Curtains for Act I

Eighteen months have passed since I've started this blog. That's a long time by any measure, and I think it's time to wind up this intense focus on my health and welfare. 

I originally started it to allay the fears of my family and friends scattered all over the world. It was a selfish move, because I didn't want to repeat myself over the phone a thousand times. As it turned out, many other people found my cogitations interesting and even 'inspirational'. 

So, to summarise the current situation:  as far as we know, the cancer is in remission (can't say it's gone completely, because nobody knows).  I feel fine.  There are days when my feet no longer hurt, and I am very conscious of the absence of pain. I can walk up the stairs without huffing and puffing and no longer use the lift in train stations. I go dragon boating once a week and I try to do some form of exercise (qigong and swimming) at least 4 times a week.   

My weight is stable at what it was before the cancer diagnosis (which is still way too high, I know), and I am getting fitter every day and hoping to shift the flab eventually. 

I can't do dragon boat racing (yet), because I discovered that it induces my 'episodes', the adrenal storms that have been plaguing me for the past 22 years. I also can't work 5 days a week in an office anymore, because it's just too tiring: my knees lock and my right side, the site of the surgery, gets sore (possibly from the accumulation of lymph due to sitting in one place, I don't know).  Although the 'chemo brain' is improving, I still can't focus for long periods of time and I can't multi-task (my forte in pre-cancer days).

My interests have also shifted markedly. I am no longer a news junkie, and I pick my intellectual and every other fights very carefully. Mostly, I slough off unpleasantness, whether directed at me or not. I can't watch the news without crying, so I don't.  I just listen on the radio. 

What else is different?  Every day I say the she-he-he-yanu prayer that I've lived to see another beautiful day. I am calmer and more accepting of things as they are, and am no longer terrified of dying. I am still planning to live for another 20 years, but if not, I still think I've had a good trot. My plan for whatever remains is to continue writing my screenplays, short stories and books that have been in the planning stages forever, and to actually finish and sell them.  Also, I am getting more involved in doing community relations work – interfaith and living in harmony. 

Some people tell me that they are happy they had the cancer, because their life is better now than before. How awful! My life was fine before and will be fine after, albeit different. The cancer hasn't stopped me from being my crazy me. It simply forced me to look at what I am doing, accept the good and the bad and freed me up to adjust the trajectory of my life in the direction that I really want it to go. 

Needless to say, I could not have done all this without the love, good wishes and help from all of you out there for whom I wrote this blog. 

Love you all and thanks for everything. 

 

Chinese New Year

I must tell you about one of the most amazing experiences I've had in the past couple of months: the Chinese New Year dragon boat challenge, which took place on 15th and 16th of February.

Sydney has a large Chinese population - about 6 per cent of the greater metropolitan area, and about 10 per cent in the central business district. Chinese New Year celebrations last about three weeks, and one of the highlights is the dragon boat race on Darling Harbour. One of the competing clubs is Dragons Abreast Sydney - my club. The day after this race, there is a second day of racing, which includes the Dragons Abreast Challenge and the Doctors' Challenge.

After the conclusion of the Dragons Abreast Challenge (which my team won in all categories!!) there is an amazing event, called the Flower Ceremony, to commemorate the men and women who died of breast cancer. There is a minute silence, then the names of those who died the previous year - probably in the Sydney area, but I am not sure of that - are read out. The ceremony concludes with the dragon boaters throwing rose petals on the water.

In addition to being highly emotional, the Flower Ceremony is also a visual feast. It begins with the dragon boats lining up, side by side. The drummers link arms to keep the boats aligned as they move as one block towards the centre of the harbour. There, they slowly turn 180 degress to face the city. The paddlers wear mostly pink, so you have this incredible patch of pink in the middle of the dark water. The rose petals are also pink. It's a pink moment.

I goofed all the way and almost missed the action. I was told that unfortunately there were not enough boats for all of us, but I can participate in the ceremony on shore. I had been paired with one of the old timers and was not lose sight of her for dear life. Well, of course I did!

I went mad with my almost new digital SLR camera and clicked over 100 pictures, before I realised that, not only didn't I see my 'pair', but I had no idea where I should go. In the end, I did find the group on shore and did get a handful of petals and fell apart thinking of our Susan and Eva, who died of breast cancer 21 and 18 years ago, respectively. And all I could think of how awful it was that they didn't have this strong support that is available for us.

It was also quite sobering to think that, should I end up dying of breast cancer (G-d forbid!) then I will be remembered in such a public way. I don't know whether it was comforting, but it was very confronting facing my mortality in such a concrete way.

The nicest part of it all was, when I was told that everyone was looking for me, because they made arrangements for one of the old time racers to give up her seat, so I could experience the event from a boat. Such consideration seems endemic in the team.

During the afternoon there was the Doctors' Challenge, in which medical personnel from area hospitals - i.e. our doctors and carers - chased each other through the water. My hospital came last. Probably because my surgeon and oncologist did not participate (they did in the past). The Professor was busy exploring Antarctica! So, he missed the second most amazing part of the day, the honour guard. As the medics get off the boat, Dragons Abreast members form an honour arch with their paddles to thank them for their care in the past.

Oh, before I sign off, yes I did do one race on Saturday. It was amazing. With my eyes glued to the stroke, I didn't hear anything except the sound of the drum and the sweep's call. It was only 200 meters, but by the end I really wanted to pull my paddle in (which is allowed!). But I didn't. As I left the boat, I was wrecked with the most profound crying when I realised that I'd done it. It was almost exactly one year to the day that I had my last chemo and could hardly put one foot before the other. After the race, the team leader told the group why I was crying and they responded by a resounding cheer: Hip, hip hooray!

I second that. It's a miracle after my anno horribilis.

Getting on with it

I know. I've been lax keeping up this blog and you may be wondering how I am and what am I doing. Well, you know the old saying: no news is good news. It's true. Life has gotten back on its track and I am trying to go with the flow.

This 9-5 routine takes up a lot of one's time. I haven't done it for years and it's really interesting how fast one forgets the daily grind: early to rise, the public transportation crunch and 7 hour sit by the computer, then the transportation crunch backwards, and when you get home, you can start your own day - cooking, socialising, living. It's pretty full on. I can't imagine how I raised Tunde, built the house in Takoma Park and did everything else. People here think I do too much, but when I think about how much I did 20 years ago, I get tired just from the memory.

So, I am not trying to reinvent the wheel and go back to the stresses and strains of life as I knew it before, but I am trying to get on with my 'new' (post cancer) life while staying financially independent.

One of the interesting aspects of all this is that I prioritise things differently. Whatever interests me goes in the calendar and I make arrangements with friends to do things as before. However, if I am tired, or the weather is awful, I just cancel without feeling guilty. I guess one great plus of the post-cancer age is a guilt-free life. It's rather nice.