On this day of August twenty-ninth, 2010

It is with great sorrow (and a fair amount of disbelief) that I announce my second primary cancer diagnosis.

This time it is papillary thyroid carcinoma- I have surgery scheduled for this Thursday. They'll be taking out the whole gland, plus any lymph nodes that are involved. We shall go from there.

The diagnosis comes just weeks before my intended move to New York. All plans are put on hold. I'll need to stay in California for close monitoring. There go my dreams again, off to the dump. Perhaps I'll get to reclaim them later, little lost treasures, just like last time.

It is almost two years- to the day- of my Ewing's dx in 2008.
Why are my cells so goddamn uppity?

It started with a cyst. A lump on my neck, right above the clavicle, about the size of a walnut. I thought it was a swollen lymph node. Upon biopsy it was revealed that the lump is mostly old blood from cappillaries in the thyroid gland, mixed with pus and lymph fluid- my body's futile attempt at fighting back.

So here we are, a lump, a second cancer, a postponing of life once again.

As celebration, or distraction, D and I went to the carnivorous plant nursery in Sebastapol.

deadly beautiful things.

Symbiosis

This illustration is so... so symmetrical. I love how the roots sprout from the pelvic bone.


link

le coup de grace--

The mood video for my thesis collection is done, skillfully edited by San Francisco’s own Michael Marzio. Had we more time and money, it would’ve been great to orchestrate a plot, but these hauntingly static dream girls will do just fine.

After-cancer is hilarious

When the joke is over, and the applause have ceased, when does one... carry on? When do I let go?

It's been almost two years since dear old Ewing's entered my life. I have lost a lot of brothers (I say this because, for some reason, only my male cancer friends have died), and I have grown immeasurably, to the point that I don't even recognise the pre-cancer Kaylin. Now, having graduated college and thus far avoided recurrence, I have a chance to start fresh. Completely anew. I can move away from the dimly lit Kaiser infusion rooms, the memory of suffering, the old ties and past faults, onto a life (dare I say) without cancer.

A friend sent me an email a few months back, asking for advice. She had prepared herself for death, was comfortable with its immanence, had presumably tied up all of those loose ends within one's self. And then, a second chance, balloons and bouquets, be off on your merry healthy way! What. the. fuck. do. i. do. now?

The transition between death and the "second life" we've been given is massively confusing and distressing, almost as much as the task of readying oneself for death. I didn't really have an answer for her. I am only just dealing with this now. I had my senior year to focus on, and I dove into my work with a calculated frenzy, well aware that I was using school as a distraction.

Now, school is done, forever, and I have the task of rebuilding all of those hopes and dreams that I abandoned when I was bracing myself for a premature death. I really, really thought it would come back. Maybe it will. But... I've resolved to go on living as if it won't.

So, a cross-country move is in order. I'll be moving to New York by the end of summer, and hopefully secure an Assistant Designer position. Exciting times! I crave a stable job and routine after the insanity of the past few years. Here's hoping.

Here are a few pictures of a recent Hawaii trip, courtesy of my bf's mum. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I learned how to surf... something I've always wanted to do. Yes, my hip hurt, but it felt so nice to USE my body, to be active again. No pain, no gain. That's the understatement of the year.

my hair is almost shoulder length, rejoice.

This is not a goodbye.

My scans are "stable", whatever that means. NED after one year. Sometimes life does go on, isn't that odd? And what are we to do when we expected it wouldn't?

I've finally graduated with my BFA in Fashion Design and participated in the senior show this past May 7th. None of this means much out of context, but I am proud. I'm proud that I didn't let cancer fuck up my plans all that much. Now I have no plans, nor do I want to make any- I just want to keep expelling ideas and art until I croak. I'll float on and go where I go.

I am leaving this here for you.

Now that I'm looking for a real job I can't be as candid as I would like. People Google. Not everyone appreciates the hilarity of a deadly disease. I have to sensor myself. If you enjoy my writing please friend me on Livejournal at [girl_sets_fire]. On lj I can muse about weirdness, inspiration, the struggle with depression, SI, and cancer after-affects without worry of exploitation or being "found out".

This is not a goodbye.

Someone asked who the artist of "Vanitas" was, a couple posts down... his name is Fernando Vicente.

Here are some figure studies for his paintings:







Beautiful insides.

Interesting article about the difference in survival rates of pediatric vs. adult patients. It mentions Ewings Sarcoma and ALL, among others. Statistics are so terribly enticing- I know I shouldn't read on, but I just HAVE to...

"...for teenagers and young adults like her, the prospects for survival had barely budged..."

*EDIT*

This link is MIA but if you search for the file "InTheirPrimeandDying.pdf" you'll be able to read it in google reader.