Losses in life, translated…
Once, at my check up to see if I have a relapse of breast cancer, the technician asked me, if the jade I wear around my neck, across my chest was for the sake of warding off evil, I’d replied, “I’d used it to ward off cancer…”
A Bump in the Size of a Peanut
How can I possibly forget, that toward the end of last summer, the day you’d started, sobbing gently onto my shoulders, it’d made me feel sad and cry too.
That was in after I’d sat through a long-winding executive meeting, was just about to relax, you’d wanted me to touch an areas close to your shoulder, I was so shocked, there was a hardened bump in the size of a peanut there. I’d consoled you to go see your doctor, you’re alert enough, told me you’d already made an appointment with “Papa Su” (Dr. Cheng-Shi Su), that you’ll head over to his office in a bit.
I’d sat alone there, in the office, just waiting, the originally limited space, all of a sudden, was filled with an entire room full of loneliness. In the short twenty minutes, my mind acted like a fast-forwarding projector, I’d rewound through all the moments that I’d doubted in the past year. I saw myself, begging in the starlight, to God, and set up my final affairs, behind the backs of my families and friends.
In the images, there were, more humorous side of me, of course; perhaps, it wasn’t at all funny, but I’d still wanted to tell you a bad joke.
Once, at an ultrasound exam to see if my breast cancer was back again, the technician asked me, if the jade I’d worn around my neck was to ward off evil, I’d told him, that I’d used it to ward off cancer.
“Optimism” originally, should be listed as a must in life, especially, on the stages of your life and mine.
We’d always thought of ways to make our own lives easier, didn’t you tell some story of bread or mochi at the support group? When you’d said that you’d “lost one side”, your husband told you that the prosthetics is more like a bread roll, you’d argued with him, said that it was more like mocha.
No matter what, my heart goes out to you, you’re over ten years younger than I, and had to already face the trials of your life. Hearing how “Papa Su” wanted you to go under the knife immediately, I was stunned, and, all I could do, was to hold you real tight, and dumbly told you that we should have some traditional rice noodles for good luck, you’d wiped your tears away, told me, “Sure”.
As we’d parked, it was past noon, the sun is really warm, we’d walked through a patch of farm. In the restaurant, you’d quickly stopped your sorrow, and changed the subject to the plans you have for yourself for the next year, you’re still up for the annual gathering, reason being, that it would be a hard to find opportunity, for everybody to gather and just have fun. In reality, I understood, that it was because you didn’t want the support group meetings to end, like how you didn’t want to lose your baby.
Maybe, the Lonely Figure isn’t at All, Lonely
As the beginning of spring after the harshness of winter approaches, “the Annual Celebratory Meeting” was held at Taipei’s VMH, there were those with the metastasized cancer patients to the bones, who walked crippled, sisters with the face masks, the wigs, those who are battling it out with chemo, those who’d gotten a rib removal surgery, with the bandages wrapped around the chest, the hard and difficult steps they’d taken, paled faces, the look of expectation, how can we just, abandon one another.
As the second-to-the-sponsor, you stood on stage, with a bright yellow body suit, making your lightly made-up face looked even better; before the mic, we’d still heard you told of what you’d wanted to give back. And still, in just a few days afterwards, we’d heard, that you’d had another relapse, how awful! Plus, this time, the cancer had metastasized into your liver.
Even as I felt the shock, of how serious your condition is now, I still couldn’t show it in front of you! A few of the volunteer sisters who’d worked alongside us all, they’d never acted agitated or anxious in front of you, we’d all, buried that loneliness, that helplessness, deeply, within each of us, and we had used our normally noisy selves, to show one another the cares and concerns like we usually do.
Or maybe, the lonely bodies aren’t at all lonely after all.
I’d heard you told once more, peacefully, how glad you were, to have us, the group. We’re so lucky to have you too! All of us, without our breasts, which one of us isn’t a lone performer. But, other than the loneliness, we also have you as well, so glad that you’re here for us all.
And so, this, is a support group, made up of strangers, who shared the common thread of cancer, and, although their experiences are not at all identical, but, they shared the same experiences of having had mastectomy, and losses due to cancer, which made them more bonded to one another.