Radiotherapy commences.

Like I said, the waiting list was long.  One of the machine broke down so no one called me for the first appointment.

I called them instead. I told them my beast was classified "aggressive" and that I've called several times.  It worked. I got my appointment and this morning's session was the third.

The crowd was different. Chinese patients were in the majority. None of those in my "batch" was here. I could only assume that they hadn't been scheduled for the treatment.

Before the treatment began, one of the radiotherapists spoke to me.  No pain is expected but my skin may turn red, dry and itchy over the next few days.  I was advised not to use any soap or cream on the treatment area.

Next, I was ushered into the same room where the CT Simulation was conducted. I settled on a moving bed, my head on a cup-like structure while both my arms lifted onto the arm rest above my head.  They started marking my chest all over again, a few cm from this point, a few cm from that and a final red cross on a strategic point.

The red light was switched on. My body was shifted a little here, a little there to align the markings with that of the machine.  I was asked not to move and while I remained thus, my heart went boo-boop-boop-boop-boop-boo-boop!

Finally, a rubber shield was placed over my chest (to replace the surgically removed flesh), the attendants left the room and the machine murmured to life.  A huge disc easily 2 feet in diameter positioned itself a foot away at my two o'clock position.  The machine went "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek" then stopped. Now the disc shifted to my ten o'clock position.  The machine went "eeeeeeeeeeeek" a second time.  I almost jumped out of my skin.  It scared the living daylights out of me.

I'll be going for 20 of such sessions in the days to come.

Fried Lard

It's the hormone pills.  They're making me weird. All sorts of weird.  I'm into mood swings. I crave certain food.  Then, there's the meat dishes. I've always liked meat dishes. I don't remember a time when I didn't like it.  Yet recently, grilled succulent mouth-watering meat cuts sent the chill down my spine. I can't see where that came from.

Lard is the exception. I've been craving for Hokkien Mee with extra fried lard. I liked the way it crunches in my mouth, its rich lardy aroma. Most of all, it brought back such memories.

Forty years ago, lard didn't use to be unhealthy. Nobody spoke of cholesterol and the dastardly LDL.  Everything tasted great. The neighbours at the back of the shophouse were butchers so they had plenty of pork fat. These were thrown into a huge wok to extract the oil. Once the oil is fully extracted, the residue is lifted off and used as food garnishes.  Ma used to buy huge packets of these, hot from the wok. A generous sprinkle of salt over the fried lard and its good to go.  It is crunchy and gratifying. 

This reminds me of Silas Marner.

Silas Marner, by George Eliot was a book I read in my early teens.  It told the unforgettable story of a linen weaver who settled down in a small village called Raveloe. The farmer's wife, in exchanged for the weaved linen, gave Silas lard cakes and cuts of pork. (I had never heard of lard cakes so I cannot describe to you its heavenly taste. Someday, I'll do something about that.)

Now, Silas lived alone in a stone cottage with a fireplace in his parlour. He hung his cuts of pork over the fireplace with a tray beneath to collect the dripping fats. As he weaved at his loom, he is bathed in the aroma of the pork grilling slowly by his fireplace. I thought that was dreamy.  Was, get it?  Now that picture nauseates me. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought I'm pregnant with the kind of nauseating thoughts and food cravings that's been assaulting me.

Here's a little something I read about concerning lard.

Lard began to fall out of favour in the early years of the 20th century when Upton Sinclair's novel The Jungle exposed conditions in the meatpacking industry. The book included anecdotes of workers who fell into vats of molten pork fat and were sometimes overlooked for days until "all but the bones of them" went out to the world in packages of lard. Sinclair's book led to the decline of lard in everyday cooking.

This reminds me of another story my cousin told me. At a local factory producing burger patties, a finger was inadvertently cut off. This finger went through the assembly and ended up minced into one of the patties. They found traces of the finger nail.  This is why I made my own hamburger patties. 

In 1911, the company Proctor & Gamble were doing pretty well growing & harvesting cotton.  The cotton seed, a bothersome by-product of cotton became so numerous, that Proctor & Gamble decided to see if there was anything they could make from the cotton seed to make a profit. 

They found after intense processing — which included heating & pressing — they were able to extract oil. An easily rancid and unstable fat, the process of hydrogenation was added to make the cotton seed oil last very long. When the cotton seed oil cooled, it looked exactly like lard.  They called it Crisco. 

Crisco, like margarine, is a vegetable fat turned into a solid form at room temperature by the process of hydrogenation. This method also creates trans-fatty acids, which we now know increase total cholesterol, raise LDL ("bad") cholesterol and lower HDL ("good") cholesterol. These unnatural compounds may also have adverse effects on cell membranes and the immune system, and may promote inflammation, cancer and accelerated ageing. 

Proctor & Gamble effectively marketed Crisco as a cheaper & “healthier” fat.  Lard was touted as unhealthy or smelly.  They even gave away free cookbooks with every purchase of Crisco.  The cookbooks were full of common recipes, but instead of lard or butter, Crisco was listed as the ingredient.  You probably eat cotton seed oil every single day because it is in almost EVERY PACKAGED or PROCESSED food in your store. Chips, cereals, cookies, crackers, breads, salad dressings, mayonnaise, pasta sauces, fast food, soaps, shampoos, conditioners, make-up, lipstick,  EVERYTHING. Why? Because it’s CHEAP!

Source: Uncle Google 

And to think I used to add Crisco into my pau dough. What this means is that fried lard isn't as deadly as it had been made to look. Then again, you never know who to listen to. Food experts and nutritionists are a dime a dozen these days. They weave conflicting tales to confuse the daylights out of us. It's what they do.

UPDATE

• Radiotherapy commences next week.
• Finger tips and toes still numb.
• Three parallel lines cut across the middle of my finger nails. Can't explain how these came along. The dark parts of the finger nails have been pushed to the outer peripheral. Also, the dark blotches on my toes are gone.
• Nothing much to report on what's happening up there.  It is still white with patches of grey. And - it isn't curly! ~~~ Yet?

The Book with no picture

The only picture on the book was on its front cover. It was a picture of the Taj Mahal. I found the book idling on the clerk's desk when I returned from school one afternoon some forty years ago. It was a book like no other, printed in columns with numbers preceding every line. The book title was just as nondescript; "The New Testament" which doesn't tell you anything about the genre.

Ma did not confiscate the book and nobody seemed interested in it so I took possession. What I found inside were short intriguing stories.  The key character was Jesus Christ. I did not know I was reading the bible because it didn't say so on the front cover.

I read how Jesus raised the dead, turned water into wine, the kind of stuff magic was based upon. It was the era of Hans Christian Andersen and Brothers Grimm so I thought I was reading another fairy tale which was loosely based on Jesus Christ whom I knew to be the founder of Christianity. I knew nothing more.

In school I was invited to join the Christian Union which did not tell me anything about Christ. All it did was to reiterate the point that a Christian's prayer is usually answered. A fellow schoolmate passed her examination without studying. All she did was pray. That was the only impression I carried with me when I left the Christian Union meeting. I never returned.

My interest in Christ waned.

It took another eight years before I saw my first bible. It was a torn and tattered copy which had long outlived its purpose so its owner gave it to me.  It was called The Holy Bible. I discovered that the bible consists of two sections, The Old Testament and The New Testament. The former is the record of an ancient race from their humble beginnings while the latter covered the teachings and parables of Jesus Christ. I read about King Solomon, King Darius of Persia and many other historical figures. I read about the numerous ancient empires I had not previously known.

Wait a minute!

This was a historical record. These are real people, not legendary myths and folk lore. Well, some of the detail stretched the imagination just a little, but - !

I was intrigued. I was hooked! I read the entire Old Testament and was convinced that I was on to something real. Thus began my thirst and passion for History and my new-found respect for the Israelites.

Note: A common error in identifying the Israelites is by calling them Jews. Historically, the Jews were from the tribe of Judah. Judah was one of the twelve tribes of Israel of which ten became lost, a product of the history of our times.

CNY Leftovers

According to Lee, (sister-in-law) the CNY Reunion Dinner is an important meal where abundance is the keyword; the whole point being that leftovers from said dinner symbolises the propitiousness and abundance of the forthcoming year, yada-yada-yada.

What it means is that leftovers were inevitable.

The leftover meat dishes will be the ingredient for my Spicy Stew which will be prepared some time next week.

As for the rest, I dumped all of them into a cooking pot to come up with my Chapalang Stew, which I am cooking for the first time.

Verdict: They say its pretty good but I think its less than mediocre. I don't like fish dishes.

Tomatoes, Chinese cabbage, roasted pork, leeks, ginger, garlic

My Chapalang Stew

Do not point!

The hunchback was in his fifties. He walked past our shophouse every day during the time when I was a wee little kid. I used to point at him and laughed because he looked freakish.  All the kids did it anyway.

Ma chided me when she caught me in the act. Her methods were conventional.

"Don't mock at people like them or you'll end up looking the same."

That scared the shit out of me but it worked. I've regarded special people with a lot more respect since.  (So I was an impressionable kid.)

Ma's methods may be brutal but it cuts to the chase.

"Don't point at people or your fingers will be cut off and you'll die."

"Don't lie or your tongue will be cut off and you'll die."

"Don't jump after your meals or the rice will get into your appendix and you'll die."

Kids nowadays? You can't treat them the same way. You'll die from a thousand "Whys?"

Baboon behind the cage

The two Chinese girls inside the DHL delivery truck were in their twenties; one could tell. Their hair was long and lustrous; one could tell. The truck stopped at my front gate some time last week. The driver was a young Malay chap with a friendly face. He delivered the parcel with due civility and paid no attention to matters outside his purview.

The girl at the window seat closest to me stared without restraint. She nudged the girl sitting next to her and gestured towards me. Both fixed their curious gaze on me. I felt like a baboon peering out through the cages at the zoo.

I minded.

I minded not having more hair on my head. I minded that I looked awkward. I minded that this awkwardness made others awkward.

My mirror revealed the same pathetic story from every conceivable angle. White with patches of grey. And ~~~  It isn't curly.