Starts with W, Rhymes with Furry

Driving to Phoenix for my oncologist appointment, I find myself trembling. My heart is beating faster and I think I really need to cut out the caffeine.

The waiting room fills me with the usual dread: elderly people with scarves wrapped around their bald heads, the walking canes, wheelchairs and bandages. I want to shout, I’m not sick! I don’t belong here.  At the same time, I know it has not been that long since I was tightly wrapped with two drains coming out of my chest, and expanders under my chest muscles.

I can’t forget and I shouldn’t.

 A woman in her late sixties with a silky Louis Vuitton scarf wrapped around her bare head walks slowly. Her husband holds her arm by the elbow with both of his hands. They walk to the restroom and then to the doctor’s office. They take each step carefully.

I’m called in for the draw.

The room is small and crowded with three chairs. The chairs have planks like small school desks for arms to rest on.

Did they take your lymph nodes?

Yes.

Which arm?

Both.

She raises both eyebrows.

I add, Not all of them, just a few…you know…for the biopsy. I am rambling.

Which arm shall I use?

I lay both arms out for us to assess.

She chooses my left arm.

The room is freezing and my trembling has turned to shaking.

“Are you OK?” She is concerned because I look away. I know what’s coming. They can never find a vein. They never find it without moving the needle all around.

She wiggles the needle. I take a peek. “See, I’m trying to get that one.” She points to a vague blue line. I nod.

After many apologies, her wiggling and my squeamishness pay off. Two vials fill quickly. The blood is a very deep red. I visualize only healthy cells in it.

Then comes the meeting with the RN.

She wants to hear how I have been doing. She wants to know how the Tamoxifen is working. I remind her I have been off of it for 9 months. I had told the doctor that it made me feel suicidal. He had given his blessing, proclaimed me cured anyway….but he didn’t put that in his notes. The RN appears embarrassed and adds that to my file. I sigh inwardly.

No cancer in your family? No.

So strange, you got it so young. I nod in agreement. It will always be a mystery.

She asks about any new developments. Concerns. I take advantage of this opportunity.

I’ve had what I’m sure is a hamstring injury.  Or bone cancer, I laugh weakly.

Is the pain intermittent or progressing?

Intermittent.

Her shoulders go back, her eyes get wide and she says in a soothing and authoritative tone:

Bone cancer is extremely painful.  The pain gets worse and worse. ALSO, it is extremely rare for breast cancer to spread below the groin. Extremely rare.  It sounds like a hamstring injury.

She recommends a heating pad and a Styrofoam roller.

After the Dirty Girl Mud Run in Phoenix

I am slightly relieved. Still…

She sees my concern.

If you want, I can order a bone scan. For your entire body. Not because I am worried, but because you are.

This is so generous of her!

This sounds thorough. This sounds like something I want. This will increase my chances of celebrating my 20^th, 25^th…heck, maybe even my 40^th wedding anniversary. This will increase the chances of holding my grandchildren someday.

Wait.

If I am developing a cancer that is NOT bone cancer, would that show up?

No, not in the bone scan.

Hm. I realize how crazy I am getting. I want a full body MRI. I want a full body bone scan. I want someone – someone who is an expert with an immaculate record – to tell me the cancer is gone and will never come back. But there are no guarantees. I don’t want to obsess over every achy muscle…over every itchy mole. The testing could go on and on and in some cases, actually increase my chances of recurrent cancer.

The RN tilts her head and smiles. I exhale.

Tell you what, why don’t you try the Styrofoam roller and heating pad?  If it doesn’t get better, call me. Call me any time.

This sounds reasonable. And generous.

I am to return in six months.

I walk into the sunshine. It’s not as hot as it has been. I’m excited about the new season as I get in my car.

 

I’m Right Here

My mom was here again, for another lovely visit.  Although most of her visits are always quite pleasant, there is one time I dread: dinner.  I have to be patient with my husband and my mom during dinner because she cannot shake the nasty habit of speaking to me ABOUT Willey in front of him. It is rooted in the depths of her Korean soul to speak as indirectly to him as possible. In so doing, she uses me as a communication vessel. It’s almost as if she feels the need for a translator, and it annoys Willey to no end. It’s like a scene from Groundhog Day: we just live it over and over and over again.

Yooni with her new eyelash extensions!

We were sitting down to a meal of sujehbee, my favorite dish of dumplings in spicy broth.
“Caroline, does he really like sujehbee?” My mother asks. I look at him. He is sitting directly across from my mom. I know what his line will be:

“Yooni, why don’t you just ask me? I’m right here.” He asks exasperatedly. My blood pressure rises. The girls look from halmoni to their father back to halmoni.  She covers her face with her hands. She used to just cover her mouth, but lately, she covers her entire face, and giggles.

“Do you like it, Willeeee?” She leans forward and asks with a renewed sparkle in her eyes.
“I LOVE sujehbee!” He exclaims. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m Willey, remember?”
She laughs some more.
Such a brazen display of flirtation!

↹↹↹

Preparing for bed, mom pulls the covers down and holds the TV remote. I am in the doorway of her guest room, saying good night.
“Caroline, have you seen this show?”
I look at the screen. There is an angry black woman with enormous gold hoop earrings yelling at a man. I don’t recognize this program.
“Hardcore Porn, they call.” She slips her legs under the cover.
I take another look. What? Why is she watching porn?! I don’t see any nudity and realize after a few more seconds, that she is not watching porn.
“Mom, Hardcore PAWN, not PORN.”
“Ohhhhh!” Again with the face hiding and laughter.

↹↹↹

I love dogs. I miss my dog Maggie. Even though I notified my mother by phone when Maggie died – despite knowing Maggie was gone – the first time my mother walked into our home following Maggie’s death, she looked around like a little kid and with tears streaming down her face, and asked in Korean, “Where is Maggie?” They were best buddies. They reminded me of each other: kind and meek to a fault. My mom walked Maggie every morning and sometimes in the afternoons, too. And even though she swears up and down that she didn’t feed her table scraps, I know she did.

Sadie the Lap Dog

We had hugged each other and cried, missing that dog. Now we have Sadie, who is an oversized lap dog with a strong personality. We think she’s part Labrador and part Pit Bull. I talk to this dog for the benefit of the family. After I pet her, she always shakes her whole body and I say things like, “Sadie, don’t shake my love off!” And now I hear the girls say the same thing to her.  In the guest room, the windows face the street and Sadie loves looking out and barking at rabbits, birds and leaves on the tree. Seriously, this dog is out of control. When she’s not barking, she’s whining. Compared to her, Maggie was a mute. I tease, “Sadie, look at the mess you are making on the windows!” And my mother echoes my fake consternation, “Sadie, look what you did with your lips!”

Maggie

Self-pity. You can be there in a matter of seconds. Grieving is feeling sorry for yourself, because your dog is no longer around to show you unfiltered, undiluted affection. You still expect her to come running to you when you return home from work…shopping….a night out at a restaurant.  You miss her quiet presence next to you while you type on your computer or read in bed.

Your dog is fine, she is no longer in pain. The cancerous tumor growing under her tongue and in her gums, pushing her tongue out the right side of her mouth can no longer hurt her. But you, you are left with loneliness and guilt. Why didn’t you stay home with her more? You should have walked her more often. You never took her to the dog park. Remember, you didn’t want her to catch any diseases, that’s why. Maggie was always the Beta dog. Cats were Alpha dogs compared to her. She quickly acquiesced to others. She hung her head low, shoulders cowered. She never harmed a thing. She could have been attacked at the dog park. You meant well.

When the kids were 3 months and 19 months old you took them and the dog for a walk to the post office on Mission Street. It was a daring undertaking with the infant in the Baby Bjorn, the toddler in the stroller and the frisky pup on a busy street, but you were going stir crazy with the diapers, the fog, and the boredom. You tied the puppy to a street sign post with a cement base. Just a few minutes in line and someone yelled, “There’s a dog running down the street with a post attached to her leash!” You looked outside and your dog was gone. You rushed home with two girls, not three. You cringe, expecting to hear screeching tires, screams. But they never come. You fight back the tears. You can’t lose her. When you get home, she is there, she took a different route, but somehow found your house. You are relieved and furious.

You miss her so much. The white snout, those sad eyes, even the stench of her infection. You miss those silky ears, the low growl of contentment she gave when you rubbed them. She jumped a foot off the ground when you came home. When you were recovering from your radical mastectomy, she napped next to you, choosing you over the rest of the family. Somehow, she knew you needed to rest. And while you worried about recurrent cancer, hers grew silently.

She loved bulgoki. Tennis balls. Hikes in the desert. She hated water. She would fetch when the mood fit. She was infinitely patient with children and other dogs. She was awesome.

You knew the end was near when she couldn’t eat. She loved to eat. And then she couldn’t drink water. Blood oozed from her infection, the antibiotics didn’t seem to have any effect. She drooled a thick, bloody mucous and you wiped her gently, frequently, sadly. How do you know when the time has come?

She was on the table, injected with a sedative. She looked so peaceful, striking her usual pose with one paw over the other, her eyes getting sleepy. You were grateful to see her comfortable. You told her you love her over and over again. Her eyes never left you. You bawled. The lethal injection worked quickly. You heard your husband say, “It’s OK, Maggie, you can go.”

And she’s gone.

Blister in the Sun

Hubby is singing “Blister in the Sun” and now I can’t get it out of my head. That is what he does lately: sing songs,  fill my head with repetitive, nonsensical lyrics and then leave the room. 

I haven’t written in several months. Now that I am publishing my “blah”g, I’m sure you’re expecting BIG news. Something grandiose in a bad or good way. I am sorry to disappoint. I’ve just been busy with life: completed my MA coursework (yay!), completed my 8 hour state exam (yay!) and recovered completely from breast reconstruction (double yay!)  Pardon the pun.

Here is the health update: I’m taking Tamoxifen daily. The hot flashes and back aches have mercifully subsided. I’ve completed my surgeries and have my permanent chest (for the next 15 years anyway, I’m told that implants need to be changed out every 10-20 years). I went from an “A” to a “C.” It’s both great and not so great.

Great: in bathing suits, bras, clothes.

Not so great: sleeping. I wish I could take them off and hang them up for the night! Also, running is easier when you are flat-chested.

In two weeks, I will go back to my oncologist for some kind of test. I should know what kind of test, but I don’t. I called them to ask, but they put me in hold limbo forever, so I just hung up. I have a list of questions at the ready, though.

Weird things happen during recovery, such as the sharp electrical shocks I feel as my nerves come back to life. Also, the dull throbbing pain from the muscles stretching to accommodate the implants.

I went to a kid birthday party a couple months ago. My “friends” had not seen me since my diagnosis. They greeted me with, “You have all your hair!” and “You look great!” If there is anything I can do with my experience, it is to spread awareness of the importance of going to your doctor for all your checkups.  There is a controversy brewing right now. Some health officials seem to think women don’t need a mammogram until 50! I shudder to think how far advanced my cancer would have been if I had waited eight years.  There is a very good article on this issue right here.

I want to help dispel the awful perception that cancer is a death sentence, or that once you’re diagnosed, you are forever “sick.” It’s simply not true. Just take care of it as early as possible.

 

When I’m a walking, I strut my stuff.

 

 

 

 

Tamoxifen, shmuhmoxifen….

OK, so my oncologist made a boo-boo.

He called me the morning after our meeting (at 6:55am to be exact) to apologize profusely and inform me that upon further review of my pathology report, he DOES recommend Tamoxifen. I was a little crestfallen, but it was what I expected all along, so there you go. I was also a bit wary because during our meeting, he gave me his personal philosophy on breast cancer:  that it is caused by prolonged use of hormone therapies, including birth control pills. Now, he is recommending that I take a pill every single day for the next five years?

I had my second oncologist consultation a couple days later. She vigorously recommended the same thing and was the first to give me NUMBERS to the risk: Five years on Tamoxifen CAN lead to an increase of 1 to 2% chance of uterine cancer. 1 to 2%? I thought it was something like 30%. I weighed the 1-2% uterine cancer against 6% invasive breast cancer recurrence (it could show up in the lung, liver, bones, anywhere…).

So I filled the prescription and am now taking the meds. So far, it does not seem like I have any side effects.  Because I’m back on a drain, I’m also taking horse pill antibiotics.  This process is a long one and I am trying to ignore the fact that I can feel the hard tissue expanders in my chest all the time. Occasionally, the pain wakes me in middle of the night and I have trouble going back to sleep. Maybe this is why I’ve been more emotional lately, crying at the drop of a hat again: lack of sleep.

I Googled “emotional stages of breast cancer” and got the following link:

http://breastcancer.about.com/od/lifeduringtreatment/ss/emotion_stages.htm

It’s all true. I am in the final stages of “grief”: acceptance and fight. Sometimes, I grapple with the hope part, because I’ve had setbacks at each stage.  The girls and hubby keep me happy. It’s all a process. This will take a long time, I just need to remember to enjoy all there is to enjoy in the meantime.

Letter to the Doctor

Dear Friends and Family,

I just wanted to share a letter I sent to my first oncology surgeon with you. The most empowering, important lesson I have learned on this journey thus far is to take control of your medical records and your health! As most of you know, I was given my diagnosis in a very cold manner: “You have Stage I breast cancer.” That was it. He immediately recommended a mastectomy with reconstruction. I wrote him a letter weeks later, because that day will forever haunt me. Not simply because of the content of the news, but especially due to the delivery. Here is my letter:

Dear Dr. ________:

Although I am sure you have to impart bad news of cancer to many people in your week, each person you inform is hearing it for the first time (unless it’s a recurrence, which I’m sure does not make it easier). You are telling people (as a medical professional) their chances of survival. I want to help you be better at this. When you deliver the news, it is good to be factual, which you were. However, it would not hurt to be sensitive: offer tissues immediately as tears are sprung and look the patient in the eye during the conversation, not her partner.  I left your office feeling as if I was handed a death sentence.

I received a second opinion from another surgeon this week. His approach was different, although the end data was the same. He went over my pathology report line by line (it’s six pages)! He made sure I knew what “in situ” and “invasive” meant. He stressed the very good fortune that I discovered this as early as I did and told me I have time to make an informed decision. He did not press the surgery option at all. He gave me several choices: chemo, radiation, and surgery. He did tell me I need to do something: I cannot and should not let it be.  I felt empowered and hopeful when I left his office. Do not get me wrong, I know I face some serious hurdles in my future.

You strike me as a competent surgeon. However, I do not feel comfortable with you. There is absolutely no lightheartedness, no warmth or levity in our dialogue. I am blessed with an incredibly strong network of support and love within my family and friends. I am seeking the same in my medical team.

My best to you,

Caroline Chung-Wipff

Speechless

Some occasions in life seem designed to test you. I believe they are there to see if you do the right thing, which is simply to say nothing. If an idiot offends you with an impulsive, derogatory remark, you are the better person for ignoring it. I’ve been taught that and I impart this bit of wisdom to my daughters and students. Growing up in Iowa in the late sixties, early seventies, I was called “chink” quite a bit. I learned to turn my head and ignore it. At a roller skating party, a boy of about fifteen, skated up to me and sang loudly with the music, “Like a refugee!” I was eleven and had no idea what he was talking about, but from the laughter and looks his friends gave me, I knew it wasn’t a compliment. There was also that song, “Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting” which the boys really wanted me to know, but I digress.  I tell my daughters to do the same thing when “boys” or “people” bother them. I don’t recall arguing with my parents the way my kids do, but whatever….that’s not what I’m writing about, either.

My lovely mother is here to help me out. Because I am not allowed to drive for three to four weeks post-surgery and Willey has to work, my mother is THE driver. I will not alarm you, dear reader, by sharing her driving record with you. Let us just say she’s greatly improved in the last two decades. Let’s just say at about the same time boys were serenading me with the Kung-Fu Fighting and Refugee songs, my mother would feign any knowledge of English when she’d be pulled over by an officer for things like speeding or going through stop lights. She suddenly lost “all her English” and was usually let go with a warning.  I distinctly remember her saying “In Korea, no lights! I confused,” and the officer let her go!

When she arrived here at my house last month, I painfully detailed the importance of yielding at the roundabouts. We have two in a row we must drive through to get anywhere (Safeway, Peter Piper Pizza, the hair salon, etc.). “Caroline! You think I can’t drive? How long I’ve been driving now? I drive in Chicago! Mesa is so easy, no traffic.” I imagine the countless number of drivers who must honk at her (and give her other gestures) as she makes her away around, and I think her loss of hearing is a blessing in this case.

Like many of her 66 year old comrades, her hearing is all but gone. My sister purchased top-of-the-line hearing aids for her. Even with these, her hearing capacity can be 60%, depending on the condition of her batteries.  She copes with her inability to hear with the catch phrase she’s learned from co-workers in an Alzheimer’s home where she works as an aide. She says, “Gotcha” and nods her head “yes” at the same time.  Most people just say, “Yeah” and smile. My mom says, “Gotcha.” If you know my mother, this woman who immigrated from South Korea 43 years ago and speaks with a thick Korean accent, you would appreciate the utter charm of it. “Gotcha” and a nod of her permed head.

Yesterday, after dropping my daughters off to summer school, we headed to Phoenix to meet my oncologist.

“Mom, you’re going to go straight, just as if we’re seeing Dr. Parson, but Dr. Isaacs is in Phoenix, which is five exits past Dr. Parson’s office.”

With both hands gripped tightly around the wheel, she gives me a shake of the head and a  “Gotcha.”

She drives.

“OK, mom, make a left at Shea and go straight for awhile. I’ll tell you when to turn right.”

“You forgot to shave? That’s OK. Why you have to shave?”

“Oh.My.Gosh. You forgot your hearing aids?!” I ask in disbelief. Suddenly, I realize I could probably drive. I feel fine and have gotten a lot stronger since my surgery two weeks ago. My chest is throbbing, I’m anxious about what the oncologist will say and now I have to address this.  I choose to remain silent.

Another shake of the head, her eyes squint into the light (no sunglasses either). “Sometimes, hearing aid is bother. Really bother you. I don’t like them.”

We head into the office and meet a wonderful doctor. Long story short, he reads my six page pathology report and tells me that with the double mastectomy and the very small sizes of my cancers, he recommends no further treatment. No chemo! No radiation! Not even Tamoxifen! I am elated, ready for some Kung-fu fighting.

Ouch

OK. I’m back. Here is a short and sweet history of my week:

Monday: Grocery shopping, clean house, pick mom up from airport. Ate nothing after 6pm.

Tuesday: 7am, pre-op stuff. No food or water or even gum. Shots in both breasts for dye to mark my sentinal nodes for biopsy. The Surgery. Post-Op: extremely groggy. Nauseous, not really good. Got up in middle of the night three times to use restroom, vomited copious amounts each time. Discovered my lymph nodes are clean – YAY!

Wednesday: Want to go home. Now. Badly. Had to wait until 5pm. Forced two bites of croissant and kept it down. Walked to the bathroom with the IV stand in one hand and my drain pack in the other. (For more on draining, check it out: http://breastcancer.about.com/od/reconstructivesurgery/p/surg_drains.htm). Dr. Bourne let me go grudgingly. Hubby looked doubtful. He tried to feed me salmon and chocolate cake. 48 hours since I ate something. Wouldn’t have the salmon, too dry.    Lots of kisses from kids and mom and sister who just arrived from California!  Went straight to bed with three vials of meds on the nightstand.

Thursday: Happy to wake up in my bed. Have to empty and measure drains regularly. Pin them to clothes. Be careful not to tug at them. Looked at the work. Almost fainted. Two tubes coming out of my ribs. Tightly bandaged chest. Needed to re-bandage, too tight!  My sister JoAnne washes my hair in the kitchen sink. Aaaaahhhhh! Feels so much better. By Thursday evening, feeling more like myself. Walked around, wrote a paper.  Started bleeding and went to the doctor. He applies pressure, changes bandages and says I might be able to remove the drains next week! “If you start bleeding like that again, just apply pressure.” I can also take a shower tomorrow! JoAnne picks girls up from summer school. We eat dinner and I crash. (By the way, my chest does not look like this picture. Dr. Shaun Parson did an outstanding job – the drains are on the sides of my body and much of my breast tissue was conserved).

Friday: Wrote two papers first thing in the morning, while drinking coffee. Heaven! Kisses to the girls. Received a steady flow of cakes, flowers, gift cards, get well cards, phone calls and emails. Where is my cell phone? Haven’t seen it since checking in at the hospital….My sister insists on taking pictures, as if I want to remember looking like this. Brother from California arrives with wife and daughter. Josie, Ava and Jae swim in the Hyatt Place swimming pool while Willey and I buy me a new cell phone. We all go out to eat at Hodori for lunch.

Saturday: Take Ava to dentist. She gets sealants. “She’ll need braces,” the dentist informs us. Great. Go home and watch “Samsoon,” an old Korean TV series my friend Grace sent to me by mail. Sister, mom and I are hooked! Sister leaves Saturday night. Brother comes to drive her to airport. It’s all too short, this family time. I decide to forego Vicodin and just take Ibuprofin instead.

Sunday: Happy Father’s Day! I wake up with my chest on fire. It feels like two people took a knife to it. Wait a minute…..they did! Willey takes the girls out while I work on three assignments for The Principalship class. This is the last week of my first summer session and I have many things due. Hoping I can take the drains out tomorrow, they are seriously cramping my style. I looped them on a necklace and feel like a cheap Flavor Fav imitator.

Tomorrow, I see my plastic surgeon and I hope I can get at least one drain removed. It’s disgusting, this plastic vial of blood and waste collects and you can’t get away from it. Every once in awhile, I feel a sharp jab at my ribs and it’s the tube, jutting out. It’s difficult to disguise.  Tuesday morning, I see my oncologist surgeon who will review the results of  pathology report. At that time, I will have a better idea of next steps: radiation, chemo, hormone therapy….not sure yet. I go back to my class Tuesday night.

I’m doing well. Of course, I have moments of anger. Why do I have to go through this? Why can’t I go to Hawaii this summer? Or Canada, Alaska, Austin, TX….anywhere but here, doing this.

But I can’t think that way.

Pity parties do no good. Plenty of very good people are going through much worse. I have to overcome this and overcome it well. My daughters are watching.

What’s on the Menu?

I’m asked how the girls are taking the impending surgery. Here are their words:

June 12, 2010

-My mom is having surgery on Tuesday. I’m a little bit frightend but mommy said she would be alright. So, Ava and I have made a little menu for my mom with all different food and drinks when she’s in her bed. Her friends and our relletivs are coming over and helping us. I’m going to miss mommy. But when she’s up and around were going to play lots of board games and do math puzzles .My mom has done so much for me in the past that I’m not going to realy be used to all these people being with me.

Josie

June 12, 2010

My mom is having surgery on Tuesday.

I gave her my zu zu pet  so she could  press the nose  and it would make a noise so we could come running to her. We made a menu for her so she could pick what food she wanted. If  needed anything  more she would tell us.  There was coffee on the menu.  Diet coke, water, and  many other things. I feel a little scared because my mom is having surgery. But my mom is always brave.  I will have quit violin for a  little while.  But till my mom gets better we have to go back to violin.

Ava

I am grateful for the amazing outpouring of love, support and encouragement I am receiving from friends and family near and far, and from complete strangers I have met online via friends. It makes me want to be a better person.

I’m asked,”What do you think you are supposed to learn here?” Although I believe everything happens for a reason, I don’t think I have led a life of unhealthy habits I need to ameliorate, nor have I sustained any toxic relationships. I don’t think this is a wake up call, because there is no place in my life where I need to realign my actions to suit my goals. I do, however, feel a renewed sense of appreciation for people in general, for the importance of health and responsibility. I always considered myself to be a strong person, but  I’m having my mom sew a giant “S” on a blue nylon shirt after my recovery. Willey is making the cape.

On Friday, I had a 9am appointment with my plastic surgeon and a “check engine” light came on in my car.  My first thought was, “On top of everything….my classes, and my surgery … my car now?“  I was in Scottsdale and wondered if it was safe to drive. I completed my appointment (they took the “before” pictures and had me sign papers acknowledging all the risks of surgery, including infection, asymmetry, the need for more surgery, etc.).  Suddenly, I felt as if I was  being challenged. Someone or something was testing me to see when I would break. I will not break!

So I go home, find a mechanic with great reviews online, pack Josie’s swimsuit and towel, go to the mechanic, learn I have to go to a different mechanic sometime next week (it’s probably the o2 sensor), pick up the girls from summer school, drop Josie off to her playdate, have a date with Ava at the mall, go home, make dinner, get ready to go out with some friends and chat with the husband before I leave.  I had a wonderful evening talking and laughing with a group of strong, beautiful women.

I’m ready.

“Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.”  John Lennon

The Wait

Surgery is scheduled for June 15th, exactly one week from now.

I find myself “nesting” as a friend mentioned. She had a medical condition too, congenital heart disease. We spoke of cleaning house, having enough food around for hubbies to zap warm, and so on.  Her story reminded me of how we are all so alike. We react the same way much of the time, it’s just that some of us get handed a bad card and the rest of us say, “How on earth do you handle it so well?”  For one, you would too. You have no choice but to “handle” it. And if you have kids, well, I don’t have to say anything else, do I? We do everything for our kids, our children make us better people.

So now I wait. Friends and family call to check in. They send me stuff to read:

They ask, “How are you doing?” “Fantastic, ask me in eight days!” I dread the recovery. I know, you fans of “The Secret” are trying to hush me right now, but let’s be realistic, shall we?  A radical mastectomy (both breasts for those of you who don’t know) and biopsies of BOTH armpit lymph nodes….it’s not going to be pretty. And I don’t rest well. I’m not a good patient. So mom, JoAnne and Willey, accept my apologies right now for the grumpiness you shall bear.

The surgeon informs me, I will be “Ace bandaged tightly” around the chest following surgery. I’ve asked my sister and daughters to wash my hair.  I’m getting waxed tomorrow. Why? JUST BECAUSE.  I am also getting a pedicure and manicure on Monday. JUST BECAUSE! You’d think I was preparing for a beauty pageant. Which brings me…

to the Plastic Surgeon’s office!

It’s like a spa. It’s housed within a medical building, but when you step into the office, you’re met with several square feet of granite before you make eye contact with the gorgeous receptionist (blue contact lenses, reconstructed breasts).  On a table sits a large, flat bowl of miniature chocolates and cookies, cold ice water with cut lemons await. The women who walk in and out do not resemble the women who walk in and out of the oncologist surgeon’s office. No, these women wear a smile, high heels … they push their babies in strollers, they have lean muscles observable through their Juicy sweatpants and they sport perfect hair.

Talking to the plastic surgeon is a bit like speaking with Santa Claus. Hello, you’ve been so good through this, the poking, the prodding, the cutting and the pain…..what size breasts would you like darling? It’s the gift or reward I have earned. At least, it feels that way. Christina Applegate still mourns her original breasts, “I had beautiful ones,” she recalls. Well, mine have been encased in very padded bras for almost three decades. This might not be so bad.

This summer holds more work for me than I anticipated. But that’s OK. Life happens.  I’ve got my trusty sidekick here, to keep me busy:

From a Tim Burton Movie

I finally told the girls about my cancer and impending treatment (surgery, reconstruction).

Here is how it went down:

Me: “Girls, remember how Auntie Kristin died of cancer?”

(Both girls nod yes)

“Well, when they found the cancer, she was in late stage 3, close to 4. When they find cancer at stage 4, it’s usually too late to do much. There are stages to cancer, 0, 1, 2, 3 and 4. If they find the cancer at 0, 1 or even 2 and sometimes 3, there are lots of things they can do to get rid of the cancer. Usually surgery is used to cut out the cancer and then sometimes you have to take medicine after wards.

They found cancer in my left breast. But it’s …”

Josie interrupts, big smile, “Stage 0!”

“Actually, Stage 1. But that’s good, I’m going to have surgery and they’re going to take it out.”
Ava: “When did you find out?”

“Last week.”

Ava: Why didn’t you tell us right away?

“I wanted to know the date of surgery before I told you.”

Both girls: “When is the surgery?”

“June 15th.”

Ava: How long will you be in the hospital?

“One night.”

Josie: But you’re going to look weird! It’s going to be wavy on your chest!

“They are going to put something in and I’m going to have even bigger boobs, isn’t that great?!”

Both girls: “Ew! Like what?”

“Mmmm plastic bags with salty water in them.”

Ava: They’re going to put Ziploc bags in your boobs!?

“Uh, kind of, something like that. It’s safe.”

Ava: Can we watch Spongebob now?

So there you have it.Clearly, they’re traumatized.

I’m still researching and looking at pictures of reconstruction. I see boobs everywhere. It’s always on my mind. I scar easily and I have hyper pigmentation big time. I am picturing myself post reconstruction and can’t help but see Jack Skellington’s girlfriend Sally in my mind.

Stages and Ages

The Biopsy was challenging: the wire localization should have taken 20 minutes, mine took an hour. I almost fainted at one point: the pushing of needles deep into my breast was faint-worthy. Add to that the paddles that squeezed my stabbed breast in place and having to take a deep breath and be still….ergh!  After surgery, my breast suddenly swelled up and became hard. Two hematomas were forming. More than a month later, I still have one hematoma, it is hard and rectangular, this breast is already foreign to me.

Five days after the biopsy, I learned the results.

The surgeon broke the news to me in a cold, clinical manner. “You have stage I breast cancer.” I felt my head spinning. Cancer? Me? The doctor spoke of two different kinds of cancer in my one breast: ductal carcinoma in situ and invasive cancer, the more serious one.  He recommended a mastectomy and reconstruction. I could do radiation and forego the mastectomy in a bid to save the breast, but he did not recommend that. “I wouldn’t wait more than three weeks before taking action.” He relayed the information to Willey, making eye contact with him, as I sat crying, the reality hitting me like a swarm of locusts. His words buzzed relentlessly, surrealistically.

I still had to go back to school for an evening event. I had spoken of the event all day to my 27 third grade students. I couldn’t be a no-show.  I wanted to feel normal so I washed my face and went to work, mingling with former students and their parents, talking to current students and parents and meeting (possible) future students and their parents. Oddly enough, I felt energized as I drove home. The next two weeks were tough. I cried without warning: at work, at home, at the grocery store. Three weeks later, I started to compartmentalize my fear and sadness: I cried only when taking a bath. While soaking, I looked down at my hardened, bruised breast with two scabs: one a smiley face, the other a frown. The entire breast was shiny and wrinkled, covered with a surgical glue in lieu of stitches, numb.

As far as cancer diagnoses goes, I am very, very lucky. At Stage I with microscopic cancer, I have several options and good odds to obliterate the cancer. Years ago, no one would have detected it this early because you can’t feel it at all. The new digital machines at EVDI caught it.

I received two more consultations before weighing my options: breast conservation? One mastectomy and no reconstruction? Bilateral (double) mastectomy and no reconstruction? One mastectomy with reconstruction? Bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction? And if I choose reconstruction, should I wait or do it immediately?  There is a 1% chance with each year that passes that the other breast will develop cancer (therefore, in 25 years, there is a 25% chance I would develop cancer in my right breast). I do not want to go down this road again in the future, if I can help it.  Many decisions to make: which surgeon, which plastic surgeon, whichprocedure to do….Mind boggling, given the fact that just a few weeks ago, my most serious decision was whether to get eyelash extensions or not!

The stages you hear about in cancer usually have to do with the size of the cancerous mass as well as the type. My case is on the serious side because one of my “masses” is the invasive kind. We know what invasive/invading means….and you can surgically remove it, but the chances of it recurring are extremely high. Hence, the recommendation for a mastectomy.At stage one, my cancers measured 4 mm and 5 mm. Stage 4 includes tumors 5 cm. in size.

Maybe if I was 80, I would simply opt for a bilateral mastectomy and be done with it. But, I am *relatively* young (Hey! I heard that!) and a bit vain, so I am opting to have reconstructive surgery, too.

It sounds rather obvious, but this brings the sense of mortality front and center. Don’t we all assume we will live to be at least 80? Faced with the chance that I may live just a few years….I had to reassess my life.

I am grateful I have:

• a new network of thriving breast cancer survivors;
• a career I love;
• a strong, loving husband, two beautiful children;
• wonderful, thoughtful, generous friends and a dedicated extended family.

Each day counts. I purchase more organic foods now and drink lots of green tea. I’m going to continue with my plan to complete my Principal’s certificate and MA in Education Administration. I see this new diagnosis like a triathlon. I have no desire to do a triathlon, but I know I can do it.

Better Safe Than Sorry

On Tuesday, March 9, I took the day off to take the girls to the dentist. Later in the day, I went to a routine mammogram. With homework, violin lessons, work, my classes for my graduate program, it’s hard to fit these medical appointments in our busy schedule. I decided it had to be done. While making my mammogram appointment, I realized I forgot to go in 2009. My very first mammogram was on January 5, 2008.  The appointments were fairly routine: Josie had no cavities, Ava had two small ones and my mammogram went off without a hitch.

I got a call the next day. They needed me to return to get a better picture of my left breast. I was greatly annoyed. Why can’t these technicians do an accurate job? They obviously missed  a position or didn’t calibrate it correctly or something. I can’t take another day off do this! I am a teacher. When I am absent from my job, I have to make several phone calls, complete paperwork and make lesson plans.

March 19th: I go in immediately after work. I am told during my exam that there are two slightly suspicious calcium deposits in my left breast. They want a better look. By end of evening, I learn that cancers begin this way, although 80% of the time, it’s benign.  Of course, I believe, mine is benign. Such needless drama, really.

The technician takes a look at the screen when we are through. Silence. “The doctor would like to discuss these results with you.” After I’m dressed, she takes me to another room. It’s dark and cold. I wait for a very long time. This can’t be good. Finally, a tall, handsome man with kind eyes enters the room and sits. He tells me that he thought long and hard about recommending a biopsy, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he let it go. There is a suspicious abnormality in two places. This news sounds like it is addressed to someone else. Biopsy? Doesn’t cancer naturally follow?  He mentions needles, possible surgery, but start with a needle. OK, I nod. I will do it. No problem, better safe than sorry.

As I leave, I feel a slight pit in my stomach. This will take more time out of my schedule. This will cause my parents worry.

April 5: I take a half day to go get a stereotactic mammogram and (hopefully) stereotactic biopsy. This is when a long needle is pushed into your breast and the mass is retrieved. “The mammo is weird, you lay on a table on your stomach. There is a cutout for your breasts. It’s creepy,” a friend tells me.  “But it’s easy. The needle is huge,” (she spaces her hands about a foot apart, I feel faint), “just ice it for a couple hours after wards.”

Instructions for the stereotactic mammogram: No perfumes, no jewelry, no deodorant. This should only take 20 minutes, the technician informs me.

The mammogram is painful. I lay on my tummy on a hard table. As promised, there is an oval cutout for my chest. Medal paddles squeeze my breast from different angles.  The female technician squeezes my breast so tight with the medal paddles I literally cannot breathe. “Hold still!” I am told over and over again, position after different position.

One hour later, a discouraged technician apologizes. She’s sorry, but she just can’t get it to work. I will need a surgical biopsy.

Report: “Multiple positions were attempted and either the breast thickness is insufficient for the stereotactic device or the target cannot be positioned within the biopsy device.”

I call Willey in tears. I can’t believe this. It’s escalating – this situation – I can’t believe I actually have to have surgery!

My OB/GYN calls me and recommends a surgeon. My friends and co-workers suggest names. Recommended doctors either don’t do surgical biopsies anymore or no longer do them unless you are diagnosed with cancer. I go to my OB/GYN’s surgeon.

He is a tall, serious man with glasses who tells me step by step what will occur, what to expect. He does not crack a smile, not even once. His demeanor is 100% clinical. I believe he is completely competent, even if lacking in warmth. He tells me “due to the size” of my breast (read: small), the biopsy may leave my breast disfigured.  Yes, he used that word. Disfigured. He will try to make only one incision, but the two masses are on opposite sides. He may have to make two incisions. One of the deposits is located so far it’s next to my chest wall. I chose to go alone to this meeting. It might have been better if Willey had come along. Before surgery, I will need to get a wire localization done. This is because the deposits are so small, the surgeon needs a guide to find them. Another mammogram is required. They will locate the deposits, insert a needles and two wires for each “mass” and then I will make my way to the hospital for the surgery. I start to feel squeamish.

I have always been small chested. It bothered me for a very long time. Our society equates beauty with bosoms. Plastic surgery is a popular option, even for people who can’t afford it. I felt inferior in this department through those tough teenage years and into my young adulthood. But after breastfeeding two children, I have had a new found respect for my body. It works. It’s strong. Two beautiful lives emerged from it and my (small) chest somehow found a way to feed those two babies. I have, late in life, come to appreciate my body, flaws and all. And now, it was going to be disfigured. I cried in my car on the way home and washed my face before picking the girls up from school.

I call my sister and express my frustration and my fears about the “disfigurement.” Better to be safe than sorry, Caroline. You can always  look at fixing things later with cosmetic surgery. She is right, of course. I hate it when my baby sister is right.

Next post: Staging and Aging

Ava’s Journal

Ava wrote some thoughts on a pad of Hello Kitty paper and left it on the kitchen counter. I call that up for grabs. It’s not a diary under lock and key….so here is some sharing:

April 26

Tomorrow I have my Big test. My mom keeps saying do your best.

So wish me luck

Test: April 27

2010 1st grade

Thursday, April 18, 2010

My dad was mean when I took a bath. I triped on the floor. And now I am in my room writing.

Friday, April 11

Next week I’m goin to have a BIG test. I am so scard wish me luck

Ava

Note to my daughters….

Dear Josie and Ava,

Please do not collect any more shiny, smooth, beautiful rocks and put them in your pockets. Because when you do that, you inevitably throw your clothes into the laundry room and I – being too, too, too busy to check all the pockets – simply throw them into the washing machine and then into the dryer. This is not good for the machines.

Besides, stonewashed jeans went out in the 90s.

The Two-Headed Rock Collector

Father Goose

Lessons learned on the Road:

When your husband takes the kids out for dinner to Panda Express (again) while you are in a night class, don’t tell him that the food is unhealthy.

Daddy

Signs of a good daddy can be found anywhere, even on his nightstand.

Ava's Book

I admit, I am quick to point out his flaws, so here are (some) kudos to the father of my children:

• Grits his teeth and suffers silently  as Ava reads about “The Secret Unicorn.” (She just finished “Barbie’s World”).
• Is extremely patient as he points out mathematical errors and doesn’t get angry when Josie sighs heavily while correcting them.
• Attempts to check homework and often digresses to lecturing about the origins of Man.
• Is the girls’ biggest fan when it comes to Suzuki practice (“stop playing the CD and get started playing, girls!”)
• Plays Hide and Go Seek with the girls, only occasionally pretending to seek them while he sits in his chair, playing Solitaire on his iPod.

Home

I used to live in San Francisco. Occasionally, when I tell Arizonians this fact, I get a raised eyebrow and “what made you move out here?” I usually give them my explanation in the form of a short story: it got too expensive to raise children in the Bay Area, I got tired of struggling just to make ends meet, too many homeless and litter and crowds. And the freakin’ fog! Sheesh! We never saw the sun.

But the truth is, I was drawn to something here. I was pulled, not pushed.

You notice I say “I” and not “we”? Willey fought the move every bit of the way. He loved the city where he was born and raised. He enjoyed the jacket weather, the fog, the coffee shops and action. He didn’t want to leave his friends, his family. I had no real attachments. I only miss my writing group (go Kicking Muses!) and SFSU. I had my fun, riding the J Church, grabbing coffee at Martha’s on 24th Street, dreaming at the pier, watching the waves go out, and come back in again. I had worked in high rises in San Francisco, heard the horror story of a crane that went down just across the street and killed a woman in her car, right across the street from my posh office. As a recent college graduate, the City was heaven: art galleries, bars, and boutiques dotted the City throughout. San Francisco is a 7 by 7 mile square. One can easily walk from one end to the other early Saturday morning, starting from the Pacific Ocean and end with lunch downtown. I fell in love with the artistic energy of the City. Armed with a desire to make movies, I interned for an independent film. I watched actors prepare for their scenes and then deliver them. I made several short-short films and attended International Film Festivals. It was a dream come true for a “me” generation person in her youth.

But Josie was born and 16 months later, Ava came along. I had to carry a stroller, diaper bag, snacks and two children everywhere I went.

• Parking was always a 20 minute endeavor, minimum. Then, after finding parking (at the grocery store, the mall, the doctor’s office), I had to lug all of that to the door and then open the door without help.
• Couped up in the house, I’d bundle the girls and put them in the double stroller, leash the dog and go for a walk. Neighbors, seeing us walk by their yards, would raise the windows and yell, “don’t let your dog pee in my yard!” And then slam windows shut.
• Taking the girls to Golden Gate Park one day, we stumbled upon a used hypodermic needle in the sand box!
• Fog, fog, fog and then….more fog.
  
• Willey left our garage door open one day and within 20 minutes, someone had entered our garage and stolen several of his tools and his bike. All this was done in broad daylight.

Sounds trite to allow this to bother you, I know, but when your day is spent trying to find parking and doing mundane things AGAINST the flow, well, life just sucks. There just had to be an easier way, a more enjoyable way of living!

One day, wearing my fleece jacket, fleece pants and socks in our drafty kitchen, I read an article in the SF Chronicle about Gilbert, AZ. It was one of the most popular new destinations for young families:

• New homes twice the size of our SF home, half or even one-third the price;
• Great schools;
• Sun, sun, sun!
• Dog parks everywhere and,
• Low-cost living.

It was just what I wanted. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I was working part-time at SFSU and gearing up to go back to work teaching elementary school full-time. I was battling SFUSD who kept losing parts of my files, ( little things, like  my fingerprint card, letters of recommendation and transcripts). I informed Willey about this new place. He couldn’t see us in Arizona: too hot, flat, boring and void of culture. I answered, “let’s just look.” So we packed the girls up and took a flight out. Willey and I couldn’t agree on any homes in Gilbert. I liked this one, he didn’t. He liked one and I didn’t. Our real estate agent, a gorgeous, tall, pixie blonde named Goska, suggested Mesa. “It’s full of natural beauty.” We saw a home butted up against some “mountains” (OK, maybe very tall hills is more accurate). The sun was coming down, leaving the sky a hot pink, orange and yellow. It was stunning. When the sun left, a curtain of black laced with stars surrounded us. Willey and I agreed, this was gorgeous. We loved it. Our SF home was up for sale that week. It sold within two. We put an offer on the Boulder Mountain house and the rest is history.  

This weekend, I went to the Breadsmith in Las Sendas and purchased bread made from scratch that morning. As I left the store with warm bread in hand,  I noticed a bicycle leaning against the building. I smiled, knowing that the owner would find it still there upon his return.

Sibling Rivalry

Gave the girls a lecture about “thankfulness, gratitude and hard work.”  Told them they are lucky to have three meals a day, nice clothes and all the toys they could ever want.  Their faces grow long. They look down at the floor.

“And another thing, you guys have a DOG! Look at how many of your friends whine endlessly that they want a dog! And you don’t take her out and play fetch and you don’t pick up her poop. You are old enough to pick up her poop now. Definitely old enough.”

Josie runs to get plastic bags and actually starts picking up the dehydrated piles in the backyard, smiling.

Ava pouts and puts both elbows on the kitchen counter. “Mom, no fair! She beat me to it!”

I reply, “how about she gets the back yard, and you get the front yard.”

“Noooooo! There’s a lot more in the backyard than in the front!” She cries out in tears.

I smile inwardly. Sibling rivalry knows no bounds.

Josie’s Turn

I knocked on Josephine’s door. I could hear the girls playing. I braced myself for a scene reminiscent of a tornado aftermath  in the midwest. “Hi!” Josie grins. “We’re playing friends and pretending Ava just broke her leg.” Ava smiles from the bed, her left leg propped on a pillow. She waves.

As I help Ava practice violin, Josie likes to (occasionally) type something on my laptop. Here’s Josie’s “story” thus far:

Hi my name is Josephine but you can call me Josie if you want. My nick name is evil princess because I’m evil and I’m a princess to. Named latte. He is very cute. I have a little sister she is named Ava. I love her. And I have a mom and dad. I have a dog she is named Maggie. She is 8 years of age. I live in Boulder Mountain. My friends are Brooke, Megan, and my best friend is Ava. My only sister I love so much. We get in fits but we get back together as soon as possible. Today is October 26, 2009. And the time is 7:44 .P.M. very late time for my bed time.

I like to read books play games like freeze tag and other silly games with my friends. And on Wednesday I have Violin which is a type of instrument.

My grandma is coming today. I AM THRILD TO DAETH TO SEE MY GRANDMA!       We are going to have so much fun! We are going to pay hide and seek and play all sorts of stuff. She is leaving on Sunday which is the sad part. She will be coming any second now just wait. My dog Maggie barfed on the floor I now it’s not pleasing but she did. And another thing today is that a girl named Maggie she said brat do you think I’m a brat I hope not. Well what can I say she is a brat.

Let the Kid Speak

My daughter Ava has been wanting to type her own story, while I give her sister Josie violin help. Next week, Josie’s story….Here’s Ava in her own words without any help from me:

I am 6 years old. The date is 2009. I am in 1 grade. My teacher is Mrs. Jurkowski . who is your techer. My name is Ava. What is your name. I have many friends, their names are Brenna Sidney Sam Abagail Katie and that’s all. You guys can read a lot . I can play the violin. Can you. My birthday is May 23. When is yours. I have 1 sister her name is Josephine she is 7 years old. I was born in 2003. What year were you born in. I don’t know I only know min I don’t even who you are . you don’t know me do you?

This story I spechel. That’s 1 of my seckrets. What is your secret? I don’t know. I aspechily don’t know your secret. How meny people are in your family? I have a lepord geico at home Im at home now typing where are you? I like to make storys. My mom is making a story I think its called… I Do not know acsacly what it is called.
All I know is that shes making a story. And im in it! I am so eksided. I think im going to be great. Don’t you? Well I do … and im going to be a little girl my name is going to be Anna. Well you like it? Hope so. I want to ask you something do you like getting your face painted?

Today is Thursday. Today my grandmother will come. Do you like when your grandmother is coming? And she will go thrik or threeting. I am going to be a salit shaker. And Josie is going to be a pepper shaker. We are making our cotooms! Are you? I like making my costoom. What will you be? When my dad comes home he will bring my grandmother! I am SO happy! I havet seen my grandmother sins montes. All righ my dad is going to be heer eny second now wait wait. Oh darn there not heer I new I never hrde the grath door opning. Whith I thot but no. Sigh you know whishes never come ture. I wish I hadet said that. Darn my magic dint work. I new it hey now I know 2 tinings yay im lerning! I know lots of things! Now need ennything now?  

Yesterday was Haloween. I got lots of candy. And yummy candy. Bursept the butterfinger. I don’t like butterfinger. Do you? Well I don’t. Allright back to the candy. Wait a minet I LOVE candy right so dose that mean I can have 1 just 1. Pleas!!!!!!! Il give you $500 so do I get my candy? Hope so and I mean it! Eeee ichy! Scrach my back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh ichy! Just kidding! That’s how I joke people! HAha so funny. Im not even lafing are you? I bet you arnt I bet you $500 for that one.

Start Again

Computer crashed last week. I was up to 18,000 words on my novel. I had backed up in June. So now I have only 11,000 words. Ava and Josie, who have been closely following my progress, were bummed at first, for me. Then Ava’s face lit up: “Mom, now you can come up with something new!” The light in her eyes, the enthusiasm in her voice…well, it was sweet. Of course, my old, decrepit soul inwardly said, “but it was good! I don’t need something new, $#@*$&.”

I shall write in my trusty old notebook from now on. Hire a secretary to type it out, like Natalie Goldberg does. Yeah, right.  I have not been able to bring myself to sit down to write again. It’s so painful.

This afternoon, when the dismissal bell rang, my students found a gecko in my classroom, near the cubbies. It’s a wonder the little thing didn’t get smashed from the children rushing to get their bags. It’s a baby. I took him home, with the plan of setting him free in Usery Park. The girls squealed and named him “Limey” because he has a green band over his eyes. He’s very pretty. With such attachment, how can I free him?  We ran out and foolishly bought $68 worth of equipment for the little guy.  He’s hiding in his coconut shell right now and he’s eaten two small crickets already. The other three are hopping around and I check in to see if he’s eaten another or if a cricket has drowned in the small water bowl. They do that. Geckos and scorpions only eat live crickets.  Whenever I feel guilty for imprisoning him in his terrarium pimped out with fake – but very soft! – grass, small pond, coconut shell, temp and humidity gauges, and heat lamp, I counter my guilt with “well, no one’s gonna eat him in there.”

I hope he doesn’t get sick or die. We’re already so fond of him. Of course, that day will come. Tears will be shed, comfort will be spread, and things will start a new.  It is time to start again. I’ll jot words 11,001-11,400 tomorrow.

1988

Ambition Bird

so it has come to this

insomnia at 3:15am

the clock tolling its engine

like a frog following a sundial

having an electric

seizure at the quarter hour

the business of words keeps me awake

i drink hot cocoa

that warm brown mama

i would like a  simple life

all night i lay

poems in a long box

it is my immortality box

my lay-away plan

my coffin

dark wings

flap in my heart

each an ambition bird

The 2nd Generation Blues

As a mother, I find myself reminiscing about my own childhood throughout the day. I feel a sense of deja vu: something I’m doing with my children (baking cookies), or something I am doing to my children (giving them a bath with Mr. Bubble) and even the dreaded what I’m saying to my children: “Turn that TV down, it’s too loud!”   Was that me or my mother?

One thing about being a 2nd generation Korean-American (or 2nd generation anything with war, famine or devastating plague during the 1st generations’ lives) is that no matter how bad it gets for you, it was always worse for your parents. When my first child was learning to walk and I was pregnant with #2, I would tell my mother I felt nauseous and helping Josie walk was killing me. “What about me? You and your sister, 11 months apart! I was in apartment, no car, no friends, you daddy work all the time, I have not so good English…just me and two babies.”

My parents made my sister, brother and me take all kinds of lessons in our childhood: cello, violin, piano, and martial arts. We took Tae Kwon Do when we had no interest in it. There was no such thing as quitting, either: we were relieved of lessons only after we earned our 1st degree black belts. “Ai goo! You don’t know how lucky you are! Your father had to take Tae Kwon Do then go to military school.” If we whined to our mother at all about having to do extra math homework given to us from our math-and-computer science professor father, we were told to count our blessings, that they did not attend any school for eight years due to the Korean War. “We were dying to go to school! You are lucky. Very lucky.”

Watching TV was a guilty pleasure. “Play outside! Why you watch so much TV?”  We’d watch “The Brady Bunch” and eat potato chips, laughing at Peter’s antics, sympathizing with Jan’s adolescent woes, and mimicking Cindy’s lisp. My mother was cooking lunch or dinner, washing dishes and even on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor while we relaxed. My mother could sew. I didn’t appreciate it then, but she made curtains and  tailored clothes effortlessly.

Decades later, I can’t sew and can make only the most basic Korean foods. What happened? Why didn’t she turn the TV off and teach me these things? Why didn’t I shut it off and ask her to teach me?

Too often, there is a gap, a chasm, a veritable abyss of communication between immigrants and their children. We speak different languages, hold dissimilar values and completely misunderstand each other. Some experts assert that this is a necessary loss in immigration, an unavoidable expense. However, I can’t help but think with just a little more effort on both sides, the losses could be minimized. To have the best of both worlds, now that would be a lucky thing.

The Writing

I’m having a great day of writing! I swore off Facebook, CNN.com and even Oprah to write all afternoon. 7,292 words on the novel thus far and there is no stopping me. I’m feeling good about the content too. I  just have to keep writing every day, keep up this progress.

Maggie cannot contain her enthusiasm about my novel.

I’m learning so much through this exercise. For example, did you know that corporal punishment in South Korean schools was REINSTATED in 1999? I’m also able to write about common themes which seem taboo: lack of paternal affection for sons, climbing the corporate ladder, cultural clashes. More to come…

Perception is Reality

So we’re driving home from Palm Springs. It’s Sunday, June 28th, our 12th anniversary. I want to get home. The car overheated when we drove to the tram. Willey and a new-found buddy from downtown Palm Springs worked on the car Saturday night and it seemed fine, save some slow leaking.

Then we break down. On the I-10, twenty-five miles east of Indio. Mind you, it’s Sunday, all mechanics are at home, watching TV, being with their families. When the car breaks down, it’s 110 degrees outside. We have plenty of water, but it’s hot! Willey and I stew silently. I call the tow truck guy we met at our last stop. I had had an ominous feeling and put his number in my phone.  He says he can “be there in 25 minutes.” 25 minutes?! We could be hit by a car, we could sweat our brains out, we could melt in 25 minutes.

But we wait. A homeless couple of guys in a rented U-Haul truck stop. “We can save you money! It’ll cost you $100 easily with the tow…..we’re good Christians, we help everyone out. But we don’t have any tools. We can fix it for you if you have tools.” We don’t. I make a mental note: keep a tool kit in the car. The guys seem harmless enough. The skinny guy, I could take him. Should we be attacked, my Tae-Kwon Do will kick in (pardon the pun), and a swift round house kick to the gut, he’d fly into the freeway. The other guy, Willey can take him, they’re both over 55. They have an adorable puppy…is that a ploy to get unsuspecting people to trust them? I can hear my mom’s voice “Ai goo, shut the door Caroline! Lock everything!” But I don’t. I play it cool. I watch them with one eye, my other eye on the girls. They’re smiling, watching “Hotel for Dogs” on Willey’s laptop, totally oblivious to the doom and gloom of my mind. I have to smile looking at them. It’s at least 110 in the car and they’re not complaining. They know what’s going on, but they choose to entertain themselves with what is at hand. They laugh. “Look mom! Look at this…” something silly is happening in the movie. The homeless guys leave empty handed. They couldn’t fix it. They return 15 minutes later, with wrenches. They try. It doesn’t

work. I give them $20 for trying. The tow comes 5 minutes later.

We stay in the Holiday Inn and order pizza. The girls go swimming and have more fun. I dry their clothes on the air conditioning vent and unpack toiletries again. Willey loses one day at work and I miss a doctor appointment. The car is fixed by lunch time the next day. The time flew once we began solving a crossword puzzle in the paper. We arrive home at 5:30pm, relieved. Home! We love our home, even with the dining room project covered in plastic, the walls dusted with concrete powder. Maggie jumps up and down and runs in circles.

Happy Anniversary darling.

Poetry – sort of

Staying at home is dandy

Though I’ve gained weight from

Boredom and candy

Still fun to play – my way – each day

Instead of preparing for work, it’s vacay!

I desire to write, and perchance to dream

In solitude, replete with silence

Three cups of coffee with Splenda and cream

A perfect day for creative thoughts

Yet I can hear the girls’ giggles and talks

My days are busy, it’s true

The dog wants to play – she follows me

But it’s hot! At sunrise it’s 102!

Monkey mind is everywhere

Like the dirty dishes, floors and underwear

Still, I cannot complain

It’s the lack of focus on my part

my utter laziness I disdain

for the blank pages in my notebook

are second to my decision to cook

instilled in my family’s life

are love, fun and connections

I’m a mother, a teacher and wife

Published or not, I know this

I am loved and my life is bliss

Yummy in the Tummy

Went to an Indian restaurant for Father’s Day. Indian cuisine is one of Willey’s favorites. Ava pouted because she loves Mexican – Chilero’s to be exact. Oh well. It’s FATHER’s DAY, we pointed out to her. We’ll go to Chilero’s another time. “The next time,” she made us promise. This 6 year old holds us hostage to her desires. Our children have a way of doing that. Although there were only three tables of guests, the food was slow in coming. Josie complained that she perused my entire book “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” in that time. At last, the food arrived and we weren’t disappointed. It was fantastic. Lamb vindaloo, chicken kabobs (both too spicy for the girls), jasmine rice, and wonderful garlic naan. The girls enjoyed the carb fare while Willey and I feasted on all dishes. It was getting late and the girls are super busy this week with summer school (ceramics, painting, writing (with me) and math (with me)) in the morning and then Boredom Busters in the afternoon until their swim lesson in the evening. Whew! They are loving it though, sure beats watching TV! I had to tear Willey away from the waiter who was listening to how our brother-in-law is Indian and how Willey’s father grew up in India and how Willey could absolutely live on this food forever.

Ava pouted until the dinner arrived (which, I just mentioned took a looooong time in coming). So we gave her the camera and free reign of the place.

From Ava’s point of view

She held a smile back (couldn’t give her parents satisfaction) and started snapping. Willey and I silently worried that she’d drop the expensive camera on the concrete floor, but she didn’t.

Monkey Mind

Monkeying Around

Been dealing with serious monkey mind. Practiced yoga the other day and that helped, but I need to get out of the house in order to write. There are too many distractions here at home. It does not help that I’m trying to simplify the house and so my eyes are constantly surveying things around the house that need to be picked up, organized or disposed of.

In the end, what does it matter? What does any of this matter?

Perhaps I need to stop reading the news. It’s getting me down.

I’m fortunate to have a beautiful family. Willey and I are both employed. We have a home. We have a great dog. Things are wonderful.

Something Like That

Been in need of levity and I got it. Purchased nice gifts for JiMin’s farewell party and had an impulse buy of red, wax lips. These are awesome! JiMin took great pictures of herself and the girls. They laughed hysterically before the camera. We shall miss JiMin much. She’s been great with the girls, even if she can’t clean to save her life, much less cook!

I’m busy, busy, busy with several projects. I’m preparing for the educational aspect of my career the balance of May and all of June. I’m excited about teaching creative writing and even math (in a non-conventional way) to the little ones. July will be all about the writing. I love my story and am getting great ideas every day. JiMin has played a large role in that. All sorts of issues come out when you share living quarters with a foreign exchange student!

How do you like this face? She’s been doing it all day. Very Margaret Cho!

The important thing is that you live each day as if it could be your last. Josie and Ava are hilarious. Truly.  I love having summers to spend with them and watch them grow and become big people. There was a program on TV about adoption. I asked Ava, “do you know what adoption is?” She replied confidently, “yes, it’s when you give your child away to some people who don’t know how to have babies…or….they look in the tummy to see if it’s there and it’s not, there’s no baby. Or something like that.”  Something like that indeed!  She started so self-assuredly and knew by the end that  maybe it wasn’t all correct. But shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “I’m smart and I know I have the gist of it.” Children have such a simplistic way of looking at things. I love it. As adults, we tend to look at things so seriously, with such finality and solemn sobriety. Puh-lease! And I say this mostly from personal experience…we’re too damn serious! Just play and work and hopefully, your work IS play. We’re paying people to work on our yard. We’ve never paid anyone to do anything in our yard or in our home and you know what? It’s nice.  It’s OK to not do everything yourself.  I’m finally learning that at 40.

I have many things on my “to do” list and they are all important. Yet, they are all unimportant too. Something like that.

Dreaming of Korea

So we have JiMin, who is a wonderful taste of Korea right in our home. We have conversations regarding Korean customs and her family and the stresses of academic life. We explain things on a daily basis of “The American Way,” and I’m realizing something disconcerting: I want to go to Korea. It’s been 10 years. It’s a real challenge now what with the hubby, jobs, and children. But I really want to go as a family and for a period of time, like 6 months. I’m writing a novel and although it’s wonderful to have JiMin here to ask questions as I conduct research, I need to be there, to smell things, to hear the noises and the language, to sit in on high school classes and drink it all in. How can this happen?

I’m Back!

Goodness. Sad state of affairs when having our laptop go out of commission completely blindsides your blog!  On top of getting the computer up and running (a complete overhaul was necessary, lost all work), I could not remember my password! But here I am.

Making nice progress on the novel. I visualize it as a movie, which is different for me. I did not write the 300 words today. Somehow, the gym workout always wins over sitting and writing. Being in good physical shape helps me alleviate stress, which is #1 for me and my loved ones!

Went to a 6 year old’s birthday party today. Bowling. 6 year olds have a knack for bowling in slow motion. Amazing. Even they get bored watching the ball roll slowly toward the pins. They look away for awhile and then the adults say, “Look! Look!” just in time to watch the ball mysteriously roll AROUND the pins. Then there is the cake and opening of gifts. Claude loves Star Wars. We had a heck of a time shopping for a boy. What do they like?! You could buy a girl her 90th Barbie and she’d be happy…anything pink and shiny.  But boys….trucks? Action figures? We settled on Star Wars Legos.

Celebrations remind us of milestones. I could not help but think that little kid birthdays could be celebrated within the family alone. I mean, we don’t really know all these people, I don’t even know Claude. Will Claude remember this birthday? When he’s 18 and looking at his Birthday Pin, signed with all the names of children who attended his 6th birthday, will he remember any? What will he feel?

Willey and I will  celebrate our 12th anniversary this year. Maggie turns 9 in August. Supposedly, labs have a life expectancy of 10-12 years.  Looking at Maggie, she looks to be at the top of her game. I refuse to believe she will pass within the next 4 years. Impossible! Ava is about to turn 6. I received a “Kindergarten registration” form from the school and was happy to toss it. We’re over that hump! But there is sweet sadness to it all too. They are so innocent and funny. They hug me indiscriminantly. I pick them up after school and they scream “Mommy!” with wild abandon.I hope above all else that Willey and I will always enjoy a close relationship with them. I don’t want them to shut us out with electronics and slamming doors. I dream of visiting them in college and taking them out for luxurious lunches, getting our nails done, etc. I hope!

This year, we had JiMin with us. What a wonderful, rich experience it has been. We have only one month left and there are so many things I still want to ask her and share with her. We will all feel the loss come June 5th. Her presence and the issues that have arisen from her visit are the direct inspiration for my story. Still, she never exhibited the rebellion I’ve heard of other students displaying: smoking, drugs, drinking, sex, or skipping school. Through tears, frustrations and tons of laughter, we have met our expectations and then shot right through them.

2,408 words

That’s the word count I have on my novel. I am THRILLED when I write 300 words in one day. I’m very happy with the ideas I have on paper so far. It’s amazing how a story develops as you write. The writing process will always satisfy me.

We had a minor tragedy this evening. I told Josie and Ava to clean Ava’s room (they both made the mess) before dinner. Ava emerges 10 minutes later and says, “mom, will you please help me clean my room? Josie isn’t helping me.” I looked around for Josie. Our bathroom door was locked. Willey and Josie were in there, having a serious conversation. I told them that Josie better come out and help her sister clean up! Willey replied, “yes, Caroline, she will. Just give her a minute.” So I did. Then he comes out and tells me that we have a slight tragedy of sorts….Josie has cut her own hair and is extremely upset for two reasons: one, she doesn’t like it. Two, she’s very fearful of my reaction. “So, please, don’t yell at her. She cried a large puddle already.”  I was curious about the new ‘do.

JiMin asked “what’s wrong with Josephine?” I told her what I knew. Ava said, “I saw her. Her hair looks like this”:  she fanned her fingers above her forehead.

Josie ran to her room crying hysterically. I went in and calmed her down. “I don’t want to be punished!” she yelled. “OK, I’m not going to punish you, but you need to have a consequence. Ava cleaned her room all by herself. And I had to help a little bit. You were supposed to help her clean it.”  Josie readily agreed.

“So, I’m giving Ava a magnet.”

“And taking one of mine away?”

“No, you just don’t get one. But you can earn one tomorrow. You’ll have to do something extra to help.”

Josie liked this idea. We then had our curry and read books and did some math (adding three different digits).

Now, I write this blog, my eyes burning from fatigue. It’s not even 9pm yet. I still have to write up my summer school course descriptions for the catalog and email it tonight. Luckily, I wrote my 300 words already.

Humor

It’s something you can lose or forget you have, like that 5 spot in the pocket of your jeans. Weeks might go by without it and when you find it, you’re elated. I laughed tonight reading a friend’s blog. She’s talented and hilarious and I know she must have had some serious hardship and heartbreak in order to earn her humor. I miss her.

I’m procrastinating at the moment. My former Kicking Muse writing cohort from San Francisco asked me to read her manuscript. It’s 492 pages long. It’ll be a nice, easy read…but still, 492 pages long!  It also remind me that I only have a measly 1,200 WORDS in my novel. Pfffffffft! Here goes!

Satisfaction

Things that have been satisfying recently:

• Been writing 300 words every morning – OK, almost every morning. Making good progress on “David & Yeunja”, a dramatic modification to my last short story, “John E. Lee.”
• Biore – hubby’s nose. Very satisfying.
• Making the girls’ lunches for tomorrow.
• Running with the dog and walking the girls home from school.
• Passing my two AEPA tests – received official results today. I did MUCH better than I thought I did!
• Receiving my paycheck every other Thursday.
• Making a massage appointment (tomorrow)!
• Waxing my brows.
• Watching Willey play chess with Ava before dinner and….
• Updating this blog!

Being here

Listened to voice recordings of the girls from three years ago. Ava was 2 and Josie was 3. It made me cry, how precious they were and are and how time flies. I got up early to pack them lunches (they love that) and decided I would not raise my voice even once today. I was really “HERE” today, every minute. And you know what? I got so much out of it. Instead of thinking “I have to do laundry, I have to clean the bathroom, I should be writing….” I was really present and felt calm, loving (and dare I say it?)….happy!  This is a secret to writing also, even if you’re not actually writing with pen and paper, you are a writer. I had an intense insight to my story while sitting with the girls…it came effortlessly.

Update: I wrote 302 words last night! Now, for today….Feb. 19th.

Kisses and Hugs

Willey has a bad cold. Our Valentine’s kisses are limited to quick pecks of the lips. Of course, that’s temporary – he always says “what the heck” and so do I. We share EVERYTHING! The girls are full of energy and are displaced for a few minutes as the heating maintenance man is here, checking the vents. JiMin just woke up. It’s early for her 9am! Being a teenager has some benefits…

My goal is to get a very good idea of my characters today and to write (even if crappy) 300 words. That is LaMott’s prescription. I only have a couple index cards written out.

My Valentine’s present this year was a delicious margarita – Willey makes the best ones. This morning, he made me a cup of coffee.

Time and Money

I wish I had an entire day to write. Actually, to flesh out my characters and get to know them. To dream. I am on the brink! But I need more time. I’m writing notes on index cards, a la Anne LaMott.

On another note, Korean class offered by Korean Cultural Center of Arizona has been cancelled due to low enrollment this spring. I hope it has nothing to do with Mrs. Michelle Kim’s health (she’s the Director of the Center). It’s sad. It’s such a wonderful program and now it will be a major uphill battle (and MUCH more work for me!) to teach the girls Korean. Hopefully, JiMin can help before she leaves in June.

Willey is almost finished with his 1,000 piece puzzle…just in time to pay complete attention to me for Valentine’s Day! I’m going to make a beautiful dinner for the entire family and have the girls (JiMin, Josie and Ava) help me make the dessert. The menu is undecided as of now…

Holding Pattern

Ava got ill…coughing, hacking, fever. Stayed home. Planned for sub. I’m in a holding pattern with the writing, although I managed to write a couple pages at Starbucks Monday. Forecast: rainy this weekend. Just perfect for writing.

Addendum: heard on NPR “You must write about what you believe in, or it won’t stand up.” (paraphrased)

Monday Feb. 9 – I have a renewed energy and inspiration for writing now. Today’s word: toady. I am beyond being toady with anyone in life. Josie and Ava are on the brink of 100% health. What I do, I do for them.

Change is Good

OK, so now my story is looking different again. I just started free writing and came up with a new character. The story is quickly becoming one that reveals differences between Korean culture and American culture. My KA character is being confronted by his own shame and racism. It surprised me as I wrote it. I’m still just writing and not sure where it’s going, but I can visualize it as I write: he’s a professional, running the rat race and is unexpectedly “forced” to take on his cousin from Korea, a teenager. Of course, the fact that I have a 17 year old Korean exchange student is speaking to me, but it’s not her. I’ve been inspired by her and ideas sprout from that. I’m excited. This could easily be the short story turned novel turned film!

oh nuts!

I just realized my promise to myself to post a new blog every Friday. How did this happen? It’s almost 10pm, I’m tired and I have AEPA tests all day tomorrow, starting at 8am sharp and here I am writing in a frenzy.

OK. Update on my writing. Most of it was done in my head. Hahahaha! Seriously. I do a lot of thinking about it, but not much on paper. I have been doing journal writing which has helped my mood considerably.  I did make one BIG decision regarding John E. Lee – the focus will be on his life in contrast to his father’s and how they have practically no relationship. It’s going to be difficult, because a man’s relationship to his father is so different from a daughter’s….but I’m excited when I think about it. Some people have suggested I focus on his love life, but I’m not inspired there at all.  Not that he can’t have a love life (he will!) but that won’t be the focus. I hope to have a great short story and then turn it into a novel.  I just have to get it out of my head and on to paper.

Happiness…

is coming home from grocery shopping and having your children yell, “MOMMMMYYY!” and they nearly knock you over with their hugs. Happiness is coming home with chocolate cream pie and everyone joyfully eating it after a dinner of pasta and homemade tomato sauce.

I do complain sometimes about the lack of time to myself, but honestly, it’s a joy and a blessing to have this family, to be so busy with taking care of them. Some day, Josie and Ava will be big, driving themselves around, trying to fulfill their goals. I will always have my own goals to fulfill, but for now, a few of them take a backseat.  As a wise sage once said, “You CAN have it all, but just not all at the same time.”

The girls are ready for anything!

Happiness is balance and simplicity.

Security

Tonight, I tucked Ava into bed and whispered, “How about tonight you don’t suck your thumb?” She replied in her snotty pre-pre-teen way, “Yeah, that’s gonna happen.”

She reemerged from her room to whine and half-cry that she has a canker sore. Willey jumped from his chair to give her a swig of Listerine, coaching her to swish for as long as possible. She whimpered in pain. Then he swept her up in his arms and flipped the light switch off with her fanny. “You can turn the light off with your butt.” She giggled as he carried her to her bed.

I’m sitting in bed, typing, with an ice pack on my chest. I had my fifth (and final, I swear!) surgery Monday. It’s been almost one week. I felt a swelling and bruising start today and basically freaked out because the last thing I need right now is an infection and to go back to Dr. Parson’s office for drains. That would be a major bummer. This surgery was to correct some positioning and to give me “nipples.” It went well as far as I can tell. It will be a resounding success if I keep infection at bay!

During this summer break, we took a vacation to Legoland. It was just what we needed: mindless fun. Ava had her first roller coaster ride and Josie rode mini-cars with her sister, both earning “drivers’ licenses.”

In addition to this fun, I worked all of June, teaching remedial English to incoming 7th graders and training for my new Ed Tech job. The teaching was challenging. How do you work with 12 year old students who can’t spell “dirt?” How do you impress upon these kids that they need to do their best ALL of the 15 days of summer school, not just two or three? How do you retain your cool factor while admonishing them for eating Doritos and candy for breakfast?

I’ve also taken this time to address dental and medical appointments for the girls. Ava is starting to show an overbite as well as what orthodontists call “overjet,” which is caused by her night time thumb-sucking. I want to do the right thing. I want to purchase an appliance if that is what is necessary. I know she will stop sucking her thumb if her thumb is met by a row of metal on the roof of her mouth. But I am mourning for her at the same time. She has always sucked her thumb and it brings great comfort to her. Her thumb is her best friend. It’s time for her to find security in something else, but what? Peaceful thoughts? I wish I had her equivalent of the thumb…something that brings me instant calm and repose.

Security is a state of mind. Sometimes, in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, I wonder if I still have some residual cancer. Did they get it all? How will I know whether it’s back? I want a 100% guarantee that I will remain cancer free forever. I want to know that Josie and Ava will always be safe and happy and employed. I want to know that Willey will always be healthy, too. There are no guarantees. There is only the opportunity to shed light on the dark corners of my mind with the joy of the present moment. When we are fully present in the moment, there is no room for fear or worry.