Playing Hockey on Public Transit

Today the boys got an education.  They will be starting school on Monday (more on that later), but the kind of education they received today was on appropriate conduct on the subway.  Manipulating the subway as a singular person is an interesting scenario at best, but when you have children it get much more interesting.  So interesting, in fact that it becomes necessary to teach them how to handle some of the chaos for themselves; a.k.a in-the-ear, step-by-step coaching.   Allow me to illustrate:

Standing on the crowded loading deck for the subway, the waiting crowd hears the three-note alert that the subway is about to arrive.  James stands in front holding Jude's hand and I stand in the back with Ari.  I begin to edge Ari in toward James as close as possible because I can see out of the corner of my eye that a single male with a hulking backpack is trying to cut between our six-inch distance.  The doors open and before I can act, Jumbo-Pack throws himself between us, giving Ari and I a mouthful of canvas.  This begins the inevitable slippery slope of trying to gain back the ground we've lost.  It's a losing battle.  Like a hockey player, I thrust my shoulder between two people and use my elbows to make the way for Ari to push himself through, saying "Get in there Ari!  Right now! Push!"  (If I really were a hockey mom, I'd be saying, "Put him against the glass!!!") Ari throws himself in after me, stepping on toes, pinching fingers, slipping between legs... but eventually ending up where he should.  As we come to a rest, still half  a subway car away from James and Jude, I congratulate him on his quick movements and determination.

Why would we do this?

The thing is, you've got to direct your own movements, or else the crowd will do it for you, and you will almost never go the direction you want to.  You will miss your connections, get separated from your group, and if you are a small kid, you will grow up with a new Chinese family and forever wonder about the mother, brother and father you lost that one day on the subway (unless you are stupid enough to think you're the one blond, blue-eyed Chinese kid).  As a result, today we taught them to, how shall we say?... "assert themselves".   Of course we never let go of their hands, but if you're going to hold hands on the subway, you've got to have two parties working in tandem for a common goal.  One dragging the other will not work!

It isn't always about pushing and shoving, elbowing and kneeing.  Sometimes it's good old fashioned muscles of steel, or making yourself about as mobile as the Great Wall.  At another critical juncture today, as we crowded onto a connecting line, I felt one insistent couple trying to push me further onto the car so that they could squeeze in before the door closed.  There simply was no room for them, and they were pushing me into Ari, who would have been slowly suffocated.  So I planted my feet, send down my roots and mustered all my force to provide a steady but determined counter-pressure so that our human wall just had no "give" for them.  I was actually quite impressed at my mother Muskox move - shielding my young and all - and at my surprising show of strength.  Resisting two determined individuals is not an easy thing!

Actually, James and I have frequently pulled this Muskox move.  Shielding the boys between us, we turn ourselves to the outside and make our presence known.

Now here's the real trick.  Its one thing to assert yourself, but it is something else entirely to pretend that you completely unaware of what you are doing.  Innocent as a kitten and twice as cute!  Everyone here pretends that they have no idea they just pushed the air out of your lungs.  I theorize its part of being in a culture that saves face.  We've adopted these mechanisms, but we also have the added element of surprise on our side.  Inevitably the person you are cutting in front of looks to see whose pushing them, and in doing so are astonished to discover a "waiguoren" (foreigner) right beside them.  That provides a moment of hesitation which can be used to your own advantage.

Now before we sound like the pushiest folks around, let me reassure you that this is only necessary when things get REALLY crowded (like public transportation).  I won't say that I haven't quickly angled in sharply to beat someone to the shopping line (just barely edging them out in time), but generally speaking, this is the set of rules I follow:

1) I never cut off old people, kids or the disabled (or, as a Chinglish sign once put it, "crippies");
2) If I have time to wait, I do;
3) If my children are not in harms way, I try to be polite (China polite, not Canada polite!);
4) I assume that all able bodied people are able to handle a little needling from me - after all, if I never asserted myself, I would never get anywhere or get anything done... EVER!

The good thing is that this time around, we will be riding the bus less, riding the subway infrequently, and riding with the boys even less frequently, so please don't fear for our lives!  The bonus to living around crowds is that everyone assumes that everyone is doing it, so everyone expects it.  Assume everyone is being a jerk, respond like a jerk, and everyone is happy!  No such thing as road rage (or subway/lineup rage!), because everyone is too busy pretending they didn't do anything!  Unless, of course, the misconduct was REALLY bad!  For example, a fender bender would probably result in two men screaming at each other on the road (spittle flying at point-blank range), but no one is terribly concerned about it (except for the guys honking who are stuck behind).  They're all in a rush to be the first one to get around the incident.

Strange as it sounds, I have a level of appreciation for this way of doing things.  I'm not saying I love it, and wouldn't change anything about it.  However, it really does take the powder out of your cannon and eliminate the desire to get rip-roaring angry at total strangers in the grocery store if you just assume that they will cut you off in their cart.  Then, when they do, there are no feelings of being personally and morally offended. Perhaps, you might find yourself feeling a little rush of adrenaline as you prepare to do the same thing to someone else, calculating how close you can make the cut before actually making physical contact.  Or, if someone oversteps the line and squishes your pelvis between your cart and theirs in the lineup (this has definitely happened to me), you might enjoy your moment of emphatically hip-checking their cart back a few inches.  You'll enjoy telling the story later on, knowing that they went and told their story about you to their family (probably armed with pictures and videos of you)... and no one is grievously injured!

Farewell!

Pig's Feet and Window Friends

During our first grocery shopping trip on Saturday morning, James instantly steered our whole troupe over the "meat" section and picked up a large package of two pigs feet (1/2 of one four-footed pig), as well as a medium sized package of chicken's feet.  

I know, I know, the immediate obsession with feet.  It is rather odd, but I was not surprised in the least.  I can't pretend that I have the same affinity for these animal extremities that James does, but I have at least figured out how to enjoy them.  This is by far the largest hurdle to overcome.  I was however a little surprised when these were the first items to go in our cart, prioritized over such things as bread or milk.  

(On a side note, I was once given two large bags of cold chickens feet in Chengdu as a special gift for my children, being told that they would LOVE them.  Since I was going to be flying back to Beijing that day and I was having a hard imagining Ari and Jude gobbling them down, I re-gifted them to a different Chinese colleague.)  

Back to the story.  My policy is that if James buys them, I am more than happy to let him prepare them.  Today he made a fine soup broth from them using Chinese Five Spice, a main ingredient of which is anise seed, and rice vinegar.  The seasonings were a great combination of sweet and savory, and the end product was very aromatic and flavorful.  Bad quality picture, but good food.

The trick to eating and enjoying pigs' feet, is to reject the notion that you are eating "meat".  The contents are mostly made up of thick fatty skin (ideally shaved of all bristles, but not always), collagen, connective tissue and bone.  There are a few delicious tender morsels of meat, but all said and done, these might be easily collected into a small spoonful.  The general consistency of a well cooked pigs foot is that of gelatin, with scatterings of crunchy connective tissue.  You are probably grimacing right now, as I certainly did before acquiring this taste.  You have to change your mindset, so that the thing that you find least desirable is actually the very quality that you seek! 

For example: North Americans enjoy the thick creaminess of a good Cream of Broccoli Soup, or the different textures that are added to oatmeal by adding nuts or fruit.  So it is with pigs feet that the jello-y-ness of the skin and fat are the best feature.  It soaks up the flavor of the broth the best, similar to how the skin of a roasted chicken or turkey is the best part.  It also leaves a warm, pleasantly full feeling in your belly, from only a very small portion.  

I theorize that it was a "waste not, want not" society that developed an appreciation for food portions that we would consider to be undesirable, such as Thousand-Year-Old eggs (read: rotten egg) which are considered a delicacy in many parts of China.  It makes keeping a nutritionally adequate diet on limited resources an achievable goal.  If you're going to butcher a pig, why not use it all?  The same mindset would be the one to figure out that we can use the natural spoilage process of fermentation to our advantage.  Just as we now purposely spoil grapes to make wine, and many cultures still love eating pigs feet, even when there are other options available to them.

Incidentally, Russian Mennonites (my background) have a traditional mode of preparation for pigs feet which involves pickling.  However, I have never actually encountered it before, so I don't believe it is all that common anymore.  Most Mennonites don't have a regular butchering season like they used to.  The recipe is still found in the Mennonite cookbook however.  

Chinese people hold that eating pigs feet is an especially desirable thing for women, since the consumption of pure collagen is supposed to lend itself to amazingly smooth and healthy skin.  We knew of a Chinese university student in Winnipeg who acquired a whole barrel of pigs feet from a butcher for a steal of a deal when there were none to be found in grocery stores.  Her skin was AMAZING (just kidding, I don't actually know!)

On to window friends...
While we were eating our pigs feet we noticed that Ari was lost in some kind of fantasy world, staring off into space, winking, grinning, posing, posturing and doing jaunty little dance moves.  He seemed very impressed by himself, which was in itself very funny.  However, his utter lack of awareness that he was doing this all in front of his family, who had all stopped eating to watch him, was probably the funniest part.  I knew there was a mirror behind me that he could see himself in, but he seemed to be "making eye contact" in multiple directions.  Finally I asked him, "Ari, just how many reflections can you see of your best friend over there?"  

The total answer, to our amazement, was NINE!  The mirror behind me was set inside a cabinet that had three glass shelves in it, so he could see himself in the mirror and on the undersides of each of the glass shelves.  Then there was the dining room window to the left, the cut glass divider to the entrance on the right, the glass table below and the two fake gold posts of his chair behind.  NINE ARI's!  All dancing and smiling and winking and making passes at each other!  James, Jude and I couldn't stop laughing at him, thereby fulfilling all of his lifelong dreams of having an audience (although the three of us made up only a quarter of that audience!)

Now I know what you are thinking about all the glass I just mentioned.  All I can say is take it up with our interior decorator (aka landlady), who tends to "overdo it".  Oh, and for those of you who remember the crystal ship... its back!  

Before we left last time, I sailed its heavy glassy bulwarks into a dark closet space where it suffered a broken mast during some closet rearrangement.  I silently thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have to face the landlady when she discovered it.  But it seems that sometime in the last 2 1/2 years, some loving hand repaired the broken mast and it is back in its place of honor - on a glass shelf... what else could be more logical? 

Returning to the Mainland

For those of you who have fought your disappointment that the Freys fell off the face of planet earth, I bear good tidings of great joy.

The Freys have returned to the Mainland!  As of February 20, we once again find ourselves living in the unexpected spontaneity of a foreign land.  It's not that life in Canada is boring.  Far from it!  We have gained an appreciation for our home and native land that far surpasses what we had before.  Nevertheless, there is something addictive about leaving the house to buy groceries and using a different language to do it.  Something about learning new and strange things, having your language abilities stretched, coming home to share your experiences, and hearing the days events from the rest of your family.

So spread the news!  We're back online, ready to share our observations, stories and lives with you again.  We will resume our former construct of sharing our lives with you here, but for today there needs to be a little back story.  Last you heard was that I don't remember faces anymore, and suddenly I am writing from China! 

The road back to China has been festooned with a lot of emotional hurdles and plenty of moments of reflection.  Many people have asked us if we are excited to be returning, but have been surprised when we answer with a carefully considered, "Um, yeah, I guess so".  The natural assumption is that, given the circumstances under which we left and the obvious attachment we had to China, we have spent the last 2 1/2 years biding our time, emailing organizations and pounding on the doors of heaven just for the hope of going back.  This is entirely untrue.  The truth is that this has been a journey of a long year to bring us to the place where we are ready to return.

I believe that this is a healthy thing.  If we were returning with great big dreams of picking up where we left off, as if nothing had changed, insistent that we had found our life's purpose in China (blah, blah, blah), we would quickly catch that horrible disease called "disillusionment".  Our purpose is found in our Creator, who has seen us through some tumultuous times in the last few years, and it is in Him that we must rejoice (whatever the circumstances).  Not in a glorious return.

This is the real story.  One year ago, I was still living with the feeling of a death sentence over my head.  My ambitions for a future had been fried away by radiation, and I didn't see much purpose in rebuilding them.  I decided that if God had brought me to this place, he had a reason for me to be there.  And that is of course true.  The problem is that God never stands still, he is always moving.  I followed him through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and having reached a grassy knoll called "Humble Existence", I decided that was all I was ever going to have, so I might as well learn to enjoy it.

This made James rather upset with me (in a gentle sort of way, I will add).  Conversation after conversation, he would prod me, asking me what it was that I wanted for my future.  I had no good answers, and when I realized how upset this made him, I couldn't even fake okay answers.  As he came close to finishing up his Masters Degree and we explored options, I blithely stated that I would go wherever James led and be happy there.  PhD at Yale?  Sure.  Agriculture position in Belgium?  Alright.  "But what will you do Jess?", he would ask, which led to a shoulder shrug.  My ambitions had been so thoroughly seared away.  Why try?  I  could live out Micah 6:8 anywhere in the world doing anything. "He has shown you oh Man, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy, to walk humbly with your God."

James continued to hold out for a future that had us working together, doing something that made us excited.  Much as I wanted to tell him to give up on that, I began to see that I had to at least explore the idea of doing something again, even though the idea made me want to soil my trousers (and not in James' agricultural sense).   The fear of stepping out on a limb and being disappointed is a cruel dictator.  But my attitude was beginning to take a toll on James' morale, so something had to be changed.  In a time of prayer, I felt convicted that I was reneging on the vows that I had made to James: to be his partner in the adventures of our lives.  By settling for the trailing, purposeless spouse with no opinions about anything, I was essentially ditching James to do all the adventuring by himself.

That was an uncomfortable revelation, but having it brought into the light like that started a slow cascade of release.  How like the Holy Spirit to turn the light uncomfortably on one's dark corners, and then leave refreshingly clean spaces behind (given that we are willing).

From that point on, without much effort, things began to fall into place.  Our old positions with opened up again and unbelievably (to me) we were invited to re-apply.  It was one thing to be open to "something" and another thing entirely to contemplate going back to the same thing.  It was far beyond the realm of anything I had ever thought possible.

So here we are now, back in Beijing.  The road back has not been easy; full of high and low moments.  One of the only symptoms I had pre-diagnosis, was momentary lapses of random deja vu mixed with some mysterious smell that was only evident to me.  This was followed by intense confusion as I tried to figure out what it was that I was "remembering".  But when there was no memory to connect it to, the confusion would spread even farther.  Where am I?  What am I doing?  Who is this person I'm talking to? etc.  I usually figured I was overtired and would then go to bed.

Needless to say, one of my arch enemies in our preparation to come back has been deja vu: only this time, there is a good reason for it.  I HAVE done all these things before and I HAVE smelled these smells before.  However that doesn't prevent me from experiencing a panic that rises from my gut and tries to choke me when I find myself back in a place I've been before.  When I smell China again and when I wake up in our old apartment again.

The road back has been full of these moments.  The peak moment (completely unrelated to our return) was when I visited a good friend of mine at the hospital a few weeks back.  She had been diagnosed with a brain tumor (benign thankfully) and was recovery from surgery.  She was in the same recovery room as I had been post-biopsy, staples in her head and very disoriented.  It felt a bit like having an out-of-body experience, standing by my own bedside 2 1/2 years ago.

God has not been content to only heal my body, he is taking me back to the point of wounding and touching those places as well.  Apparently it is not his will that I live with psychological scars.  We are simultaneously going back to the origins and also starting something totally new.  Before we left, James' Grandpa felt that he needed to impress us with the words of Isaiah 43:18-19.  "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

So the experience of returning (so far) has been one of mixed emotions.  I smell lamb kebobs (a wonderful smell I assure you!) and I rocket back in time.  But then I am reminded that these are the smells of lamb kebabs roasting today.  They are not the ghostly smells of kebabs that I remember smelling from my hospital room back in 2010.  (Fittingly, we ate lamb kebabs yesterday for lunch and it was a wonderful gift to my taste buds!)

So far, the best vehicle for experiencing newness has been the wonderful observations being made by Ari and Jude.  They remember a lot of things when they see them, but when we were last here, they just took it for granted that things are the way they are.  Now we get to hear their thoughts as they experience everything, almost for the first time.  They also loved the lamb kabobs, in spite of the fact that their mouths and lips were burning from the spice.  They gobbled it down and Jude even finished off Ari's left over rice.  There is also an added element of a more mature analytical approach.  Ari commented "I'm glad that I have such good cotton in my pillow.  Afterall, I'm sure you know that China is the world's largest cotton producer!"

This morning the smog has cleared, the skies are blue, the sun is brightly shining and there are birds singing.  We went for a long walk to find out if any of our favorite little breakfast vendors were still around.  James was set on eating dofu nau and you tiao (translated tofu brains and oil sticks!), but the place appears to be deserted.  Not surprisingly a lot of things have moved/changed.  For example our local market has been shut down which we are quite disappointed about.  It was the best outlet for street foods, fresh produce, clothing, phone cards, strange pets, kimchi, dried goods etc.  But then on the other hand, we know for a fact that the garbage can outside our door is the same one and saw the same old sign prohibiting saxophones from playing on a neighboring apartment building.

Most of all, I am enjoying a regained sense that our family is on an adventure together again.  Almost as though we are sharing an inside joke with each other.  This afternoon we are off to tour a potential school for the boys are we are looking forward to it.

Farewell for now, and we look forward to sharing great stories with you all!

Putting a "Face" on Brain Damage

Back in December my turn finally came for a long awaited Neuro-Psychological test to assess if I had lost any brain functioning over the course of my treatments. I was on a waiting list for 10 months, with the dim knowledge that, when my turn finally came, I would be subjected to two days of cognitive tests. A walk in the park!

As you can imagine, as my turn approached, I began to wonder exactly what kinds of tests I would have to perform (for two full days), and was also quite curious as to what they would have to say about me. I simultaneously felt quite smug in my personal knowledge that I felt that I had not lost anything, (save for a few cubic centimeters of brain matter), but also a little nervous that they would rock my boat and tell me something I didn't want to hear.

I imagined that there would be a fair amount of spacial and memory testing. With dread, I remembered how much I hated these types of tests back in Gr.5. Flipping and rotating 3D images in my head or recognizing and extrapolating complex patterns and then filling in my final choice on a bubble sheet are not my idea of fun. My short term memory has always been lacking, but even I have noticed an increased deficiency since my tumor treatments.

I also didn't know how much of these two days might involve sitting on a psychiatrist's couch and being prompted to spill my guts so that they could probe into my psyche.

Well, my predictions were not to far from what actually happened (which surprised me; I often make mental predictions to myself, but expect to be surprised). The first "day", which only turned out to be a few hours, was spent first talking to the psychiatrist, then filling out bubble sheets. The psychiatrist asked me deep probing questions about my adjustments, my mental processes, my relationships to others, my views on life, etc. (no couches!  Boo!). Then I was turned over to the bubble sheet questionnaire to answer more questions of the same variety worded in different ways. Did I feel understood by those around me? Did I ever have overwhelming urges that I couldn't contain?  And so on. I tried not to blow through the questions, reminding myself that I would only benefit from examining myself and being honest.

The second day, I spent many hours in a room with the psychiatrist's assistant, who performed numerous other tests on me. Every test started off very simple, then got harder until you could no longer perform the task that was required. Lists of words to remember (read only once). Word associations to remember (seeing them only once). Patterns to solve. Mental math problems. Social/common knowledge questions. Reading ability. Building patterns with colored blocks. Categorization abilities. You name it! A timer counted all my response times.

At the beginning of each one, I had to remind myself that they used these tests to establish ALL levels of mental ability. Even a child would have found some of them to be very simple. But as they progressed in difficulty, I got slower in my answers until eventually I had to say that I didn't know the answer. The assistant reassured me that this is how it was supposed to happen. Here are some of the more memorable tests (no pun intended):

1) I was given 30 seconds to study a nonsensical line drawing, then asked to reproduce it from memory. Several tests later, I was asked to reproduce the same drawing (much harder given the shift in concentration!).

2) After being read a list of twenty or so objects, I was asked to repeat them back and to categorize them. I was given several tries at this one as I have always been very bad at remembering lists.

3) Given a letter of the alphabet, I was told to rattle off as many words beginning with that letter as I could before the timer stopped. At first I thought this would be a breeze... until I got going. I quickly realized that my pitfall was that I would get stuck on themes. For example, the letter S got me stuck on two themes. Out came "scientific, sarcoplasm, sarcomere, salicylic acid..." Realizing how dumb the words were that came out of me, I couldn't help but start laughing! And with the laughter came a new theme, this one far more creepy! "Sad, sadistic, Satan..." (more laughter and thinking to myself "why can't I think of more simple words than this, like... silly?") This train of thought brought out "silly and stupid". The end result was that I spent a lot of the time laughing at myself, and didn't get a lot of words out. The human anatomy theme continued to dog the rest of the letters they gave me. "Anatomy, anabolic, anaplastic, anemia..." The researcher's inevitable question was to ask what my undergraduate degree was in.

4) Given number and letter combinations, I was asked to repeat them back and/or reorder them. The researcher read them to me once. When it started with 4E this wasn't too hard. But getting up to something like 5j9pu7, it was a little harder. List the letters in ascending order first, then the letters in alphabetical order: 5j9pu7 became 579jpu. You can imagine that hearing it only once, this was quite difficult. I managed to get up to combinations of 8 before I had to say that I couldn't go any further.

5) Given similar number combinations I was told to remember that combination while verbally subtracting three from a number they would give. For example, I was told to remember A9T6, then starting with 76 talk out loud subtracting three. ...76, 73, 70, 67, 64, 61, 58, 55... then STOP! and tell the researcher the number that I was supposed to remember. The number I had to remember increased by one digit when I showed that I could continue. I think I got up to 7 digits before I had to stop.

6) Questions of general knowledge or educational level. Who is the President of the United States? What year did Canada become a country? What is the distance from the earth to the moon? What is the circumference of the earth? Who wrote Alice in Wonderland? Etc. I was pleased with myself for only missing two of these questions. But seriously now, is the circumference of the earth really considered general knowledge? I was, however, quite bummed out at forgetting that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote Sherlock Holmes.

I walked away feeling very good about myself... which made the results a little shocking to me! While the analysis determined that I am functioning at a high level of cognitive ability (relatively), and that I am well-adjusted considering the life changes I've had, it also revealed some other things. Apparently, it is because of my pre-existing higher level of cognition that I have been able to cover up certain deficiencies that have come about from receiving brain damage.

Brain damaged. Of course they didn't say it like that, but that's essentially what it means. It felt like a fist in my stomach to read that in the Neuro-psychiatrist's report. Even though the vast majority of the report reinforced my smarts, my superior emotional adjustment and my positive attitude, it shook my confidence to read that I have used my intelligence to cover up my areas of weakness. As though I were some kind of con artist, fooling everyone around me. But even more shocking was when I found myself thinking, "How did they know?". It is true that I have been using my brains to figure out ways to cover my weaknesses, not in a deceptive way, but more as a kind of coping mechanism and technique to "save face."

There is a trace of irony in me trying to "save face", however, as recognizing faces in particular is one of the ways that my mental abilities have changed.  To some degree, I have lost is the ability to recognize new faces!  It now takes a few interactions and significant associations before I can remember a person's face. Until I recognize their face, I will only recognize someone by what they are wearing, or by the conversation I had with them. But if they change their clothes (something people tend to do) or don't give me any indication of prior interactions (as in, "Hi, I'm the guy who talked with you yesterday about rubber plantations in pre-Independence Malaya"), I have no idea who they are.  (This shouldn't be read as a request to always wear a colour-coded jumpsuit and begin all conversations with a long preamble.)

This makes it interesting to work at a coffee shop where people are constantly streaming past me. There are people who come in every day and order the same thing, but as far as I am concerned they are a new person every day. I need to have meaningful interactions with someone (sometimes several) before I will remember their face (unless it is outstanding in some way: monstrously ugly people get remembered). This doesn't apply to people I already know.  If there is something exceptionally striking about a person, I will remember their face.  I am often able to remember people if I pick out facial features on them that look like someone else that I already know.

A few weeks ago, I read a BBC article which talks about the area of the brain that helps to recall faces. Lo and behold, above and behind the right ear (right where my hole now lies) is where the brain stores memory of faces. Here is the link to the article: http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20120209-why-names-and-faces-are-so-vexing

It was very enlightening to see that for all of my feelings of stupidity, there is a justifiable reason for it.  So I have figured out other ways to either determine if I know people or, if all else fails, to hide my ignorance.  By far the most embarrassing situation is if I have had a meaningful interaction with someone (especially if I've had multiple meaningful interactions), but still forget their face and greet them as a total stranger (or, worse than that, not greet them at all).  Imagine yourself saying "Hi, welcome to Starbucks, Stranger," when you just saw that person an hour ago.  During my interactions now, I find myself watching and listening carefully for an indicator of who the person is.  Often it is something very subtle that clues me in (good old body language to the rescue), and if I am successful, that person has no idea of what has been going on in my head.

Its never boring being me!

Riddle me this: What's the Deel?

James here. I am intruding on what has, in effect, become Jessica's blog to say that I have completed the coat that Jess mentioned in a recent post. It was designed to be Mongolian in style, but sort of turned out as a hybrid between a Mongolian deel and an Edwardian driving coat.

Here are a few photos for your viewing pleasure:

Women MY age

That's right, women MY age. You know... menopausal. You heard me right, but I'll pause to say it again. Menopausal. Age 28 and menopausal. Clinically proven by blood tests, and verified by my doctor, menopausal. Actually, peri-menopausal. Now there's a word I didn't know before being launched into this stage of life (20+ years ahead of my time). It turns out that there are stages to menopause (who knew?). And from what I have read, peri-menopause is the more unpleasant of the three stages. Perhaps other women would refute that statement from their own experience.

So why am I there? Why do I keep repeating this word over and over again (probably making you cringe in your seat)? Because I still find it so hard to believe, and because I am living daily with a considerably less comfortable existence. Fourteen months of chemotherapy have left me with a few not-so-great byproducts. My body's reaction (among others) has been to start premature menopause.

In case you hadn't guessed, I feel a slight repulsion to this idea. I'm not overly devastated at the idea of not having any more babies. James and I had already determined that we were done with that before we went to China. I am more than happy with the two boys I already have. I'm also not terribly concerned about "losing femininity." (yet)

I have, on a side not, noticed a definite slowing of my metabolism. For the second half of my chemotherapy regimen, getting drinks at Starbucks was my main source of caloric intake. It was easier for me to down a drink then to eat a meal that I had no appetite for and made me feel sick, regardless of how much I needed it. However, there has been a swift reprisal for keeping my energy up that way, in the form of some unwanted weight gain. Its been a rollar coaster. After months of steroidal weight gain during my radiation treatments, followed by chemotherapy induced weight loss, and now menopausal weight gain, I'm left feeling quite uncertain about what my weight "should" be. Needless to say, with the warmer weather, I am VERY happy to be biking to work again. Now that my appetite is back we are also trying to get back to a the vegetarian based diet we had pre-diagnosis.

Back to the main topic. I don't really know how to explain why I have a sort of disturbed feeling when I think about menopause. I've never had any reason to consider at any great length what it must be like for the older women in my life to experience this change. Part of my young attitude was to roll my eyes a little at the drama that is attached societally to menopause. Maybe I secretly thought that hot flashes were silly and that women just needed to "get over it". Go ahead and laugh at my naivety! But you have to admit, some of the headlines on women's magazines (touting it as some kind of Sexual Renaissance) do make you want to roll your eyes and say, "Gross! Just keep it to yourself would you!" Assuming that many of you still feel that way, I'll spare you the details.

But in a way, its like being told that I have to experience the hormonal roller coaster of reverse puberty, except that this time I am old enough to understand things a little better. Old enough to understand, but still too young to be legitimate (like a pregnant preteen!). Frankly, its a little embarrassing.

I've known about this new development since early last summer, but it took me awhile to put two an two together and go see my doctor about it. The connection happened sometime in June when, in the middle of a sudden onset of sweating bullets, heavy panting and an inability to think beyond the overwhelming sensation of HOT!!!, I thought to myself, "Maybe this is what a hot flash feels like." When I began having these episodes several times an hour, I decided to get it checked out.

Let me just describe this to you. As a person not prone to exaggeration (well, sometimes) and not particularly inclined to draw attention to myself (especially my body), let me assure you that hot flashes are not overrated!!!

Picture this: Comfortably reclining in your pleasantly air conditioned home (even a little chilly, perhaps), you find yourself, in a time span of 0-5 seconds, encased in an astronaut suit of pure heat that radiates from your body in waves that leave you gasping for air! Your sweat glands open, and out comes Niagara Falls! You quickly stand up, in a desperate attempt to minimize your skin contact with anything that will either reflect or intensify your heat. If your child was on your lap, you roughly shove them off (this is a moment of self-preservation after all). If you were having a conversation 5 seconds ago, you can forget about it now! The most important thing to concentrate on right now is breathing (gasping really) and exclaiming (possibly swearing). Chances are you'll try to apologize to whoever you were talking to, but it will likely come out sounding non sequitur and crazy. It feels as though you've been working hard in the hot sun in high humidity all day and and some idiot just zipped you into a heavy wool sleeping bag! You feel certain that for three minutes time you could probably single handedly power New York City.

Then comes the slow decline, which leaves you in cold sweat and shivering. For several weeks near the beginning, it was my pleasure to have this experience several times an hour. When I asked others such as my Mom (aka. my new comrade-at-arms), how often it happened to them, I discovered that it isn't especially common to have them THAT often. But from what I have read, medically induced menopause is often more intense and quick than nature intended. Thankfully, things have slowed down a little, and I don't have to endure it quite like that any more.

Nevertheless, many of the other joys of this change remain my daily companions, which brings us to our next item on the agenda - hormonal mood swings! This is where I really feel like an adolescent. Again, the very quickness itself of the mood change is maybe the most alarming part. Jessica may be very happy one moment, and five minutes later is found going to James for a hug and saying, "I feel like crying!"

It feels like the floor just dropped out from under me. The house feels too small. The boys are too loud. Suddenly the world feels like a very insecure place. Strangely enough, the default emotion to this state is to feel guilty. Just generically guilty. This is not the time for me to go to my Bible and glean some comfort, because whatever I read will make me feel like I'm not measuring up. Words of love suddenly sound like words of judgement.

I have never been this way. I've never had crazy PMS. And although James claims that I can be a little more cranky at a certain time of the month, I'm usually still rational.

Actually, one of the best things for me to do has been to learn about the science behind menopause. A wonderful book for this is called The Female Brain. Being a lover of science and human anatomy and physiology, it has been a life saver to find out what is happening in my brain, which hormones are dipping and dropping, and what parts of my brain that affects. It helps to know that I haven't ACTUALLY become a terrible human being in the last five minutes. What HAS happened is that I'm going through estrogen withdrawal (and other responsive hormones such as oxytocin, progesterone, and even testosterone).

Four years of science courses taught me to think like a scientist, and I can't describe what a relief it was to see that this book was a conglomeration of years of scientifically legitimate studies, fMRI's to watch brain activity in response to hormones, blood tests and much more. However, if on my recommendation, you go out and look for this book, be forewarned that the author attempts to explain the evolution behind these hormonal responses, leading to far flung conclusions from the caveman era! Very over the top in some sections. My appreciation for the book is purely limited to the proven science, and not the theories that develop from the data.

In practice, I am trying to figure out ways to minimize the effect of my altered state on my family. When I quickly become sullen, it is usually better for me to withdraw to my room. Before all this, I used to take comfort from the sound of the boys playing, or the closeness of family. But now I'm quicker to snap at the boys, or to feel irritation at the people around me. A better practice for me is often "Least said, soonest mended". (I may have just stumbled upon another reason for why I am more introverted these days!) In a sense, I am fundamentally more selfish than I used to be.

All that being said about hormones, what I don't want to do is blame everything on my brain. The tendency to blame hormones and relinquish all responsibility for one's actions is another reason I find Women's magazines annoying. I don't want to use being on a hormonal roller coaster as a trump card for every situation. I don't want to be selfish. I don't want to be short tempered. I want to enjoy the people around me. When I see myself failing in these areas, that's when the guilt sets in. This is also when I feel a little annoyed at God for creating me with these basic flaws. When the basic instincts to be selfish, angry, and irrational already exist in me, and I am constantly subject to an ebb and flow of hormones that I can't control, it's almost irrelevant whether I make the choice to do wrong in the other areas of my life. At my core, before I even wake up in the morning, I have already failed to be the person that I want to be.

I know that sounds harsh and self-condemning, but in reality it is in recognizing my weakness that I can accept redemption. Blaming my hormones for everything would provide ample justification for lying in bed and doing nothing except feeling sorry for myself. If I truly have no control over my hormones, I might as well submit to them. But there is a Truth that exists outside the realm of my emotions. Truth is not subject to my hormones, even if my perception of Truth changes.

I suppose I am talking in circles which is probably a good example of the whirlpool of emotions. Thankfully it is not my ability to hold on to Jesus (aka Truth) that saves me. It is that He reaches into my whirlpool and holds on to Me. Even if I can't see Jesus clearly when I am in my whirlpool, I can still thank him for holding on to me.

So I thank him. I thank him that having a dirty house means that I have an active family. I thank him that having loud children means they are entertaining themselves instead of being planted in front of the TV. I thank him that my boys WANT to talk to me and ask questions because they want to learn. I thank him that James is here with me instead of being in Bali. I thank him that there is so much food available that I need to watch my intake. I thank him for the fact that HE IS, and that he remains unchanged by my changing world.

Strangely enough, in being thankful, the storm usually passes, and I can see the sun coming out again.

All in a Day's Work

Well I have a few hours before I have to head out to a doctor's appointment this afternoon (another routine MRI), and I find myself faced with the tantalizing question of what to do with my spare time. It has to be spent sitting (as Jude has insisted upon doing his coughing and recovering on my lap), so that means cleaning is out. Shoot! I had my heart set upon cleaning and watching it get messed up in a matter of mere minutes! Other options include quilting on my current project of a baby quilt for my lifelong friend Char, or reading. But I choose blogging, because my tongue has been loosened, and rather that stifle the flow for the sake of some kind of posterity (after all its only been one day since my last blog), I'll just float along.

As a side note, as I write this, James has decided to take a break from his thesis writing to sew himself a mongolian deel. See picture. I'm married to a certified weirdo, and I love it!

I told James last week that one of the most interesting challenges of working at Starbucks has been that I always have to be prepared to meet anyone, at any time, from any stage of life. You know how there are days when you just don't feel like talking to people? I can't have those days. If there were signs pointing to Historical Points of Interest in Jessica Frey's Life pinpointed in and around Winnipeg, you couldn't choose a more central geographical location for me to work. Here is the list of obscure people that I might converse with on a weekly basis. From listening to these conversations, you'd think that I am intimately acquainted with all of these people, but really its me pulling out that extroverted side that we talked about yesterday.

1) People I went to school with and have not seen in 10 years (usually quite fun)

2) Parents of people I went to school with (informative)

3) People I knew from random Youth Group gatherings way back when (could be from any number of churches from Winnipeg, Steinbach or rural Manitoba). These interactions usually start with, "I have the feeling that I know you..." and we proceed to play an elimination game of how our paths may have intersected.

4) Old neighbors that moved away to the Yukon when I was seven years old (this happened last week, and I was truly at a loss for how to make conversation without sounding like an idiot. Nodding and saying "Wow...!" with great emotion made the basis of that conversation). Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy seeing them again.

5) People that I went to camp with (usually pretty fun). Thankfully, we are usually able to recognize each other and there is none of this "Should I identify myself?" question.

6) People I played sports against. Growing up in a small town, we always played sports against the same people, so we were able to watch our "rivals" grow up at the same time we did.

7) People from my small town who were younger than me that I unfortunately did not pay attention to. They recognize me, and I usually don't recognize them because I never stopped thinking of them as being in Gr.5, 6, 7, (fill in the blank). When I complimented one girl on her memory, she graciously said, "Oh its okay, you know how you always remember the people you looked up to!" A very kind thing to say, mostly serving to make me feel bad for not being able to place her!

8) Teachers. I saw my science teacher a few weeks ago and was astonished to see that he looked younger now than he had when I was in Gr.10. Maybe it was the loss of the beard, or maybe my idea of what looks "old" has changed. Whatever the case, I promptly stuck my foot in my mouth by saying "You might be interested to know that despite how much I hated Science class I actually went on to get a Bachelor of Science!". Realizing what had come out of my mouth, I blushed heavily. But being a good sport, he laughed and said "Its okay, I probably deserved that!"

9) University classmates. Awkward. They know what I trained for and don't really know what to say to me when they find that I am working to make the world a healthier place by making such "nutritious" beverages for people. Sidenote: I actually had a woman on the Atkins Diet come and order a Venti latte with sugar free syrup made with 35% milk fat whipping cream (liquid form). Biologically, the Atkins Diet makes for a very interesting study. I can theoretically see its use to lose large amounts of weight quickly (not healthily). But if I imagine drinking that drink... shudder! I registered enough shock on my face at her order that I had to cover up somehow. "...that must be... um, thick".

Before I go on to number 10, here is a related story. I had an athlete training for the Olympics come in and ask for nutritional information about her drink. Making conversation, I mentioned that I studied nutrition. Her eyes widened and she proceeded to lecture me on how I should go about seizing control of my life and knock on government doors to personally fund me in the fight to obtain Registered Dietitian status. When I tried to explain that things were a little more complicated than they seem, her harsh reply was that I wasn't allowed to give her that load of #@$! My manager was furious. A few days later when she came back, she saw me behind the counter and looked shocked. "YOU'RE STILL HERE???" I suppose she honestly thought that she had inspired me to instantly quit my job.

10) University professors. Slightly less awkward. Despite large class sizes, they do remember me, but thankfully, they have a larger perspective of the obstacles life can throw onto one's path to fame and glory.

11) James' classmates. Based on the fact that you know you know each other and you are face-to-face, you have to make conversation. But since the relationship is entirely vicarious, there is very little to say. Best to keep those short and sweet.

12) People from jobs I used to work at. A while ago I recognized someone I used to work with there. I sat there desperately hoping that she wouldn't recognize me. Close, but no cigar... out came the dreaded words. "You used to work at Tim Hortons in Steinbach didn't you?" I debated with myself if it was worthwhile to state that contrary to how it seems, I haven't actually been working at coffee shops for the last 10 years. Blatant self-promotion, or humility? Blatant self promotion won out!

13) People from the various churches I attended. Usually quite pleasant.

14) People who read this blog during the Krang Dynasty (aka. tumor treatments) and were concerned for my well being. My coworkers were quite astonished one day when a girl I hadn't seen in years came in and said "Jessica! I never see you, I just read about you!" Is Jessica on the front cover of tabloids?

15) People who I have chatted with over the counter and gotten to know. Unfortunately, I never remember faces, and I can't tell you how embarrassing it is to have a "new" conversation with someone, only to realize that they already know me. This frequently happens with Chinese customers. I'll often chat in Mandarin with Chinese customers, but unfortunately, I am more concentrated on their drinks than I am on their faces.

All these, of course, are in addition to people like my family who frequently visit me. For the most part, I quite enjoy seeing people, and I try my best to put them at ease with the unexpected interaction. It's one thing to see someone across the aisle at the grocery store that you know, and decide that you don't feel like bumping into them (we've all done it!). Its another to stand in line at Starbucks, looking forward to your drink, and instead seeing good old Jessica. She's standing there right in front of you and you suddenly feel like you need to come up with something to say to her. No escape routes!

If you should find yourself in this intimidating situation, never fear, I will do my best to make you comfortable! As far as I'm concerned, its part of my job description! All in a day's work...

Speaking of Emerging Icemen...

James recently reemerged on Facebook after a two and a half year hiatus, and I quipped on my status that the Iceman had emerged. But if he's a Facebook iceman, then I suppose that makes me a blogger Icewoman. Encino Man style!

If I even get started trying to make excuses for why I haven't blogged for the past ten months, I'll never actually blog. Besides, to make excuses is to assume that there is someone out there holding me responsible or even watching this blog anymore (which I highly doubt). However I have recently begun to restore my view of blogs as being a tool to write giant letters about yourself to the people who are around you and care about you, but whom you may have a hard time keeping in contact with. I am awful at emailing (as many of you can attest to), and chance encounters with me are more and more likely to happen at Starbucks while I make your Decaf Triple Tall in a Grande Nonfat Half Sweet, No Whip, Extra Foam, 190 degree, Pumpkin Spice Latte, which of course is a recipe for highly in-depth conversation. (breath, that was a run-on sentence!)

Another good reason for me to blog is that over the last year and a half, I have largely become an introvert. This is definitely a new development for me and I am often surprised to realize that I have become more comfortable to not say anything at all than to aimlessly chatter. I used to feel uncomfortable around people who were quiet. I thought that it was my responsibility to fill the silence with whatever came to my head, and that if I didn't, things would feel awkward. Then one day, I had this startling realization: "Wait a second, this quiet person is not feeling awkward... they just don't have anything to say!" While that was a mind blowing realization in and of itself, an even greater extension was to realize that if THEY were comfortable being quiet, I should feel comfortable being quiet too.

So I began to practice feeling comfortable with silence. But that is what it remained, a practice. Not a natural inclination.

Not so anymore. I have tried to analyze why this sudden change has occurred, but every analysis takes me on meandering rabbit trails and leaves me dangling. The best one I can come up with is that over the year of being sick and the internal processing that followed, my words usually felt inadequate to express my thoughts, so I just stopped trying. Often that is still the case. Whatever the cause, the outcome is that my introvert/extrovert side has done a complete 180, and its been a strange thing to observe. I've always considered myself to be an extrovert. I can still pull it out on a moment's whim (usually at Starbucks), but it is no longer my default setting.

So what has happened in the last 10 months? Plenty! I will make a short list here without offering explanations for any of them. I have tried to start blogs with explanations and they all come out sounding like I am very disappointed with the world, which is definitely not true!

1) In July James left for four months of research for his Master's degree in... Bali! James' stepmother gave four months of her life and devoted it to caring for the boys and helping me on the home front. Although I've tried to say it many times... thank you to that wonderful and loving woman, Theresa Frey! You will receive your honorary Master's Degree sometime in the next few months.

2) Three days after James left, I started working as a shift supervisor at Starbucks. Not the job I dreamed of or trained for, but God provided nonetheless. Rather cry about the doors that closed in my own field, I'd rather be grateful and do my best at the job that has been given to me. Besides, after a year of being "sick" I just needed something to make me feel useful and alive. However after living in China, dealing with my health, questioning God and just being a parent and wife in the midst of it all, it was a bit of a shock to my system to return to the world.

3) Working where I do has taught me a lesson in humility. Even though I was "groomed for bigger things", it turns out that our working world doesn't consider me to be such a hot commodity. Thus, I've learned that I am no better than anyone else. But there is a bonus to this. The flip side to not being superior to anyone else, is that no one else is superior me. I used to feel intimidated by those with "better credentials" than I, but my lesson in humility has taught me to look for the human being in everyone, instead of looking at their credentials. The outcome is that I feel a lot more confident around a myriad of people, and less concerned about what their opinion of me may be. I find myself to be far more interested in people's LIVES and their HEARTS.

The funny thing is, I can't count the number of incredulous looks I've received to hear that I have a Bachelor's Degree in Nutrition, I speak Chinese, worked with an NGO, come through a cancer battle... and yet work at Starbucks. But the truth is that I don't owe an explanation to anyone. My mantra has become "And whatever you do, in word or deed, do it all unto the Lord Jesus Christ whom you are serving." I used to hate it when people said that because I thought that it was just a Christian-ese way of making mundane tasks seem holy. But the way I see it now is that God is the only one who truly sees my heart as I go about my work. So whatever it is that I find myself doing, my goal is that he would find my heart to be pure.

4) While James was in Bali, we were limited to email contact. His access to internet in poor rural fishing villages couldn't support anything nearly so sophisticated as Skype (or even Google chat) and the phone was inconceivably expensive, so other than my visit to see him in September, we went without hearing each other's voices for four months. Only in retrospect do I realize how crazy this sounds. Right after a year of fairly traumatic and life changing events for us, we were essentially cut off from each other. Our only communication was through email.

But guess what! Letter writing turns out to be quite a therapeutic measure for recovering from trauma. Everyday, James and I wrote letters to each other. He would describe the people he was meeting, the places he was going, the scenery, the work, his motorbike rides etc. I, in turn, would write about the people I met at Starbucks, the garden, and the boys. And of course, we wrote about our thoughts. Through our emails we conducted our own sort of Couple's Therapy for Couples Recovering from Traumatic Events. It was amazing how honest and open we could be in our letters. We've always been very communicative, but sometimes in a marriage it is just hard to have a conversation without interruptions, misunderstandings and offense, especially when you are on opposite sides of the same coin. When you write a letter, however, you have all the time in the world to express yourself the right way (as opposed to whatever pops out of your mouth). When you read the letter that comes in return, you have time to process what was in that letter instead of having to respond immediately, or risk hurting the other person.

I went to visit him for two week in Bali, and it was a very good time. I rode around on the back of his motorbike, hugging him for all I was worth, and he took me to beaches with beautiful black sand, high terraced mountains, and tiny poor villages.

By the time he came back in the beginning of November we were more than ready for a family life again, where Mom isn't sick, and Dad isn't far away in Bali. However, for all the trials of that time, I truly believe it was a good thing, at a good time. Since he has been home, we have coveted our family time, feeling protective of our quiet evenings at home and savoring our new family dynamic.

And it definitely is a new family dynamic. Its funny. At times I have felt like I fell asleep on the day of my seizure in Beijing and only just woken up recently. During the time that I was sleeping (aka dealing with stuff), the boys changed dramatically. When I "fell asleep", Ari and Jude were still significantly dependent on us and not very good at expressing themselves. Now they have well developed personalities, and a great sense of humor. They know how to contribute intelligently to the dinner table discussion and they make us laugh all the time with their jokes. Ari is reading and writing stories (both in French and in English!). They don't wake up crying during the night anymore. They can clean up after themselves (not that they always do!) They play board games together!

For now, James is the primary caregiver, since he is at home writing his thesis and I am still working. But I have been amazed at how well it is working out. James missed the boys so much while he was gone, that he seems to have gained a limitless ability to enjoy them. They in turn think he is the funniest man alive. (the real secret is that James can finally indulge in his little boy humor!)

And that brings us to today (sort of, by way of numerous short cuts), where I have a day off, the boys are recovering from some kind of flu, and James is off guest lecturing at both Providence College and the University of Manitoba. I'm hoping that writing this blog entry will break my reticence to write. After maintaining a "cancer blog", its easy to forget that this blog was never started for that purpose.

We'll see how it goes from here!

In the Aftermath

Many may have noticed that I was not paying very much attention to the blog over the last few months. I figured that anything I had to say was old news, and that with all the other interesting blogs out there to read, I was probably not high on anyone else's priority list. But that doesn't mean that I have not been writing. On the contrary, I have been writing more than ever. With all that has happened in the last while, I have things pouring out of every part of me. For the last few months

What Happened After the Fire Swamp?

Hello All.

I bet I know what you are thinking... "What a place to leave off!" This big thing happens in her life and then she doesn't say anything about it!

Well, that's not really true. I have a lot to say about it, but nothing comes out logically or in order. Any one thing I may say is not representative of what is happening. It's a big tangled mess. Who am I to say that I understand what has happened? Am I a theologian? Not a chance. The only word that comes to my mouth is Jesus. I have actually been writing like mad in the last while. Lots of things are spilling out of me, faster than I can type. But at this point it is not sensical, and wouldn't make sense to the outside reader. All of my emotions are spilling out. If I am away from home, I get to a computer and write myself an email. If I am not near a computer, I jot it down on paper. If I don't have time to write it out, I make a mental note to myself.

All these events remind me of an interview that I read with Brad Pitt after the filming of Seven Years in Tibet. The interviewer was anxious to know what Brad's opinion was on the political situation in Tibet. After all, he is a big Hollywood star, and after filming a controversial movie about the Dalai Lama and Tibet, he must have some deep thoughts about the whole issue. I thought his response was very clever. He basically said, "Why would you ask me about such a loaded topic? I'm just an actor, I don't know anything about this situation, except what happened in the movie." For the record, that is the first time that I have ever quoted Brad Pitt as being profound! (I don't dislike him, but I have never really thought of him as wise! After all, he is just an actor.)

I think his words sum up my own. I may have received healing in my body, but other than saying "to God be the Glory", I'm not sure what to do from here or what to say about it. I won't be diving into healing debates any time soon. Remember the man who was blind from birth? When people asked him for details of what had happened, all he could say was this. "I don't know what happened. All I know is this: I used to be blind, but now I see."

And truthfully, my thoughts lie predominantly with the rest of my comrades who are still in the thick of their struggles. My heart goes out to them as they hear about my story. If I have a testimony, it is this. Jesus' words are true. Whether we are sick or healthy, he is there with us.

I had no special recipe for the way I approached God in this. All I wanted was his will and his blessing. I wanted him to be glorified in my body, be it through Death or through Life. If I was going into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, then I wanted the guided tour. Frankly, I'm a little terrified that healthy people will take my story to those who are sick and say, "Look, God healed her!" My message is about healing, yes, but it is primarily that he heals our sinfulness and brings us back to God, sick and healthy alike. My message is that God is good, whether he heals or doesn't heal. My message is that God is not afraid to walk with us through illness and hard times... but we need to let him.

I'm also afraid that some people will accuse me of not giving God glory for the healing work he has done in my life. But I beg to differ. I want to give God glory for Who He Is, not only for what he has done. He has not given me a reason to praise him... He was already worthy of all my praise, and I would have died praising him if that was his will.

We may tell stories of healing, but we rarely think about what happens to the people after they have received healing. We just assume that after it happened, everything was fine and dandy. But here are a few thoughts for you. What did the man who was healed from paralysis think the first time his legs fell asleep? Imagine what he thought during the first sensation of pins and needles traveling up and down his legs! Imagine his amazement that muscles can ache and that stubbing your toe hurts like the dickens. Or again, this man who was blind from birth. Was he afraid that if he closed his eyes to go to sleep, he would never see again? What did he think the first time he personally witnessed injustice done to other people, a starving human body, or when his eyes ached in direct sunlight?

I bet the once-blind-now-seeing man noticed every blind person he saw after that. I bet the once-lame-now-walking-and-leaping man took special note of every lame person he walked past. Because they understood where those people were at.

My heart remains with those who are sick, and I want them to know that it is not their fault that they are sick. I want them to know that God can be glorified in their life, regardless of their circumstances, and in fact, that God can be glorified even if they are never healed. When Jesus was asked who was at fault for the man being born blind, this is how he answered. "It was not because of his sin or his parents' sin. This happened so that the power of God could be seen in him."

God's power is shown through our lives when we submit to him. Whether or not outward healing occurs, it is the inward healing that matters the most. Followers of Jesus get sick like everyone else. The difference between a follower of the Christian God and a non-follower is this: followers of the Christian God continue to have hope in their lives, regardless of the desperateness of their outward situation. That hope means that we are not afraid of Death, even though we approach it with alarming speed. 1 Peter 1:3 says "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead"

Healing is only a small measure of God's goodness. But his conquering of Death and guidance in our lives is the hope that sustains us and the unlimited source of power that backs us. If God is for us, who can be against us?

My message is this: As Followers of Jesus, we have the hope and the power not merely to survive hard times, but to actually thrive in the midst of them. Think about the popular movie, The Princess Bride. The brave Wesley leads Princess Buttercup through the Fire Swamp. As they journey together through the swamp he saves her and protects her from the three fears: the fire spurts, the quicksand and the giant rats. My question is this. When Buttercup told the story afterward, what do you think she would emphasize? Would she sigh with relief and never want to think about it again? Or would she tell all of her friends about the Wesley's daring bravery and how he saved her again and again? I think the latter. She did not just survive in the Fire Swamp, she actually fell in love in the Fire Swamp. I would call that thriving.

In Psalm 23 (The Lord is my Shepherd...), there is a line that says "He prepares a table before me, in the presence of my enemies. My cup overflows". Here is my version: "He prepares a table before me, in the presence of a brain tumor, of Death, of chemotherapy, of disappointments, and of loss. My cup overflows."

If I get diagnosed with another Krang tomorrow, this will remain unchanged.

New Frontiers: Shell shocked and very emotional

I went to see my doctor yesterday with James to get the results of my MRI from Wednesday evening. What the doctor had to say took us by surprise to say the least!

Evidence of the tumor is gone. There are no visible signs of it, except for the hole in my head.

They don't seem too surprised by this. This is a very good sign, but apparently I am not out of the woods yet. The tumor itself is sort of like the tip of the iceberg, so there are still cells there that could grow back (statistically speaking). I will be continuing treatments until November. My doctor said that something will probably grow back over time, but that it would likely happen over many years.

I don't really care about the details. Whether we realize it or not, all of us have a "Will Die" label tattooed on our foreheads. On my label it looked like the date was about to expire. I still have the label. I will die at some point in some form or fashion. That threat has not been removed from my life. But for whatever reason, Jesus has touched me and said, "Not now".

Many thoughts, many emotions. I'll try to describe them for you.

I will not merely proclaim the healing powers of Jesus Christ. What I will proclaim is the He is God over this world and over the heavens. I will proclaim that he is always Great and Good and that even in my suffering, He was Great and Good. He is no more worthy of praise now that my tumor is gone than he was while it caused uncontrollable twitching in my body. He is no more my friend and my advocate now than he was two days ago. He didn't need to prove himself to me. I already believed that his goodness extends beyond my circumstances. But for some reason he has.

Christians like to quote 1 Corinthians 13 a lot. "If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but have not love, I am but a resounding gong or a clanging symbol. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and hand over my body to the flames so that I may boast, but have not love, I gain nothing."

Without the love and the presence of Jesus in my life, this healing would mean nothing. The greatest thing he has done is to redeem me from my sin with his death and restore me to relationship with him, giving me access to the most awesome power and love in this world and beyond.

I will tell of the kindnesses of the LORD,
the deeds for which he is to be praised,
according to all the LORD has done for us—
yes, the many good things
he has done for Israel,
according to his compassion and many kindnesses.
He said, “Surely they are my people,
children who will be true to me”;
and so he became their Savior.In all their distress he too was distressed,
and the angel of his presence saved them.
In his love and mercy he redeemed them;
he lifted them up and carried them
all the days of old.
Yet they rebelled
and grieved his Holy Spirit.
So he turned and became their enemy
and he himself fought against them.

From the beginning, I have felt the assurance that however my story might end, I would pass through Death to Life. Either I would physically die and find life in the hereafter, or my "life" as I now know it would die and I would be given a new physical life. Either way I win.

But now that I have "won" (at least for this particular battle), I feel weak and shell shocked. It's like I've come home from the war. I've survived. I am alive, and life can now continue. But I've seen so much death in the past 10 months. I've seen my comrades fall dead (my dreams and ambitions), I've seen myself disabled from well aimed shots. I may be "home" and I may be alive, but I can't just fall back into my life. I don't recognize it. I have been living on autopilot. Yesterday I had to let myself cry and weep and scream for all that has been lost. Like honoring all the soldiers who have died. I recognize the awesomeness of what has happened, but only yesterday did it really hit me how terrible and bloody this battle has been on my life and on my emotions. I can't go into detail about what has been lost - there is much more than I've talked about on here. It is raw and it is personal and it doesn't even make sense. But as I sat there mourning, I could feel God's presence beside me, comforting me and acknowledging with me all that has been lost. I need emotional healing too.

That's all for now.

In Which Being Able to Laugh at Oneself Pays Off Tremendously

I've been informed by an old acquaintance that I am overdue for a blog entry. The mid-winter stretch is upon us and this of course makes daily life seem rather uneventful. I recently looked back at some of our blog entries living in China and re-realized how many "abnormal" things happened there on a daily basis. At the time it seemed normal enough, and blogging about it seemed very natural. I remember that one of my close friends remarked that either we had a very interesting life or we were just really good story tellers. I'm now of the opinion that it was the former. With the cancer thing slowing down and living back in North America, it seems like there is not much to write about.

This was never intended to be a Cancer Blog. It began primarily as a way for us to relate our lives in China to our faraway friends and family. I really disliked the idea of writing group emails or of having to explain the same things over and over again to different people.

Cancer blog is not a bad thing. In fact I think our readership probably multiplied by a factor of ten or so. It was a little overwhelming when I suddenly realized that we had acquaintances of acquaintances reading, or people that James or I not seen for ten years or so reading it. For a while I was receiving emails almost daily from people that I didn't even know saying that they were reading and praying. I wondered then, as I occasionally still wonder now, what it was about my story that made it more interesting than the thousands (dare I say millions) of other cancer victims out there. Or better put, what is there interesting to read about cancer? What person whose life is untouched by cancer really wants to read about another person's life that is (and a stranger at that)?

Nonetheless, this blog fell into its new role as Cancer Blog. As in China, there was plenty to write about... changing emotions, thoughts about the future, new treatment plans etc, etc. These things have not ceased, but they have markedly slowed down, and they have also had a decreasing impact on our lives. With the continued and growing knowledge that God continues to be God, despite my physical health, the fact that I have a brain tumor has slowly lost its power in our lives. Its not something we spend hours thinking about anymore, even though its medical prognosis over our lives has not changed. Theoretically, I'm still dying. But I do spend hours basking in the Truth that I have in God; that I am not afraid of Death, nor am I afraid of Life.

So now what to write about? Do I write just for the sake of writing? That sounds boring.

James and I have fallen back into a very precious niche of ours, one we've had since we started dating. That is, dreaming about our future. I have mentioned before that this kind of dreaming is not an attempt to escape the present, it is merely an manifestation of the level of excitement we have for our lives. While I live, we intend to LIVE, not limit. Our most recent dreams have included: James doing an internship with the FAO in a few years (which would require us living in Rome), me in Med School (as you already know), or me doing an dietetic internship with the Dietitians of Canada.

Dreaming is just so darn fun! So many of the fun things we have already done started with the seed of a dream. Dreaming is often stigmatized as not being realistic. In our case especially, I think that some people would accuse us of being escapists. Recently, I asked the Dean of my university department to refer me for a dietetic internship. He agreed, but first he sat and talked with me in his office for close to an hour about my health condition and how I was doing emotionally. I suspect that he wanted to determine for himself if my optimism was a carefully crafted front, and if the peace that I display was genuine before referring me. What resulted was an extremely open discussion where both of us walked away feeling encouraged. I viewed it as an unexpected blessing. How many people walk away from a hour meeting with a University dean feeling spiritually encouraged?

In both Christian and non-Christian circles, there is a lot of discussion about the power of positive thinking. I agree, certainly, but my version of it is just to keep on living. We can talk about being positive, or we can just live positively. However, I don't think that positive thinking means rejecting the negative or rejecting Death. That would just be denial. Rather, I think that keeping a view of Death in our lives lends a certain sharpness and acuity to the way we live. In all of our dreams now, James and I always leave room for death. But this does not make us sad.

So we live by dreaming, and we also live in the day to day. There is a lot in the day to day that is also makes us feel very ALIVE. For example, two days ago, I had to go from the University of Manitoba to Victoria Hospital to get some routine blood work done. These two institutions are practically side by side, but in order to get to the hospital, you have to walk all the way to Pembina Highway, which then travels by the longest route possible back to the hospital( at least a 20 minute walk). As I walked the route, I couldn't help but noticing how close the hospital looked just across the field of snow. Impulsively, I took the road less travelled by (aka, there was no road, only a field of untouched hip deep snow).

It started out okay, it seems that one person had travelled part of the way through the field (but then wisely stopped), so I followed in their tracks. When I came to the unbroken snow, it looked hard enough to walk on top, so I gingerly tried to lift myself above the snowy depths. But then I started breaking through the snow up to my hips! We're talking Peter trying to walk on water here. Try as I might, I could not get back onto the surface of the snow, so I treaded through the snow, giggling to myself at how ridiculous I must look! Then my Canadian breeding kicked in, "If only I can increase my surface area, I can stay on top of the snow!". Half the field left to go and the hospital looked closer than ever! Perseverance Jessica! I spread myself out on my stomach and crawled commando style across the snow (still breaking through), clearly visible from two major roads, the hospital windows towering above the field and to the construction workers just across the... fence (oh no!).

At this point I was laughing out loud hysterically at myself and pouring with sweat. A grown adult, mother, nutritionist, and cancer patient unsuccessfully commando crawling over an open field and covered in snow, just for the sake of saving a few minutes! Finally I made it to the last impediment... the chain link fence (complete with wire ends at the top for the express purpose of deterring people like me). But I was not to be deterred. Going back now would mean going through the field again AND walking twenty minutes. And the hospital was right there!

Climbing over a fence is challenging at any time, but far more so when wearing thick winter boots and fighting to rise above the hip-deep snow that sucks you down. I finally made it up to the top, where I hovered on the spikes while preparing to throw my weight in one last concerted effort over the fence. After all, if I got hurt, I was already on my way to the hospital (how convenient!)

Rrrrip! Not my flesh thank goodness, but a large patch of my pants and long underwear had ripped open to the skin! Jessica's thigh exposed to the world! Walking the remaining ten feet to the hospital on concrete, open jeans flapping with each step, I momentarily experienced a sensation of "I wish I hadn't done that". But I quickly brushed it aside and proceeded to go to the blood lab in the hospital, ripped pants and all.

Anyone reading this story will have the same reaction that James did, "Why did you do that?". But, as ridiculous as it was, I hold that it was extremely fun laughing by myself as I crawled through the snow. Personally, I think it is a great example of enjoying living and feeling ALIVE.

Would I do it again? Probably not!

Report on the Murder Mystery!

And here we are with the long awaited report on our murder mystery. Despite the fact that James and I were still writing up cue cards a mere two hours before it started, the evening was an unprecedented success! I give credit for the fun time to all of our friends and family who really got into character. I was in peals of laughter at the outbursts of angry Portugese from the Viceroy of Macau, the snuffbox, sneezing and embarrassing medical diagnoses of Dr. Wang, the mysteries of the Tao expounded upon by Master Huang, the operatic bursts of song from Esmeralda Castafiore, the unashamed American pride of the US Marshal and much much more!

So we wound our way down the paths of mystery, with great shocking revelations, startling accusations and, yes, even a few downright fights!

Here are some pictures of our great event.

Group Photo

James' sisters (Mei Li and the maid)

Our roommate (Japanese art collector)

My Dad (US Marshal Orin L'Amour)

James and I (and my wig!)

James' Sister (Madame Wang) and her husband (Dr. Wang)

My Mom (famous American opera singer Esmeralda Castafiore)

Me as the Empress Dowager Cixi with my puppet, the Emperor

Our good friends (the Dread Pirate Tshin Kuo-Hak and his cabin boy)

Goofy, goofy James (Sir James Basswood Yaardley)

Our Brother-in-law (Master Huang)

My sisters (Sister Maria Franco and Sister Maria Ascuncion) and our roommate (the Cardinal)

My sister and her husband (The Portuguese Viceroy of Macau)

James' brother (German mercenary) with an African head carving

Now here comes the shameless advertising. After all the time and effort we have put into this mystery, we have decided to experiment and see if we might be able to make a profit from this!

If you want to find out the intricacies of our story, experience the thrill of a good mystery and get dressed up with your friends for an evening, James and I are considering the option of renting ourselves out to conduct our murder mystery with you and your friends. You would provide the guest list, the location, the food (and a rental fee), and James and I would arrange the rest, even coming to your home in character to facilitate the smooth progression of your party. Make us an offer! We dare you!

Our own little trial run revealed certain glitches that need to be fixed, and of course, the expectation is that there will be some parts of the mystery that run slower than others. We are not professionals and we are still learning, but all of our guests said that they had a really great time.

Of course, the mystery will only be as good as the people who are participate, so you must be sure that you have outgoing participants. Enthusiasm is a must. And everyone must be dedicated to staying in character and following directions, even when told to do something "embarrassing"!

Further update - My last round of chemo went really, really well. Apparently the extra strong nausea meds did the trick. Ironically, I had more of an appetite while on the chemo than I have had in months. I have also started the injections for my white blood cells, and those side effects also seem to be minimal (some bone pain). I have another MRI on Jan25.

We have also begun the new term for school. For me, re-entering chemistry after a five year break has been a little like diving into a cold pool of water. I have been reminded of how much chemistry I used to know.

Nutrition requires a lot of chemistry, but it is a very specific branch of chemistry, so I have forgotten a lot of the stuff from other branches.

Needless to say, a lot of studying is in order. It is starting to come back (thank you God!), but I have had to review some real basics in order to retrieve it. Balancing reactions, laws of thermodynamics, bond energy of glucose... I came home from my second class crying and feeling so out of the loop! I have been glued to my textbook for the last day, and thankfully, along with the returning knowledge is a returning love for Chemistry. Its hard, but I love the way that it is so logical!

The unfortunate news in our family is that the extra grant that would have allowed our whole family to go to Bali, was turned down. I suppose that if I were handing out grants, I would choose an application that overtly expanded science over one that involved flying a family to Bali so that they can stay together. Of course it sucks and we still haven't figured out how the summer will go now with this change in our plans. I won't pretend to be happy about this turn of events, but I also feel that it would be pointless to get overly upset about it (plenty of time for that later!).

Anyhow, that's all for now!