What the little bird said.

... that the niece of a friend's friend had just been diagnosed with Stage 2 Breast Cancer.  She's aged 31.

... that a colleague's son was diagnosed with lymphoma at aged 17.  He went through the chemotherapy five years ago and is still kicking today.

... that Breast Cancer does not necessarily present itself as a lump in the breast, painful or otherwise.  A local artiste was admitted into the hospital for a stubborn fever which refused to subside.  Further tests confirmed that she had Stage 4 Breast Cancer.  No lumps painful or otherwise.  No blood oozing from the nipple. This, I did not understand. I thought that all breast cancer appear as a lump in the breast.

Outcast (Time in a bottle)

I took this photography when I was in Kota Kinabalu last year.  It was an empty mineral-water bottle floating on the sea off the KK Water Front.  The light from the setting sun reflecting upon the water surface captured my attention.

Inspired by the PIY pieces I have done (see previous blogpost) I decided to paint this. What could be easier, I thought.  I only need to concern myself with two colour tones. Blue-green and yellow.  Piece of cake.

It wasn't as easy as I thought.  Getting the right colour was quite a head-dy-ache.  The sea wasn't blue green. It was actually a myriad of grey with pinches of blue and green. Man, it was tough! I finally finished the painting after working on it for months!  Yes. That's the one at the bottom.  For want of a better name, I called it Outcast. (Now: Time in a bottle) *

OUTCAST (Time in a bottle)*

* Edit: I have since renamed this piece "TIME IN A BOTTLE.' It sounds less depressing.

Paint It Yoursef

So how many of you have heard of those Paint It Yourself artworks?  They came in complete sets which comprises a duly mounted canvas, acrylic paint and brushes.  The canvas is preprinted with outlines and numbers.  You pick up the corresponding paint numbers and paint it on the canvas.  Try it!  It's fun.

Here are some that I have done.

It gets better!

It's a great day today!  I was awaken by a gentle shower, not one of those which saturates the water table, but it'll do.  I like the fresh gust of cool breeze which washed over me when I opened my back door. Venus was waiting for me.  She's been waiting for me at the back door for the past 11 years.

That's her on the right.

I knew it was going to be a great day.  The ill wind inside is under control.  The rain came.  I don't have a fever.  What could be better?  This week is all I have until next week.  Then the horror of the treatment starts all over again.

So I grabbed my camera and went shooting in the garden.

Phalaenopsis

Ixora

Plumbago

Dora's Father

Nothing like flowers to brighten up your day!

Ill Wind

Outside my bedroom window hung a Stravinsky wind chime.  It has been silent for the past few days with nary a sound or whisper.  It hadn't always been so, but dark clouds in the sky had not been honouring their promise of late.

While the earthly wind kept their distance, the wind inside me brewed itself into a tempestuous storm.   It was an ill wind that blows nobody good and I was poorly from the stomach chills, the diarrhoea and the burning sensation high up in the abdomen.   Once again I went to the 24H clinic to join the array of patients waiting to seek treatment.  Once again much to my chagrin, I was stared at and made to feel like a circus freak.  It had a humbling effect on me.

I used to walk confidently, chin up and shoulders back, looking others in the eye if they so much as throw me a disparaging glance.  Not any more.  My eyes are now downcast with the humility that comes with the Beast. Is this one of God's way to make me meek?  I guess I'll never know until I meet Him.

The doctor gave me a regiment of pills to fix my wind.  This is purely dietary, he said although patients who were administered the General Anaesthesia often complain of wind.

As the wind within slowed to a steady burp, the wind chime outside my window picked up a gentle breeze in the early hours of this morning. While it was comforting to listen to the tinkling notes, the breeze brought no comfort from the sweltering heat.

Or am I the only one experiencing this heat?

Ms Angie Ng

It was the talk of the Grapevine.

The Plaintiff (Angie) did not cut an arresting figure.  She was  fair of face, in her late forties and matronly.  Her short and black curly hair framed a squarish nondescript face. The picture in her file was grotesque. Parts of her head was shaven. Instead of an arching eyebrow on the left of her face, we see a swollen bluish-black mass and an angry gash which cuts along this mass.  She could not open her left eye.

The Defendant (Dr R) was a plastic surgeon, one of the first few to open a leading plastic surgery in the city.  (They are no longer in business.)

According to the file, Angie was born in the East Coast.  When she was ten, her mother took her to a bomoh.  It was one of those beauty therapies they talked about in hushed tones.  Ten gold needles, each a centimetre long, was embedded in her face.  She must have transformed into a rare beauty but the picture in her file bore no testament to this. The years went by.  She married a rich and influential man and settled into mediocrity.

One morning on a facial routine, her fingertips closed in on a protrusion above her left eyebrow.  Worried about the significance of this protrusion, she consulted Dr R.  The surgeon was confident about the case. A simple procedure was all that is required to have the offensive protrusion removed.  For an additional sum, a face-lift can be arranged at the same time.  Beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was a done deal for the surgeon.

"Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong". - Murphy's Law

You know that old adage.  Anything that can go wrong, will.  The procedure was in session.  The surgeon was in control of the situation.  He found the offending needle and promptly removed it. Then, he saw another, and another, and another!  Time was running out.  He lost his marbles.  He panicked.

A few days went by.  It wasn't looking good for Angie.  The wound turned livid and pus appeared.  A second surgery was arranged by the remaining surgeon. (Dr G)  They found a used cotton swab under her wound.  A neurologist from Brisbane was consulted. Subpoenas could not be served.  The long arm of justice fell short.

I left the firm long before the case was settled so I never knew what became of Angie. The neurologist from Brisbane refused to accept her case while the two surgeons from the plastic surgery disappeared without a trace.

If you think that beauty therapies by bomohs are a fallacy, think again.

Dead in Exile.

He was a shadowy figure from a colonial past.  He might have called the shots at the pinnacle of his "cause" but that was easily twenty years before I was born.  I did not know his name or the face which goes with the name.  History (at least, the history I knew) had him under wraps.  To all intents and purposes, the man did not exist. The first time I heard about him was when I was working at a legal firm in the city more than thirty years ago.

When you work in a large firm with a huge staff force, the central point of reverence is usually held by the formidable Office Grapevine. Delightfully intangible and immensely fluid, this gathering of "intelligence" is the pulse of the firm.  It needs no meeting place or agenda and could be summoned at will.  It was here that I first heard about him.

That he was what he was, wasn't the interesting part.  My employers were a partnership of lawyers who were the glitterati at the city.  They had political clout and their influence wasn't modest.  There were seven of them and it is on the seventh (Mr O) that my interest lies.

Mr O was a young man in his late thirties, fair of complexion and well built.  Unlike the rest of the partners, he was quiet in speech and kept mostly to himself.  Clients complained about having to meet  him in the dark of his room.  His benefactor (Guardian) was the fourth partner who later became a magistrate at the High Court.  At six-monthly intervals, this Guardian receives an important call. According to his secretary in a subsequent hush-hush cloak and dagger grapevine session, the call came from Federal agents.  Mr O (and his brother) was separated from their parents and brought up by the Federal Government.  They were given tertiary education and had their names changed to protect their identity  Mr O was the son of Chin Peng.

Update: Mr O is currently one  of the Conveyancing Lawyers for the local banking industry.

The Watchful Eye

The first time I saw Prof Yip, she commented that the lump on my left breast was huge and unusual.  It would typically take years for a lump to reach such proportions..  She suggested that I may have been negligent in my own self-examination.  In defence I told her how unlikely that would seem since I have had a fibroid on the same breast since 1986 and had kept a watchful eye over it for years.

Indeed I have.

Two weeks after my surgery, when the painkillers were finally called off, I hit the roof when I found a new lump under my armpit.  I sent a text message to Prof Yip and she agreed to see me on the following day.  (Her appointments are usually arranged 2 months in advance.)  She examined my lump and laid my anxiety to rest.  Those were fatty tissues and it will take time for them to soften.  Not to worry.

I may not have written about this but the fibroid I had since 1986 disappeared at or around the time this new one appeared. What I have learned over the years is that a fibroid usually slips under your fingers while cancer tumors don't.

That's the trouble with The Beast.  Once you have The Beast, you have to stay vigilant because you never know when one of those nasty little Beasties leave its nasty little mothership to explore and claim new territory.

And so it was, with some trepidation that I examined my wound and left arm daily.  The numbness on my left hasn't dissipated.  New concerns arose with this matter about the skin.  Worried about the consequences of lymphedema, I compared both my arms everyday.  Are they of the same size?  Can I spot any difference?  In recent weeks I noticed a slow change taking place on  the skin over my left upper arm.  It acquired a pallid appearance looking mostly grey and scaly. I have reasons for concern.  You see, if those little beasties infiltrate your skin, they start looking like orange peels. I watched them carefully, closely.  Yesterday, for the first time, I told my husband that my arm could be in trouble. Ever the practical man, he exclaimed "Dead cells.  They're dead cells. Just scrub them off."

Which I did.

He was right.

I have somehow neglected to scrub my arm in recent weeks when I showered just because they're numb.  Sometimes I give too much credence to my fears.

Brown blotches on my palm

They appeared out of the clear blue.  Brown blotches on my left palm and thumb.  It was worrying.  I first noticed them during the chemo session so I asked the attending nurse. She said those blotches were side effects from the chemo treatment.  Some people developed such blotches all over their palms.  Some had black finger nails.

One thing I'll have to tell you about the nurses at the chemo room.  They were dressed in blue plastic garments, boots, masks and rubber gloves.  Makes you think you're a specimen in an alien lab.

It will get better.

The past few days had been disagreeable, to put it mildly.  My taste buds are in cahoots with Nausea to make life miserable for me. Once again, food turned to ash.  What is discouraging is that I have to go through another three rounds of this.

It's true what they said about the "heaty" part of chemo.  I've gone through three and I constipated after each although I kept away from fried foodstuff.  I'm relying on Daflon, probiotics and prunes to get my bowels going.  I feel bloated from the chemical reaction going on within me.

Two more weeks before I'm due for the fourth chemo.  I hate the Here and Now of Time.

CT Scan Report

My lungs, heart and kidneys are clear.  So are the other parts except for the liver.  They found a dark cluster in my liver but do not think it is cancerous.  They think the cluster is caused by knotted blood vessel . (aka Liver hemangioma )   I've been scheduled for an ultra scan.

Chemotherapy 3

It went well.  They used the same veins which was used to extract my blood sample so I now have two pin sized holes on the same vein.  I was groggy half way through the treatment. The nausea was bad.

30 names were listed on the Board at the Chemo room.  20 out of 30 were Chinese.  There were 12 breast cancer cases.

Remember Ms Chatterbox from the second chemo session?  The one who chatted up a storm while the fluids were going into her?  The one who gave me a head-dy-ache?  She was seated three couches away from me this time.  When I last saw her, she had a full head of hair. This time, she wore a base ball cap and you could see the bald back of her head.  She hasn't changed.  This time, her chatting partners grew to about four.  While the session was in progress, the four of them chatted up a tornado.  I went home with another head-dy-ache!

Also, Ms Chatterbox is now the leading dietician at the chemo room.  She was loudly advising her audience on what to eat, what not ...  the whole nine yards.

I met a new friend.  Puan Yusmin, a lecturer with the Civil Service.  She had a 2 cm lump on her right breast. She's right handed.  She did not go through the surgery.  Instead she opted for the chemo treatment to reduce the size of her tumor.  Puan Yusmin had fine veins so they installed a Chemo Port on her chest. This is a 2 hour procedure under general anaesthesia.  I studied her hands.  It was swollen from the needle pricks used to extract her blood.

She told me how the government currently changed the syllabus to encourage student to think outside the box, very much like their counterparts in the US.  This is not going to work, she opined.

Preventing Lymphedema

So the blood test today was done without a hitch.  Perhaps the nurses at the Oncology Ward is more experienced?

I asked the Oncologist how long I was supposed to observe the Three Rules.  I haven't written about the Three Rules, have I?

My left breast was removed together with 26 lymph nodes.  What we may not be aware of is that lymph nodes are the drainage system in our body.  When the lymph nodes are gone, drainage of fluid became an issue. Hence the Three Rules must be observed on the affected hand.  (In my case: Left Hand)

1. No blood pressure readings to be taken from affected hand.
2. No intravenous needles to be inserted.
3. No blood samples to be taken from affected hand.

This is a huge problem.  This meant that all attention is now focused on my right hand and the veins in them.  Each time a vein is used in a chemo treatment, it shrinked and harden, making it difficult to locate when a subsequent need arose.  I don't have that many veins on my right hand which is large enough for the intravenous needle so I was worried.

The doctor explained that this is a lifetime thing.  I will always have to observe the Three Rules. On rare occasion, I may allow blood samples to be taken from the bad hand but under no circumstances should I accept an intravenous needle or blood pressure to be taken on it.

So its a lifetime commitment.

Tomorrow I am going for my third chemo.  After that, there will be another 3.  If you are reading this, please pray that my veins remained strong for the duration of the treatment.  And please pray that God blesses the Hand which will heal me.

About the sore.

The Guava Sore is gone.

Unfortunately I discovered that I could not gargle and count at the same time.  The instruction on the Biotene label said "To gargle for 30 seconds."  This morning I was able to progress to 12 seconds before going ... Bluaarrghh!  That's because by the time I went up to 12, I had forgotten to gargle.

I always thought gargling was something you did without thinking.  Maybe it's just me.

Meanwhile, one of my friends told me something I hadn't heard before.  It's called Oil Pulling. Read more about it HERE!

I'm due for my blood test tomorrow.  If all goes well, the third chemo will be on the following day. Wish me luck!

Internal Heat

So what exactly is Internal Heat?

It's all about the food we eat.  Spicy, pungent, aromatic food create heat by causing molecules and cells to move rapidly. (Sense of smell elevated; taste buds tingles.) As they move they generate more heat.  See, when you exercise you get all hot and sweaty. Motion causes heat.  Sweet food create heat by releasing stored energy from the sun into your body when you eat them. As food ripens in the sun, they became sweeter. Sticky, binding, glue like food, impedes movement.  The body react by increasing force to push activities through, thus generating heat.

Anger, stress, frustration, anxiety and irritability intensify your level of heat and pressure. When you get angry or frustrated, your muscles begin to clench and tighten. Your neck, shoulders, chest, abdomen are tensed up. This clamping, squeezing action starts to impede the movement and activity of the organs and cells in your body. They generate more force and push harder to keep things going, thus generating more heat within you.  (When you're angry, notice how red your face and head becomes.)

Just as certain food make you overheat, others make your system cool down. These food contain cooling elements like heavy proteins and minerals.  Vegetables and grains came under this category. You need enough of these cooling elements to balance the energetic side of you which creates heat as a by-product.  (This kinda made me think of the yin and yang them dudes were talking about.)

Source: Uncle Google

What Ma said about Internal Heat

I was a curious kid and I must have asked Ma a million times.  My Ma wasn't exactly a Harvard graduate but she could explain anything under the sky and even those not under.  I should know.  I was at the receiving end.

So what did Ma say about Internal Heat?  Well, its all those fire accumulated inside your body.

How did the fire get in there?

Fried foodstuff.

But, how Ma, how?

See?  The fire (heat) from the stove got into the oil. When you fry your foodstuff, the "fire" goes into the food.  You eat the food and the "fire" goes into your body.

So I was an impressionable kid.

The Guava Sore

Yes, I called it the Guava Sore.  That's because I was munching on a whole guava when it happened.  This isn't the first time it happened nor would it be the last.

No, the honey didn't work.  This must be one hard core sore!  I've gargled with Biotene, Listerine and brine but none of them worked.  So its off to the Chinese Medical Shop for a solution.

The man at the medical shop said Internal Heat made the inner walls swell.  When they do, they get in the way and ended up bruised.  I was asked to pump some minty powder onto the sore. The powder had a numbing effect.  Makes you wonder what's inside.

Under normal circumstances, I usually ignore such sores and let them heal in their own good time. Not now though.  I'm due for the third chemo next week and I do want to get my house in order before I do.

I took another look at the bottle of Biotene this morning.  It says gargle for 30 seconds. 30 seconds!  That's awful long.  I can't gargle for 30 seconds and I've tried.  Its 10 seconds before I go - bluaargghh!  Perhaps some basic training then.  I'll start with 10 and slowly progress to 30.

It's Raining!

I loved the rain, I always did.

A tad disconcerting for people on the move, why yes, but rain meant cooler days and even cooler nights.  The air itself smelled fresh and invigorating. cleansing away the filth of the world and all it entailed.  The rain came early this morning.  It was deliciously cold and I was tempted to laze for a while.  Instead, I rose from bed to wash up.  I'm getting a little more comfortable with the bald headed face in the mirror. At least, I no longer recoil from it.  Startled, yes.  From time to time, I still startle me but as long as I kept away from the mirrors, I'm fine.  So fine that I sometimes forget that I'm not fine - yet!

How does one take care of their scalp?  I found a medical forum where this issue was addressed. The general consensus was that you should continue to shampoo your scalp even though the hair isn't there because the hair follicles are still there. It didn't make a lot of sense to me so I met them halfway by washing my scalp with the same cleansing foam I used for my face.  It still did not make any sense, but who knows?  They may be onto something.

Accidents Happen.

So I bit myself.  It happened sometime last week.  Nothing new, nothing surprising.  I do it all the time, it's what I do.  You don't need a degree in rocket science to figure me out.  I bit myself because I ate too fast.  And I ate fast because if I do it any slower, I'd lose interest in my food.  I can't figure out people who chew their food slowly. I would imagine the boluses of food lolling about inside their mouth combined with the mucus and saliva and instantly go ... well .... bluaargggh!

So that's why I ate fast;  to outrun my imagination, and I do have one heck of an imagination.  I could imagine up a storm and ride with the emotional tide until reality hits me, if it does, when it does.  Yes.  That sounds better. "When" is good. "If" is too iffy.

So I bit myself, twice, last week. How did I do that?  Yes. I figured you'd ask.  How does anyone in their right mind, bit themselves, and bit themselves twice at that?  I'm not going into the mechanics of the act.  (Actually, I am clueless how it happened.) Remember that I ate fast. Accidents happened when you eat fast.  My molar scrapped the inner walls while duly engaged perhaps.  Or the walls got in the way?  I don't know. All I know is the product of my act.  Mouth sores.  I had two of those last week.

When I was younger, I used to rely on this Special Powder my aunt supplied.  This powder came from a "secret recipe" inherited from one of the ancestry up her family tree.  My aunt was asked to guard this "recipe" so no one, not even the man at the Chinese medical shop got a copy.  My aunt passed away in 1989 so the reign of the Special Powder came to an end.

I found an alternative.  Listerine.  It worked but the healing time is slower.  And boy, did it sting! Remember the two mouth sores I had from last week? One of them is healed from a combination of Listerine and Biotene. (Biotene is a mouthwash for dry mouths. It came with protein and enzyme and what not. That's what it says on the label.)

I'm having trouble with the second mouth sore.  This morning, I remembered that honey had medicinal value too. I rubbed some honey on the sore and felt its sting.

When I was in Sarawak, I met a young native lad who participated in the seasonal harvest for wild honey.  From him I learned how raw honey (not processed honey) had been medicine to his people for generations.  He told me about the tribal war which used to burst out in those parts ages ago;  how internal injuries were healed by a mixture of honey and raw eggs; how sore throats were treated by swallowing a tablespoonful of raw honey.  As I rubbed the honey on the sore this morning, I remembered thinking "Andy, you'd better be right about this."

Sunday's Whine

Remember the CT Scan I was telling you about? The one I did 4 days ago? This morning, after my 15 minutes light exercises, I stood in the morning sun to observe my veins. In all my 53 years, this will be the beginning of my keen interest in veins. I spotted the 3 bluish-green blotches on my skin at once, where the needles went in. The dastardly excuse of a doctor, my mind muttered. No gusts of wind this time. Hehehehe ... Maybe God is preoccupied somewhere else. (More Here.) I was tempted to embark on far more colorful expletives directed at the dastardly excuse of a doctor but - Nah ... Everything happened for a reason.

On the bright side, I had a delightful dinner last night. My niece (Serena) brought bahkutteh. I love delightful nieces and I have three of those. How blessed can I be? Yesterday, the third niece which I hadn't previously mentioned brought me steamed sponge cakes which her mother made. I had those for breakfast this morning and yes, I feel satiated. Now I'm waiting for my other niece to sneak in the bacon hamburger which I'm not supposed to eat. So hush! There is something deliciously delightful about biting into forbidden food.