Folklore museum

After lunch and a rest, we continued our marathon tour of Cochin with a visit to the Kerala Folklore Museum, a tall, narrow building jam-packed with artifacts related to art and culture in Kerala. The building itself is pretty magnificent, with ornate wood carving throughout.

And just to prove how cool the place is, it was graced by royalty in November! Here's evidence in video form. If you keep watching past the boring royal entrance and can endure lengthy shots of Prince Charles just sitting there, you'll see some Bharatnatyam dancing, kathakali, and a little kalarippayat.

Here's the building's entrance, which includes pieces from ancient temples ...

 

Here are my fabulously nerdy kids getting all excited about the art in the entry while we waited for Dad to pay the admission fee. (I'll bet Prince Charles got in free ... gah!)

 

Chandelier in the entry ...

 

The front door ...

 



The ground floor was full of musical instruments and artifacts from temples. Johnny is constantly on the lookout for treasure ...

Samuel liked the violins (that's my boy!) ...

Close-up of a demon ...

The interior doors were almost as amazing as the front door ...

Johnny was excited to find a huge display of costumes and accessories used in theyyam dancing. (More on theyyam in a future post, but it was one of Johnny's must-see three for Kerala. The three were kathakali, kalarippayat, and theyyam.)

Evie inspecting ancient stone carvings, which ranged from depictions of gods, heroes, and animals to ... well ... certain body parts ... ahem ...

The kids loved this display of costumes used in kathakali and theyyam ...

 

Making our way to the top floor ...

... which was the theater space surrounded by paintings of dancers and displays of cool masks ...

Evie gave us her best Bharatnatyam pose (I'll bet Prince Charles didn't do this) ...

The museum was a really fun stop, because almost no one else was there. The kids got to do some running around and exploring (with the staff egging them on), and there were beautiful and interesting things to see everywhere we turned. Believe it or not, we're not even close to being finished with our day in Cochin. Our driver, Kareem, who was in awe of our sightseeing prowess, told us we just had to see the Hill Palace and then go to his home for dinner before seeing kalarippayat that evening. Sounded great to us! Onward!

 

Comfort station

We spent two whole years in India using toilets that ranged from holes in the ground all the way up to fancy schmancy 5-star thrones in uppity hotels. We should have been prepared. Why I thought an area of Kochi heavily traveled by tourists would have a decent bathroom is beyond me. We hiked all over the place, following randomly placed signs, until we finally came to the "Comfort Station" that inspired the looks on these faces ...

Even for India, this was pretty gross. We walked past it twice, thinking it was an abandoned building, but no. It was the best place to pee for miles around.

 

Jew Town

Let's take a break from the health saga and go back to Paradise ... er ... Kerala!

After checking out St. Francis Church, we drove past Cochin's ancient spice warehouses on our way to Jew Town, which was settled by Jews fleeing the destruction of their temple about 2,000 years ago. The area has been a center of the Indian spice trade for about 3,000 years.

Many of the old spice warehouses have been updated with bright colors ...

... and so have the shops and homes in Jew Town.

There are still lots of spice warehouses and shops in the area, but the numbers of tourists have also attracted a lot of souvenir shops, art and textile showrooms, and antique shops. Our driver told us to look but not buy, because prices are inflated.

We stopped by the Paradesi Synagogue, one of the world's oldest still in use, but it was closed for Passover Week and we weren't able to see inside.

I enjoyed the color and fancy iron work in the area ...

We passed dozens of spice shops and warehouses, some clearly set up for tourists to browse and some obviously functioning in much the same way as they have been through the centuries.

Though there are still lots of symbols around, many of the Jews of Cochin moved to Israel in the 1950s and 60s, so the community in Cochin isn't very large.

We wandered around until we came across the old Jewish cemetery ...

By this time the kids were pretty hot and tired and ready for a break, which they took on an obliging bit of sidewalk. I have three little explorers, and I had a terrible time keeping them from digging around in the dirt for treasure (not just in Kerala, but everywhere we traveled in India). The women there wear armloads of tinkling glass bangles, and Johnny and Evie would collect pieces of colorful broken bangles everywhere we went.

Some more images from the walk back to our car ...

While in Jew Town, we also visited the Mattancherry Palace (and here and here), which is now a museum dedicated to the rajas who lived there in the Portuguese and Dutch eras. No photos allowed. The paintings, photos and artifacts of the rajas were interesting, but the best part of the visit was viewing the incredible murals throughout the building. Most of the paintings depict scenes from the Ramayana, and Johnny and Evie had a blast pointing out the stories they knew. I love that my kids love art and history!

A Google image search for "mattancherry palace murals" will give you a good sampling of the murals. Be careful. Some of them might make you blush.

"ER" or "Scrubs"?

After several hours of trying (unsuccessfully) to sleep in my forever-shifting bed, I was finally wheeled to a hospital room. The ER doctor wanted me admitted for two reasons. First, he wanted a biopsy of the tumor ASAP and wanted me ready and waiting for that so they could wheel me in for the procedure as soon as there was an opening. Second, the CT scan showed I had a blood clot in my splenic vein (splenic vein thrombosis) and he wanted me on a heparin drip to try to keep the clot under control.

John returned armed with granola bars, books, changes of clothing, a toothbrush, and (thank heavens) a razor and deodorant. My brother, Patrick, came by with Eliza and Amelia to cheer me up, which was a blessing and a curse. No one gets me laughing like Patrick does, but I laughed so hard it started to seriously hurt. It was wonderful and exactly what I needed. John and Patrick gave me a blessing, and that calmed me down some and also helped me find silver linings in the situation. The line I remember most is that this experience would help me to better understand my importance in the lives of my children. I had been in a panic. The blessing gave me some much needed perspective.

About this time the story takes an abrupt turn from something out of an episode of "ER" to something out of an episode of "Scrubs." The attending doctor walked in, followed by My Team -- a gaggle of medical students, interns and residents who were along for the ride. They all stood around my bed and looked down on me with expressions varying from concern to curiosity to fascination. It's another image that will be stuck in my head to my dying day (which I hope is many years from now): a crowd of shiny, eager beavers in white coats of varying lengths, staring down at little sick me. It really did feel like a scene in a movie ... a comedy, in fact.

My audience and I learned from the attending physician that we wouldn't really know how treatment would go until we got biopsy results, but it was pretty certain that the cyst would have to come out whether it was cancerous or not. There were a few ooohs and aaaahs when it came out that my aunt had pancreatic cancer. The newest research is saying that there's likely a genetic factor there, and I could tell the med students were all over that one. (PSA: If you're closely related to me, you should think about having your pancreas checked.)

There was good news, too. She said that my age and the location of the cyst meant that even if the biopsy results were for cancer, I had a great chance at beating it. Believe me, I grabbed onto that news and held fast.

After a few hours in that first room, I got moved to a different floor for observation. As I was being wheeled away with IV line in tow, the nurse who'd been helping me all day leaned over and whispered to me that she'd pray for me that evening. I get teary remembering that. It really touched me.

This next room had two beds, and life became much more interesting. My first roommate was an older woman who clearly thought she'd been kidnapped. She kept making phone calls and saying things in an ominous voice like "I don't know what they're going to do to me" or "They've taken my IV." It was unnerving. I must have looked worried, because a nurse came in and assured me in a whisper that the woman was being transferred to the mental ward and that things would quiet down soon. On her way out the door, the lady leaned over to me and asked me to tell her daughters she loved them, which I said I would certainly do.

My next roommate was a darling older woman who had fluid built up around her lungs. They were giving her something that made her "pee like a racehorse," as her daughter put it, but she was too unsteady to get to the bathroom by herself. The daughter and one or two nurses would help her use a portable toilet by the bed. (If you're wondering about privacy, there was a curtain that kept me from having to see all this. Alas, no sound barriers.) She was terribly nice and Southern and didn't want to bother anyone, so she kept trying to get out of bed and to the bathroom by herself -- a disaster waiting to happen. She also kept putting a kink in her IV line because she would forget it was there. By this time I was feeling pretty good, because they'd been treating my pain, so I became a sort of assistant -- a tattletale, actually -- and would call a nurse whenever my roomie was getting into trouble.

I didn't really mind the relative chaos in my room, because the nurses and technicians were so incredibly good and friendly -- as was my roommate and her daughter. Besides, it kept my mind off my own uncertainty.

Even if I hadn't had a roommate, there would have been no time to get lonely. A nurse or technician would check my blood pressure and the heparin drip periodically, and members of My Team would show up to poke and prod and practice a reassuring bedside manner. I learned from the nurses that the length of the white coat tells you whether someone is a med student, intern, resident or full medical doctor. The coat gets longer as you rise in rank. Cool, eh? The nurses also told me that since I was an "interesting case," every student in the building would want to get their hands on me. Too true. One of My Team members was poking around my abdomen when his eyes lit up and he said with way too much excitement: "Hey! I felt it!" It being the tumor.

It might sound like all this bugged me, but it really didn't. It was oddly exciting to be someone's first contact with a pancreatic cyst. They've got to get experience somewhere, and it might as well be with me. Besides that, they were nice, and it was fun to watch them get all excited about my case while desperately trying to keep a mask of calm concern.

I also got visits from the surgeon, Dr. James Piper (good man), who walked the halls with his Very Own Team. They too were tremendously excited to hear that pancreatic cancer might run in my family. Woot! Cancerous or no, my cyst had to go because of the distress it was causing my pancreas and spleen. He walked me through the probable procedure, admitted he couldn't stop me from scaring myself silly by searching the Internet for "mucinous cystic neoplasm," and warned me there was a teensy chance I could end up with diabetes after all of this. Super unlikely, though. (Remember that little tidbit for later.)

Somewhere in all this I did have the biopsy procedure, an upper endoscopic gastrointestinal ultrasound with the added bonus of a little needle that would draw fluid from the cyst. I'd never been put under general anesthesia before, so I was pretty nervous. Sarah came and sat with me before and after the test, though, and I also passed the time eavesdropping on my neighbors. It was a family with two kids who had a severe allergy to dairy (I think it was). They'd gone out for a treat, chosen the menu item labeled as safe for them, and then both gone into shock because the restaurant HAD SWITCHED THE LABELS. I still can't believe this. Anyway, the parents had to use Epipens on both kids, and they had to go through the ultrasounds to check for damage to their digestive systems. It was awful!

My first sensation after waking up from the procedure was an immediate desire to be put out again. Need I say I hadn't been getting much sleep? Have you ever tried sleeping with two IV lines sticking out of your arm? Or a blood pressure cuff tightening up on you at regular intervals? Sadly, I'm sure some of you have. And then there was the issue of using the bathroom while dragging half the hospital room with me. Gah!

After three days of this I was feeling pretty well, and we knew I wouldn't be able to get into the operating room for another few days, so the only thing keeping me in the hospital was the heparin drip. They solved this by teaching me how to give myself injections of lovenox, and sent me home.

I think the hardest thing to live with during this time was uncertainty. Based on the outcome of the biopsy and surgery, I could either go pretty much back to normal or I could face radiation, chemotherapy and who knows what else. The odds were good that I'd be just fine, but that little sliver of a chance that I wouldn't be fine really weighed on me. I was especially worried about my kids. I hadn't wanted to mention anything about what I was going through on Facebook, but my mom encouraged me to do it so I could get that extra support from people who care about me. I'm so glad I did. Every time I logged on there were words of encouragement and support from people around the world, and it was a huge support to know that people were thinking of me and praying for me.

That's it for now.



 

Yep. I'm mortal.

My life has changed drastically in the last four months, and I think I'm finally ready to tell the story. You know that well-worn phrase, "facing your own mortality?" I can't get that phrase out of my mind, because it so well describes what I've been feeling.

Back in September I was busy with five hours a day of Thai classes, getting kids to and from school and activities, and generally trying to settle in to a new home and routine. I had a dull pain in my upper belly, below my rib cage and just to the left of my solar plexus ("Solar plexus" always reminds me of a ridiculous song I learned in elementary school about Senor Don Gato, but that's another story.) I tried to ignore the pain, chalking it up to lack of sleep or an overabundance of stress or whatever other explanation came to mind. It got steadily worse, though, and I started to worry that it might be my gall bladder, so I figured I'd better get it checked.

The first doctor I saw ran into the exam room, asked a question or two, told me it was acid reflux, waved off my comment that I've had reflux and that's not what this felt like, and then ran back out of the room (forgetting that I'd also had questions about my knee). Then the nurse gave me a quick flu shot and sent me on my way. I've not been back to that office.

Still, it gave me another explanation for the pain, even though I was pretty sure it was the wrong explanation. Reflux is nothing too serious. The giant, painful lymph node that developed on my collar bone, however, scared me into going to another doctor, who said I was having a reaction to the flu shot. I've had countless immunizations in my life and have NEVER had something like this happen. This doctor listened well when I talked about the pain in my abdomen, though, and ordered an ultrasound. I figured I'd get that done in the next week or two.

A couple of days later, my mother-in-law, Sarah (who was staying with us to help out while I was in Thai classes), and Evie and I walked to the farmer's market in downtown Falls Church. My pain was steadily increasing, and (to make a long story short) I ended the morning vomiting in the community center bathroom. By this time the pain was severe, and I also had a horrible headache.

Back to the doctor, who said the ibuprofen I'd been taking for my shoulder had inflamed my stomach or some such explanation. That evening, though, my headache was so bad I was starting to worry I might have a stroke. It was just unbearable and very hard to explain. I could barely talk and I couldn't stop crying.

John took me to the emergency room, where the admitting doctors and nurses were fascinated by my weird range of symptoms. By the time we'd listed everything that seemed to be wrong with me, there was a little crowd of white-coated and very enthusiastic people standing around, staring intently at me, and saying things like "That's odd" and "What a strange mix of symptoms." The only thing that broke it up was a woman screaming from the waiting room that she was in serious pain and somebody'd better come this INSTANT to help her.

By the way, emergency rooms have got to be the most accurate representation of hell on earth. We were there for HOURS watching people come and go with all sorts of ailments, real and imaginary. On the horrible end, ambulance crews were wheeling in kids who'd fallen from balconies and people who'd been in awful car accidents. There was a woman sitting in a wheelchair whose body was bloated and yellow. I sat there thinking, "At least all I've got is a headache." On the more ridiculous end, some guy came in because he had a hangnail. The admitting nurse asked if he actually wanted to see a doctor. Yes. There were several people who clearly had mental disabilities masquerading as physical complaints. And then there was the guy in handcuffs who was escorted by a burly police officer. It's really no wonder TV dramas are set in emergency rooms.

I realize this is getting very long. Feel free to skim or skip, but I feel compelled to keep going in all the gory detail.

I finally saw a doctor, who looked like the evil twin of a guy John worked with in Chennai. Or maybe Daniel is the evil one and the doctor the good. Anyway, the doctor ignored the headache and went straight for the abdominal pain, ordering an immediate ultrasound. In an emergency room, "immediate" is relative and depends entirely on what sorts of life-threatening horrors other patients have brought with them. John and I passed the time by giggling about the guy down the hall who kept moaning and heaving REALLY loudly and about the woman sitting right outside our door who suddenly yelled, "Oh my gosh, get me OUT OF HERE!"

A friendly technician gave me the ultrasound. It's incredible to me that everyone was friendly, from the nurses and doctors to the guy who wheeled me around in my hospital bed, considering how stressful it must be to work in an emergency room. La la la, having an ultrasound, done this before, when the technician suddenly starts taking a lot of pictures right over the spot where I've been having pain. Then she (still smiling) starts asking things like, "Are you diagnosed with anything?" Well no, not yet anyway. "I'm just going to speak to the doctor for a second." And off she goes, leaving me lying next to the ultrasound machine, terrorized.

When she came back she told me the doctor wanted to do a few more tests, and I was wheeled back to John. Less than five minutes later someone showed up to wheel me off to get a CT scan, and that quick turnaround told me I was in real trouble. A CT scan, by the way, is no picnic. They pumped some kind of chemical into me that made me feel like I was wetting my pants (I wasn't) and then shoved me into a tiny tube and told me when to breathe and when to hold my breath. Everyone was very nice about it, though.

After some more waiting around with John (this time with considerably less giggling), a nurse and Dr. not-Daniel came into the room and shut the door. The doctor leaned against the counter, folded his arms, and gave me a serious look. I don't think I'll ever forget that -- what he looked like and how my mind started reeling even before he told me there was a possibility that I had pancreatic cancer. The moment will forever be a turning point for me, the end of one life and the beginning of another.

I was admitted to the hospital because the tumor was causing blood clotting in my splenic vein and because Daniel's twin wanted to get a biopsy done as soon as possible. John went home to check on the kids and fill his mom in on what was happening, and I was wheeled out of the ER and into a quieter corner to wait for an open room upstairs. I made some phone calls and then spent much of the night alternating between absolute panic and just plain annoyance. My aunt died of pancreatic cancer at a fairly young age, so of course I couldn't get that out of my mind. I knew I would have to drop out of Thai classes. I knew my medical clearance was going to change. I worried about what to tell the kids. And my bed was doing this weird thing where it automatically shifted the mattress every time I moved a muscle.

I'll stop there for now. Cliffhanger! Don't worry, I survive to tell the tale.