Let the Mirror Shatter
Prologue: How a view of perfection evolved through a 10+ year journey of supporting my wife and her late stage breast cancer. My intent is to hopefully resonate with, and inspire those living with breast cancer, or similar health challenges, to rise forward on their own terms.
Thank you to the Wildfire young breast cancer writing community for publishing this piece in their 2023 MBC Lessons Learned Magazine edition.
We try so hard. We’re put on the quest from the day we learn to speak. It’s a quest for perfection in an infinite hamster wheel of comparison culture. George Clooney’s perfectly symmetrical face. A perfect linkedin profile. A perfect family, in a perfect home. A perfect image celebrated by society. A perfect… mirage.
As Asian-American kids, we weren’t taught to reach for the stars. It was the milky way! Our immigrant parents didn’t break their backs coming here so we could be average - are you kidding? My wife Janice started her quest at age 4 when she started learning classical piano. She got the best teacher in Houston. She won competitions. She was lit. Then on the side, she picked up the cello (made regionals) and could sink 3-pointers (basketball) with ease. But she was “shy”, as if that label meant anything. So, I guess her childhood was almost perfect?
Careers. The theme for Janice was, surprise, fixing things to achieve a more perfect state. Fix ourselves so we can grow to be the best SME (Subject Matter Expert) out there. Fix others through mentoring and coaching. Fix massive convoluted broken systems in enterprise finance, technology, and organizations. She was engineered that way.
We look in the mirror. In spite of accomplishments and affirmations, we’re never satisfied with the person looking back. And that was before the news that flushed our world down the toilet.
The diagnosis in 2011 slammed us like the Hokusai tidal wave on a raft of cheap takeout chopsticks. Janice had metastatic inflammatory breast cancer. It was late stage IV, meaning, cancer hit many organs, and this biological time bomb was about to blow. ER/PR+ (hormone-based), HER2-, clean genetics. It formed in just weeks as a crusty, inflamed breast with no lumps. We were in our early 30s. We were athletic. It was 10 days after our wedding. It was 10 years of planning. We were supposed to have kids and start a family. Instead, we got a one-way carnival train pass with mandatory stamps for biopsies, bone scans, MUGAs (heart scans), MRIs, CT scans, PET scans, lung drainage, and a port install. As those in the MBC club know, that was just the preshow.
The second wave washed away her identity. Chemo and insane surgeries, and everything in-between, left her with an imbalanced chest (one boob), crazy scars, funky skin from skin grafts and radiation, neck cords, hair loss, and lymphedema. And of course, the buffet of side effects, with heavy ones being nausea, fatigue, and decreased lung function over time. Of all that, we hear Janice was a lucky one.
Before, the mirror showed someone Janice wasn’t satisfied with. Now, the reflection is of someone Janice didn’t recognize.
She wasn’t going to have it. Nah. Janice was going to fight her way back to a sense of normalcy. Even from the hospital bed after surgery, she started pushing herself. Surgeons recommended 3-4 days of in-patient rest and monitoring. She started walking with clenched teeth and dripping bandages the day after surgery. We checked out 2 and a half days later. She did green juicing, detox, and probiotics. She did alternative medicine from acupuncture to burning mugwort powder on her scalp to release toxins (and almost lit her hair on fire). Walking turned to running and hyperspaced to cycling 170 miles from Houston to Austin, Texas, for a fundraiser. She kept stretching and building her strength until she was able to do handstands a year after her mastectomy, when doctors said she may not be able to lift her left arm above her shoulder. She became a patient advocate. And she went back to work, figuring she could juggle it all.
In the mirror, Janice wanted to see that limitless warrior, who could overcome any and all challenges, but it took a toll. She was doing it all. It was exhausting and stress was stratospheric.
There was one practice that she kept feeling drawn to. Yoga. She took a free intro class offered by the integrative health center at MD Anderson and continued to practice beyond. It evolved from physical therapy to a practice that centered her mind and gave her peace.
To have compassion means to constantly learn how to live in your vessel and how to unify the mind, body, and soul on any journey in life. - Janice’s yoga teacher training instructor
Above all, it taught her to appreciate the imperfect nature of our bodies, to listen to our bodies, and to love ourselves for who and what we are - not the past, not the future, but right here and now. The present. With our authentic self, both inside and out.
You don’t need to fix everything. Things don’t have to be perfect. Let it be.
That was part of her mantra. It helped her shatter her mirror of self-doubt and comparison. It freed her to truly thrive.
There’s a Japanese concept called “Wabi Sabi”. As an aesthetic and philosophy, rooted in Zen, Wabi Sabi appreciates the beauty of that which resembles nature - imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. Letting things flow. Janice always instinctively came to these age-old truths.
Instead of focusing on the shadow of what was broken, she saw the illumination of what was already possible.
It was ok that the PET scan schedule got botched again, leaving Janice to starve for 12 hours. Rather than spending all afternoon calling to fix, we enjoyed feeling the warm sun on our faces during a stroll outdoors, laughed at awkward love triangles in Korean dramas on Netflix, melted in a lavender salt bubble bath (Lush!), and just went to sleep early.
It was ok that some liver cancer markers went up while others went down in the blood lab results.
It was ok that the PET scan results showed some flare-ups and weird shit (IYKYK), but other sites were stable or decreased. It’s the overall story that counts.
It was ok to move 2,000 miles away from the cancer center to follow our dream to California. What if oral treatment stops working? Cross that river when we get there, but not today.
It was ok to fly 11 hours to Japan, even with a blood clot. Talked to the onc, got blood thinners, and had a routine to keep moving on the plane. Lighting candles at a 1,200+ year old UNESCO world heritage temple in the old city of Kyoto? Not even a question.
It was ok to return to work while still on treatment. Energy was good enough, and she asked for a part-time schedule. It was approved.
It was ok that we couldn’t have kids and got denied by adoption agencies. Janice held the beautiful baby girl of her dearest friend at the hospital, just a few hours after she was born. Janice said sell the house. We had an open gateway to the world, just on borrowed time.
It was ok to take on less and to give permission to be vulnerable without judgment or expectations. No weakness. No apologies. No guilt. Less (quantity) is more (quality).
Things weren’t perfect, but did they ever need to be?
When Janice stopped worrying about fixing things, she was free to cast off shadows and live a more present life. Her smiles were radiant. Her belly laughs were contagious. She loved others, loved herself, and was loved. She thrived.
Janice passed in 2022, after 10-and-a-half stigma-smashing years of thriving as a passionate advocate for cancer patients, lover of life, world and outdoor explorer, puppy momma, and my best friend since we were 18.
As I frantically tried to fix her growing symptoms in her last few months, she reminded me: “You don’t need to fix everything. Things don’t have to be perfect. Be comfortable with the uncomfortable.” Without realizing, I had brought back her mirror - one that centered back on imperfections and one that also tried to fix them. This time, I had to shatter that mirror. Janice turned me human again, giving us the gift of both being present enough to appreciate the moments that remained.
Half boobs to make a Star Wars cantina jealous. Radiation skin tags and blemishes like a splattered Jackson Pollock painting. Surgical scars. Polka dotted needle bruise spots on the belly and butt. Compression sleeves. Whatever the marks of challenge, we are here today. We are greater than any external reflection. And yet the person who needs reminding the most is our own self. Let nothing define you or stand in your way to live fully, to live presently. So yeah, let the mirror shatter. You never needed it anyway.
/ws
