not a sentence either- it doesn't have to be. Even as scary, painful and private as cancer can be, I have chosen to let my loved ones in because that is what I can do for them. If I kept everyone at arm's length, if I didn't want to see or talk to anyone about this experience, then I would be building a prison for myself and not letting life have visitation rights. I would be laboring under the false assumption that I am protecting those I love when in fact I would be inadvertently causing pain to those who just want to be here for me as I go through this. By letting friends and family love me and help me, it mitigates both the physical and emotional pain. It creates a circle of good energy and contributes immensely to my well-being as I fight this. It allows my loved ones to stand up for me as their own means of coping with the whole ordeal, and it truly brings out the best in each person when they are allowed to express themselves fully without being shut out, sanctioned or turned away.
This blog is not meant to scare, inconvenience, lecture, nor obligate anyone. You are here by invitation and can re-visit as many times as you like or not at all. That's the beauty of it. I am neither sugar-coating nor muddling the truth about cancer either. By stripping away the fear and stigma that surrounds cancer, by being candid and laying my emotions bare, I am reaching out to the hands held out to me and holding fast to those who want to help me. Cancer doesn't have to be a death sentence. More to the point, it is a life sentence because I will carry this experience with me forever even after the cancer is cut out. But also because of it, I will live more fully and let those in my life know just how much I've always loved and needed them. No one should be left guessing nor be made to fill in the blanks. If I didn't say it before, I will be sure to let each and every one of you know now while I have the opportunity to do so.
This post is dedicated to my friends Alieke, Edith, Steve S., Jim C., Gina B., Lisa M. and Bonita who all have a mother, father or aunt who have faced brave battles of their own. Please know that you and your loved ones are in my thoughts and prayers as well. Cancer touches us all in one way or another, and we should build a community of love and support to sustain us. I am here for you too.
As my mom battled her own cancer, she would not communicate with us to any real extent about her state of mind or her emotional needs. She would never finish the conversation if I broached the subject. She wanted to protect us, to be brave for us, to battle silently so that she might spare us from her own horrific experience. But what she didn't realize was that we were on the trip anyway, with no pilot. Only as she lay in her morphine-induced sleep would I hear her recalling names, random bits of stories, and even see her shedding silent tears. I wish that I could have understood what she had been thinking and feeling at the time because she must have been grieving for herself even as we grieved for her. Even though she fought bravely for two years and we had all that time to say goodbye, we could not mine the depths of her heart and her mind so we were never ready to let her go. After my mom passed away, my siblings and I did not grow closer. We actually all retreated into our own separate lives and grieved in our own way. Over the years, we found our way back to each other and became closer than ever after the birth our nephew Connor and eventually the birth of our little half-sister, Diane. My cousins went through the same kind of hazy experience with their mom when she died of liver cancer, and now they are celebrating the birth of their first nephew, Zuri.
The cycles of life and death will draw families and friends closer or tear them apart. But it is just as important to test your love and faith in each other in the moments in between. Cancer is so much more than a word, but it's not a sentence either- it doesn't have to be. Even as scary, painful and private as cancer can be, I have chosen to let my loved ones in because that is what I can do for them. If I kept everyone at arm's length, if I didn't want to see or talk to anyone about this experience, then I would be building a prison for myself and not letting life have visitation rights. I would be laboring under the false assumption that I am protecting those I love when in fact I would be inadvertently causing pain to those who just want to be here for me as I go through this. By letting friends and family love me and help me, it mitigates both the physical and emotional pain. It creates a circle of good energy and contributes immensely to my well-being as I fight this. It allows my loved ones to stand up for me as their own means of coping with the whole ordeal, and it truly brings out the best in each person when they are allowed to express themselves fully without being shut out, sanctioned or turned away.
This blog is not meant to scare, inconvenience, lecture, nor obligate anyone. You are here by invitation and can re-visit as many times as you like or not at all. That's the beauty of it. I am neither sugar-coating nor muddling the truth about cancer either. By stripping away the fear and stigma that surrounds cancer, by being candid and laying my emotions bare, I am reaching out to the hands held out to me and holding fast to those who want to help me. Cancer doesn't have to be a death sentence. More to the point, it is a life sentence because I will carry this experience with me forever even after the cancer is cut out. But also because of it, I will live more fully and let those in my life know just how much I've always loved and needed them. No one should be left guessing nor be made to fill in the blanks. If I didn't say it before, I will be sure to let each and every one of you know now while I have the opportunity to do so.
This post is dedicated to my friends Alieke, Edith, Steve S., Jim C., Gina B., Lisa M. and Bonita who all have a mother, father or aunt who have faced brave battles of their own. Please know that you and your loved ones are in my thoughts and prayers as well. Cancer touches us all in one way or another, and we should build a community of love and support to sustain us. I am here for you too.
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