Another Aunt Joins the Club!

I found out on Friday that my dad's youngest sister has just been diagnosed with both breast and ovarian cancers.

When I was tested positive BRCA1, the darn breast cancer gene that happily carries along ovarian cancer in females and prostate cancer in males, I told my aunts on my father's side, the hero who passes me this adventurous life, to get tested too. Aunty Enon told me that she doesn't want to get tested (despite the tumor that she has sitting on her ovary right this minute) because she doesn't want to know, because knowing means she her children and grandchildren are affected too.

What kind of an argument is that? Even if you don't get tested, if it's in your gene, there is a 50% chance that you have already passed it on to them anyway!! For me personally, it's better to know so that you can plan your life accordingly. The moment I was positive for BRCA1, I quickly surveyed for a house to buy, and in my hurry I decided on a house I probably wouldn't buy had I have more time in my hand. I also decided not to wait for a second child, because my body might give up on me anytime. And between all the rush, the cancer decides to show up again. I beat it only by a few months...

Anyway, although organ mets is something all cancer patients fear, I have come across people who live with bone and/or lung mets for as long as 9 nine years..and still living. And these people withstand chemo like it were income taxes - something we hate but has to be done anyway. I sure hope I could be as strong as they are.

Well, I'm off to hospital tomorrow, the c-sec is scheduled for Wednesday 15th. I'm not worried about the surgery itself, because it'd be my fifth if we count the oral surgery to extract four teeth in 2001. That was the first time I was put under GA. But I'm worried that Qays is not yet ready to stand on his own. These past 32 weeks, I have been breathing and eating for the two of us. Come Wednesday, he's on his own. But I have to have faith, because this is something that I have to do...

Pray for us...

Nice People

You know, sometimes people surprise you by doing nice things. I'm one of those who don't expect favours or special treatment for whatever reason. I don't expect people to give up a seat because I'm heavily pregnant, or carry my things because because both my arms are at risk for edema after axillary clearance, or hold the door open for me because I'm a lady etc. I mean, I do what I can as long as I can do it, without favours whatever. But some people have done some nice things for me, which, I admit, makes me warm all over.

Last Friday when I was absent from school for the Dexa shots, my students called me from the school public phone.

"What time are you coming to school today?"Aminah asked.

"Not coming. I'm on leave", I told her.

"What!!! Miss, not today please. You have to come to school!" The scream was deafening.

"I can't. I'll talk to you later. Bye" and I hang up.

Seconds later, the phone rang again. This time it was Nadirah.

"Teacher, please come to school today, even for a little while", she begged.

"I can't. I really can't".

And she begged and begged but still I said no. Then on Monday when I was busy marking exercise books, Nadirah came into the computer lab and switched off all the lights. I was taken aback, but I wasn't stupid. My birthday was only a few days ago (Earth Hour, to be exact) and these kids were so elementary I could smell what was going on in seconds.

Then Aminah, Nadirah and Nasuha came in with a cake and candles from Secret Recipe, singing Happy Birthday in off key. The rest, is history.

Then on Tuesday, on my last day of school before I was ordered a rest by my gyneacologist, a collegue of mine, Indira came to wish me luck with the coming treatment. Then she told me that she and her children go to pray on the weekends and she asked if I mind them writing down my name on a piece of paper and put it at a temple to pray for my health. She's told me weeks before that she was looking for a universal prayer that she could use to pray for me. And I was touched, because we are of different religion. I told her I don't mind, that she could go ahead, because a prayer is a prayer, and it's what she believes in that counts.

And last Friday, 10th April 2009, another collegue of mine, Anis treated a bunch of us, whom are often referred to as GBS (Geng Bas Sekolah) to a lunch at Kenny Rogers at The Curve. Mek Na, K. Rozi, Indah and K. Mai ate like pigs. The lunch was for me actually, sort of a good luck with the delivery and the forthcoming treatment.

Then there are others who give me money...

This just reminds me that people can be nice sometimes...

 

Darn Dexa!!!

When I visited my gynecologist the other day, I was given a shot of dexamethasone on the butt, and another to take home for Friday's shot, to be done by a qualified gynecologist of course. The purpose was to help baby's lungs to mature, in anticipation of the early delivery. The first shot was pretty painful, but the second one was easier to handle. But what I did not expect was this lethargy that engulfed me this entire weekened!!

Well, it could be due to something else, you can never be sure with cancer cells in your body. It could just be them zapping up all the nutrients I so eagerly consumed for the sake of my baby. But there I was lying down on the couch like I'm already on chemo, and breaking my promise to my little girl that we would play with water colours today...

And Qistina, my angle, has a lot to cope with at such a young age. She already understands what being sick means, because Mummy is always too tired or too sick to play. She would repeat to me, as she softly touches the place where my left breast used to be and said "Hurt here? Not hurt here?" as she moved her little fingers to my reconstructed right breast. She knows that she is forbidden from asking me to carry her around in my arms, but what mother could resist such pleasure so I carry her anyway, from time to time when my body could handle it and when the father is not around. Then she would ask me to carry her on my good side, because the left side hurt. And she never asks me for a ride on the back either...

How I wish for all these restrictions and limitations to be over so my life could resume. I have a huge mountain range in front of me, but I'm not sure if I'm all equipped to conquer it all.

Qays Aiden

Well, that's the name I've been fighting for for my baby boy and so far I've won. It's pretty easy actually. Easier than when I tried to get Qays Shafique and Qays Aqeel approved. I just trained my daughter to say the name and repeat it to my hubby as many times as possible. Finally he agreed, but warned me not to get hysterical if the people in his hometown in Parit pronounce it as Qays Udin or Oden instead!! Qays is Arabic, meaning firm while Aiden is Gaelic, meaning little fire, or fiery little one. I think it's kind of suitable considering he'd be born premature. Just hope my hubby won't trick me and register him as Oden in favour of his native tongue. On second thought, maybe I should register him myself...

I went to see my gynae today for a detail scan. Qays is in perfect condition. His lungs and kidneys and other internal organs looked good. The blood flow seemed ok too, as did his heartbeat. He weighs approximately 1.6kg now, plus /minus 100g. The doc said it'd be nice if he could weigh at least 1.8kg at 32 weeks. Well, I'm working towards 2 kg actually. I'll deal with the excess fat later. Let's just hope chemo will help me shed some of the pounds. But looking back, that's kind of wishful thinking. I gained 8 to 10 kg after my last chemo in 2004. Darn steroids!!!

Anyway, I was forbidden from going to work beginning 8th April, was ordered some serious rest. I'll be admitted on the 14th and will have the c-sec on the 15th.

So, do pray for us my dear friends. I sure hope that this little fighter that has been busy stretching my once flat tummy post DIEP-flap to its limit, to be born strong and healthy. Then maybe I wouldn't have such a hard time dealing with (uweekk!!! Sorry, can't help myself) CHEMO!!!!

How I Missed School!

When I had the full responsibility of being a teacher on my head, with 27 teaching periods per week, clubs and societies to handle, sports, ad hoc committees etc, I longed for a break. The weekends were life saviors, and I detested working Saturdays, which at times, we had 3 in a month.

After 5 weeks of rest for the mastectomy, I wanted to return to work. It wouldn't be bad as I'm still in the 'pool' for teachers with chronic illnesses, which means I don't have to do anything but turn up for school and be the envy of every other stressed out, sweaty, on-the-verge-of-a nervous-breakdown teachers. But being the considerable person that I am I always asked for classes to teach, although I gladly refused any co-curricular activities that would require me to come early or stay back later.

In 2006, when I was first dumped in the pool, I taught 15 hours a week. Then in 2007, I taught 15 hours of English and 3 hours of something else I couldn't remember. In 2008 I had 15 hours of English and 10 hours of ICTL. Once I was diagnosed again, all the hours were taken away, but the administration has been so wonderful that they let me take back 2 of my English classes if I ever decided to come and teach.

For the first 3 days, I went home vomiting...everything. I was breathless and tired that even lying down didn't help. But still I pushed myself to do this because I needed the mental stimulation. By the fourth day I was feeling better, especially once my brain had started focusing on the work at hand rather than the deteriorating condition of my physical body. But I'm still breathless. Often times I have to consciously control my breathing the Qi-Cong way and visualize the O2 passing through every fiber of my being and straight to my unborn baby. 10 years ago, breathing was something I took for granted.

Anyway, I'm enjoying school now, as much as I can. Although the students piss me off at times, they are also a source of pleasure and for now, one of the keys to my survival...

Funny, funny stuff....

A day before school reopened, my daughter lost me my breast!!! The fake breast that was a legacy from the previous cancer experience!! I took off my bra and as always she would grab the 'thing' with fascination. It was actually a breast-shaped pocket filled with fiber and it was given free of charge by the Breast Cancer Welfare Association. After many years, the fiber had gone flat so I refilled it with (don't laugh!!) shoulder pads and handkerchiefs. I had thrown away the bag of fiber I bought for refilling purposes in 2007, in celebration of a successful breast reconstruction - the DIEP flap.

Anyway, I frantically searched for the thing but it was nowhere to be seen. I ransacked my entire room but it seemed to have vanished into thin air. The shoulder pads and kerchiefs were strewn all over the dressing table, but the pocket itself was gone, kidnapped by aliens. I screamed that I had to go to school tomorrow and I couldn't possibly do so with ....one reconstructed breast on the right and a flat chest on the left. None of the students could take me seriously if I did!!

Then my eyes landed on my Mom's inner head scarf and decided to stuff that into my bra instead. But experience have taught me that its lack of weight would make it move up and up and eventually out of the bra cup. I tried weighing it down with shillings...but the noise they make...and the students may wonder why my breast is producing the sounds of a piggy bank being shaken every time I move. At the last minute I thought of the marbles we use to play Congkak. So I stole a few from downstairs and tied them to the scarf using a rubber band, making sure they didn't produce any attention grabbing sounds. They didn't...well, not much. And it looked good too...as long as the head scarf didn't peek out because the fluorescent yellow could be seen from Antartica...

Well, I'm thinking of going out to buy some proper bras for breast cancer patients tomorrow...
If I knew I was going to get breast cancer again, I would've saved myself the trouble of going through the 12-hour reconstruction!!! Then I wouldn't have any need to stuff my bra everyday...or buy any bra whatsoever...

Friends???

This happened a few months ago, while I was happily gulping down my second glass of iced-cold orange juice. I was at the school canteen and the time was about 12 p.m, when the afternoon teachers started coming in and the morning teachers still have a couple of classes to endure before the day's work is over.

Then walked in this teacher, whom nobody talks to much because she builds this invisible wall around her that warns others of her reluctance to socialize. She only talks to a previlege few, and that day I was apparently the VIP. She landed on the chair opposite mine eating a bit of this and that, making faces at everything that touched her palate. I ignored her, because I have learned that you only speak to her when spoken to.

Other teachers came in and we chatted and then they left, leaving us alone again. Suddenly she granted me with an exchange. She stood up, walked over to my side, grabbed my upper arm and said "Why do you suddenly got fat, ah?"
I was speechless, uncertain how to respond. Then she she grabbed the other arm "See, fat here too".
"Errm..., I'm pregnant? I always bloat like a hippo during pregnancy".
She looked surprise to know that I was expecting, "Maybe, but you have fat all over you".

I rest my case.

Another 'friend' came to visit me at home after my mastectomy. She was surprised to see that I had my hair cut short. The last time I was hospitalised I had a head full of wavy hair down beyond my shoulders and after the surgery I woke up with dried up blood matting my hair down to the scalp. So I learned my lesson this time, what with chemo coming up there's really no need to worship a few hair strands. Laughing aloud, probably thinking it was funny, she recalled my intentions of having my hair highlighted and permed but only ended up with a boy cut.

I could ignore a remark like that to a mere oversight, a short lapse in sensitivity, if she stopped there. but she kept on giggling and pointing fingers at my head that it began to irritate me.
"XXXXX, I did get the highlight and the perm, remember? You have the picture in your mobile!!"
"Yeah, yeah, but funny lah after all that you end up with this", she insisted.
"I'm going bald soon".
"Still..."...(laugh, laugh, laugh)
And this came from a woman who was not few months ago came complaining to me that during a pot luck, while she was filling up her two plates with food, someone commented on its amount that started to build up like the Himalayas. And this came from friend who constantly complains that people always make fun of her big tummy, as she always look pregnant when she isn't, and look even terrifying when she does. I mean, I would expect her to have some sensitivity towards others as she is obviously so in tuned with her own predicament.

But life would be colourless without such irritations to irk you. It makes me realise what a nice person I am...and I'm thankful...