is this my daily dose of happiness?

My doctors hope so.

The ubiquitous Prozac pill- do you recognise it? I have graduated from the green-and-white 20mg to the more formidable orange-and-blue 40mg. I like the new color; it reminds me of Karl's s/s 2007 pill dresses for Chanel. No doubt he designed the collection with "afflicted" society darlings in mind, but it would be equally fitting for any cancer-afflicted fashionista.


(feel free to gift this charm bracelet to me any time ^_^)

My history with antidepressants is a long one- I started having intense bouts of depression in my late teens/early 20's, presumably when hormones kicked in with a steel toe and sent my body and mind awry. I call these bouts "The Black Hole"-- it is exactly what it sounds like-- being sucked into an enormous vacuous hole of anxiety and self-worthlessness, drowning in it, feeling the weight of entire universes collapsing on top of you... the usual. Whilst in the hole I lose all of the grounding perspective I'd normally have in day-to-day life. I want to die at that moment, things are so painful. I'm well aware that it's all in my head. Over time I've learned to bear it, let it run its course like a fever, and in a few days I am usually feeling better.

These little pills are my daily bread. They help patch up the holes.

give a neurotransmitter a BREAK, mannn.

I can't remember what it feels like to not be in physical pain.

Of course I took it for granted; it wasn't even there until I hit age 23. Now... I wake up feeling like something has hit me, an invisible moving vehicle that I happened to step in front of. The accident can't be reversed, no matter how tightly I shut my eyes and reminisce about past-me.

The only time I don't feel pain is while sleeping. This is ironic, because I have chronic nightmares- every night is an increasingly ultra-violent scenario, usually involving me being captive and trying to outrun my captors, and of course, a tortured death. The end is usually grim-- I am on the ground about to have my skull kicked in, or I am shrouded and noosed and pushed off of a parking high-rise. I mean, seriously, seriously grim. But I feel no pain, and right before the final blow, I awake.

I wake up safe and warm in my bed, in pain.

I honestly can't decide which state I prefer, awake or dreaming?

what would you prefer?

The Situation

I let myself cry, and then I write. This is usually how it goes. If I hadn't been diagnosed with a second cancer, I'd be doing neither of these things- presumably, I'd be tying up loose ends and embarking on my very first cross-country-moving-adventure. But, let's not presume. Let's not think of the what ifs and perhaps maybe might have beens. Here are the facts:

1. I have papillary thyroid cancer that has spread to most of the lymph nodes on my neck.
2. Said nodes have been scraped out, along with my thyroid, parathyroid glands, and a bit of my trachea, which shows cancer involvement.
3. In 3 weeks or so, I will receive radioactive iodine treatment to take care of any cancer cells the surgeon left behind. My pee will glow in the dark. I will be dangerously radioactive. If you touch my skin, yours will burn. Seriously!
4. I am definitely staying here for awhile. I need to be monitored closely.


The surgery was supposed to be 3 hours but turned into a 9 hour affair due to the many surprises my neck provided. When I awoke and saw that it was 1:45 am, I was convinced the clocks were broken. Nope. Just me.

Recovery has been painful, but I am now able to eat soft foods and turn my head slightly. I have been taking advantage of this and eating heaps of ice cream. Here's a picture during my hospital stay, with the drains still in:



haaah, wait, here it is:



and here is a picture of how it's healing:



One of the first things I noticed about the incision was how beautiful and even my surgeon's stitches were- seamstresses would call this a blanket stitch. In this photo I'm still very swollen and unable to turn my neck or sleep on my side. lameness. Literally!

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.