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Posts Tagged ‘Seattle’

Times are a changin’

Posted in Times are a changin', tagged , , on September 19, 2011| 4 Comments »

I am cramming a whole lot of living during my final months in the United States. The minutes, days and weeks are flying by and I want to savor every moment. Two-week vacation in Hawaii with my mother  and brother to celebrate the end of her chemotherapy. Weekends at the beach  with friends filled with long walks, games, food and laughter. Visits up north to Vancouver, BC for my best friend’s wedding and baby shower. I know that everything is about to change and this will be our last visit before we have children. Trips to the Korean spa will soon be replaced with children’s museums. And even then it will be many years before I return to Seattle with my daughter, surrounMy brother and I enjoy shave ice at Waiola Store – lychee is my favorite!ded by my community, friends and family.

The other morning I was walking my friend’s son to day care. Every time we crossed the street, he reached up to hold my hand. When we arrived on the sidewalk he’d drop my hand and speed ahead with the energy of a 4-year old boy. People walked by and smiled at us, at the happy image of a mother and son. And in that moment I realized this would be my life. Next year, I’m adopting a daughter in Vietnam.

Last weekend, I was reminded to live in the moment – don’t dwell on the past or skip ahead, all we really have is this moment, this breath. My mother and I attended a 3-day workshop at Harmony Hill, a cancer retreat center in Hood Canal. My mother’s treatment was completed five months ago and her CT scan and blood tests have come back clean – she’s cancer-free!  Every time my mother tells people she has cancer, I correct her with “had” cancer. Many of the retreat participants have had recurrences, and most survivors live with this ongoing fear. These women and men were amazing, and despite the statistics are trying to live each moment with joy. Caregivers also expressed their challenges, and I was able to let go of my guilt for leaving my mother to move to Vietnam. This past year has been phenomenal, and I don’t regret a minute of my time in Seattle. My mother will have tests for the rest of her life, but I need to move on with my life and go to Vietnam.

Tomorrow, I head to New York for two weeks on the East Coast with family and friends in New York, Connecticut and Vermont. It’s my final journey back east and there will be many goodbyes. In November, I return to Southeast Asia starting in Bali and Vietnam. And there will be many more hellos.

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An Easter Miracle

Posted in An Easter Miracle, tagged , on April 30, 2011| 14 Comments »

 

For months, my mother was heralded as the poster child for chemotherapy. Her spunk always brought a smile to the nurses and oncologists. We felt so fortunate that she was relatively free of side effects, attributing her success to acupuncture and medical marijuana.

But after my mother’s eighth chemotherapy treatment she quickly began to deteriorate. The deadly cocktail finally took a toll and was ravaging her body. She had several falls and needed to walk with a cane, and even then had problems getting around. She was audibly grimacing in pain and it was hard for me to watch her rapid descent. Before the cancer, she was going to the gym seven days a week, and now she couldn’t even walk on her own. Several times, her blood count was down and we had to skip or alter treatments.

Last week, my mother confided in me if she had to endure another chemotherapy treatment, she felt she would die from the pain. I suggested she discontinue her chemotherapy after ten treatments, and we met with the oncologist to discuss her options. In the waiting room, I surveyed all the patients, each at different stages of their treatment. Patients in wheelchairs and walkers, overweight, emaciated and bald. Cancer doesn’t discriminate and it was a racially diverse crowd, including other Vietnamese patients with medical interpreters. Some people were alone and my heart squeezed as I imagined their isolation during this challenging process. The oncologists agreed with my mother’s decision to end her chemotherapy early, and I felt like skipping home.

Easter was three days later. And miraculously, my mother was able to walk unassisted on the third day!

Seven months ago, I received news of my mother’s cancer diagnosis while in Greece. I’m so thankful I could return to Seattle to help my mother and be surrounded by supportive friends and family. Tomorrow, we are headed to Harmony Hill (www.harmonyhill.org), a cancer retreat center in Hood Canal, for the next stage in her healing journey.

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The rise and fall of cancer

Posted in The rise and fall of cancer, tagged , on November 1, 2010| 15 Comments »

My mother’s surgery goes without a hitch. I make jokes throughout the surgical check-in process (it’s my coping mechanism when I’m nervous, you should see me with immigration agents or cops!). My mother is a bit embarrassed, but understands that I’m nerve-wracked too. They let me accompany her as she changes into her hospital gown, puts all her valuables into a plastic bag, and the nurses go over her vitals. It’s time to wheel her into surgery and the nurse tells me, “This is a good time for hugs.” I panic for a moment, as if she’s implying this is the last hug I’ll ever give my mother. I wait for many hours, and am so relieved when the surgery is over and I can hold her hand, look into her eyes. She spends the next five days at the hospital, and is so happy to get back to the comfort of her home.

One day, as I’m visiting my mom in the hospital, I get an unexpected call. The prior week, I received a free mammogram and they want me to return for a diagnostic mammogram. There are several panicked phone calls about coverage and my lack of health insurance. It seems unimaginable that my mom has colon cancer and now I could have breast cancer (and be uninsured)! I take several deep breaths, plaster a smile on my face and re-enter my mother’s hospital room. No need to worry her about anything. I find comfort from my friends who all tell me they frequently have follow up from mammograms. The last year has been about staying present, and I try not to skip ahead to the mastectomy.  A few weeks later, I return for my mammogram and when I get the cancer-free results jump up and down and whoop with joy. All the women in the waiting room are wearing identical smocks and quietly smile at my reaction, probably hoping for the same outcome. Once I’m alone in the dressing room, I collapse with relief and cry. It’s exhausting being strong and positive all the time, and I just need to relish in the real fear that I had for myself and that I have for my mother.

A few weeks pass, and it’s time to meet with the oncologist to review her pathology results and treatment options. I surround myself with love and support, and we cram four people into the exam room, my mom, my friend who was a social worker, my uncle who is a nurse and me. They tell my mom she needs chemotherapy and I feel like I’ve been socked in the stomach. A protective wall goes up and I’m skeptical to their advice, suddenly dubious of the entire medical industry. Six months of chemotherapy called modified FOLFOX 6, it sounds like a bad science fiction character. As we leave the hospital my friend quietly asks me, “Why wouldn’t you want her to get the chemotherapy?” And she’s right. In the end, it’s not up to me either. My mom wants the chemotherapy. She’s almost perky about the entire thing. She wants to kill cancer forever, and alleviate any fear of recurrences. I’m the one who feels scared and sad, and it’s not even my disease!

It takes me less than 24 hours to decide to stay in Seattle for her treatment. At first, I toy with the idea of returning to Southeast Asia for the first few months. The chemotherapy is cumulative, and the side effects are supposed to be harder in the final months. I try to imagine myself lying on a beach in Vietnam while my mom is undergoing chemotherapy and I know I would get an ulcer from the stress and worry.  I tell my mom that I’m going to stay and she simply thanks me. She never asked me to stay, and when she doesn’t try to get me to leave, I realize how much she needs me to be here. Later, she tells me I shouldn’t work and should relax, start writing my book and we will buy a desk for my room. The next day, she gives me a hard drive for my laptop, convinced my writing will overflow the memory-ha!

Up until this news, I had every intention of returning to Vietnam at Thanksgiving to travel, volunteer, and then settle down in an apartment in Danang, adopt a child, write a book and start consulting. I was on a path. I had a new life waiting for me. This sudden shift feels like I’m putting my life on hold. But then I realize nothing is on hold. I am still living every single day of my life. I love Seattle. I’m so lucky to have the flexibility to be able to stay in Seattle to help my mom. This time with her is really a gift, since we haven’t lived together since I was 14 years old.

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