Been a funny couple of weeks. Not so's a person would laugh much. There was nothing happening at all, and then suddenly everything is all go again. Let's back up:

I was heading to the dentist when last we spoke. That all went swimmingly. No real discomfort to speak of; not even the need to call up one of the dentist's lads for translation services. A pleasant encounter by previous standards, but it doesn't make for entertaining reading; fine by me! The crown is still to be fitted next week, but all seems well on that front.

Last weekend, people started arriving back for newbies' orientation. I cannot tell you how good it was to see familiar faces. Despite what the publicity folks from Songdo would tell you, this city is not a bustling metropolis filled with bright lights and grand adventures for us ex-pats when the summer holidays have hit. As soon as Chadders peeps started rolling in, things began to be much more pleasant around here!

Now, here is Patti's learning, and it has come as a bit of a surprise: she is more of an extrovert than she had originally thought. She thought that she was a miserable and crabby old crow, with very little need for company, and even less patience for noise and conversation. Not so! It transpires that she energises herself on the presence of others, and finds rejuvenation through dialogue and socialising. Who'da thunk it?

This has serious implications for my retirement plans. I may need not to hide out in the woods on my own after all.

So, the voyage of self-discovery continuing, I headed off to the MRI on Monday with a sense of anticipation and uncertainty. I had noted, as pointed out in earlier posts, that things were changing in the tumour, and wasn't sure if it was going to be a good thing or not. It was hard to tell. There had been some pain and swelling at one point, and with clear shifts in orientation, I really wasn't sure what to expect from the new scans. I mean, a tumour won't actually get WORSE when it's getting treated, will it?

I headed to the hospital in the early afternoon, after a swim, a check of the chickens and breakfast over at school. Things at Inha followed the usual pattern: quick visit to the international clinic to say my hellos and visit the cashier, then off to the MRI lab. Slightly more painful jab of the magnetic resonance juice (and still a little concerned that twelve year-olds are giving me these injections. When did they get so young? When did I get so old?) and then into the great metallic burrito once more. This time, they did not play music on the headphones. Maybe someone who works in the MRI department is reading this, and knows about my earlier complaints regarding their music choices. Who knows who is reading this? There may be people reading this who I don't want to be reading this. I'm not really bothered if the people in the MRI department do, if it means I don't need to listen to Elaine Paige.

Anyway: bells and whistles and grinding noises for three-quarters of an hour, then another injection that made my arm go numb and another twenty minutes of total immobility. Total floppiness and disorientation upon climbing off the burrito's platform, then needle out, dressed, and on my way. Tamarisk and Shelly came to fetch me home, we went through the drive through at McDonald's for a happy meal (sorry, Jamie Oliver, but I was ravenous and they had Smurfs as the toys- I got Brainy and Smurfette for Annie) and back home. I don't know what is in the injections, but once again the inside of my mouth is a bit blistered. It'll pass.

The next two days passed with catching up with folks, checking the chickens, reading... all very tame.

Thursday was results day. I was scheduled for an ultrasound in the Cancer clinic first, then a meeting with the doctor to discuss surgery. I was of the understanding that this appointment would also include the oncologist, but it didn't work out that way.

Again, the Cancer clinic was heaving with people. The Korean soap opera on the television screen in the waiting room was easy enough to follow: handsome and taciturn boy reluctantly dating pretty and insipid girl whose behaviour is silly and embarrassing to everyone around her, but who has something on him that allows her to emotionally blackmail him into staying with her, even though he has a secret affection for her plain yet kind friend. Plain yet kind friend loves him desperately, ignorant of and immune to the affections of the tender-hearted boy who offers her a shoulder on which to cry and sings lullabies to her with his guitar in restaurants when she has wept herself into exhaustion, before he gently covers her up with his blazer, anguished look on his face.

I was waiting quite a while.

The ultra-sound technicians remembered me- guess there are some Westerners that you just don't forget- and were their usual chatty selves. I was arranged appropriately, smeared with the slimy goo, and the doo-hickey rolled over top of the breast once more. The cysts are all still there, but are perfectly harmless, I was informed, as we can tell from the fact that they have not been affected at all by the chemotherapy. The tumour itself on the other hand, most definitely HAS. It has, in fact, reduced by about half. It is smaller and far less dense than it was three months ago. This is good news.

From there back to the waiting room (the pretty and insipid girl was now entering a ramen-eating competition, mortifying the handsome and taciturn boyfriend) to wait to see the doctor. He was less cranky than last time when I spoke to him, the news all being positive. He told me that they would operate on the 23rd of August, that I needed to be there on the 22nd to check in, and that they would do another chemo treatment that day. Ah. Wasn't planning on another treatment. Rats. Should have brought a book. Never mind, that's unimportant, Patter. You finally have a date for surgery!

P: Ok, that's good, that's fine. And that will be ok with the gynecologist to do the hysterectomy, too?
Dr: Ah. I forgot about the hysterectomy.
P: Good grief.

You know, for a bunch of folks who were so keen to do a hysterectomy, they sure do overlook it a lot.

He send me back down to the oncologist for a chat, as apparently my appointment was supposed to be with her in the first place, and not him. I kept my but-I-was-just-following-instructions sigh to myself, and went back down to Dr Lee. She was feeling very pleased with herself at the success of the treatment, so much so that she told me that we were going to do it all over again. I was confused.

P: But the doctor just told me that I would have surgery in two weeks.
O: No, we will do three more rounds of chemotherapy and then another MRI.
P: So I won't have surgery at all?
O: No, you will still have operation, but long-term life expectancy better if tumour is even smaller when we remove last of it.
P: Oh, well that's ok, then.

She also informed me that the hysterectomy will include removing the ovaries as well. Apparently, the successful (read: rapid) reduction of the tumour shows that it was probably linked to oestrogen, and in order to keep it from returning, they'll want to prevent any more of it being present in my system. I do not know what sort of a creature I'll be without it- brace yourself, friends and neighbours. I may be all kinds of crazy shades once this operation is over.

So, good news and smug oncologist out of the way, I wandered back up to the cancer ward for a drive-by chemotherapy session, rendered much more tedious by the absence of book and low phone battery. The ward had some familiar faces again: a middle-aged lady with an ill-fitting wig who I have seen occasionally. The actual Russian woman (not me- the real one), now wearing a head scarf and looking a bit thinner than the first time I saw her. One of the elderly women from last time was there, shouting loudly on her telephone despite the ward being filled with people trying to sleep. Also present, and painfully thin, was the woman who had been enduring such painful treatments the last time I was in. She was looking desperately bleak and ill, and cried out again at the ministrations of the nurses. I was reminded once more of how very much worse this whole experience might have been.

As I was leaving the hospital in the taxi, I received an email from Bert, asking me to call him. This was going to be news about my Grandmother Long, and was not unexpected. My indomitable grandmother, extraordinary and fearsome, had just died after years of increasing frailty. This will be a hard time for the family; I wonder at the interventions of Providence, that sees a postponement of my surgery on the day of my grandmother's death, when my father will need my mother by his side.