Happy Anniversary

Bald to Bold

I started to leave my head uncovered 10 days ago. Until then, I had felt naked not covering my bald head when I’m outside the house even if it’s just a few steps from the door. I'd pull on my head scarf when there are visitors. I just felt naked without it.

A timely reminder from a friend set me thinking, “There is nothing to be ashamed of. You are showing people this is what cancer survivors are going through in their process of recovery.” I admit that I’m not comfortable exposing my baldness due to my vanity. But under the hot weather, taking my hat off gives instant relief as sweat trickling down my forehead. Even then, I still hesitated in stepping out of my comfort zone. I don’t want heads turn as I walk pass.

But remove my hat I did, for the first time in the public when I went jungle trekking the next day after the conversation with my friend. Except for a few brief and curious stare from some kids, nothing happen. It was so refreshing feeling the breeze against my scalp.

I started to bare my head when going out to get groceries and meeting with friends. However, I still felt a tinge of “uncomfortableness” in doing so.  But there is a voice in me that dare me to continue.

On yesterday’s Wesak celebration, encouraged by this voice and motivated by the hot sun I went to the Buddhist temple and joined the procession bald headed. This means the whole community in this small settlement where everybody knows everybody saw me. I even have to go up the stage to say a few words on the fund raising we were doing. I was a little self-conscious and that’s just about it. Some asked me why I shaved while others who know my condition were cool about it.

The next morning, I felt incredibly good. A familiar sense of empowerment came washing over -- I will  decide when and where to cover or expose my head, not dictated by what others will think. I embrace my baldness. Now I know what the voice is trying to tell me. The self-consciousness was disempowering. Having to hide my baldness countered the joy I had from being authentic. My subconscious was not at peace with it and hence the voice. It feels good to have the power back.

First jungle trekking in 7 months after the surgery and appearing  in public without  my crown

The Journey

11 October 2013. With my sis just before being wheeled into the OT.

12 November 2013. First chemo

29 November 2013. The last photo taken before going bald

29 November 2013. Having fun shaving

Hair all gone

03 December 2013. 2nd chemo

15 December 2013. Christmas gift exchange

22 December 2013. Winter Solstice Celebration with old folks in Sungai Buloh

24 December 2013. 3rd chemo

1 February 2014. CNY family gathering

6th Fenruary 2014. 5th chemo

15 March 2014. Was awarded with chemotherapy course graduation certificate by the H.I.P. Girls

Graduation photo

This one's rare and precious

As this chapter is coming to an end, I move on with a renewed appreciation for life.

Six chemos later…

It has been five months and six rounds of chemo (sixth and last round on 28^th Feb) since my diagnosis during which I have the luxury of “me time” spent in reflection. From unsettling thoughts to insightful discernment, there are things that I used to say but they are now uttered with conviction and reverberate through every part of my being.

I’m referring to my relationship with my life and mortality.

I know very well that being sick and dying happen to everyone, that nothing is permanent. However, they were always other people’s stories. This time, it is different. Things happened to me. Although it is not terminal and I’ve declared myself a survivor, this first person view has put things in better perspective and advanced my relationship with life and mortality.

After the diagnosis, news or articles of death relating to cancer disturbed me. When I read studies on cancer survival rate, I felt I’m part of the statistics. I don’t know whether this is a common symptom among cancer survivors.  What it did to me was striking me with a sudden wave of anxiety at the thought of death. I couldn’t explain why it was so terrifying. On hindsight, I now realize that it was the first time I had a glimpse of the finishing line. We all know we are going to die one day but it is always a remote idea. Very few had the opportunity to come so close to the finishing line, even if it’s just in their mind. It’s like we have been on a cruise to a destination which the arrival date is unknown. The journey feels like forever and we identify ourselves as a permanent passenger more than a traveller. Along the cruise, we learn from and indulge in everything our senses could feed us, form relationships, accumulate treasures and memories. This is the only world we know. We are too occupied with it we forget about the destination or what happen when we get there. After all, it is a strange and far away land. So, we continue to cruise. I’m on the cruise having the time of my life when somebody shouts the land of my destination suddenly appear in the horizon. I am to abandon everything and prepare to disembark anytime. Only me. To an unknown land. The faint sight of my destination makes me nervous. For all the stories I heard about it on the cruise, I realize I haven’t been preparing myself enough for it. There is no definite date of arrival yet. Each day on the cruise will bring me closer there, I just don’t know when. And I hate surprises. This explains the anxiety I felt.

By now, I’ve learned the best way to deal with it is to make peace. Make peace with mortality. I have to say, seeing it so up close is very from different from knowing it. It is a reality vs an idea.

The reality started to sink in after I saw a video shared on FB. It wasn’t something new but it struck a chord with me at just the right time. Death is a natural phenomenon, just like sickness. But it strikes fear every time it’s mentioned. Our society defies death and sickness. We struggle with it. Very often, this is what makes it more unbearable than the physical suffering. People accumulate too much, be it possessions or hatred/ regret, to let go. And the uncertainty of what’s in store for them beyond the finishing line makes it scarier.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_56UYN10bA

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oycJE_FUSzo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0Jd4hJBwHg

The fact is we don’t suddenly become peaceful at the moment of death. It is how we live that builds up to the last moment. Perhaps I should add; it is how we live, fully aware of the finishing line that builds up to the last moment. Note it is how, not what. Living to the fullest to me doesn’t include how many countries I’ve visited, whether I’ve done bungee jumping and skydiving or tasted all the rare delicacies.  What is more important is, am I fully there? Am I fully there to experience the richness of my emotions? I vividly remember the feeling I had when I took a sip of the hot soup during lunch alone in a shopping mall and another time while watching my two cats playing. I don’t have enough vocabulary in me to describe but it just felt…”that’s all I need right now”

Although I can proudly say I have not wasted my life, I now have a deeper appreciation in living it. 

Presence and authenticity. Living with them have enriched my life in ways more than I could imagine. At the very least, being whole and fulfilled are not just words now. I can feel it. I feel so light and yet grounded by a strong sense of “being”, as opposed to this feeling I once described as walking on the street but felt “not fully there” as if a part of me has been locked away in a safe.

I like where I am now in my journey. Being aware of the final destination but not knowing when I’ll reach makes enjoying it the best thing to do. I look forward to exploring the rest of it. I treasure the connections with my fellow travellers. And I can imagine I’ll continue to grow as I sail on. When I feel safe and loved, the transition is not so dreadful anymore. Because I’m home already. It is the very purpose of the whole journey.

Celebrate life (epiphany from the chemo centre)

Prior to my first chemo, I mentally prepared myself for a scene of grim and sombre looking people at the chemo centre and determined not to be affected by it. Contrary to what I imagined, I was cheerfully greeted by the staff and most of the patients there. Probably because we are on the same boat, we can easily strike a conversation. Whether it is a direct interaction or through my sis who is my ambassador, there is always a sense of camaraderie and air of optimism. We share our medical conditions, the side effects and exchange ideas of the antidote, and sometimes a word of encouragement to each other.

Some of them are in more advanced stages. There is a woman with breast cancer more the five years ago and had since metastasized to her lungs, brain and ovary. I learned of her condition from my sis who chatted with her. She described them in a matter-of-factly tone. My sis said she didn’t see any traces of resignation or anguish in her expression. Although look a bit thin, she’s still going strong and is capable of taking care of herself. Another man who has fourth stage prostate cancer which spread to his bones was there with his wife on my last chemo. According to his wife, he was told to have only a few months to live but it has been more than three years now.  For him, it’s still life as usual; eat well, sleep well and travel occasionally. He certainly doesn’t look sick to me.  What I see in them is not desperation to prolong their lives. I marvel at how they live with such courage despite the flag at the finishing line waving at them in the horizon. The difference is they see theirs while most of us have yet to notice ours, not that they aren’t there. Sometimes we don’t know how strong we are until we come face to face with a crisis. It takes courage to face it and facing it gives us more courage.

And there’s these two women who are in their last lap of treatment. Both are looking forward to celebrating their “graduation”. It seems to me that it is more than celebrating a graduation. I somehow feel we have all intrinsically learned to celebrate life. Being shown the hard truth of our own mortality is a good wake-up call to examine our attitude towards life which can be taken away anytime. That calls for an urgency to live it well. Instead of worrying when will be the end of it, we celebrate each day by living it.

Fear

Seeing how I manage since my diagnosis, friends generally said I’m a strong person. I didn't pretend to be strong. I am the way I am because I’m at peace with it. But I’m not fearless. There were moments when the fear was very real. I’m not referring to the kind of fear that suggests immediate danger to our personal safety. I've learned that the best way to deal with fear (or any negative emotion), is to face it. That means to acknowledge its existence and not running away from it. Easier said than done. Being in fear is very uncomfortable. We feel not in control. There are uncertainties. We imagine all the possibilities that freak us out even more.

Sometimes we don’t realize we are trying to run away. Diverting our attention, reacting in anger, denial – these are some of our favourite escape mechanisms from fear. From past experience, they only give temporary relief, if any at all.

I experienced different phases of fear since the first biopsy. Sometimes it was right in my face that it suffocated me or it could build up subtly and crept in when my level of awareness was low. Since fear and inner peace cannot coexist and the latter is very important to me, I have to use whatever skills I have to deal with my fear.

As much as I don’t like its visit, I know I can’t keep it at bay. It’s like one of those annoying, nosy, know-it-all, ranks on the top of the family hierarchy relatives who you are obliged to let into your house. So the best way live with it is to get to know them and find ways to disarm them.

My fear happened in different phases. After having it as my frequent guest and seen how I react in each phase, I gained some insight into fear management. It will be my tool when I feel its presence, and to be improved as I work on them.

     (a)  Be aware that past experience and information we picked up randomly form our perception. When we   hear the big word CANCER, the images that come to the mind are of patients in pain and long intensive treatments with no guaranteed success. Life would take a drastic change to a bitter struggle to live as long as they can. The same goes for chemotherapy. I dreaded chemo (but it happened anyway) because of the horror stories I heard about it like cancer patients died of the side effects from chemo, not the cancer. I remember vividly a scene from the movie Dying Young where male character vomited violently after his chemo.

     

         Know this and get the facts right. People tend to exaggerate stories, possibly to make it more impressive or out of the necessity to drive home a point. Worse goes for stuff we see on tv and movies. Find out from the correct sources. Listen objectively. The information that helped me most was from those who had gone through the same experience and the doctors. They put things in perspective and a more positive outlook for me. I had a better grasp of how things would evolve and feel more in control. It also helps to stay out of negative people and absorb as much positive stories as possible during this time.

     (b)  Next is the fear of an impending event, something inevitable.  During the times leading to my post-surgery biopsy results and first chemotherapy session, fear would strike me in the middle of my sleep (be it during a nap or at night). While I have done my homework on what to expect, I still have that underlying fear of how it would actually turn out.  

     

          And I was convinced yet again that the best way to overcome is always is to go through it. Most of the time it’s our projection of how things will be that scares the s**t out of us. I didn’t die of shock on hearing my biopsy result although certain part of the news caused some fear due to reason as in (a.) above.   I just went through my second chemo session. The level of physical discomfort was like what was described to me – uncomfortable but bearable. Emotionally, it wasn’t even half as difficult as enduring the ordeal from speculating how hard it is going to be. 

         Just do it. The act itself dispels fear for we can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Pay attention on what we do and experience just as it is. Nothing more, nothing less. Stop speculating and stay in the present moment. I can promise that it is not fearful as we thought. The bonus is it might have an irreversible gut boosting effect. You’ll emerge from it a more courageous person.

    (c)   Now that I’m at peace with the treatment, another lesson presents itself -- the fear of recurrence (relapse) in the future, and death. It is partly the result of reading up too much on the internet. 

         This is fear of a possibility. Although I've been exposed to contemplation of death in my spiritual practice and even attended courses about it, it was never felt so real like this time. This is by far the closest I've come face to face with death. It may sound ridiculous but that shows just how farsighted I am. 

         I’m uncomfortable with it. I know I’m letting it affects my emotional quality for something that might not happen at all. There’s a thing with fear. We’ll get tired of being scared after some time. It leads us to look deeply into the cause the fear. Since it is just a possibility, it’s really silly to be scared. But the paradox is, uncertainty is the very reason for the fear. 

    

           Then it dawn on me that it is just a matter of choice. Given the time I have (which nobody will know how much), I can either choose to nourish my body and soul or to live in fear. While the future is unpredictable, it will be definitely be influenced by what we do NOW. Do what is within our control and live by it. Live well and live fully. If what has to happen really happens, refer to (a) and (b) for guidance.

Throughout my relationship with fear, I benefit greatly from the practice of mindfulness. This is a practice in Buddhism (but is not exclusively practiced by the Buddhists) taught through meditation. One learns to see things as they are, experience the phenomenon at the present moment, without judgment and resistance.

The most fearful thing is fear itself. Most of the time, we are crippled by fear instead of what is actually happening. The key is, don’t fear fear. The more we get to understand it, the better we can manage it.

No Complaints

A friend who learns of my condition after my first chemo asked me how I feel. I know she meant emotionally. My reply to her was summarized into simply, “I have more positive than negative emotions.” From the mammogram results to the biopsy and now after the first chemo, I have waves of love and gratitude washing over me.

It probably sounds paradoxical that I felt a deep sense of gratitude after being diagnosed with cancer and having to go through surgery followed by a list of treatments. Life has its ups and downs. My “down” has been cushioned by many wonderful blessings that make the fall less painful.

I’m grateful that it comes at this time of my life when I know what self-love is. It is a feeling of being loved unconditionally, regardless of who I am and whatever situation I’m in. I feel whole and safe. It’s as if this someone who is ever loving, forgiving and wise is always there for me, assuring that I’m good enough. The feeling is profoundly comforting. It empowers me in times of doubt, making me love myself even more for having the courage to face the challenges despite my fears.

I’m grateful that I’m loved and surrounded by supportive family members and friends. I’ve said this many times and can’t say it enough – I feel very loved and blessed to have you all in my life. To my mum, 很感谢你对我无微不至的照顾。看到你那么辛苦让我感到有一点内疚。To my sis who is there for me throughout the whole journey, I’m blessed to have you as my sis. Both of you make me a very proud daughter and sister.  To all my friends, words can’t describe how overwhelmed I am by the love and care showered on me since I broke the news. Thanks for letting me know I’m not alone in this. You’ll never know how important you are to your loved ones or they are to you until things happen. I’m overdosed with love that I have so much of it to give away. Love you all.

I’m grateful that I have a healthy body to carry me through the surgery and chemotherapy. Thanks to regular exercise and home cooked food (again, credits to my mum), my immune system is fairly strong.  Medical check-ups have always shown a clean bill of health. I was whisked into the operation theatre after taking the supplement from my friends that is supposed to speed up my recovery. I hardly suffered any post-surgery pain.  The next challenge is chemotherapy. My cancer was serendipitously diagnosed in October, a month in which cancer-related awareness campaign and activities abound.  A thoughtful friend who showed me a newspaper cutting of a qigong group known for its track record with cancer survivors brought me to this practice, in time to learn some basic moves in preparation for the chemo.  At the same time, mum worked on putting some extra pounds on me.  Armed with a positive mindset and backed by a big cheering team, I went for the first chemo one month after the surgery. The first three days was nauseous and tiring. I felt like throwing up all the time and spent most of the day lying on the couch panting. I had no appetite but still patiently chewed and swallowed my food. The mere sight of food on my favourite Travel and Living Channel triggered the urge to puke. But I was back on my feet on the fourth day. On Day 6, I was feeling just like before the chemo. Thankfully, it was bearable.

I’m grateful that the cancer was discovered at an early stage. It hadn’t spread. My breast surgeon was very reassuring. I have no doubt that I’m in good hands and trusted her when she said the survival rate is very high. It is a wake-up call for me to not take health for granted. Moving forward, it will only get better. I’m committed to lead a healthy life – physically, mentally and spiritually.

I’m grateful that I’m grateful. To know and live in gratitude is one of the highest blessings. All these, make me feel I have no right to think that being diagnosed with this cancer is unfortunate. What more can I complain?