Sabrina

There are no babies in my family.
It's all girls in the third generation and no one's married yet.
Unlike Bill, who grew up around babies, I never held a baby in my arms.

Brian and Kitty are the first of my friends in Taiwan to have a baby. The first time I saw Sabrina she was only a few days old. In fact, when I got to the hospital, I only saw Kitty lying on her side in bed. If they hadn't pointed out where the baby was, I wouldn't have ever noticed the baby next to her. It blew me away watching how at ease Kitty's mom was with the baby in her arm. But when she asked if I'd like to hold Sabrina, I was terrified. Wrapped in a blanket, she looked so small and soft. I was afraid I might break her, so I told Kitty's mom I'd better not 'cause my hands were dirty. Of course, like all moms do, she knew I was afraid. Yet, like all moms do, she understood.

Last Sunday Brian and Kitty wanted to have pictures taken with their 5-month-old Sabrina, so Bill and I volunteered to be photographers.


Bill was a trooper!
He was suffering from a headache, but he still came out for the walk with us.




I don't know much about babies, so I was fascinated by practically everything Sabrina did. I hovered around Brian and watched Sabrina like a cat by the fish bowl. Bill, on the other hand, treated the baby more like just another person who came for the walk with us. He was mostly engaged in a conversation with Brian and occasionally, when Sabrina stared at him, he looked at her and said things like, "The sun's nice, huh?" or "Why do adults talk so much?"

If I may pose as a baby expert and offer my analysis on Sabrina's personality. I'd say she's a very calm baby: just taking everything in with a "zen" look on her face (I'm sure she got it from her mild-tempered mom). She loves music! She could be chilling on your lap one minute and immediately hums along as soon as you start singing. She really likes dancing, too. Her little feet just won't settle down as she hums a tune. It's hardly a surprise, really. I mean, her dad is a fantastic guitar player. The girl's got music in her genes.


(from left to right)
Kitty, Sabrina, and Brian Kleinsmith




Almost everybody stopped to look at Sabrina when they walked by. Brian joked about how his students once told him that they also wanted to have "half" (mixed) babies because they think mixed babies are beautiful.

Like father like daughter? : )
It was right after we discovered how much Sabrina dislikes curry when Brian jokingly offered his beer to his daughter. Well, she really wanted to taste it. I think she's gotta wait a while until she can actually taste it.




Sabrina and Kate singing and dancing to "YMCA".





Well, I think I made Brian nervous when I was holding Sabrina but I'm not afraid to hold a baby anymore. It was a lot of fun playing with her. Though I never imagined a 5-month-old could be actually quite heavy! I did work up a sweat and my arms were sore for two days afterward.

It was well worth it!

Lily's Wedding







Ben, Lily, and Bill met three years ago on the TV show and have been best friends since.
Lily invited Ben and Bill to give a speech at her wedding.
She demanded a bilingual one.








Before the banquet started, Ben and Bill appeared to be at ease, chattin' n takin' pictures with people.


Behind the scene, however, the two boys were busy preparing.
Even though they had written the lines themselves (yes, the English AND Chinese), Ben and Bill (both perfectionists at heart) rehearsed at least 4 more times and prepared cue cards for their speech.












Lily chose to wear traditional Qi Paos at the banquet.
It's a tradition in Chinese weddings for the bride to change her outfit.
She changed four times.
Her beautiful Qi Paos generated a discussion amongst the female guests as for which one they liked the best.
The winner was the aqua blue one, custom-made by one of Lily's designer friends.
I liked the last one.



Kate the pseudo camera girl.





The speech was a great success (we have it on video but you all have to wait until Bill gets back from Thailand to see it).
Ben and Bill did it first in Chinese then in English. The puns and jokes were successfully executed and well received.
Needless to say, the two boys charmed everyone with wit and charisma on stage.


The real cameraman for the TV show, Hu Zhi (literal meaning is "beard").
He got the nickname because his family name is Hu, and he's got a beard.




Bill and Roberto.
Bill was very proud of his new tie.
It's got tiny skulls on it... Arrgh!













Dorion, also a skull lover, shared Bill's excitement on the new tie (*cough..dorks..cough*)

It seemed the only time Dorion managed to keep a straight face in front of the camera was when he was in it with Sharon.








The after party was at a lounge bar called FiFi.
There was A LOT of alcohol.
Bill was happily pickled in Scotch.
After having been on high heels for more than 7 hours, I wanted to chop my legs off.
But they were damn sexy heels....

Happy Anniversary
Join me on the emotional roller coaster, will ya?

November 15, 2006 - I was told my right ovary needed to be removed.
November 18, 2006 - right ovary removed.
November 21, 2006 - I needed chemo therapy.
November 23, 2006 - Porta catheter installed.
December 01, 2006 - Chemo treatment began.

November 07, 2007 - Porta catheter removed.
November 13, 200 7 - my doctor suggested a second-look surgery

I've been wondering how I'd feel when November 15, 2007 comes around since it all started. I thought I'd be happy at least. I joked about what I'd do on the one-year anniversary of my initial surgery. I thought it'd all be over.

Well, it's not over and it seems never-ending. Trust me. I, too, want to get back to living a "normal" life, but I don't know how 'cause I'm no longer the same person I was before it all started. What's normal anyhow?

Words of Encouragement on Most Websites for Cancer Patients & Survivors:

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
Thanks. I'm still waiting to feel invincible.

"You're more than the scars cancer has left behind."
Scars on my body are fading, but how long does it take to rid the ones on my mind?

"Everything will be okay."
Um... thanks.
Almost all websites say it. It's started to feel like nothing more than just a thing to say.

Sadness and anger and frustration and confusion are easy to deal with, but what I hate the most is feeling as if I've disappointed anybody.

I'm sorry that
I didn't charge forward to the OR like a fearless warrior when the doctor was talking about the second-look surgery.
I didn't vow to embrace life with everything I've got from here on now.
I didn't start drawing up plans for the future and be all chipper and optimistic about it.
I'm not as tough as you thought I was.

On top of this, I also feel like a big fat loser 'cause
it was only one ovary
it was only stage one cancer
it was only one round of chemotherapy
it was only one abdominal surgery and it wasn't even on a fatal organ

Most of all, I've failed myself, and that is the hardest thing to make peace with.

Dramatic?
No kidding!
And that was just a glimpse of the battle inside my head.

Relax. It’ll be Over Soon

How long is twenty minutes?

Enough time to take a shower.
Enough time to clip all your nails.
Enough time to apply makeup.
Enough time to commute to work.

Well, twenty minutes spent on the operating table certainly wasn’t as easy-breezy.

I have to tell you this first: if anyone ever tells you to get a local anesthesia, DEMAND a general one. It's horrifying to be wide awake to hear the metal instruments clinking and to smell your own flesh….burnt.

Cauterization…. Not a pleasant thought while you’re on the table.

The Nurse
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the nurse in the operating room reminded me of the horrible landlady we had. She tried to close the door on Bill to prevent him from coming in. When I told her I’d like Bill to be here ‘cause I was nervous, she put her hand on my shoulder and asked sternly, “Have you given birth?” When I answered “No”, she gave me a look like she was saying, “Oh, that explains why you’re so chicken shit” and walked away.

The Intern
The intern has a severe slushy lisp AND he was (of course) wearing a mask. I was asking questions about the procedure, but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I tried to calm myself down by taking deep breaths. The intern noticed how nervous I was and he was kind enough to come to my side, “You’f gone shrouhh two shergeriesh mush greater shan tshish one. Tshish ish a piesh of cake. Why are you shill sho nervoush?” I noticed while he was saying all this, he was drawing invisible lines on the skin around where the catheter was with a plastic knife. “I wasn’t awake during those two surgeries. What are you doing anyway?”

“Oh, I’m practishing making inshishionsh.”

So the plastic knife was a make-believe scalpel and those lines he was drawing on my body…..they weren’t invisible in his eyes.

And Who Went to the Moon Again?
When the door opened again, Bill saw me walking out of the operating room in a gown soaked in sweat, tears streaming down my face, and a bagged bloody catheter in my hand. He helped me change into my clothes while I stood there shaking, crying, and telling him how horrible it was. I talked and talked and talked. He listened and carried my stuff and moved my hair away from my eyes.

I finally quieted down in the cab. After a moment of silence, I said, “It may have been a small procedure for the doctor, but it was nonetheless a major surgery as far as I'm concerned. Remember what Louis Armstrong said? Something about one small step of his is a giant leap of mankind?”

Bill struggled to finish his sentence, “I didn’t know Louis Armstrong went to the moon, babe. Did he bring his trumpet?”

Doctor's Appointments

I spent the entire morning on Tuesday in the hospital.
Dr. Liu told me the result of the imaging test we did we while back indicated that my left fallopian tube looks normal, but for some reason, we couldn't see the part closest to the ovary where the tube fans out. We could speculate why this is, but the doctor said the easiest way to find out for sure is to have an endoscopy surgery.

*snap*
Surgery. The soft music at the waiting area in the OR. The noise of chattering. Ward 55. Peachy curtains. A pile of saline. The smell of disinfectant. Bottles of chemo.
*snap*

I swallowed to settle my stomach. It tasted bitter. I turned to look at the doctor.
The doctor was facing the computer screen with the image of my left fallopian tube on. His right hand was holding the mouse but it wasn't moving. He was facing away from me and he wasn't doing anything. I leaned closer and realized he was dozing off!

"Well, no offense," I said it as gently as I could, almost as if I didn't want to wake him. " but you look really tired today. I don't know if I should take your advice and hop on the surgery table right now." I tried to joke, but it got lost somewhere in the cloud of sleepiness. The doctor's eyes slowly opened. He turned to face me but his eyes didn't meet mine. "I probably wouldn't want me to operate on myself today either," he took in a deep breath, completely gave up on trying to joke around.

"Could you print out the results? I need to talk to Bill about this." One of us had to get this meeting going. "YES," the doctor's torso shot straight up, eyes wide open. He started moving the mouse around: Click, enlarging the image. Click, minimizing the image. Click, opening my file. Click, click, click, click, checking all the CA-125 results. Click, minimizing my file. Click, opening up the image. Click, click, clicking on every icon he could see. In no time, the printer at the nurse's desk started screaming and a flow of paper started pouring out of its mouth.

"GO TO ROOM 141 FOR AN ULTRASOUND. THEN GO GET A BLOOD TEST DONE." The doctor shot straight up from his chair, shouted these words out like a rookie soldier, and disappeared into the examine room in the back where another patient was ready for her pep. Me and the nurse both tried very hard not to burst out laughing ('cause we knew he could hear us) as we gathered the pieces of the orders the doctor left behind.

While I waited to get an ultrasound, I went to my appointment with the cardiovascular surgeon.
The waiting area felt completely different from the GYOB wing. It seemed colder and gloomier. Luckily, I didn't have to wait long. The two young interns stared as I walked into the doctor's office. I didn't feel I belonged here either.

The surgeon is a heavy-built, middle-aged man. His eyes looked sharp and alert behind those thick-rim glasses. I thought of Dr. Liu and felt sorry for the guy. My doctor's getting old, and he's definitely over-working.
"What's wrong?" the surgeon asked. I found myself lost for words for a brief moment 'cause nothing's wrong.
"I want to take the catheter out."I can't believe it's real.
"Does Dr. Liu know?" the surgeon asked.
"Yes. He said it's okay." I feel lighter already.
"You don't need to go through any more chemo treatments?" the surgeon double-checked.
"Not that I'm aware of." Smarty-mouth Kate slipped out. He shot me a quick look. I gave him my brightest smile.
"How long have you had it? " the doctor triple-checked, didn't seem impressed by my smile.
"Too long." Oops. "I mean, almost a year. What is the removal procedure?" I tried to get back to being serious.
The doctor coldly explained the procedure. It sounded almost too easy and simple. Very soon I ran out of questions to ask.
"So how's this Friday?" the surgeon was already punching my name into the slot on Friday.

*snap*
The last time a doctor asked me this question was also on a Tuesday. I went into surgery that Friday and I'm still recovering from it.
*snap*

"Friday's not good," a part of me wanted this to be different from the last surgery. "How's next Wednesday for you?" I took the initiative.
The surgeon looked at me for a good moment or two. One of the interns uncomfortably shifted his weight in the chair next to me.
The surgeon looked back at his schedule, "Wednesday's fine. I'll book you down for....."
"10!" I asserted.
Then there came a lot of paperwork: printing out the appointment for surgery, signing the consent forms, issuing a request for X-ray, and prescribing medication for the day of the surgery.

I stood up, ready to head for the ultrasound.
"How do you feel?" the surgeon asked out of the blue.
"About what?"
"Taking the catheter out."
It's not something I can answer in a word or two during a small talk with someone I don't know well. Too much is involved and I haven't even sorted all my emotions out yet.
"How I feel depends on how good you are, doctor." I smiled big. "So you'd better be good."
"That's what those pain killers are for."
Oh! The serious surgeon knows how to joke around too.