Update - 6 years later

It has been six years since my battle with breast cancer and I'm hoping, nay ... praying for many more six years to come ... and go. The trouble with Big-C is that you do not know for sure. You need to be constantly vigilant for it might return. Might. 

Might is something that could except that the probability of might, in my case, is a tad higher.

Take the time when I had chapped lips some two years ago. I thought nothing of it at the time but when the problem recurred, the might occupied my mind. What if ...

The soreness began at one end of the lips and spread to the rest of it leaving, in its wake, dry cells which hurts. The pharmacist prescribe a dose of moisturizer which should settle the matter. It did not.  Old Dr GP said it was a viral infection and a cream was prescribed. It settled the matter until the next recurrence. Someone mentioned honey so I applied them to my lips. It did not help so I went back to the cream Dr GP prescribed. And my lips were fine until the next recurrence. I noticed a pattern in the recurrence. Fried food stuff. It usually appeared after I ate anything fried. A couple of days ago, I ate some fried buns for lunch and on the following morning, the dry lip whatchamacallit returned. My neighbor told me of her friend who had the same problem. Aloe vera was the solution. I got me a stick of aloe vera, remove its outer skin and wash off the yellow toxic sap. The inner core was a pulp rich in gel. I applied this gel to my lips and the soreness went away. The might and what-ifs temporarily took a back seat.

Then four days ago, I drew up my hair in a tight clasp to prevent them from falling all over my face. At the end of the day, my scalp became sensitive, almost like inflamed. I was ill tempered on account of the discomfort. The scalp hurts when I brushed my hair with my fingers. It hurts when a light breeze tousled my hair. The might and what-ifs returned. A brain tumor perhaps? Old Dr GP said its due to trauma and prescribed some painkillers. We'll see if the pain goes away. In any case, one must be vigilant.

Are my hormones giving me all this trouble, I wondered. The oncologist had taken me off the hormone medication since December of last year. Although the usual hormone treatment is for ten years, mine was reduced to five because there were no conclusive evidence to show that a ten year treatment would make a difference in my case.

The retired teacher (mid-fifties) sat next to me at the Oncology Clinic. We were waiting for our number to be called. The hospital was packed with unhappy patients. We exchanged pleasantries and spoke about our issues. A young girl (late twenties) seated behind us tapped our shoulder to ask about our food regimen. And so we talked some.

All three of us had had our mastectomy done. The retired teacher had opted for a reconstruction by plastic surgery. The surgeon had replaced her breast with fatty tissue taken from the back of her shoulder. This meant she had to endure the pain from two different area on her body. It had been 2 years since the reconstruction.

"Does it hurt still?" I wanted to know.

"Oh yes. The pain comes and goes, even after the two years." she replied.

"Would you recommend this reconstruction to anyone?"

"I wouldn't. The pain isn't worth it. I only did mine because it was free."

From here, we shifted our attention to the young girl seated behind us. She opted for a reconstruction too. Then again, she's young and had every reason to do so. The surgeon remove fatty tissues from her belly to reconstruct her breast.

"They took the fats from my stomach area and moved my belly button a few inches up" she remarked.

We were gob-smacked and the look we gave her prompted her next response.

"It is true. They shifted my belly button a few inches up from its original position. I can show you."

Her magnanimous offer cleared the doubts from our minds as each mulled quietly over this new intelligence.

What a strange world we live in.

A couple of months ago, someone told me about Mr Leather-Bag. He sells affordable luxury handbags for a living. Now Mr Leather-Bag had a hormonal imbalance which made him slip in and out of high fever over a considerable length of time. Several specialists, MRIs and two hospital tests later, they diagnosed him with fatty tissue cancer. He died.

Over at the gastroenterology clinic, the professor sent me for a FibroScan of the liver.  (I passed the test, by the way.)  Here I met Mr Abstinence, a well built man in his mid-fifties. Mr Abstinence had been struggling with elevated liver enzyme for years. His case so perplexed the specialists that he was one of the patients in their case studies. He abstained from alcohol. His diet and exercise routine was controlled. Supplements were eliminated from his diet. He did not respond to the usual treatment.

He was sent for the FibroScan because the professors wanted to see the state of his liver. His elevated liver enzyme had gone down significantly.

"How did that happened?" I wanted to know.

"Daily food abstinence for at least 16 hours,"  he told me as he told the befuddled professor and his team.

To Kuching with The Principal

The Principal of two kindergartens (who was an old friend) had a concert to plan. The concert theme was "native dance" so off we flew to The Main Bazaar in Kuching, where native accessories were sold for a song. We were there for a short visit. On the morning of our departure from Kuching, a black car (photo: right) parked behind us was horribly vandalized.

"I PARKED LIKE AN IDIOT"  was scratched across the driver's door. On the bonnet of the car, the word "ASSHOLE!"  was clearly seen. The Principal (who thinks on her feet) whipped out her cellphone to start shooting and we may thank her for the above photo.

The vandalized car, which was parked overnight had occupied about a third of the exit ramp from the hotel. This must have annoyed the vandal(s). The car owner/driver looked like a native in his mid-fifties. He appeared dazed as he answered the few questions issued by the police.

On Day 1, we drove around the city in a hired car so that The Principal could get a feel of the place.  At the Sara Spice outlet, we picked up packages of peppers for distribution back home. Lunch was on Broasted Chicken at Sugar Bun where giant garoupas were heavily promoted. That dealt with, we drove to Damai Beach and the Sarawak Cultural Village. The former had been pleasantly renovated since the last time we were there, while the latter was closed due to renovation works for the forthcoming Rainforest World Music Festival. We had an unpleasant seafood dinner at Buntal and returned to Kuching via Matang.

On Day 2, after a kampua mee breakfast at the Foo Chow Cafe, we picked up dried foodstuff at Jalan Padungan before spending half the day at the Main Bazaar where The Principal had the time of her life.  We picked up some dried shrimp and kacangma at Teo Hoe Hin Enterprise before lunching on roast duck. It was hot and humid after lunch so we retired to the hotel for our afternoon naps. In the evening, we dined at Top Spot Seafood Center before taking a leisurely stroll along the waterfront promenade. The revelry at the promenade was in preparation for the forthcoming Rainforest World Music Festival. Several local dances and music were performed. Mira Cake House, known for their myriad selection of kek lapis had a little stall standing at the promenade. Near the Dewan Undangan Building, a spectacular light and fire show was going on by the S-Bridge, so designed as inspired by the meandering rivers of Sarawak.

Sarawak Laksa at Choon Hui Cafe as recommended by Anthony Bourdain was a good start for Day 3. We ordered two fresh spring rolls which turned out to be just as delicious. After breakfast, we drove to the Satok Market at Kubah Ria. Local produce, some of which we've never seen before were offered for sale.

Red Ginger

Asam Paya (So good with steamed fish)

Eleiodoxa (asam paya - outer shell peeled) I had thought of planting these in my garden but the thought perished when I discovered that the 8 meter high palm tree grew in the swamp. Also, the fruit can only be produced if the male and female plant are near each other.

The SEMENGGOK WILD LIFE CENTER was next in our agenda. The feeding time was 3 pm so after checking out, and all that excitement with the vandalized vehicle (see above) we had a hurried lunch of kolo mee before hitting the road for the wildlife center. While watching the orang utans feast on bananas and coconuts, we chatted with Mel, a young lad from Melbourne. He was here with his family, his parents, as well as his brother's family. There were eight of them and they arrived at the wildlife center with a local guide in a van. Twenty years ago, Mel's parents had lived with the Ibans in a longhouse. It had been their lifelong dream to share this experience with their two sons.

Orang Utan Feasting time

It was hot and humid at the center and we were glad to leave it for the airport. I had had an eventful trip and was glad to share the Kuching I knew with an old friend.

The Surgeon

The Surgeon who handled my mastectomy way back in 2013 was a retired Professor. She peered from the lower half of her thick spectacles at the paper bag I placed on her desk.

"These are handmade soaps, Doctor," I began.

"Handmade soaps! I love handmade soap. They are so good for the skin." exclaimed The Surgeon.

" ... for you and your girls..."  I had wanted to add, but the words died in my mouth when I saw her gather the bag of soap and place them inside the lowest drawer on the left of her desk where her handbag was. At her Breast Cancer Clinic, three young girls manned the reception. The waiting area was packed with anxious faces, seeking words of assurances. Not knowing whether The Surgeon and her girls would appreciate my handmade soap, I had decided to throw about 4 pieces inside the paper bag, expecting them to be distributed among themselves, if they so desire. That was two years ago.

My annual mammogram and ultrasound scan followed by consultation was a routine that I had not missed since 2013. Upon seeing her delight at receiving my soaps, I decided to continue giving her and her girls the same token of appreciation on a yearly basis. Since the reception area was always crowded, it seemed awkward to hand my soaps to the girls in the presence of all their patients. I had to find a way.

On the following year's check-up (that's last year) I came up with the PERFECT PLAN. I packed about five pieces of soap in a paper bag for The Surgeon and three individual pieces in three smaller bags. The reception area was once again crowded so I waited to be called into The Surgeon's room. As she peered at my scan reports, I lifted the bigger pack of soap and place them on her desk. She peered at them from the bottom half of her thick spectacles.

"Handmade soaps for you, Doctor." I began.

"Handmade soaps! I love handmade soaps. So good for the skin." She exclaimed as she gathered the big paper bag to peer at its content.

"And these..." I said with a devilish grin as I brought out the three smaller bags of soap, "... are for your girls." One of the girls were with us in the room. She smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, I don't have any girls. I have two boys," continued The Surgeon. "I suppose I can give these to their girlfriends." And after some thought, "Nah.... I think I'll keep them for myself. You know, so many of my patients made these. So good for the skin."

The PERFECT PLAN failed.

On the following year (which is this year), I came out with THE FLAWLESS PLAN. It was opportune as the clinic had shifted to a bigger room. This time as the waiting patients were evenly distributed in the larger room, I had the girls at reception all to my own. I quietly slipped the bags of soap to them before giving the larger bag to The Surgeon.

I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer and some of you would have handled this far more admirably but there you are. THE FLAWLESS PLAN worked.

The Surgeon waived her consultation fees, as always.

Hong Kong

After a chaotic search for the coach at the Macau Terminal, we crossed the bridge into Hong Kong on a gloomy drizzling morning. The coach ride was comfortable and pleasant but the usual ferry ride would have been a better experience.

Macau-Hong Kong Bridge

While Macau was an awkward combination of squalid shophouses and grandiloquent casinos, Hong Kong was a claustrophobic experience. The people were rushing in and out at their business in a loud and aggressive manner, which took a little getting used to.

Although much had been said about the delectable wonton soup, I had not the good fortune of finding any on this trip. I wondered if unbeknownst to me, someone had had the bad idea of tapping my back (click for detail) to render me this ill luck.

Brekkie

Egg Tart

Signature Bun & Milk Tea

Lunch at Stanley Promenade A bazaar nearby offered  good deals for local products and souvenirs.

Roast Goose & Pork

Our dinner was a yelling extraordinaire. A Chinese family at the next table made our day. The 6 year-old boy was making a complete nuisance of himself. His mother yelled at him and his father yelled at his mother. The grandmother yelled at everyone and the two young teenagers yelled at each other. All that yelling scare the aroma out of our roast goose. (which was a polite way of telling you how great our goose was not.)

DIM SUM ... in Hong Kong was at the first floor of a restaurant located a few blocks from where we home-stayed. Hong Kong's dim sum must be magnificent and worthy of a few Michelin stars. I can only blame my mediocrity for the  conflicting judgement.

THE WATERFRONT ... was another tourist attraction with look alike palm prints of the stars arrayed along the balustrade.

Claypot Dinner

Delicious!

Macau

It was the lunar Chinese New Year and probably a good time to check out Macau and Hong Kong so we betook us an early flight to Macau with images of Portuguese egg tarts, dim sum and won-ton soup flashing through our mind.  Macau was an awkward combination. Squalid shophouses and luxurious casinos stared uneasily at each other across the skyline. The smell of dried salted fish permeated our nostrils as we leaped in and out of little lanes to avoid the vehicles in and about.

Wealthy Chinese tourist, mostly women, crowded around the casino tables. Shuttle buses belonging to the casinos provided free transport to various tourist spots in the city. There was a good deal of walking so tucking in, nice and proper, was quite the thing to do.

Our day began at a dim sum restaurant  a couple of blocks away from the hotel.

The bespectacled proprietor was the descendant of a Manchurian official who fled to Macau during the years of turmoil. Stored at all conceivable space in the long and spacious shop were antique pieces. Ceramic horses, camels, figurines, idols, dragons and other pottery pieces were arranged neatly on wooden shelves at the back of the shop near the washroom. Red wood furniture, old paintings in scrolls and frames, intricately carved wooden pieces were placed in disarray. Priceless old tea (probably pu'er), some in its original pottery/ceramic packing were stored near the front for diners to gaze upon and marvel at its value.

Dim Sum

Birds in cages hung below the open windows chirping in the early Macau air. Old men with newspapers hang out with their buddies, sipping Chinese tea, sharing morsels of gossip and dim sum.

The tea section

The selection wasn't great but each portion were large.

ST PAUL'S RUINS ... was packed with tourists. Little shop-lots in narrow lanes in the vicinity offered cold drinks and souvenirs. Almond biscuit must have been a hit. Several outlets declared that theirs was the best. Every other tourist was seen carrying bagfuls of almond biscuits on their way out from the ruins.

Narrow lane leading to the Ruins

Not seeing any garbage bins as far as my eyes could reach, I tapped the back of a passing rubbish collector, intending to ask if I could leave my empty can with him. He scowled prettily in return. "Do not tap my back!" was his retort. I found out later that in a gambling community, one must never tap the back of another. Doing so would bring ill-luck to him whose back was touched.

And there it is. St Paul's Ruins

Facade Front

Behind the Facade

The Ruins at different time period.

Fortaleza do Monte

Casino across from the ruin.

At a narrow alleyway between the shophouses behind the main road, we found a little shop-lot of a restaurant with small tables crammed tight with diners. Assorted seafood was in the menu so we held our tummies in, to sit demurely on the tiny stools around the small tables.

Sharks fin soup

DESSERT ... was another story and we mustn't neglect our dessert, must we?

Bird Nests in Soy Milk

Portuguese Egg Tart

Black Sesame dessert

Peanut with black sesame

Mango with sago

THE LAGUNA MALL AKA FISHERMAN WHARF ... was a tourist spot where tourist hang out for photo shoots. Roman facade featured prominently for some reason, to be sure.

This being a casino community, gold pieces are the symbol of prosperity.

A nearby casino

The new bridge connecting Macau to Hong Kong. Tourist were taking pictures of this bridge for some reason. Not to be outdone, I followed suit.

THE VENETIAN We took the free shuttle service from one casino and ended up at The Venetian. The weather forecast for the day was gloomy so I wasn't surprised to see gloomy skies inside the mall. I was gob-smacked to discover that the gloomy sky over me was the ceiling. What a great job they did with that. I could have been fooled. The replica of the Doge Palace, the gondolas upon the man-made canals within the mall gave us memory flashes of our trip to Italy last year.

Blue sky inside The Venetian

The mall was crowded with Chinese tourists and I could not resist taking a breather on a bench looking up at the washroom sign on the foreground of a man-made gloomy blue sky. We were departing Macau for Hong Kong on the morrow so this was the parting shot.