A Christmas Gift from the Magi

The little spikey hairs on my head are now falling out. And surprisingly, it is a bit uncomfortable. Setting aside the fact that little pointy hairs getting stuck on my skin and in my clothes leaves me itchy and irritated, the changes to my skin feel like little needle pricks all over my head. So very uncomfortable.

Before it came time to shave my head, my friend Sharon made me promise to tell her when I was going to do it. Ultimately, I decided not to because I didn't want her to get upset. She was, however, the first person to see me with it shaved. 

Prior to losing my hair, Sharon had threatened to cut own hair when I cut mine. I strictly forbade her to do so. She, like me, has had long hair for as long as I have known her. 

Sharon with her beautiful long hair

Then, a couple of nights ago, I got a picture text from her with the caption, "Guess what I did tonight???"

OMG

 I could not believe it. I gasped, and my sister looked up, alarmed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

I could not respond. I grabbed my phone and dialed Sharon's number.

"Hello?" said Sharon in her happy voice.

"What have you done? Why did you do this?" I asked her in a shaky voice. I couldn't believe it, and I started crying. I was devastated. "Your beautiful hair! How could you? You promised me you wouldn't cut your hair!" I said, in a choking voice.

"No, no!" Sharon said. "I love my new haircut! It was a great time for me to cut it, and we can grow our hair together," she said, happily. "Please, please don't cry! I am so happy with my hair, I think it looks so cute! I swear to you that I really do love it. And when you see it, you will love it too." She paused. "And if you don't you better lie to me about it!" she said, laughing.

"I love your hair, and I can't believe you cut it," I said, still choking and sobbing. For those of you who don't know, I am not an elegant crier. "How short is it?"

"It is kind of at my chin," she said.

I blanched. "Oh my god, that is so short," I whispered.

"No, I swear I love it! Please stop crying," Sharon pleaded.

Needless to say, I was shocked. When I first received the text, all I could think was that Sharon had cut her hair because of me. It was like losing my hair, twice -- but this time, without any warning. After I had calmed down a bit, though, she explained to me that she really did love her hair. Honestly, I cried more about Sharon's hair than my own. She has the most beautiful hair. It is thick, luxurious, and has a curl to it, which is not typical for Korean hair. It was devastating to hear that she cut her long locks in solidarity for my own. It was heartbreaking, but it was also one of the most beautiful gestures that I have ever been on the receiving end of. It reminded me of O. Henry's short story, The Gift of the Magi.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story, it is the story of a young married couple, long ago, who were very poor. The story begins with the wife, Della, crying because it was Christmas, and she only had $1.87 with which to buy her beloved husband Jim a present. They were very poor, but had two possessions that they took great pride in. One was Jim's watch, that had been handed down from his grandfather, to his father, and finally to Jim himself. The other was Della's beautiful hair, which flowed all the way down to her knees. But that morning when she let down her hair, an idea sprang to mind. She quickly pulled up her hair again, shed a tear or two, and went out. She sold her hair for $20, and with the money, she purchased a beautiful platinum watch chain for Jim. Della waited for him, excited at the happiness her sacrifice would bring. But when he came home, Jim stopped short, stunned at the sight of her hair. Wordlessly, he placed Della's Christmas gift on the table. And when Della opened the gift, she found a pair of beautiful tortoise combs embellished with jewels. The very same ones she had worshipped in a store window. He had sold his watch to buy her the combs she'd wanted for her hair she no longer had; and she, in turn, sold her hair to buy him the chain for a watch he no longer had.

This story reminds me of Sharon's gift to me. She did it happily, and without question. And thank goodness that she is so beautiful, both inside and out, that her hair looks fabulous on her.

I have been so fortunate to find myself surrounded by such generosity and care. Remember how I mentioned my craving for butter pecan ice cream in a previous post? Well, a couple of days ago an insulated package was dropped off at my door, filled with a special delivery from my friend Fariha -- six pints of Sprinkles butter pecan ice cream. This, on top of the incredible generosity of the Newport Coast MOMS club, who have been dropping off a full dinner every Thursday for me and my family (and many of then signed up for multiple meals), is more than anyone could ever ask for, or expect.

My life, it seems, has been blessed by the spirit of Magi -- perhaps a fitting reminder of all of our blessings during this holiday season. O. Henry ends his short story with these words:

"The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi."

My beautiful Sharon, myself, and my Sprinkles butter pecan ice cream. 

Evan still loves his mommy

I awoke this morning with determination. This was the day I would shave my head, but I was worried about Evan's reaction to me. My friend Natalie had suggested getting some head scarves. I thought that it might be a good way to get Evan used to it, before I shaved my head.  I remembered that I had one that I bought years and years ago. I dug it up from my drawer, and put it on over my ponytail. 

When Evan awoke, I went into his room with the scarf on my head. "Good morning!" I said in my usual cheery voice. He smiled at me in happiness, and I leaned into his crib to hug him good morning. He smiled, and pointed to my scarf. He reached up and started to pull at it. "No," I said with a smile. He smiled back, and let it go. It was business as usual for him, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was okay with the scarf.

At breakfast, I asked Catherine and Joe what they thought about shaving my head today and how we would go about it. I could tell that Joe was nervous.

"I want to cut it today," I began. "It is going to get cut anyway, what's the difference if I wait another day or not? Why not now before I start getting bald patches?" I asked.

"Well, I suppose so," Catherine responded. "Do you want to do it today?" 

"Yes," I replied. 

Joe nodded in acquiescence. "Okay, that sounds good. At least it isn't at midnight, right?" He turned to Catherine and said, "She discovered last night that her hair was falling out, and wanted to cut it last night," he said.

Catherine looked at him, smiled, and said, "Well, are you surprised? That's my sister, right? She's the 'tearing off the band-aid' kind of a person."

 

Joe laughed. "Yes, I guess so. Why would this be any different?" His tone turned serious. "How do you want to do this? Do you want to buzz it? Or do you want to take a razor to it?"

I didn't know. "Maybe we should shave it as close to the head as possible."

Joe looked dubious at that suggestion. "I don't know. The clippers have a guard. Do you just want a buzz cut?"

"No," I said emphatically. "I do not want a buzz cut, I want it as close to the scalp as possible."

Catherine looked at me carefully. "Do you want it to be smooth? Are you thinking about Bic'ing it?"

"We could get an electric razor, and buzz it that way," Joe suggested.

"Why don't we look it up?" I asked.  "I am sure they have suggestions on the cancer websites."

My sister quickly busied herself with the task. "Well, this one says that you should probably cut your hair before 17 days from the day you start chemo, so we are kind right there as far as timing." My sister continued, "But it says not to Bic it. Your scalp will feel sensitive, and perhaps a bit painful. So we should just use the clippers."

"Ok, let's do this after breakfast," I said with determination. "I want to do this as soon as possible. And perhaps in front of Evan so he doesn't freak out when he sees my bald head."

Catherine looked impressed at the idea. "That's a really good suggestion."

I glanced at Joe and nodded. "I thought so, too -- Joe suggested it last night."

After breakfast, we went upstairs to the bathroom. My sister, always helpful, set out a chair. She already knows her job is to take pictures. We bring Evan upstairs, and he is at first interested in all the commotion. My hair is in a ponytail, and I tell Joe just to cut it off above the tie.

He begins to cut, and I can hear the sound of the scissors sawing away at my hair. It seems surreal. He finally makes his way through the ponytail, and places it in a neat pile on the counter. I look at myself in the mirror. I look the same, as if the ponytail was still there. I guess they have that phantom limb condition, why not phantom ponytail?

Joe begins to work on the rest of my head, cutting it as close to the scalp as possible. I start looking more shorn. I really do kind of look like Anne Hathaway as Fantine in Les Miserables.  But I quickly go from Fantine to G.I. Jane as he works the scissors through my hair. I am unable to speak. I remain silent and subdued, and Joe continues with the clippers. He fits the clippers with a guard, and I cannot summon the courage to tell him that I want the hair clipped short -- without the guard. I remain hunched and silent in my chair, looking at the floor. 

The cutting of the pony tail

He takes a pass with the clippers. Tears roll down my face as I get a glace at my now shorn head. I cannot bear to look anymore, and I cry silently. My sister holds my hand, and cries with me. I stay my tears, and take a deep breath. My hair is now a buzz cut. "You know, honey," Joe says, "you really have a nicely shaped head. I was nervous because you said that Asians have funky shaped heads." He looks and smiles at me.

 

The dreaded buzz cut

"Yeah," my sister added," I was nervous about that too, but you have kind of a really round and nicely shaped head."

I nod imperceptibly in acknowledgement. I am still too upset to respond. He then takes another pass without the guard in place. The buzz cut is gone, and I am left with a shaved head. Joe, with his steady surgeon's hands, did a great job. It feels odd, and my head feels cold and tingly. After it is done, my sister and Joe busy themselves getting rid of the hair evidence, and I take a shower. It is time for Evan's nap, but I ask Joe to delay it because I want to see his reaction to my shaved head. 

I reach out to Evan, and he smiles his usual happy smile. "Kiss?" I ask him in a shaky voice. He leans in and gives me a kiss. All is well, and my world seems a little brighter already. I think it will take some time to get used to it, but frankly, I have no other choice. Pretty soon, even the hair that is left will fall out, and my scalp will be smooth. But at least, for now, my baby still recognizes his mother. 

 

Evan still loves his mommy

D-Day...Anticipation is worse than the act itself

My hair is falling out in earnest. I had a discussion with Joe last night about cutting and shaving my head. It was about 11:00 last night, and my hair was falling out as I was brushing it before bed. I don't like to go for more than a day or two without washing it, so I decided to wash it right then and there. And then more and more fell out. As I was standing in the shower, I called Joe over.

"My hair is falling out in earnest," I said. "It is traumatic seeing it continuously falling out. Look at all this," I said, gesturing to all the hair. "Should we cut it tonight?" I asked, anxiously.

Joe, ever cautious and never one to act rashly (unlike myself, whose first reaction is to cut off all her hair) said, "No. Absolutely not. It is too late to start this now." I stared at him blankly. At that moment, the time seemed unimportant. But Joe continued, noting, "I know a lot of hair has fallen out, but I'm looking at you, and there is a lot of hair still on your head. We should wait, honey," he said quietly.

He was right. I decided to wait, but the trauma of having my hair fall out is not to be taken lightly. Is the anticipation worse? Would it be worse after my hair is shorn? What about Evan? Will he scream and cry when he sees me, and not recognize his mommy? 

An old childhood memory keeps popping up in my head. When I was young, my cousin Christine and I were inseparable. We spent every single day together growing up. Now, my cousin Christine was a very sensitive person when we were young. She would cry when I forgot to hug her or say hi to her. She, of course, grew out of this and is a very successful academic with a Ph.D. in sociology. But when we were young, things affected her pretty dramatically.

Christine had an uncle on her mother's side; a rather short, bald man with extremely thick glasses. Upon seeing her uncle for the first time, she went into hysterics, having never seen a bald man or thick glasses before. For those of you who are blessed with perfect eyesight, you may not know that very thick glasses warp the way your eyes look through the lens. So when Christine saw her uncle for the first time, she started screaming hysterically. "Aaaaaahhh! Aaaaaahhh!" Pointing her finger at him, she cried out, "Monster! Monster!" screamed hysterically once more, and promptly fainted. It's a memory that used to make me laugh. But now, what if Evan does that? What if he becomes scared of me?

Yeah, I suppose I would scream too.  I guess I would be happy if I don't resemble this guy.*
*This is a re-enactment.

Where is Anne Hathaway when I need her? They said that she got really emotional cutting her hair for Les Miserables. But then again, I do not even remotely resemble Anne Hathaway, so it's safe to say that Hollywood won't be knocking on my door after I shave my head.

I think the anticipation is worse. Well, we will find out soon enough. The time is now approaching. 

The Bonfire of the Vanities

My hair is starting to fall out. I am actually surprised that it hasn't fallen out sooner. My theory is that the hormones from the fertility treatment gave me that luxurious pregnancy hair -- you know the thick, lovely hair that pregnant women have. And because of that, I think my hair hung on a bit longer than anticipated.

Long and luxurious hair... Asian style! 

I was trying to decide whether I'll take pictures of the head shearing. I wasn't sure I wanted to document such a horrible moment in my life. But I finally decided that I would -- whether I can bear to look at them or not, at least I will have them. I don't want to regret not having pictures. It will be traumatic and difficult for sure, but at least it will be documented. I'm hoping that I can cut and shave my head the day after Christmas, if my hair will hold on until then. It would be so depressing to have to do this before Christmas. But I will if I have to. There is nothing more disgusting than hair falling out all over the place. Just thinking about it now is enough to turn my stomach. Ugh.

Since Joe and I got married, I've been trying to create little traditions for our family. For me and my family, celebration is always marked by food and family. But my body is tired. It took a herculean effort, but I decided not to cook Christmas dinner and make it a very low key event this year. I'll just be doing breakfast. I have a recipe for cinnamon rolls and I bought enough potatoes, sausages, eggs, and bacon to last normal people for a lifetime. Which for us, means one meal. For Christmas dinner, I ordered a full blown meal that I will pick up the day before. I have never ordered a dinner like this so I hope it tastes good. Joe is used to really delicious Christmas dinners; Mom usually makes the most wonderful roast turkey dinner when we go to Missouri for Christmas. I guess we will have to wait until next year for that! That, and some of her delicious kibbe. I hope that he forgives me for my shortcut.

I am trying to keep up the daily calories. I do not have much of an appetite, but everyone is making sure that I have plenty of delicious food to entice me. My MOMS Club set up a meal program that puts to shame any other meal program in all of history. One meal a week for 6 months of chemo. It is amazing what a group of women can accomplish -- six months of meals! I have only lost about 3 pounds so far, so the meal plan is working. My mother's friends are cooking up a Korean food storm, and putting in mass for me every day. They even have a 24 hour prayer schedule, so at any given moment in the day someone is praying for me and my family. My parents have been incredible supporters of the church, and in times of crisis, I feel so blessed so see that support reflected back with so much love.

Such great food. Such great friends. Such a great family. So much for the chemotherapy diet plan, I guess.

Delicious tasting Zofran, anyone?

Has anyone noticed that they have the most delicious tasting Zofran in the ER?

Yes, I had my first post-chemo ER visit last night. I was having some serious heart and bone pain. The bone pain is a difficult sensation to describe, but it feels as if someone was grinding and twisting my bones, with the pain radiating everywhere. The base of my spine and my hips were the most severe (and still are).  My heart pain had been steadily escalating for the previous two days, as well.

By late evening, it was so bad that I couldn't walk or stand, and tears were springing to my eyes. The whole scene was actually so dramatic, it was comical. Picture it...

[Scene]

As Liz shuffles down the hall, the pain that has been twisting the structure of her body crescendos to a climax, halting her slow movements towards the living room. Her face crumples as her heart shudders and her bones feel like as if they're breaking. She falls forward just as her younger sister, Catherine, rushes towards her. Catherine later confesses that was listening to the pattern of her sister's footsteps to determine if Liz would be able to walk back unassisted. Catherine holds up her sister before she falls to the floor, watching helplessly as tears well up and trickle down Liz's cheeks.

Is this for real?


[Scene fades to black as Catherine rushes to alert Joe]

I went in for some blood work earlier in the morning, and my white blood cell count was at 0.9, which was low. Very low. The pharmacy called to say that I should continue with the Neupogen shots and to warn me to come to the ER if I started to get ill. My neutrophils were also low, at 300. But by the time I got to the ER that night, my white blood cell count was up to 1.5.

Joe's theory is that my escalating pain may have been caused by my bones working so hard to produce the white blood cells. It actually does make sense because the pain was so bad yesterday, when my counts were so low. Joe assessed that my heart pain might also be related to the bone pain because the EKG test they ran on my heart came out as normal (a very good thing, since one of the chemo drugs may lead to damage to the heart muscle). The sternum, which is close to the heart, is a very large bone and what I felt as heart pain might actually be the regeneration occurring in the bone.

The doctor recommended that I take some medication to help ease the pain and allow me to sleep. Those of you who know me will not be surprised to hear that I made implementing his recommendation difficult. I am not a huge fan of pain medication, as I feel it is a sign of weakness. Joe, however, was concerned that the pain will keep me from sleeping at night, a concern echoed by the ER physician. So, after some discussion, I reluctantly agreed to the hospital's administration of some Norco and Zofran.

There's always a silver lining to these situations, though. Did you know that the Zofran they provide at the hospital tastes like strawberry banana? It was so delicious. A couple months ago we brought Evan to the ER for vomiting and diarrhea, and they gave him delicious tasting Zofran then, as well. I suppose if you're going to take medication that enables you to eat, it might as well taste good, right?

*  *  *  *

On the positive front, I had a follow up with my fertility physician. She said that out of the 8 embryos that were genetically tested, 4 of them were good. As a person who grew up in an environment where 90% was 10% too low, my first reaction was, "Only four?" But the doctor reassured me that she was very pleased with the result; four was, apparently, quite a lot and a great number to work with. Given my positive fertility record prior to chemotherapy, she would start off by implanting only one at a time in order to avoid risking twins.

This is with just one!

 Pleased, I walked out of the office and it wasn't until later on that I realized I hadn't asked her about the the gender of the embryos! This, after weeks of discussion regarding whether it was preferable to have a boy versus a girl as sibling to our wonderful little boy, Evan. I called the office, and was amused to hear that three of the four were boys, and one was a girl. It seemed almost guaranteed that without the fertility treatments we went through because of chemo, we would have likely had another son. Which am I going to implant? Who knows? But it is so wonderful to have a choice. Not a choice of gender, but a choice for more children. I am so grateful that science and medicine have made it possible for us to have the ability to have more children, even after chemotherapy.

As I write, the pain persists and I can feel its drain on my energy. I don't know how long the pain will last, but the next 5 days are going to be pretty tough. Neupogen is not to be trifled with -- it is the cause and brunt of all this pain. There are websites dedicated to the side effects and pain of the Neupogen.  At least I have my pints of ice cream, though. I have don't have much of an appetite for anything these days except for ice cream. Particularly butter pecan. And we all know that a pint a day will keep the pain at bay! That is how that phrase goes, isn't it?

Family

A few days have gone by, and I feel the fatigue and general malaise setting in. On the positive side, however, I am proud to report that I have remained pretty active. Sitting around feeling bad and sorry for myself is not really my modus operandi anyway. Every morning, no matter how tired I am, I force myself to get up, take a shower, and put on make-up and do my hair. So long as I still have my hair, I am going to make sure that I do it every day. No need to prevent split ends, or use special expensive moisture shampoo for long hair. I wash it, dry it, and style it- let's just damage the hell out of it before it falls out.

We even went to South Coast Plaza today, to buy Evan some new shoes. He has already outgrown his size 6!  It is amazing how much he has grown. He is the reason I can get through my days, filling them with laughter and joy. I am so lucky to be his mother.

My little man!

But tonight, my heart is hurting. And no, I don't mean the kind of pain that might serve as the focus of a Lifetime movie special. I mean, it literally hurts, as if someone had reached in and squeezed it, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom-style. Joe says it could be from the steroids (or the tapering thereof), or perhaps from the chemo, but hopefully it will pass soon.

In the meantime, we received an update on our little fertility project. My doctor was able to harvest 12 eggs, 10 of which survived and were fertilized. My sister asked Joe if we were trying to start a softball team. Eight were genetically tested, and we're still waiting for the results. I had heard from my friend (who had undergone fertility treatments) that after the eggs were tested, they were given a rating from 1-10. She had the "10" eggs implanted. I'm hoping to get at least 2 with the "10" score. We shall see what the testing brings. I have a follow-up tomorrow, but it feels a bit strange going back. The whole fertility experience seems eons ago. So much has happened since then, even though it has been only about 10 days.

There are a lot of things on my mind these days, with my family being a constant. My parents are not handling the cancer diagnosis well, and being a parent myself, I can understand how hard it must be to see your child in pain and be helpless to stop it. My parents came by today, and I had casually asked my mom if she wanted to take a quick picture with me.

"Why?" she asked, happy that I wanted a picture together.

"Because I want to take at least one together while I still have my hair," I told her calmly.

"When do you think you will lose it?" she asked, slightly shocked at my response.

"The doctor said about two weeks after I start chemo, so maybe next week, I think," I said.

"So what are you going to do? Who is going to cut it? Are you going to ask Hector?" she asked. Hector has been my hairdresser and friend for over 12 years now.

"No, I think that Joe and Catherine will do it," I responded.

"Do you have clippers?" my dad asked, desperate to be helpful. " I have some if you need it."

"No, I don't think that is a good idea," my mom said. "Joe does not know how to cut hair. What if Joe makes it ugly?"

I looked at my mom, totally amused. "Um, Mom, how can he mess it up?" I asked her with a teasing voice. "I think there is one way to shave it."

My mom laughed. "Oh, right."

How my mom still sees me.

Later this evening, at about 11:00 pm, she called my sister in a stark panic, saying that I was going to shave my head tonight. She told me sister she was sure of it because I had asked to take a last picture with her. It made me so sad. She was crying, and upset, thinking that I would have to go through the trauma of the haircut without her. She wants to shield me, as if I were still her little girl, from all the pain and hurt that can touch me in this world. I wish I could ease that pain for her.

My sister has been deeply worrying me as well. She has been my support, my help, my friend, and my champion ever since the diagnosis. She has yet to falter, or show any sign of sadness or weakness. I am so grateful that she is here. So grateful she has taken the time off work to be here for this first round of chemo. I do not know what I would have done without her. She has been such a blessing to me, Evan, and Joe. I just wish there was more that I could do to help her through this hard time. She has been struggling to deal with her own feelings and issues, and I feel so much responsibility and despair when I see her sad. I guess it is an older sister thing, but I still want to protect her forever. And, of course, make fun of her at the same time. It is a penchant that an older sibling will never outgrow. :)

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, [and] endures all things."

May God bless this sad, strong, but loving family.

My friends are amazing

Every time I think that I am having a tough time, or that I do not want to take another pill, another shot, or another chemo session, something truly amazing happens.  My friends are amazing.

Just a few of my friends that have helped me along the way....

My friends have been there for me every step of the way. Lifting my spirits with dinner and movies, or just coming over and hanging out. I cannot reiterate just how lucky I am. The other night, a bestie came over with chemo blankets for me to sleep in. On Monday, my cousin came over after my first day of chemo to make sure I was still alive. And today, two dear friends came over to drop off food. My MOMS Club set up a meal plan, where meals are to be delivered once a month for the next six months. Virtually every slot is filled. More than a few of them signed up multiple times with one crazy but dear friend signing up 5 fives. I am one lucky gal.

Day 3 chemo. Very soft and warm blanket, coupled with lack of sleep and fatigue =  nap time. It really is too bad that I can only sleep with an IV pumping poisons into me.

Today, I felt a bit tired, but still wanted to finish all the things I had planned. I finished my Christmas shopping, and met my girl for lunch. It was so great to sit down, and talk about nothing, just to laugh. Afterwards, my sister and I wrapped all of Evan's thousands of presents, and a very dear friend came over. She brought more food that another good friend made, as well as a plethora of gifts and goodies. The most touching of all was a manila envelope that was filled with cards she had collected from my old law partners and my former secretaries at my firm.

This was amazing.

It is really not my nature to announce events going on in my life, but this was a special gift my friend did for me. She somehow knew how much it would mean to me to read all of these cards. It reminded me of the days when I was single, working hard, keeping time with everybody and everything, and just being a young professional in this world. It seems like a lifetime ago. I would never trade my life for anything, cancer or not, and I'm grateful for all my experiences and the relationships that were started and solidified there. 

The card from one of my old secretaries was particularly poignant. Among other memories, she reminded me of an out of town deposition I had to go to. I ended up stuck for hours and hours at an airport, but I still refused to change my shoes for fear of looking dowdy. I had to laugh at the memory -- such vanity then, and even now. Perhaps always. But when she told me that she burst into tears while reading my blog, it made me sad. 

I'm feeling tired. My throat feels like it's closing up, and I am gradually having trouble swallowing. They say that my mucous membranes are going to be affected by the chemo (mucousitis), and I guess that is starting. Joe had mentioned that I would likely feel okay until about the end of the week, and we are nearing that time frame. I'm lucky that I was able to get all the things done today that I wanted to. Even Oliver has been groomed, bathed, and ready for some quality home time.

What a sweet present!

I start my Neupogen shots tomorrow for 10 days. I thought all my shots were over with after my fertility treatments, but I guess they must continue. Neupogen is used to regulate the white blood cells so that it doesn't hit a dangerously low level due to the chemo. The nurse at the hospital told me that I would be at my weakest 10 days from the last day of chemo, which puts me right at December 20th through 24th. So it'll be a low key, at-home Christmas for me. 

I am realizing that there will be days when I may be unable to write in my blog. On these days, I will ask my darling sister Catherine or my Joe do my writing for me. I look forward to reading their entries, and I hope you will too.

On my husband Joe

What can I say about Joe? Here is picture of us before marriage.

A lot of wine, to be sure!

And here is one for my 36th birthday after the cancer diagnosis, in November of 2012.

A little older, perhaps a bit wiser, but a whole lot happier.

My husband is one of the good guys. I say this having dated the not-so-good guys. He is the type of guy who, upon seeing yet another pair of shoes or another new dress, always says, "Honey, that is so beautiful on you. I am so glad you bought that!" Or, "Yes, it may be expensive, but look at that fabric and quality. It is worth it."

I know, ladies. Right?

His parents raised him right! Now, I have to do the same for this little guy.

It has been very hard for him. It has been hard for my family, but seeing your wife in so much pain on a daily basis, all while she's insisting that she can do all the activities she did before the tumors began growing so aggressively throughout her limbs, has to be difficult. He once said to me,"Why do you have to make everything so difficult? You reject every attempt of comfort or help from others. What can I do?' But being busy and useful makes me happy, and above all, he always wants me to be happy. So, as difficult as it is to see me do all the things I want to do, he still silently watches, and always lends his helping hand whenever I need it.

Yes, it is definitely not easy being married to me. I imagine that it is even harder being married to someone who has to fight cancer. He has often said that he wishes that he could carry the cancer for me. That he wishes it was him instead of me. I am so glad it isn't.

Today was my second day of chemo, and I was tired. Mainly because I was afraid to sleep last night for fear that I would wake up and have to lurch to the toilet and heave my guts out. I reasoned that if I did not sleep at all, I could anticipate when I started to feel nauseated and take anti-nausea medication before it got bad. My poor sister was so tired, and was trying to convince me to go to sleep, in vain.

"Unnee, you have to go to sleep. You will feel worse and more nauseated if you are tired. Trust me."

I then realized that Catherine was staying awake so long as I was awake.  I lied, and told her that I was going to go to sleep. I, of course, did not go to sleep.  By 3 in the morning, I could not keep my eyes open, and gave in to a fitful slumber.

So needless to say, I was extremely tired. I went to chemo today, for a shorter session. No Red Syringe of Death (RSOD) today. I was so delirious from my night of vigil that after the IV was placed in me I promptly fell asleep in my infusion chair.

In the meantime, my mother (who was probably praying), Joe, and Catherine (who were probably talking about computers and tech stuff), were left to their own devices.

Two hours later, it was done. I awoke to find my sister handing me coconut water. Oh my God. I mentioned I liked coconut water because it was nature's electrolytes, and now she has ensured that I will have a consistent flow of this running through my veins to try and combat the effects of the chemo.

"Oh, thanks!" I say. Well, I was kind of thirsty. She always seems to anticipate my needs before I do.  Where did my baby sister learn how to be so kind and thoughtful always? She has been so helpful and supportive through all of this.

My baby sister

"Did I talk in my sleep?"

"Why?" my mother asks anxiously, hovering over me as always. "Are you hiding the pain? You shouldn't hide the pain. You should scream if it hurts."

"No," I say, both amused and annoyed. She is always so dramatic. But I know it is because this has been so hard on her. She has been looking very tiny and gaunt since my diagnosis. "I am okay, Umma," I say more gently. "It did not hurt today."

Meanwhile, Joe has been quiet. He looks at me and smiles his smile that reassures each and every time that he loves me. "How are you?"

"I am fine, honey.  I'm sorry I fell asleep. I was so tired. I feel better now."

"Good."

But here is what my husband wrote, while I was sleeping.

"We are back in the infusion center again today and they are currently giving you a one hour course of Etoposide. This place is as quiet as a library and you are taking a nap. I think this is the first time I have seen you sleep in a week. There have been so many trials and challenges for you lately and you have handled them all with perfect grace and dignity. I do not know how you have done it. I love you and I wish I could take this chemo for you. I don't know why this happened, but we will get through it together. Love, Joe"

Whatever happens, there is no way that I will not survive this. I have so much to be thankful for, and so much support and love around me. My friends, family, and of course, my Joe.

Good night.

The red syringe of death

So the day has come, and I am unnaturally calm. Or natural for me, I guess. Evan is up early, as usual, and wakes up grinning from ear to ear.  He is so adorable, wearing his little sleepshirt.  He is happy and smiling, and I cannot help smiling back at him.  My mom arrives to watch Evan, and I remind her that Katie, our nanny, is due to arrive at 10:30.  I heat up a quiche that I made for Joe and my sister, and we head out to the hospital.

At least they gave me a private room and a nice chair...

The first chemo medication had to be administered by hand.

"This is toxic to your veins, and it will be painful going in," the nurse explains.

My eyes widen a bit, "What do you mean painful?" I think, seriously? What the heck does vein pain feel like?

"It is poison. Toxic," she says.  "It will burn."

Well, what choice do I have? "Ok," I say weakly.  She pulls out a large syringe filled with a vile, viscous-looking red liquid.

"It looks pretty bad, yes? I don't know why they make it red. I have to manually administer this slowly, to monitor the injection and your reaction. I will inject it along with a free flowing saline drip to try and dilute it as it goes in," the nurse says reassuringly.

Well, if I didn't know what vein pain felt like then, I sure as heck will know very soon.  She hooked up the large syringe to my IV. "Well, they dispense this medication according your body mass, and you only have half a syringe. Some larger body mass people have two syringes," the nurse said helpfully.

I laughed, "I guess that is good." She starts to push the medication in. 

Syringe of red death. Toxic stuff.

Wow. This stuff hurts. I now fully understand vein pain. It feels like someone is pumping hot molten lava into your veins. I feel dizzy and lightheaded. Somewhat nauseous.  My sister tried to distract me by showing me Evan's 1st birthday movie, which of course made me smile. If I just remember that I am trying to get well for him, I can get through anything. So I can give him a bath again, or sit him down on my lap without wincing in pain. It is worth it.

"Which medications make my hair fall out?" I ask. Of course I have to know.

"Doxorubicin and Vincristine," Joe responds. Vincritstine is the second medication after the syringe of red death.

Well. It is done then. My hair will fall out. I cautiously tug at my hair to see if it it falls out in my hand.  My sister laughs.

"Um, Unnee. It's not going to fall out right this second!" she crows. Unnee is the Korean word for big sister. My dad, Joe and I all laugh.

I turn to the nurse and say, "The next time you see me, I will have no hair."

"You will probably be wearing a wig," she says with a smile.

"Unnee, you will be seeing her tomorrow for your second day of chemo. You are so melodramatic!" she teases.  We all laugh again.

"That's true," I say sheepishly with a grin. Leave it to my sister to bring everything down to level.  She once introduced herself to my friends as the "Costco" version of me. One of the reasons why I love her so much.

The other medications, three more, are administered. Some create a burning sensation in my nose and throat, and others have little sensation. I feel my veins getting fatigued, which is difficult to describe, but I feel it. It feels almost sore. 

Meanwhile, Joe is writing down all my reactions to each medication and corresponding them with known reactions and side effects.  He is so supportive. He was really worried, and cancelled two surgeries today to be here with me.

My dad just decided to show up at the hospital. "How can I go to work when you are getting chemotherapy? I cannot do that. I will stay here with you," he says. Make note: If you show up to chemotherapy with a ton of people, you get a private room.

It is so nice to have such support. The last bag, Etopicide, is given, and I an due to go home in about half an hour. All in all, day one was not too bad. Better than my bone marrow biopsy for sure.

Wig shopping sucks

Wig shopping was more emotional than anticipated. Everyone thinks that I may be silly, but the thought of losing my looks, my hair, and potentially more, takes my breath away and paralyzes me with fear.  On the day I decided to go through with chemotherapy, it occurred to me that I would need a wig. So, in typical Liz fashion, I went to the only wig store I knew, and went in. I had about 20 minutes before I had to be back home with the baby, and it was just another task on my list of things to do.

I walk into the store. There are a couple of, shall we say older ladies (octogenarians), and one woman her mid-forties or so who was wearing a wig that was being trimmed. "Can I help you?" asked a rather weathered and worn looking older woman with straggely, unkempt hair.

Suddenly, I didn't know what to say. My eyes went wide and round, and I responded in a small, shaky voice," Um, I think I need a wig?"

Another younger woman with mousy brown hair looked up, and her eyes showed comprehension. The middle aged woman in her 40s looked up sharply from her wig trimming session and looked at me.  "Of course," said the younger woman, "can you wait for 10 minutes while I finish ringing up this customer?"

Honestly, I didn't want to wait. I wanted to get out of that store as fast as my legs could take me. I looked at her with the same wide eyes, and somehow couldn't eek out even a tepid response. I silently nodded my head.  I really didn't have the time, but I was rooted to that spot and couldn't move.

The weathered-face lady looked up, and said, "Honey, I can help you in about 5 minutes. I am about done here with this lady's wig trim.  Just hold tight and I will be with you. I have another appointment in 20 minutes, but I can help you before that client comes."

This time, I summon my voice from within, and say rather casually, "Sure, no problem."

While she is snipping away at this lady's wig, the lady turned to me and volunteered that she was a cancer survivor. She paused and looked me rather expectantly.

"Oh! Congratulations, what wonderful news." I responded quickly, slapping a sincere smile on my face.

"And you?" she demands.

I hesitated, but realized that they all knew the reason I was in that store. "Lymphoma. I start chemotherapy on Monday."

Everyone made a noise that was an odd, but effective murmur of both sympathy and understanding.  It somehow made me feel better.  "Well, I am ready for you now." said the weathered lady, who appeared to be the store owner.

She put some sort of stocking cap over my head, which held my hair away from and close to my scalp. It looked awful. Asians typically are not known for their beautifully shaped round heads. More like flat skulls, not unlike our flat faces. I had my first glimpse of what I would look like without hair. It was not a pretty sight.

Surprisingly, the first wig actually did not look too bad, although the quality seemed to be lacking. I asked her about human hair, which she quickly "poo-pooed" as too difficult to take care of, and she would recommend synthetic.  I was only able to try on that one wig, because she had no more sample ones that were to my liking in the store The owner of the store opened a catalog, but refuse to let my flip through it myself. I suspect that perhaps the wholesale prices were listed on there.  I picked out two of the wigs, and asked the young sales girl to order them.  They insisted synthetic hair is easier to take care of.  I have no idea if this is actually true, so I agree. They are about $400 a piece.  Not only am I sick, but am quickly going through money like I was printing it in the basement. With Christmas shopping and me buying a "few things" to lift my spirits, I am quickly discovering that cancer is not only painful, but also expensive.

*     *     *     *     *

Subsequently, I went to another store with my sister Catherine and my dear friend Sharon, where I learned that I like the feel of a 100% human hair wig, and that most wigs look too cheesy. What a harrowing and horrible experience. Thank goodness I had my girls with me this time. It was tough.

Chemo tomorrow....

A Boring Intro

So, here I am. Looking down the steep and jagged cliff that I have to leap off of.  It has been such a fast and furious journey up until now.  I was diagnosed with lymphoma around November 8th (Election Day).  Since then, the cancer has grown aggressively to sprout large, painful tumors all over my legs in the subsequent three weeks.  I went to two oncologists, one at Kaiser and one at City of Hope.  Oddly enough, the Kaiser doctor did a more thorough examination, and understood the nature of my disease more clearly than the City of Hope doctor. Since my cancer is so rare, there is no staging process. But, the aggressiveness component was tested, and revealed to be at 90% aggressiveness. Not necessarily something that an "experimental" pill will likely address.

I am typically not an emotional person, nor am I prone to hysterics or crying jags. It must be my Korean heritage, but being strong is the only way that I deal with any sort of trial.  It is a pride thing.  Since my diagnosis, I think that I only really cried once, and not for very long. Maybe there is something wrong with me. I guess I don't feel it because although I am in a lot of pain on a daily basis, I don't actually look sick. I feel like I may be okay. But I guess I am just fooling myself. Regardless, it seems to be version of reality that I prefer, and the version that helps me to be strong and withstand the endless tests, needle pokes, scans, and the terribly painful bone marrow biopsy.

My son Evan is about a year and a half years old.  I am not really ready for another child, but they tell me that chemotherapy would cause infertility. So, I hopped onto the fertility bandwagon, and froze some fertilized eggs. A slight $20,000 detour, but well worth it, and made possible by generous help from both our families.  I really want Evan to have a sibling, and this way he can have one. I will just have to wait until I have a year of remission from the disease. I suppose Evan will be about 3 or 4 years old, which is a perfect amount of time between kids.  The whole IVF process only took two weeks. Amazing what science and technology has made possible for the women of today.

This delayed any decisions about treatment or chemo. But now that they extracted the eggs, we had to make a decision. CHOEP, a 5 drug chemotherapy combination. Here we go. We start Monday. Surreal.