My hair has started falling. Not in clumps, but individually. My bathtub drain got clogged. That's how I knew. The more I run my fingers through my hair, the more it comes out. It's finally happening, people. Hair loss.
Thursdays seem to be the day chemo effects manifest themselves the most. I am utterly drained tonight. My legs weigh a ton each. It feels like I am moving in slow motion, like in those bad 80s movies!
The above was from Planet Cancer. Back on earth, my brain is preoccupied with something else.
A preoccupation. What's a preoccupation?
How do you snap out of it? When do you know you've been mulling over it long enough and you need now to let it go? What should you do to float back to your normal self? Is it even possible to do such a thing?
Some smart people have made a pile of dough answering the above. But my point is not in finding an answer.
I say...sometimes a preoccupation needs a status. It needs to be acknowledged as the elephant in the room and saluted.
Now, no one wants an elephant-size preoccupation. Unfortunately, some preoccupations come in that size. If they do, you really can't mess too much with it.
I say...the best thing to do then is to leave the elephant-size preoccupation in the room and go find yourself a little corner where you can scream your guts out and howl like a wounded animal. You will feel wasted, silly and you may be drenched in your own tears and snot. But then, you'll wipe all that off and walk right back to the elephant and again salute it.
Because, you see, at the end of the day...you've won. You are the intelligent human....the elephant is just an animal with big ears and lots of fat. Humans don't do elephants. They leave them alone.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Laughing like a mad cow
Is there an expression "laughing like a mad cow"? If there is, I qualified for it today. And if there isn't, I hereby proclaim that I laughed like a mad cow today.
In fact the past few days have seen me laughing like a mad cow (Alhamdulillah). I really don't know why. And let me tell you, it feels good.
Earlier in the day, my boss remarked that I looked good and that he had more of a drawn face than I did. It's not only him that noticed that. I did to.
Nowadays when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a person with reasonably good skin, eyes a bit dreamy, hair a mess and greying rapidly (but still there!), and wrinkles in the usual places. I don't see the stress lines between my brows or the hollow cheeks that I once had.
I may feel tired, heavy, bloated, brainless, etc, but somehow I am not stressed. Alhamdulillah. The past few days I have bothered neither about my past not fretted over my future nor lamented over my present situation.
The result is I breeze through the minutes and hours by simply...being. As if I am on cruise control.
Mrs G Donat (may her soul rest in peace), my English teacher, once told us (then impressionable 16 yr olds) that there comes a time in a person's life when one can admit to the mistakes one made in the past and apologise for them. This phase usually comes late in life, when one stops caring about what others would think or say. More importantly, one is able to talk about the mistakes openly and even laugh about them.
Needless to say, her wise words fell on deaf ears then..but now, they ring so true.
I can now laugh at myself, have others laugh at me (and laugh along with them, loudly and heartily) and laugh at others too...why? simply because I know in my bones now that this life is magical, mystical, mythical. What's an ego next to that? Nothing.
So you'll excuse me if I suddenly crack up in an important meeting or start laughing in the middle of anything. I need to laugh like a mad cow. I have so many years to catch up on!
In fact the past few days have seen me laughing like a mad cow (Alhamdulillah). I really don't know why. And let me tell you, it feels good.
Earlier in the day, my boss remarked that I looked good and that he had more of a drawn face than I did. It's not only him that noticed that. I did to.
Nowadays when I look at myself in the mirror, I see a person with reasonably good skin, eyes a bit dreamy, hair a mess and greying rapidly (but still there!), and wrinkles in the usual places. I don't see the stress lines between my brows or the hollow cheeks that I once had.
I may feel tired, heavy, bloated, brainless, etc, but somehow I am not stressed. Alhamdulillah. The past few days I have bothered neither about my past not fretted over my future nor lamented over my present situation.
The result is I breeze through the minutes and hours by simply...being. As if I am on cruise control.
Mrs G Donat (may her soul rest in peace), my English teacher, once told us (then impressionable 16 yr olds) that there comes a time in a person's life when one can admit to the mistakes one made in the past and apologise for them. This phase usually comes late in life, when one stops caring about what others would think or say. More importantly, one is able to talk about the mistakes openly and even laugh about them.
Needless to say, her wise words fell on deaf ears then..but now, they ring so true.
I can now laugh at myself, have others laugh at me (and laugh along with them, loudly and heartily) and laugh at others too...why? simply because I know in my bones now that this life is magical, mystical, mythical. What's an ego next to that? Nothing.
So you'll excuse me if I suddenly crack up in an important meeting or start laughing in the middle of anything. I need to laugh like a mad cow. I have so many years to catch up on!
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Yo! Yoga
I did yoga today. What fun! Not because it was all relaxing, improved my breathing or helped balance my yin and yang, etc. Sure, it was all that and even more.
But really, I had fun because throughout all the stretches and chin-meet-knee attempts, I kept remembering a time when I was actually doing all this with much much much more ease than today....only thing it was called a PE class then (PE as in Physical Exercise).
That was when I was 14/15. Now I am 35 and my body knows it. It told me so. It stubbornly refused to bend forward, backward or sideways. But when came the time to relax on the back, it felt at home.
Ahhhhh...sometimes all you need in life is some yoga under the hum of an AC vent and a few stray memories of good ol' days :)
Yo! Yoga. Me like you mucho mucho.
But really, I had fun because throughout all the stretches and chin-meet-knee attempts, I kept remembering a time when I was actually doing all this with much much much more ease than today....only thing it was called a PE class then (PE as in Physical Exercise).
That was when I was 14/15. Now I am 35 and my body knows it. It told me so. It stubbornly refused to bend forward, backward or sideways. But when came the time to relax on the back, it felt at home.
Ahhhhh...sometimes all you need in life is some yoga under the hum of an AC vent and a few stray memories of good ol' days :)
Yo! Yoga. Me like you mucho mucho.
Monday, 28 March 2011
Patient v/s Bearer Hell
There is a new member in my Cancer Club. She is the daughter of a friend: 20+ female, married, brain cancer 6 years ago, clean the past 5 years, back with cancer this year (hopefully not for long).
And it occured to me that, a disease (any disease in fact), creates 2 categories of persons: in one category, there is a single soul known as the patient and in the other, there is a little army of souls which I will call the bearers.
Now, being a patient is not exactly fun. You suffer physically or emotionally or sometimes both in your body and in your mind/soul at the same time. Depending on how sick you are, you can vaccillate between being the sweetest thing on earth to the worst living breathing monster that even Hollywood has not yet created! As a patient, there is often not much you can do, except to be a patient patient. That can be hell!
So, sometimes, to cope in those moments of hitting the pits of hell, you claw at yourself and at others. But since you are the patient, you are forgiven all the blood that was shed and loved and even encouraged to claw some more if that helps in making you feel better!. You end up feeling quite kingly/queenly....though still in hell.
Now, the other folks (the bearers) are not in an enviable position either. They are unfortunately the ones that bear the sickness that you are experiencing.
Once a disease hits the patient, the bearers prepare for war. They go out to fight the monster eating you in every possible way imaginable. Family and friends rally behind you. They root for you. They put aside their own lives for your life. They will miss meals, forgo sleep, take leave from work, call you every night to check on you and generally put up with all your whims and caprices, just so you can feel better. They will be your chauffeur, your personal shopper, your cook, your maid, your nurse, your slave, anything you want them to be. And they do it selflessly, lovingly, willingly. Even obsessively.
All this is beautiful you may say. But the tough part is, bearers have their own versions of hell. When you watch your loved one whimper with pain, see their dreams being snatched from them, witness their lives being written in months instead of years, it can be the most helpless feeling a human being experiences. And that is hell too.
My bearers are Alhamdulillah many and have done some amazing feats :).
From accompanying me to a series of doctors to clasping my hand and crying with me and for me when the bad news hit, from hugging me tightly to providing me with their children for comfort/laughter, from paying my bills to talking long hours with me at night so I don't freak out, from holding my drip bottle while I pee at the clinic to googling headcovers for me...I could go on and on.
The thing is any patient needs that little army. One person is simply not enough. Taking care of a sick loved one is not only hard, it is also a rather complicated business. The trick is to know your role in the army and execute it. For instance, in my case, my father is the designated driver, my mom is the priamry nurse, my sister (the funny bone in the family) provides the laughter, my other sister provides the reality check, my friends provide the right dose of socialising/entertaining, etc etc.
So all in all, we're all in some form of hell...we journey to it pretty much against our wills but if we're lucky enough to be given a return ticket, the journey back can be smooth and even pleasant with some well organised division of labour from the bearers and a bit of patience from the patient.
The rest will take care of itself.
And it occured to me that, a disease (any disease in fact), creates 2 categories of persons: in one category, there is a single soul known as the patient and in the other, there is a little army of souls which I will call the bearers.
Now, being a patient is not exactly fun. You suffer physically or emotionally or sometimes both in your body and in your mind/soul at the same time. Depending on how sick you are, you can vaccillate between being the sweetest thing on earth to the worst living breathing monster that even Hollywood has not yet created! As a patient, there is often not much you can do, except to be a patient patient. That can be hell!
So, sometimes, to cope in those moments of hitting the pits of hell, you claw at yourself and at others. But since you are the patient, you are forgiven all the blood that was shed and loved and even encouraged to claw some more if that helps in making you feel better!. You end up feeling quite kingly/queenly....though still in hell.
Now, the other folks (the bearers) are not in an enviable position either. They are unfortunately the ones that bear the sickness that you are experiencing.
Once a disease hits the patient, the bearers prepare for war. They go out to fight the monster eating you in every possible way imaginable. Family and friends rally behind you. They root for you. They put aside their own lives for your life. They will miss meals, forgo sleep, take leave from work, call you every night to check on you and generally put up with all your whims and caprices, just so you can feel better. They will be your chauffeur, your personal shopper, your cook, your maid, your nurse, your slave, anything you want them to be. And they do it selflessly, lovingly, willingly. Even obsessively.
All this is beautiful you may say. But the tough part is, bearers have their own versions of hell. When you watch your loved one whimper with pain, see their dreams being snatched from them, witness their lives being written in months instead of years, it can be the most helpless feeling a human being experiences. And that is hell too.
My bearers are Alhamdulillah many and have done some amazing feats :).
From accompanying me to a series of doctors to clasping my hand and crying with me and for me when the bad news hit, from hugging me tightly to providing me with their children for comfort/laughter, from paying my bills to talking long hours with me at night so I don't freak out, from holding my drip bottle while I pee at the clinic to googling headcovers for me...I could go on and on.
The thing is any patient needs that little army. One person is simply not enough. Taking care of a sick loved one is not only hard, it is also a rather complicated business. The trick is to know your role in the army and execute it. For instance, in my case, my father is the designated driver, my mom is the priamry nurse, my sister (the funny bone in the family) provides the laughter, my other sister provides the reality check, my friends provide the right dose of socialising/entertaining, etc etc.
So all in all, we're all in some form of hell...we journey to it pretty much against our wills but if we're lucky enough to be given a return ticket, the journey back can be smooth and even pleasant with some well organised division of labour from the bearers and a bit of patience from the patient.
The rest will take care of itself.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Cancer Club
I brought down the epilator from the shelf today. I had to. My legs were making me feel too much like a monkey for my wellbeing.
Epilating made me realise that I may have one week? or maybe two of looking myself before the mirror starts showing me someone else. The hairs were attached but not by much. They came out so fast, it was actually startling.
On a positive note, it seems like MBC knows I am in need of pumping music. The new channel ZOOM provides almost day long Bollywood club music. Well, since I am not jiggying anymore (no energy), I watch the songs and moves from my couch until I develop a headache. I now realise that my surprisingly good energy level day after chemo was probably due to the steroids I was taking then. Now, just taking a shower can see me feet up for the next hour.
Since getting on this journey, I've met or heard of a few people with cancer that often occupy my thoughts. So to keep track, I decided to create a cancer club. Membership to the club is open to all those who have had their own cells turn deadly on them.
Let me introduce you to my cancer club. Meet:
Shafeenaaz (Chairwoman) - 35 yrs old, female, single, no children, breast cancer. Writes to remember.
OJM - 40+ female, married, cervical cancer. Exuberant character with a good heart.
EL - 40+ female, married, breast cancer. Tackled chemo prepared like a warrior.
Brigitte - 38ish female, breast cancer. Chatterbox. The right person to while away an hour's wait at the hospital.
Laura: 23 yrs old, female, leukemia did not kill her at 17. Now married and awaiting a baby. Hope beyond compare.
Amy: 40 yrs old, female, breast cancer. Blogger and Vlogger. Never met her but I read her entries religiously every day.
Eric: 30+ yrs old male, cancer of the intestine. Married. Father of two. Never met him. His story squeezes my heart.
Mr. B's mom-in-law: 62 yrs old female. Mastectomy due shortly. I don't personally know her but I pain for Mr. B.
Khala Zaida: 50+ yrs old female, mother and grandmother. Cervical cancer. A dedicated worker who makes great parathas.
I know the membership will increase as I progress on this journey. It's not a bad thing actually. If anything, us club members, we are special. We have something that others don't. We may look similar to you, but really we are different. We have our own language: cancerish. We walk in the normal world while living on planet cancer (Amy's discovery). We are double agents :)
With that, Ladies and Gentlemen, I hereby declare the Cancer Club open!
Epilating made me realise that I may have one week? or maybe two of looking myself before the mirror starts showing me someone else. The hairs were attached but not by much. They came out so fast, it was actually startling.
On a positive note, it seems like MBC knows I am in need of pumping music. The new channel ZOOM provides almost day long Bollywood club music. Well, since I am not jiggying anymore (no energy), I watch the songs and moves from my couch until I develop a headache. I now realise that my surprisingly good energy level day after chemo was probably due to the steroids I was taking then. Now, just taking a shower can see me feet up for the next hour.
Since getting on this journey, I've met or heard of a few people with cancer that often occupy my thoughts. So to keep track, I decided to create a cancer club. Membership to the club is open to all those who have had their own cells turn deadly on them.
Let me introduce you to my cancer club. Meet:
Shafeenaaz (Chairwoman) - 35 yrs old, female, single, no children, breast cancer. Writes to remember.
OJM - 40+ female, married, cervical cancer. Exuberant character with a good heart.
EL - 40+ female, married, breast cancer. Tackled chemo prepared like a warrior.
Brigitte - 38ish female, breast cancer. Chatterbox. The right person to while away an hour's wait at the hospital.
Laura: 23 yrs old, female, leukemia did not kill her at 17. Now married and awaiting a baby. Hope beyond compare.
Amy: 40 yrs old, female, breast cancer. Blogger and Vlogger. Never met her but I read her entries religiously every day.
Eric: 30+ yrs old male, cancer of the intestine. Married. Father of two. Never met him. His story squeezes my heart.
Mr. B's mom-in-law: 62 yrs old female. Mastectomy due shortly. I don't personally know her but I pain for Mr. B.
Khala Zaida: 50+ yrs old female, mother and grandmother. Cervical cancer. A dedicated worker who makes great parathas.
I know the membership will increase as I progress on this journey. It's not a bad thing actually. If anything, us club members, we are special. We have something that others don't. We may look similar to you, but really we are different. We have our own language: cancerish. We walk in the normal world while living on planet cancer (Amy's discovery). We are double agents :)
With that, Ladies and Gentlemen, I hereby declare the Cancer Club open!
Decision time
Decision time
by Shafeenaaz on Saturday, March 26, 2011 at 9:27pm
Once upon a time, I thought I'd write a novel. I must have been around 16 then. I remember writing a few pages of a script which I hid in my cupboard out of fear that anyone would read it. I did not make much progress on it afterwards. School and tuitions took up my time so well that I did not feel compelled to pursue that idea.
My second attempt at writing was semi public...on blogspot.com but anonymous....those I knew and wanted in were let in on the existence of the blog and granted exclusive access. The writing was not fiction. It was my life then...in the United States. Quite detailed. Romance going on full swing. Dreams galore.
Between then and now, I've written to one person mostly. Via email. Again detailed. Concentrated. Exhausting. Unfortunately futile.
Writing on FB now is for record keeping. For release. For fun. For crying differently also.
I wonder if FB is the right place though...it's a bit too exposed for my taste and not very word friendly and versatile. Is writing on FB good? Bad? Neither? I don't know.
There are a few things I need to write about and somehow FB seems the wrong place for it. Maybe it's time I take my thoughts somewhere else...someplace less visible, more secret.
It's decision time. Almost.
My second attempt at writing was semi public...on blogspot.com but anonymous....those I knew and wanted in were let in on the existence of the blog and granted exclusive access. The writing was not fiction. It was my life then...in the United States. Quite detailed. Romance going on full swing. Dreams galore.
Between then and now, I've written to one person mostly. Via email. Again detailed. Concentrated. Exhausting. Unfortunately futile.
Writing on FB now is for record keeping. For release. For fun. For crying differently also.
I wonder if FB is the right place though...it's a bit too exposed for my taste and not very word friendly and versatile. Is writing on FB good? Bad? Neither? I don't know.
There are a few things I need to write about and somehow FB seems the wrong place for it. Maybe it's time I take my thoughts somewhere else...someplace less visible, more secret.
It's decision time. Almost.
One beautiful moment in time
One beautiful moment in time
by Shafeenaaz on Friday, March 25, 2011 at 9:45pm
If you take a walk on La Rue Chaussee in Port Louis these days, your senses are in for a treat.
A photographer has captured on lens some stills of Mauritius that are simply breathtaking and blown them up size-wise and pasted it on one of the busiest streets of the capital.
The result? You slow your pace to savour the pictures and occasionally you stop to stare. I did that this morning on the way to work and again in the afternoon on my way back from work.
One of the pictures is of a solitary old man dressed in a white shalwar kameez to match his white long beard, sat on his knees in Jummah masjid, feet perfectly crossed at the back, shoulders hunched forward, head bowed and with a prayer bead in hand. A picture of humility and grace.
If I was stunned by this picture in the morning, in the evening I was blessed to see the man himself staring at his portrait on the street. I stopped to ask him if he was the man in the picture and he said yes. I must have mumbled some kind of compliment and salutation and was moving on when he said to me "Prier ki mo emaan rester jusq'au dernier moment" (Translation: Pray that my faith in God stays with me till the last moment). To which I replied Insha Allah (God Willing).
Walking on, I thought what a perfect prayer that is. The old man surely knows the value of faith at that final moment more than I do. And it occured to me that we live our lives mostly praying for this life, but what about that final moment? When death closes in, when confusion sets in?
To have faith in that twiight zone is a cornerstone of Islam. So I too pray. My Lord, please let my faith stay with me at that last moment. And let that old man keep his too at his time.
The photograph next to the one I mentioned above was the portrait of a man with his eyes closed and tongue pierced from one side to the other by a miniature metal spear for Cavadee (a Hindu ceremony). That one had me staring too. There was not a single frown or a stray wrinkle that could have betrayed pain or suffering on his face. The man was perfectly calm. At peace. A kind of peace probably only he knows. It was arresting.
Each of the photographs on the street told its own story. Each beautiful. Each real and living.
My country is beautiful and my people showcase that beauty. Go see it if you haven't. You'll be blown away.
PS: Please someone help me with the photographer's name. My mind is woefully blank tonight.
Dear Breast, please hang in there
Dear Breast, please hang in there
by Shafeenaaz on Thursday, March 24, 2011 at 11:05pm
Dear Breast,
I have been meaning to write to you for some time but then thought I'd give us both some space for a while with the hope that this little tissue issue between us will magically disappear one fine day.
We both know that our relationship has been on rocky grounds snce January and it is even now quite precarious. However, since communication, mutual support, understanding, yada yada yada in any relationship is so important (so am told by the experts), I decided to write you this letter to get a few things out in the open.
See, I am quite annoyed with you lately. Here are the reasons:
- You keep being messy in spite of all my attempts at cleaning after you;
- Because of you, I am unable to stand straight under a shower. I have been dodging to keep water off you for over 5 weeks now. It's getting tiring!
- I am unable to hold Rayyaan close to my heart because you cannot tolerate close contact! You complain that the pressure hurts. Now tell me, where I am going to get my supply of love from?
- I am unable to get that massage with "Heart" because lying on my stomach is presently impossible! I made a promise to her and since you are not cooperating, I cannot honour that promise. It's making me look bad! I don't like that.
- Because of you, I've undergone anasthesia twice, I have already spent a small fortune on doctors and clinics, I will go bald, my good cells are being killed, my brain is being messed with, my mouth waters unpleasantly, my patience is being severely tested, etc etc! Need I go on some more here?
I know things have been tough for you lately. I fully realise that you've gone from being invisible and sexy, to being labelled cancerous, poked, cut and manhandled as just some piece of fat (which you technically are BTW). I know it's not easy to live all one's life being gently managed and kept under wraps to suddenly being thrust upon the eyes and hands of unknown strangers and have THEM decide that there is a problem with you. You used to be dabbed in perfume and creams and now your daily lot is a round of betadine/fucidin/gentiane/arnica. To top it off you have lately been converted into a pouch for some piece of carbon and silver wrapped in gauze! And now you live with the possibility of more sewing even though you've had stitches twice already! It sucks. I totally understand. I'd be pissed too if I were you.
So it seems our complaints are equally valid, equally long and equally painful.
But really, I need you to make an effort here and just shut up.
See, there's plenty for us to look forward to once we get over this rough patch....I promise you, I'll take you walking by the sea (we'll even have a dip together), we can hug each other and others, and generally get on with life. I'm even planning on taking you to Qatar to see the sunshine boys one of these days IA.
So please Booby, let's give this marriage another chance. Just make an effort.
Yours with love,
The rest of me.
PS: I wanted to tell you that in spite of everything, I love you. I love you dearly. I am glad you are still here. I am glad you stayed. And I will keep loving you, scars and all. Just hang in there (no pun intended here! Don't be offended please!).
Keeping records
Keeping records
by Shafeenaaz on Thursday, March 24, 2011 at 10:09pm
For the record:
Tuesday 22/03/2011: Work + Mr. B + Meema's place + quality time with R + monis before sleep. Life was an absolute peach.
Wednesday 23/03/11: Work + Meema's place + BAM! The worst weakness bout since chemo+ headache. Did not realise my body weighed so much....felt in need of a forklift!
Thursday 24/03/11: Work + Millefeuille & Coffee with Mr. Zen (ex-boss). Fantastic hour. Dear God, please make more of him for this world.
Tuesday 22/03/2011: Work + Mr. B + Meema's place + quality time with R + monis before sleep. Life was an absolute peach.
Wednesday 23/03/11: Work + Meema's place + BAM! The worst weakness bout since chemo+ headache. Did not realise my body weighed so much....felt in need of a forklift!
Thursday 24/03/11: Work + Millefeuille & Coffee with Mr. Zen (ex-boss). Fantastic hour. Dear God, please make more of him for this world.
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