Goodbye, MJ and Farrah

I read somewhere that our olfactory sense is closest linked to memory.  Although that may very well be true (to this day I’m still immediately mentally transported to my high school days when exposed to the wrank odor of Drakkar Noir, which my high school sweetheart wore), I believe that just as strongly linked to our memories is music.  Michael Jackson’s death today has allowed me to reflect on some highlights from my past.   

As a child, I would often get into my older sister’s records and listen to them, being intrigued with the record player and how it made these amazing songs come out of it when you put a record on it.  I remember getting into a huge fight with her because I scratched her “Off the Wall” record.  Or maybe it was because I put stickers all over the cover of her “Grease” records.  Jesus, I can’t remember exactly how the fight started, but what I do remember is that we still listened to records back then, and MJ was a very important part of the soundtrack of my life. 

MJ was so much a part of the soundtrack of my life that my Dad sent a Michael Jackson birthday cake to my third or fourth grade class.  There were no insta-photoprint cakes back then — no, this cake decorator painstakingly designed a cake with MJ on it, thick red frosting for his red leather jacket from Thriller and a shitload of crystal sprinkles for his signature white sequined glove.  I can’t remember if I have blogged about my Dad’s obsession with sending birthday cakes to my school when I was a child, but I’ll review my past blog entries to verify and save that for another post. 

In the seventh grade, my class went to a nursing home to entertain the residents for a philanthropic field trip, and I remember being forced to learn a dance/sign language routine to “Man in the Mirror” for this event.  One of my best friends at the time, John Davis, who was also our class clown, took over the show when we started the dance/signing routine.  John broke from the robotically-programmed routine and jumped in front of the class formation, instead moonwalking in front of our class and doing several signature MJ moves in front of everyone.  Our teachers and school administrators looked on with horror, as they were unable to stop John from doing other signature MJ moves, such as grabbing his crotch and lifting his heels up off the ground while he mimicked MJ’s high pitched shriek.  I went to a Catholic school that was pretty straight-laced, so you can imagine our teacher’s response.

Farrah Fawcett’s death is also tragic and perhaps more relevant to any introspective thought on my part today, given the circumstances of her death.  I remember watching Charlie’s Angels with my Dad as a child, even though he thought the show was inappropriate for me to watch. 

My friend Laura threw a 70’s-themed party for her husband’s 40th birthday not too long ago, and most of the ladies attending paid homage to Ms. Fawcett with their hairstyle choice that night.  Oh, the amount of Aqua Net needed to make that happen!  It was brilliant.

I have not watched the documentary recently aired by NBC about Farrah’s fight, “Farrah’s Story,” but seeing snippets of it on the evening news today reminded me of my journey battling Karla last year.  One of the most humbling moments was seeing a scene in the documentary that showed Farrah almost entirely bald.  As I’ve blogged about in the past, I have always identified with my hair as the center of my sense of beauty, and losing it during chemo was a very emotional time.  Seeing Farrah bald brought me back to that time in my life and reminded me of how lucky I am to be where I’m at right now in my journey.

Goodbye MJ and Farrah.  You will be missed.

For today’s soundtrack, the obvious one first: http://www.televisiontunes.com/Charlies_Angels.html.  Then for one of the hardest soundtrack decisions I’ve had to make since including this feature in my blog entries, given all the options: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF0o-W5uu8o.  This is definitely one of my favorite MJ songs from Off the Wall . . . but I guess all of them are my “favorites” as all of the songs on that album are fucking amazing.

A Hard Week

Man, it’s been a hard week.  I started a second job last week to help make ends meet, so I’ve been working nonstop.  In addition to my full time law firm job, I’m now doing part time in-house legal work for a large general contractor in the area.  It’s okay, this work schedule is temporary, but I’m already starting to feel run down from the long workdays.

I have been able to put my nose to the grindstone partially because my best friend, Martin, isn’t here to distract me.  Martin left a few weeks ago for a solo bike tour from Vancouver B.C. to the Baja Peninsula.  He’ll be gone for at least two months.  Having Martin gone, however, has reminded me of how much I rely on him to stay sane.  He often describes himself as my “emotional tampon,” and you can imagine he’s had to do double time work in that regard since my diagnosis.  I really miss him and with all that’s going on in my world right now, his absence is really evident to me.

I haven’t been sleeping well for the last couple weeks and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m working so much that’s it’s hard to “turn my brain off” at the end of the day or if I’m still upset about Eric’s death.  It may be a bit of both, as I have found myself unable to sleep for hours on end, finally dozing off, but then waking up in a panic, realizing that Eric is really gone.  Thankfully, I still have some sleep aid medication from when I was on chemo, but I have refrained from taking any sort of sleep aid unless I am able to allow my body to get up naturally the next day without an alarm.  Unfortunately, with the long workdays I now have, I don’t have many days where I can do that.

Tonight I allowed myself some time away from my home office to attend a memorial for Eric.  A bunch of our friends gathered at our girlfriend Kristin’s house to have a potluck dinner, share photos and stories about Eric, and process our grief together.  It was great to see good friends I haven’t seen in a while, and we all laughed and cried together as we celebrated Eric.  I was reminded of Eric’s amazing writing talent, roll-on-the-floor-laughing sense humor, pure witty (and often snarky) comebacks in conversation, and ability to make fun of himself. 

As a testament to Eric’s fine sense of humor, our girlfriend Vanessa brought in a bunch of postcards that Eric gave to her as a gift.  The set of postcards were titled “Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals.”  On them were all kinds of baby animals situated in cute poses, but with fracking hilarious “bad news” printed on them.   Vanessa invited everyone to take a card if they wished, an here’s the one I grabbed:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have this postcard up on my refrigerator and laugh at it every time I look at it.  It feels good to think about Eric and laugh instead of cry.  Tonight was a nice way to say goodbye to Eric and to get some closure. 

I’m ready to put this week behind me and focus on what’s ahead.  I’m hopeful that I’ll sleep better tonight.

So many choices for tonight’s soundtrack.  Here’s an obvious choice: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQwwqajZXD8.  But for whatever reason, I’ve been in such a melancholy mood that I’ve been listening to late 80s ballads.  Don’t ask me why.  It’s just what I do sometimes.  That said, I will also leave you with this: http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&VideoID=18205793.

A Very Merry Christmas

I’m not a religious person, but I consider myself spiritual.  There are moments that make me question the existence of God and then there are moments where my faith is reaffirmed.  The last few days have not only confirmed the existence of a God in my mind and heart, but they have made me feel like I’m in her/his good graces.

I got out of SeaTac Airport on the last day before the weather got really crappy and flights started getting cancelled, with super-snow driver Jackie giving me a safe ride to the airport before the snow hit Seattle.  I arrived in Honolulu to 80-degree weather and clear skies.  The majority of my family greeted me at the airport, and I felt elated.  I haven’t seen my family in two years, which is a lot for someone who usually goes home every Christmas.  Last year, I made a last-minute decision to stay home in Seattle for Christmas at the request of my then-live-in boyfriend, which was right before I was diagnosed in late January 2008.   Part of the sadness that came over me when I was diagnosed was that I didn’t get a chance to see my family that Christmas. 

This year’s trip home has been absolutely wonderful.  I flew in on Saturday afternoon and will be here until Sunday afternoon.  Aside from a ’bout of food poisoning on Sunday and having to work while I’m here, I am having an amazing time.  I’m getting to eat all my favorite foods here, spend some serious QT with my family, and be reminded of how beautiful it is here.  For example, today my Stepmom, youngest sister, and I went out to Kailua on the east side of O’ahu to spend some time with my older sister, my niece, and my sister’s boyfriend and family.  My youngest sister drove us there and we took the scenic route home through Waimanalo, past Makapu’u, Sandy Beach (and Halona Blowhole where President-Elect Barack Obama recently scattered his grandmother’s ashes — also very near where I’d like my ashes scattered when it’s time), Hawaii Kai, Niu Valley, and finally to my family’s house in Aina Haina.  I’ve driven this route an uncountable number of times, but for the first time in a long time, I was really taken by the beauty of the mountains, the ocean, the clear skies, the palm trees and local flora & fauna, and white sand beaches along the way.  While taking lots of photos of this very familiar path home, I stuck my head out the window, took a deep breath in, then sat back with a big smile on my face.  It is great to be home.    

My father is still the sometimes-grumpy old man with a sharp wit and quirky sense of humor.  My Stepmom is still the rock of our family, with the calmest, most laid back demeanor of anyone I know.  My younger sister closest to me in age is a workaholic like me.  My youngest sister has become an amazing young woman.  My older sister has found an amazing support system with her boyfriend and his very cool family.  And my niece.  Oh my God, she’s adorable (imagine Dora the Explorer in the flesh), energetic (she’d give the Energizer Bunny a run for its money), super friendly (in a way that necessitates you keep an eye on her, lest she walk off with a stranger), and mischievous at times (giving you pause to contemplate what this 5 year old will be like as a teenager).  I’m halfway through my trip and I’m looking forward to hanging out and catching up with my family more.  This is exactly what I needed to rejuvenate my spirit.

I’m presently in my parents’ living room typing up this blog entry, listening to the Makaha Sons of Ni`ihau sing “Winter Wonderland” on a local Christmas TV special.  Life is good.  Merry Christmas, everyone!

Bye Bye Boobies

I’m sitting in the waiting room of Virginia Mason Hospital.  My surgery is in an hour-and-a-half.  The radiologist just performed the lymphscintigraphy on both of my breasts so that my surgeon will know which lymph nodes to evaluate first during the surgery.  The radiologist had to give me eight injections at each nipple to do this procedure.  Now that was an unpleasant procedure.  But I every time I hear another name called at the front desk, I remember that the real unpleasnat procedure is yet to come.  I dread the moment when they call my name.

Thankfully, I’ve been through this process several times before, so I know what to expect after I am escorted to surgery induction.  Changing out of all my clothes, putting on what the nurse will refer to as “hospital Victoria Secret underwear,” being asked my name and birthday several times by several nurses and technicians, watching the nurse put the IV in my hand (which I hate), meeting with the anesthesiologist, yada yada yada.  Though this time, I am fearful that I will start sobbing uncontrollably the moment right before the anethesia hits, because I know that coming out the other side will not be like any of the other times I’ve been in the operating room.

I know I will hear the surgeon call my name to wake me up.  I will feel terrible throat irritation from the breathing tube.  I’ll have to pee but won’t be able to if I try.  I won’t be able to hold down a frigging saltine but I’ll be ravenous.  And my head will feel like I was hit by a semi.  But what I can’t mentally prepare for is the pain I know I will feel in my chest — both from the surgical scars from the mastectomies and from the pain in my heart that I know I will feel when I realize that they are really gone.  I scared shitless that it will be like waking up only to find out that the nightmare has just begun.  I laughed a lot yesterday and even this morning during my lymphscintigraphy.  I worry most that I will lose the ability (physically and mentally/emotionally) to laugh.