Lisa Ray

The Yellow Diaries

Don't just trust anyone with your subcutaneous fat

This from my bathrobe. Adequately pepperetted now. Meat on the Beach got stock. I apologise to any who came after.

End of today- post Plan, pre bathrobe, blog and pepperettes

End of today- post Plan, pre bathrobe, blog and pepperettes

So this morning my berry went rogue.

Yes I got one of those from the Bobcat. And much as I’d like to live as Henry David Thoreau and ‘front only the essential facts of life’ it looks at this point that I’ll be riding a turbo charged Blackbery to get me to my own Walden Pond. When I’m in Full Remission of course. That’ll be when  ’Transmission’ and ‘Transgression’ will be back on my mind.

I was going to write/blog/respond this morning when the appointment alarm on my treacherous berry went off. I rushed to Moksha yoga Danforth. One of the other Moksha teachers, was signing students in behind the desk. I took a seat and prepared; internally to teach the class. In silence. I was there to teach the Silent Class and yes, my earnestness is comedy sketch worthy.

I was looking forward to teaching this class cause I don’t like to talk a lot. Which is why I became an actress of course.

At the choice moment l was asked by the other teacher, the obvious question: so are you taking my class?

Gawp.

No. I’m supposed to the teach the Silent Class.

You mean the one on Sunday.

Big, steriod puffy grin.

Here’s the point. We stopped for a moment. Talked. I shared what I’m going through- ‘The Yellow Diaries’- and D shared. The filters came off, there was trust and operating from that place, stories were told and blended.

And silence, which has always been my refuge and my weapon, got the boot. In yoga class. And in my life.

Most importantly, I’m glad I came out of my cave.

I’m glad I was naive enough to do it.

Thank you everyone who has so far taken time to read. And then to respond.

I want to share something my friend Lindsey Love wrote:

‘The rates are soaring and it’s all around us, and all of us all of us seem to have our heads in the sand. Other young men and women need people like you — people in the public eye, people who others think “nothing bad” ever happens to because they seem to have it all on the outside — to show that cancer doesn’t discriminate and that for those also going through it, they are not alone.’

I am humbled and inspired. And reminded that life is a continuous provocation to go beyond who we think we are and at the same time appreciate what is, without asking for an explanation.

At this moment, it’s like taking a bite of my favourite CAKE. I’ve got a huge, sweet mouthful and I can’t describe it, cause, you know, my mouth is FULL. I do however, feel my immune system got a solid boost from all this love and advice. For instance, there’s always urine therapy to explore. That will put an entirely different spin on the ‘Yellow’ in the ‘Diaries’.

But there’s no ask here. Just a share.

As I share and go through these experiences, I don’t feel any sense of loss or regret for what is happening. Each of us face adversity everyday. Emerson said, what lies before us, what lies behind us, is no match for what lies within us. I’m also learning that everyone has a story to share. None is more weighty than another.

And blue talk never goes out of style.

But I’m talking Yellow. You can’t do enough Yellow talking. Yellow from the solar plexus. That’s the seat of the will. That’s the place where everyone- especially women- should breathe into and expand.

To twist another quote: I haven’t had the trouble of growing up normal so that view doesn’t pervade my world.

So next up in my day, I went downtown to chemo. It was a real scramble of a morning. The previous day I made my ‘announcement’ through interviews in the Canadian press (organised by Suzanne Cheriton my Arian soul sister) and did a fitting at NADA for my upcoming red carpet event for ‘Cooking with Stella’. Subcutaneous fat was definitely on my mind during the fitting but Nada is coming up with a nimble and wondrous sari inspired dress which I want to name. I have a compulsion to name everything around me. I’m also entrusting Nada and Rashmi with my subcutaneous fat. ‘Piglet drinking a capacinno’ or ‘one legged crow on my car in summer’ won’t cut it. I need some time.

My Dad, herded me, drove me, waited with me, fetched me soup. How do I describe this symmetry of love and service between us during this time? He’s the source of my everything.

‘Hello there, Welcome to Chemo Daycare’

Practically sounds like Neruda.

I checked into the Club. Well into our second hour of waiting, Bobcat arrived. ‘Noble, puffy one’ he pinched my cheeks with a paw. Cleaned my glasses. I purred and inhaled some yellow from him. Played some word games. Had some juice and crackers from the Martini Cart wheeled in by David, one of the volunteers who turns my thought to the true essence of warriorship: the refusal to give up on anything or anyone. I’m sure you get the same service at the Spoke Club but again- no juice boxes!

Then I was called in for my 15 minute dose of Velcade. It’s one of the quickest, ‘Sexiest’ doses of chemo available out there that I know of. I’m immensely grateful to be a recipient as it’s such a powerful and effective first line treatment. And with my newly inserted ‘portapotty’- I mean ‘porta cath’- my treatment protocol has gone through seismic change from what it would have been even a few years ago. So rupture your reality. Read about Jill Lang Ward:

And prepare yourself for a miracle. Like I am.

Incidentally the

2009 patient, family & healthcare professionals conference, ‘Living with Multiple Myeloma Conference’ is taking place in:

Calgary, AB – September 11 & 12, 2009

Wish I could be there. For more details go to the Myeloma Canada website.

Back to the Cancer Club. The mission of the day was for Bobcat- and myself- to learn how to inject epoetin which is used to treat anemia. It’s a subcutaneous injection. Yes we are back to subcutaneous fat. And who I’m gonna entrust it to. And bobcat is a brave bugger (with the sole exception of bone marrow biopsy incident I shall not speak about but definitely blog about) but I’m pure chicken. That’s going to be in my Remission Statement: Thanks Nurse Betty, but its never a little prick for me.

Yup. that's me in FULL Remission

Yup. that's me in FULL Remission

BOLDFACED Nursing team in chemo daycare in PMH (Princess Margaret Hospital) really deserve their own block advertising- and I’m not just saying it because they are the Centurions of my veins and those of others. More later.

So today we learned how to administer a subtaneous injection. Really its not a big deal but bobcat went online and apparently there are thousands of ‘how to’ videos on youtube. It’s convenient we’re both researchers. Previously (and earnestly) I’ve been known to spend months doing research for a role. That was always part of the pull and delight of being an actress. That and the fact I don’t like to speak. Out loud.

So we got a demonstration from my nurse. There’s a few options for the injection. Your tummy. Your bum. Your upper arms. My mum is eastern european. I chose arm wattle.

And it really was a quick poke. From a preloaded syringe which only looked like a mini harpoon owing to its micro-sophisticated spring back action. Simple. And the bobcat did not get it stuck up the nose. I mean his. No hysterics from me either. Thanks to my nurse and her exceeding calming approach. I didn’t even have to sing. Which is the norm when I get an injection. I have veins which collapse. So every time I’m bracing myself for multiple pokes, in my times of trouble, I normally turn to ‘Hey Jude’. Although it’s not a well supported sound on the first poke, the chorus gets a lot more resonant a few pokes in. I want to be saying ‘ouch’ but all that comes out is ‘na na na na’ in pitch where I could have scored the Bond girl role. Somehow this suffering for art cliche always finds traction.

So I’m glad I trusted my subcutaneous fat to someone else.

Bobcat is glad I did not sing but still needs a nap

Bobcat is glad I did not sing but still needs a nap

Finally I topped off my day by filming a Public Service Announcement for Plan Canada. More on that later.

Just before calling action, Craig, the director, noticed my chemo daycare hospital tag dangling off my wrist. He walked across and removed it gently.

‘Is this your pass to the Ex?’

He was referring to the Canadian National Exhibition which is a landmark end of summer fest in Toronto each year. Old tradition in the city.

But I had another kind of ‘Ex’- on my mind.

‘Yup. It is.’

thank you for the Cake India

thank you for the Cake India

I am overwhelmed by your response India. Thank you for your heartfelt response. Know Mother India is my source and my inspiration. Thank you for the CAKE, and all the love and concern. Know I read everything.

Sorry my mouth is still full. I will write more soon.

ami tumhaar bhalo bashi!

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