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The famous question "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" is usually answered with "Practise!"
I'll add, by joining The Cecilia Chorus of New York!
In September I successfully auditioned to be a member of the chorus. Under the baton of maestro Mark Shapiro, the Cecilia Chorus has a very high level of musicianship and is regarded as one of the top choruses in New York.
The past few months of rehearsal have been challenging and fun, building my sight reading skills, and helping to get my upper range back.
Last night the chorus performed at Carnegie Hall with a "A Bach Family Christmas." The program included Wachet auf ruft uns die Stimme by Johann Christoph Bach, Meine Seele erhebet den Herren by Johann Ernst Bach, Der Zippelfagottist (the world premier of a new comic intermezzo about J.S. Bach's quarrel with a bassonist) by Jonathan Breit, and the delicious Magnificat (Christmas Version) by Johann Sebastian himself.
It was such a thrill to sing on such a beautiful and historic stage, and even more special to have my American family in attendance!
Looking forward to our next concert in March at the Holy Trinity Church, where we'll be singing another world premier (Oedipus the King by The Brothers Balliett). We will also be back at Carnegie in May for the Brahms Requiem and a third world premier! Tickets and more info can be found at the Cecilia Chorus website.
I'll add, by joining The Cecilia Chorus of New York!
In September I successfully auditioned to be a member of the chorus. Under the baton of maestro Mark Shapiro, the Cecilia Chorus has a very high level of musicianship and is regarded as one of the top choruses in New York.
The past few months of rehearsal have been challenging and fun, building my sight reading skills, and helping to get my upper range back.
Last night the chorus performed at Carnegie Hall with a "A Bach Family Christmas." The program included Wachet auf ruft uns die Stimme by Johann Christoph Bach, Meine Seele erhebet den Herren by Johann Ernst Bach, Der Zippelfagottist (the world premier of a new comic intermezzo about J.S. Bach's quarrel with a bassonist) by Jonathan Breit, and the delicious Magnificat (Christmas Version) by Johann Sebastian himself.
It was such a thrill to sing on such a beautiful and historic stage, and even more special to have my American family in attendance!
Looking forward to our next concert in March at the Holy Trinity Church, where we'll be singing another world premier (Oedipus the King by The Brothers Balliett). We will also be back at Carnegie in May for the Brahms Requiem and a third world premier! Tickets and more info can be found at the Cecilia Chorus website.
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A milestone has been reached... My first performance in New York City!
Last night I had the honor of singing with the Queer Urban Orchestra, performing Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus. The choir consisted of singers from several choirs, including the Mannes Colleges of Music and the New York City Gay Men's Chorus.
The QUO sounded wonderful performing Gerswhin's Rhapsody in Blue and Ives' Symphony No. 2. It was truly a treat to hear such beautiful music in the Church of the Holy Apostles.
Thanks to conductor Julie Desbordes for inviting me to be a part of this lovely concert!
Last night I had the honor of singing with the Queer Urban Orchestra, performing Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus. The choir consisted of singers from several choirs, including the Mannes Colleges of Music and the New York City Gay Men's Chorus.
The QUO sounded wonderful performing Gerswhin's Rhapsody in Blue and Ives' Symphony No. 2. It was truly a treat to hear such beautiful music in the Church of the Holy Apostles.
Thanks to conductor Julie Desbordes for inviting me to be a part of this lovely concert!
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I was honored to be interviewed for by Stagecloud, a new enterprise providing streaming services for regional theatre companies, on the history of filmed live musicals. Check it out here!
You can also read my article for New Musical Theatre, published in October 2015, here.
You can also read my article for New Musical Theatre, published in October 2015, here.
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Scanxiety ("scan-zi-etee")
Anxiety and worry that accompanies the period of time before undergoing or receiving the results of a medical examination"
Remember that scene in Kindergarten Cop where Arnie says, "I have a headache," and the kids say, "Maybe it's a tumor..." and Arnie replies, "It is not a toomah!" That is the conversation in my head right now.
When I sit for too long on any chair that isn't my couch, I develop an awful pain right down in the base of my tailbone. It makes moving to a standing position incredibly painful. Once I'm standing again, the pain subsides.
My doctor thinks it could be a fractured sacrum, except we have no idea what could have caused it (apart from the fact that the treatment for AML has left me at higher risk for bone damage). All I know is that the pain started after the bone marrow biopsy in October.
Tomorrow I'm having an MRI to determine what's causing the pain. According to the hospital Information Sheet, the MRI will be conducted with contrast dye, in order to "be able to better see any traces of disease".
Basically I'm going to be spending the next 24 hours dealing with scanxiety and repeating to myself in mantra-like fashion: IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
When I sit for too long on any chair that isn't my couch, I develop an awful pain right down in the base of my tailbone. It makes moving to a standing position incredibly painful. Once I'm standing again, the pain subsides.
My doctor thinks it could be a fractured sacrum, except we have no idea what could have caused it (apart from the fact that the treatment for AML has left me at higher risk for bone damage). All I know is that the pain started after the bone marrow biopsy in October.
Tomorrow I'm having an MRI to determine what's causing the pain. According to the hospital Information Sheet, the MRI will be conducted with contrast dye, in order to "be able to better see any traces of disease".
Basically I'm going to be spending the next 24 hours dealing with scanxiety and repeating to myself in mantra-like fashion: IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
I will meditate. I will listed to show tunes (Hamilton is currently on high rotation). I will eat chocolate. I will read Ali Smith. I will get past this MRI. And maybe the day after tomorrow is the day I can start being "normal" again and everything will be ok.
IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
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Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Mucus dripping from your nose
Wheezy lungs sing like they're in a choir
And folks are feeling all their woes
Everybody knows a lemon and some honey-oh,
Help to make the meds taste right.
Tiny germs with their souls all aglow,
Will make it hard to sleep tonight.
We know that influenza's on its way;
Respiratory syncytial virus
For all to slay
And every mother's child is going to cry,
To know that temps do really know how to fly.
And so I'm offering this simple phrase,
To kids from one to ninety-two,
Although its been said many times, many ways,
It's cold and flu season, boo hoo..."
Oh cold and flu season, you gross and icky, mucus-filled extravaganza of joy. After a year of staving off the inevitable, I finally caught a cold.
Having a cold post-transplant means a barrage of questions from my medical team to make sure I don't have the flu (or a myriad of other fun viruses that can compromise my already fragile immune system). It means sorting out what over-the-counter drugs I can take with my existing medications to relieve the symptoms. It means more blood work. It also means a nose swab.
Now you'd think a veteran of 12 bone marrow biopsies would be totally ok with a gentle two second nose swab with a cotton tip. But no. A girl can only be tested for various ailments so many times before the sight of a mere cotton tip can make her weak at the knees and induce a mild panic attack.
Yesterday, I lost my shiz while a patient nurse tried to put a stick up each of my nostrils to swab my mucus. They never told me just how glamorous New York City could be at this time of year! Did I mention that as I demonstrated my delightful hacking cough the nurse requested a bit of sputum as a sample? GLAMOR I TELLS YOU.
For now, hold the roasted chestnuts - I have zero sense of taste or smell and won't enjoy them. If you need me, I'll be at home drinking copious amounts of lemon and honey tea, and hacking up a lung.
Happy flu season ya'll!
Having a cold post-transplant means a barrage of questions from my medical team to make sure I don't have the flu (or a myriad of other fun viruses that can compromise my already fragile immune system). It means sorting out what over-the-counter drugs I can take with my existing medications to relieve the symptoms. It means more blood work. It also means a nose swab.
Now you'd think a veteran of 12 bone marrow biopsies would be totally ok with a gentle two second nose swab with a cotton tip. But no. A girl can only be tested for various ailments so many times before the sight of a mere cotton tip can make her weak at the knees and induce a mild panic attack.
Yesterday, I lost my shiz while a patient nurse tried to put a stick up each of my nostrils to swab my mucus. They never told me just how glamorous New York City could be at this time of year! Did I mention that as I demonstrated my delightful hacking cough the nurse requested a bit of sputum as a sample? GLAMOR I TELLS YOU.
For now, hold the roasted chestnuts - I have zero sense of taste or smell and won't enjoy them. If you need me, I'll be at home drinking copious amounts of lemon and honey tea, and hacking up a lung.
Happy flu season ya'll!
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The hemoglobin goblin is still here. I had to have another bone marrow biopsy today. My doctor did it herself. At the end, she clutched the bio-bag containing a vial of my blood and said, "I don't know what other tests to run. I want to hold on to this in case I think of something." Inspiring, no? My wonderful nurse practitioner sat with me afterwards while I sobbed. Stupid hemoglobin goblin. I thought I told you to be gone?
Tonight I got to do something fun, and totally out of character: wear designer clothes! Despite the lidocaine still coursing through my system, and my back aching like hell, I decided to go through with attending a special event for CancerCare - a shopping night at the Soho boutique, Nicole Miller. Along with three other survivors, I was there to talk about my experience with cancer, and how CancerCare had helped me.
To start the evening, we were taken to NARS Cosmetics and had our make-up professionally done. The make-up artists were so lovely, starting off the session with face massages and making us feel utterly pampered and special.
Back at the boutique, the staff of Nicole Miller helped us pick out outfits and personally attended to each of us. It was so much fun to wear a dress I would never ever even think about trying on because it costs almost half my month's rent!
The guests arrived, and after some light refreshments and shopping, the four survivors told our stories about how CancerCare had helped us.
No matter how many cancer stories I hear, the thing that always gets me is how goddamn awful this disease is. It doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, how long ago the treatment finished, or how great your support system is, cancer effing sucks.
Tonight I was pampered and made to feel incredibly special. It was truly lovely, and a great way to ignore the goblin for a couple of hours.
Thank you to utterly lovely staff at Nicole Miller, NARS Cosmetics, and CancerCare for making the evening possible!
Tonight I got to do something fun, and totally out of character: wear designer clothes! Despite the lidocaine still coursing through my system, and my back aching like hell, I decided to go through with attending a special event for CancerCare - a shopping night at the Soho boutique, Nicole Miller. Along with three other survivors, I was there to talk about my experience with cancer, and how CancerCare had helped me.
To start the evening, we were taken to NARS Cosmetics and had our make-up professionally done. The make-up artists were so lovely, starting off the session with face massages and making us feel utterly pampered and special.
Back at the boutique, the staff of Nicole Miller helped us pick out outfits and personally attended to each of us. It was so much fun to wear a dress I would never ever even think about trying on because it costs almost half my month's rent!
The guests arrived, and after some light refreshments and shopping, the four survivors told our stories about how CancerCare had helped us.
No matter how many cancer stories I hear, the thing that always gets me is how goddamn awful this disease is. It doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, how long ago the treatment finished, or how great your support system is, cancer effing sucks.
Tonight I was pampered and made to feel incredibly special. It was truly lovely, and a great way to ignore the goblin for a couple of hours.
Thank you to utterly lovely staff at Nicole Miller, NARS Cosmetics, and CancerCare for making the evening possible!
- Published on
Something is messing with my blood. My medical team are not exactly sure what it is. So, for the time being, I've decided it's a goblin -- because it's a gobblin' my hemaglobin, and that sounds more fun than "cancer".
Those of you following along for the past few weeks will know that my counts have jumping up and down like a yo-yo. It started after my one-year-post-transplant check-up — I couldn’t seem to recover from the day of tests. I was constantly tired, headachey, and puffed out from shorts bursts of walking, and as a result I had to drop out of the 5km run which I’d spent 12 weeks training for.
My blood work showed that my hemoglobin (an important component of red blood cells), levels were dropping. My doctor thought it was caused by one of the drugs I was on, and took me off the drug. To keep an eye on the counts, I had to go back to having weekly blood tests.
Four weeks after stopping the suspected culprit, my counts are still dropping. This afternoon my lovely nurse practitioner called to let me know that this week’s results were low enough that I’ll need another bone marrow biopsy on Monday, and possibly a transfusion. My doctor is not too concerned about a relapse at this point, given that my last biopsy was only a month ago and came back completely clean, but she’s not exactly sure why I’ve stopped producing hemoglobin.
Monday will be my 11th bone marrow biopsy in 16 months. I still have pain from the last one - whenever I sit for too long I get a sharp and uncomfortable pain in my tailbone. It’s alleviated by standing and walking, but, thanks to the low hemoglobin counts, I get tired from too much movement. It’s a fun game of balancing pain and fatigue.
Thankfully it hasn’t been too debilitating. I’m not bed-ridden, and I’ve even managed a few days of work this week! It's just frustrating to be feeling exhausted and headachey all the time.
I’m hoping my medical team are able to figure out what’s causing this current dip from the biopsy. In the meantime, hemoglobin goblin, be gone!
Those of you following along for the past few weeks will know that my counts have jumping up and down like a yo-yo. It started after my one-year-post-transplant check-up — I couldn’t seem to recover from the day of tests. I was constantly tired, headachey, and puffed out from shorts bursts of walking, and as a result I had to drop out of the 5km run which I’d spent 12 weeks training for.
My blood work showed that my hemoglobin (an important component of red blood cells), levels were dropping. My doctor thought it was caused by one of the drugs I was on, and took me off the drug. To keep an eye on the counts, I had to go back to having weekly blood tests.
Four weeks after stopping the suspected culprit, my counts are still dropping. This afternoon my lovely nurse practitioner called to let me know that this week’s results were low enough that I’ll need another bone marrow biopsy on Monday, and possibly a transfusion. My doctor is not too concerned about a relapse at this point, given that my last biopsy was only a month ago and came back completely clean, but she’s not exactly sure why I’ve stopped producing hemoglobin.
Monday will be my 11th bone marrow biopsy in 16 months. I still have pain from the last one - whenever I sit for too long I get a sharp and uncomfortable pain in my tailbone. It’s alleviated by standing and walking, but, thanks to the low hemoglobin counts, I get tired from too much movement. It’s a fun game of balancing pain and fatigue.
Thankfully it hasn’t been too debilitating. I’m not bed-ridden, and I’ve even managed a few days of work this week! It's just frustrating to be feeling exhausted and headachey all the time.
I’m hoping my medical team are able to figure out what’s causing this current dip from the biopsy. In the meantime, hemoglobin goblin, be gone!
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I am fed up. A year post-transplant, I’m still dealing with aches and pains, fatigue, counts dipping, and wondering when I’m ever going to feel “normal” again. I’m fed up with articles proclaiming This Food Will Give You Cancer. I'm fed up with articles claiming preventatives and cures for cancer through diet. As someone who took care of herself, ate a mostly vegetarian diet, exercised, meditated, and STILL got cancer, all of these articles make me crazy.
Like most living creatures, I love to eat, and I take great pleasure in preparing and consuming food. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that life is too short to obsessively try and avoid things that might, or might not, give you cancer. I believe in eating a balanced diet, and beyond that… Enjoy food! Enjoy life!
Despite all this, I still believe in food's healing and restorative power. In the past week, I’ve had three meals to remind me of this fact.
1. Jewish Penicillin
After coming down with a cold, our lovely friend Paula made a giant batch of “Jewish penicillin,” chicken broth cooked over 18 hours. I’m telling you now, that stuff has magic powers. All I know is, my counts were low on Friday (low enough for my doctor to order a transfusion and another bone marrow biopsy for the following Monday), and after two bowls of delicious, flavorful broth (with some veggies and noodles thrown in), my counts were heading back towards normal. Magic.
2. Thanksgiving Test Run
The aforementioned Paula, and her husband Neil, (whom we may not have gotten to know if it weren’t for this whole cancer thing) invited us around for a “test turkey” in preparation for Thanksgiving. It also happened to be the anniversary of coming home from hospital after the transplant, which felt even more significant than the anniversary of being diagnosed, or the transplant itself, because, Hey! I’ve survived a whole year!!!
We dined on a gorgeous turkey with homemade cranberry sauce and gravy, roast veggies with homegrown rosemary, and to polish it all off, homemade chocolate ice cream. With candles on the table, wonderful company, and delicious food cooked with love and care, it was the perfect way to celebrate one year out of hospital.
3. Fancy Dumplings
After learning that my counts were high enough to not need a transfusion or a bone marrow biopsy, Aaron surprised me with a Monday lunch date. We went to Red Farm, a fancy dim sum restaurant on the upper west side, and oh the food we ate! Skewers with duck, grilled lychees, and fried lotus; assorted “pac man” dumplings served with a tempura sweet potato on a bed of guac; lamb dumplings with miso, apple and tabasco shots; and the soupiest soup dumplings I’ve ever had. I’m drooling just thinking about it all. Grilled lychees, where have you been all my life?!
Like most living creatures, I love to eat, and I take great pleasure in preparing and consuming food. If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that life is too short to obsessively try and avoid things that might, or might not, give you cancer. I believe in eating a balanced diet, and beyond that… Enjoy food! Enjoy life!
Despite all this, I still believe in food's healing and restorative power. In the past week, I’ve had three meals to remind me of this fact.
1. Jewish Penicillin
After coming down with a cold, our lovely friend Paula made a giant batch of “Jewish penicillin,” chicken broth cooked over 18 hours. I’m telling you now, that stuff has magic powers. All I know is, my counts were low on Friday (low enough for my doctor to order a transfusion and another bone marrow biopsy for the following Monday), and after two bowls of delicious, flavorful broth (with some veggies and noodles thrown in), my counts were heading back towards normal. Magic.
2. Thanksgiving Test Run
The aforementioned Paula, and her husband Neil, (whom we may not have gotten to know if it weren’t for this whole cancer thing) invited us around for a “test turkey” in preparation for Thanksgiving. It also happened to be the anniversary of coming home from hospital after the transplant, which felt even more significant than the anniversary of being diagnosed, or the transplant itself, because, Hey! I’ve survived a whole year!!!
We dined on a gorgeous turkey with homemade cranberry sauce and gravy, roast veggies with homegrown rosemary, and to polish it all off, homemade chocolate ice cream. With candles on the table, wonderful company, and delicious food cooked with love and care, it was the perfect way to celebrate one year out of hospital.
3. Fancy Dumplings
After learning that my counts were high enough to not need a transfusion or a bone marrow biopsy, Aaron surprised me with a Monday lunch date. We went to Red Farm, a fancy dim sum restaurant on the upper west side, and oh the food we ate! Skewers with duck, grilled lychees, and fried lotus; assorted “pac man” dumplings served with a tempura sweet potato on a bed of guac; lamb dumplings with miso, apple and tabasco shots; and the soupiest soup dumplings I’ve ever had. I’m drooling just thinking about it all. Grilled lychees, where have you been all my life?!
So, I’m fed up, but at least I’m well fed. Bring on Thanksgiving and the festive season, I’m ready to eat and celebrate surviving a whole year on this crazy trip!
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The rollercoaster ride of Recovering From Major Illness continues. Last Friday was Hell Day. It turned out to be Not So Bad Day. The tests, that a year ago were painful, exhausting, and debilitating, were, this time round, not so bad. It’s a reminder of how sick I was a year ago, that just lying on a bed and having an EKG (a very quick and easy procedure) was torture. The worst part of the day was the bone marrow biopsy. They had to do it twice, because the first one didn’t get enough of a sample. Oh science, please hurry up and find a gentler method of testing marrow!
The bone marrow biopsy left me in a lot of pain, right down to my tailbone, so that even sitting hurt. The next few days were less than fun. I had a constant dull ache in the back of my head, reflux, and I was permanently tired. A delightful combination for my incredibly patient, and loving husband.
On Tuesday, I felt ok enough to get in one last run before the 5km this Saturday. It was meant to be easy, running for only eight minutes out of twenty. It slayed me. By the evening, I was Done. The headache hadn’t really gone away. I was puffed from short bursts of walking. I was exhausted. I called my doctor and she said my platelets had been low on Friday, and to go for blood work on Wednesday morning.
Then came The Crash. My anxiety brain went into panic mode. Your counts are low! You feel like you did before you were diagnosed! IT’s back! You’re going to be dead at 31! DOOOM!!! I had a total meltdown and would probably still be fetal under a blanket if Aaron hadn’t made me just go to the Brooklyn Infusion Center and have my blood work done.
Today, I feel better. We still don’t have results from last week, or yesterday (it can take a little while), but I’m not in Oh-God-My-Death-Is-Imminent mode. I have amazing, patient, and loving people around me. We had dumplings for dinner AND breakfast. I'm getting paid to watch some cool theatre. The sky is blue again, I’m running in my first NYC race on Saturday, and I’m Ok!
UPDATE: Literally moments after posting this entry, I got a call from my doctor. I can't run, or even walk, the 5km on Saturday as my counts have dropped too low. She thinks the drop has been caused by one of my meds, so I'm stopping it for the time being. See photo above for my feelings right now! FAARKING CANCER!!!
UPDATE TWO: Also found out that the bone marrow biopsy results came back negative, so I'm all clear and still in remission. Yay! I'm still ok!
The bone marrow biopsy left me in a lot of pain, right down to my tailbone, so that even sitting hurt. The next few days were less than fun. I had a constant dull ache in the back of my head, reflux, and I was permanently tired. A delightful combination for my incredibly patient, and loving husband.
On Tuesday, I felt ok enough to get in one last run before the 5km this Saturday. It was meant to be easy, running for only eight minutes out of twenty. It slayed me. By the evening, I was Done. The headache hadn’t really gone away. I was puffed from short bursts of walking. I was exhausted. I called my doctor and she said my platelets had been low on Friday, and to go for blood work on Wednesday morning.
Then came The Crash. My anxiety brain went into panic mode. Your counts are low! You feel like you did before you were diagnosed! IT’s back! You’re going to be dead at 31! DOOOM!!! I had a total meltdown and would probably still be fetal under a blanket if Aaron hadn’t made me just go to the Brooklyn Infusion Center and have my blood work done.
Today, I feel better. We still don’t have results from last week, or yesterday (it can take a little while), but I’m not in Oh-God-My-Death-Is-Imminent mode. I have amazing, patient, and loving people around me. We had dumplings for dinner AND breakfast. I'm getting paid to watch some cool theatre. The sky is blue again, I’m running in my first NYC race on Saturday, and I’m Ok!
UPDATE: Literally moments after posting this entry, I got a call from my doctor. I can't run, or even walk, the 5km on Saturday as my counts have dropped too low. She thinks the drop has been caused by one of my meds, so I'm stopping it for the time being. See photo above for my feelings right now! FAARKING CANCER!!!
UPDATE TWO: Also found out that the bone marrow biopsy results came back negative, so I'm all clear and still in remission. Yay! I'm still ok!
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"Light Rollercoaster" by Kaszimera on DeviantArt
Since my last post I turned 31, and made a trip to Australia to say goodbye to my grandmother. It has been another rollercoaster of a month, utter joy mixed with profound sorrow, wonderful highs, and tricky-to-navigate lows.
Time to Say Goodbye
When I left Australia in 2011, I had no idea when I would be back and I consciously came to terms with the notion that I would miss out on the milestones and events of people I loved. I knew I would miss out on weddings, births, graduations, and celebrations. Part of moving overseas was understanding that I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to people, particularly elderly relatives, before they passed away.
Long before cancer reared its ugly head, I had made peace with the fact that I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to my Abuela in person. Despite this, when we learnt that Abuela was dying, I was devastated that stupid cancer meant I couldn’t travel. At every check up I asked my doctor if it was ok for me to travel. The definitive answer was always “Sweetheart, are you kidding?! You have no immune system!” The risk of my suppressed immune system fighting who-knows-what germs on a long-haul flight, not to mention the effects of that flight, and jet lag, on my weary body were too high.
Two days before my birthday, I had my six weekly check up. As always, I asked, just-in-case-the-answer-had-changed, if I could visit Abuela. My doctor cocked her head, looked at me through narrowed eyes, and said, “Alright. I think you can go.”
Huh?! I went into a state of shock and left the hospital not knowing what to do or who to call. Did I even want to make the trip? Was I up for it? What if I got sick in Australia? Would they stop me from coming back?
After much discussion with Aaron, and a few days umm-ing and aah-ing, I decided I would regret it if I didn’t go. My dad booked my ticket, and a day later, I was on a jet plane bound for Australia.
As I had made peace with the fact that I couldn’t go, being able to fly home felt like an enormous privilege. It was truly an honor to be able to sit with Abuela in her last few days. She was conscious enough to know I was there, and she smiled, and cried, when I first came into the room. I sat with her and stroked her hair, held her hand, listened to music with her, and told her how much I loved her. Most of our family were with her when she passed away, peacefully and quietly. It was sad, and lovely, and special. We decided to wait a week for the funeral, as my aunt needed to fly in from England.
In the time in-between I caught up with friends and family, and finally got to sorting out all my crap in storage. Most of it has been in storage since my first trip in 2008. I couldn’t believe how much stuff there was, and I was furious at Old Me for hoarding so much! It took three days to sort through it all, and more than once I wanted to just light a bonfire and Burn Everything. It was physically and emotionally exhausting. The stuff was all remnants of a time that now feels like a lifetime ago. Saying goodbye to it all was liberating.
Workin’ 9 to 5 (almost)
Upon returning home to NYC, I went straight into work. I haven’t worked in over a year, and getting back to being employed is a huge step. I started ushering at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (getting paid to watch theatre, for the win!), and I’m also doing some temping (getting paid to write, for the win!).
I’m only working part-time at this point, as I’m still not quite physically ready to return to full-time work, but oh my it feels so good to be earning some income again! Being around people, having a purpose, being useful, and using my skills. It feels GREAT.
Run Lulu, Run!
Even with jet lag, I managed a few runs in Sydney. The difference between Sydney and New York? New York is FLAT. Sydney is HILLY. Yikes. It hurt! But I did it.
With the effects of flying, and the adrenalin of being able to travel, wearing off, my body is exhausted. The runs in the past couple of weeks have been HARD. I had the realization that I’m probably not going to be able to run the full 5km on the 31st of October, which was utterly crushing.
Effing cancer. I used to run 5km three times a week for fun, and now I just Can’t. At this stage, I’ll be able to run most of it, but not all of it. As my trainer needed to remind me, “You have made amazing progress! You have overcome fatigue, mood swings, loss, grief, overseas travel, and jet lag. Wow!”
Next Up
In just under two weeks, I’ll be heading to Sloan for Hell Day. Bone density scan, EKG, echocardiogram, pulmonary function test, blood work, and a bone marrow biopsy all in one day. How do you spell FUN?! All the survivor fears of relapse, secondary cancer, and I’m-probably-going-to-die-young have reared their heads, and bought with them depression, anxiety, and reflux. Cancer, you suck.
So there you have it. I feel great. I feel depressed. I feel grateful to be alive. Some days it’s a struggle to get out of bed. It’s all part and parcel of this process called Recovery. What a ride it is.
Time to Say Goodbye
When I left Australia in 2011, I had no idea when I would be back and I consciously came to terms with the notion that I would miss out on the milestones and events of people I loved. I knew I would miss out on weddings, births, graduations, and celebrations. Part of moving overseas was understanding that I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to people, particularly elderly relatives, before they passed away.
Long before cancer reared its ugly head, I had made peace with the fact that I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to my Abuela in person. Despite this, when we learnt that Abuela was dying, I was devastated that stupid cancer meant I couldn’t travel. At every check up I asked my doctor if it was ok for me to travel. The definitive answer was always “Sweetheart, are you kidding?! You have no immune system!” The risk of my suppressed immune system fighting who-knows-what germs on a long-haul flight, not to mention the effects of that flight, and jet lag, on my weary body were too high.
Two days before my birthday, I had my six weekly check up. As always, I asked, just-in-case-the-answer-had-changed, if I could visit Abuela. My doctor cocked her head, looked at me through narrowed eyes, and said, “Alright. I think you can go.”
Huh?! I went into a state of shock and left the hospital not knowing what to do or who to call. Did I even want to make the trip? Was I up for it? What if I got sick in Australia? Would they stop me from coming back?
After much discussion with Aaron, and a few days umm-ing and aah-ing, I decided I would regret it if I didn’t go. My dad booked my ticket, and a day later, I was on a jet plane bound for Australia.
As I had made peace with the fact that I couldn’t go, being able to fly home felt like an enormous privilege. It was truly an honor to be able to sit with Abuela in her last few days. She was conscious enough to know I was there, and she smiled, and cried, when I first came into the room. I sat with her and stroked her hair, held her hand, listened to music with her, and told her how much I loved her. Most of our family were with her when she passed away, peacefully and quietly. It was sad, and lovely, and special. We decided to wait a week for the funeral, as my aunt needed to fly in from England.
In the time in-between I caught up with friends and family, and finally got to sorting out all my crap in storage. Most of it has been in storage since my first trip in 2008. I couldn’t believe how much stuff there was, and I was furious at Old Me for hoarding so much! It took three days to sort through it all, and more than once I wanted to just light a bonfire and Burn Everything. It was physically and emotionally exhausting. The stuff was all remnants of a time that now feels like a lifetime ago. Saying goodbye to it all was liberating.
Workin’ 9 to 5 (almost)
Upon returning home to NYC, I went straight into work. I haven’t worked in over a year, and getting back to being employed is a huge step. I started ushering at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (getting paid to watch theatre, for the win!), and I’m also doing some temping (getting paid to write, for the win!).
I’m only working part-time at this point, as I’m still not quite physically ready to return to full-time work, but oh my it feels so good to be earning some income again! Being around people, having a purpose, being useful, and using my skills. It feels GREAT.
Run Lulu, Run!
Even with jet lag, I managed a few runs in Sydney. The difference between Sydney and New York? New York is FLAT. Sydney is HILLY. Yikes. It hurt! But I did it.
With the effects of flying, and the adrenalin of being able to travel, wearing off, my body is exhausted. The runs in the past couple of weeks have been HARD. I had the realization that I’m probably not going to be able to run the full 5km on the 31st of October, which was utterly crushing.
Effing cancer. I used to run 5km three times a week for fun, and now I just Can’t. At this stage, I’ll be able to run most of it, but not all of it. As my trainer needed to remind me, “You have made amazing progress! You have overcome fatigue, mood swings, loss, grief, overseas travel, and jet lag. Wow!”
Next Up
In just under two weeks, I’ll be heading to Sloan for Hell Day. Bone density scan, EKG, echocardiogram, pulmonary function test, blood work, and a bone marrow biopsy all in one day. How do you spell FUN?! All the survivor fears of relapse, secondary cancer, and I’m-probably-going-to-die-young have reared their heads, and bought with them depression, anxiety, and reflux. Cancer, you suck.
So there you have it. I feel great. I feel depressed. I feel grateful to be alive. Some days it’s a struggle to get out of bed. It’s all part and parcel of this process called Recovery. What a ride it is.