this moment now. and this moment, now.

Some reflections on my recent road trip:

If I ever have an epiphany, I think it'll be more like a ton of feathers than anything. Because, believe it or not, a ton of feathers will probably hit you with about the same force as a ton of bricks. Maybe a ton of books? I need to ponder this so I can use the appropriate expression -- if I ever have an epiphany.

I can count all my friends on one hand -- in binary! (Except, I can't count at all in binary, so I just told a lie.)

I love proving that you can have guy friends. Like, just plain friends that are guys. I have two or three, so I'm super lucky.

It's different, watching devotional in a classroom rather than watching it in my living room.

Despite the quietness of some of the people I visited yesterday, my listening to talking ratio was still like 3:1. I win at making other people talk.

I try to make eavesdroppers' lives more meaningful. Best way so far: the removal of the hairpiece. Talking to my accessories is up there, too.

And, finally, I love to drive, but David Archuleta gives me a headache (especially a David Archuleta/Taylor Swift mix; urgh).


"Recessional" ~ Vienna Teng

marveling at the bounty our days contain

I love being in a family ward this week. Mum and I went to Enrichment last night; it was based off Oprah and the theme was Simplify.

You know, that doctrine that is so deep, and so true.

This is why Seriously, So Blessed is funny.

(Would've been funnier if the font on our magnets had been Papyrus, but I appreciated the Arial because it seemed to at least make an effort toward being simple.)


"In Another Life" ~ Vienna Teng

fingers kissed the keys

I have one point of great pride.

118 words

Typing Test

And that is it.

"Decade and One" ~ Vienna Teng
[I'm gonna have to find something else if I ever make a piano post, but this one fits so well!]

a fierce embrace, a word of thanks

Someday, I want to be talking to a friend that needs some help. I won't know what to say, but I'll do my best. And then they'll say, "You just said exactly what I needed to hear."

Then I will feel like my life has been worth living.


A similar desire: to be talking to a friend when I need some help, and they say exactly what I need to hear, so I can tell them that. Because a friend like that is always nice to have around.


On a related note, does anyone actually say exactly what people need to hear? I mean, there's never any way to know beforehand, and doing something like that by accident seems too unlikely for it to happen as often as it appears to.

But that's just my thought.

"Say Uncle" ~ Vienna Teng

to be blind, only my hands to guide me

Last night I was trying to get to sleep (verdict on new mattress: really not a fan) and remembered that when I was a kid (sleeping in perhaps that same bed), I would try and bury my face in my pillow at night. Why? Because one day at the library my teacher and another grownup were talking about how if there was a nuclear bomb, the light would be so bright it would blind us in our sleep. So I would hide my eyes to try and prevent that from occurring.

Even now, I would much rather be vaporized instantly than have to live blind. My sight is precious to me, maybe because it is the physical feature that is most in jeopardy.

On Friday Mom and I went to the LASIK doctor. We watched a movie about the procedure and had a bunch of tests that were very hard for me because I had to keep my eyes open. I blink a lot, especially while wearing glasses, which I had to wear all week in preparation for this appointment. We also did the letter-reading, with dilation and without. I am a much less than ideal ophthalmology patient, because not only do I blink a lot (turns out I have dry eyes), I am photophobic and I hate eyedrops.

I'm also a much less than ideal candidate for LASIK. My eyesight is so very bad, my eye so very long, my cornea so very thin, that it just wouldn't work. In fact, I have ... well, there's a word the doctor used to describe it that I can't remember (it had 'high' in it somewhere), and he also said, "We don't like to call it this, but it's also known as pathological myopia." So I have pathological myopia. And they refuse to do LASIK for me.

Since, you know, I needed another reason to avoid contact sports, they also told me that my eyes are in danger of retinal detachment (which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like). This pleases me, for I have never really liked contact sports (this is like lacrosse, right? And soccer and football and a really aggressive game of ultimate frisbee?) and it turns out that my dislike is founded in a subconscious knowledge that it would be really dangerous for me. Who wants to go blind from a tackle?

I'm still reconciling myself to the fact that my eyesight will just continue to get worse as I get older, but I think it will be okay. I love being able to see what I can (and since it's morning and I haven't put my contacts in yet, it's somewhat less than usual) and I hope everyone appreciates their ability to view the world around them.

"Now Three" ~ Vienna Teng

her hair falling around me

In my dreams, I almost always have long hair. Even when I'm awake I think I have long hair, and often have to stop myself from asking my sisters if they'll straighten it, braid it, and curl it. I fantasize about brushing it.

Even more than I want my long hair, though, I want my eyelashes! And not just for cosmetic reasons (though everyone knows I look better with them). I've had just about enough of my eyelids getting stuck together.

Okay, I admit that a big part is wanting to look better. I'm starting to really get desperate about my social life, but I just can't get too excited when I don't have eyelashes. For some reason, I have this idea that once I have the necessary facial hair again (we can't forget eyebrows) I'll suddenly remember how to act in social situations. Not looking as funny will give me that magical ability to carry on conversations. We can only hope.

On a related note, I've noticed that my personality tends to mirror the Victorian lady, e.g. Jane Eyre. When someone says something I don't know how to respond to, I just look away. Awkward, huh? But in the movies that's what they all did! Instead of calling it rude, let's call it demure.

Those are most of my thoughts this week. I'm glad to be done going to the hospital, and to be wearing contacts again.

"Homecoming (Walter's Song)" ~ Vienna Teng

do everything you should, you know the facts

This morning I was lying in bed after family scripture reading, and there was a particular scent in the air. It was the smell of the First Day of School.

'Twasn't my first day, of course (even BYU doesn't start for another week or so) but three of my siblings started in new schools and I could taste the shiver in the atmosphere that meant the typical apprehension and excitement that the first day of school brings.

I always forget how cool it is. Then every year I smell it, taste it, and the wonders of education return to me. Will I make friends in my classes? Will my teachers be good? How fun will this year be?

The first day of school never answers any questions satisfactorily, but it sets the stage.

Good luck to all that have a first day of school this year! (Ooh, even typing that gives me shivers! What an exciting time!)

"White Light" ~ Vienna Teng

and she breathed in freedom before daylight tread

Number aversion: hating to have things that end in 3, 7, or 9. Since there are currently 23 posts on my blog, I have to post again to make it a nice round 24 (that's one of my favorite numbers, anyway). I currently have 228 Facebook friends. If I add another friend, I'd better add another one so I'm not stuck at an ugly 229.

So that's the reason for this post. I don't really have anything to say.

I was in a really good mood all last week, but now that it's this week I'm starting to feel a bit apprehensive. If the scans they're having me do next week don't look good, does that mean I have to go back to chemo? I don't want to! I hope that they're just routine. I hope that they find that my heart is still good, my lungs are clear, and I don't have any undue sugar-stealing entities.

Pretty sure I'll be fine.


This weekend I went to three receptions in three days. (Sorry for anyone that's heard that already.) It has put me in kind of a wedding-minded mode. I've never really thought much about my wedding before, having decided a few years ago that a big fuss is silly. My cousin's reception, about which a big fuss was made, was amazing. But it's not ever something I'd want to do. But I'm not sure I'd want a traditional one either -- cultural hall, refreshments by the Relief Society, receiving line under the basketball hoop.

So it's been interesting for me to start thinking about my wedding, since it is sometime in the future. I've thought about colors, decorations, time of year, location, all that jazz. I feel weird.

I suppose it hasn't helped that, since I'm all done with chemo forever, I can stop being an invalid -- and I haven't yet. I'm all crazy-like.


And another bird just hit our window. That's the second one today. Said Spencer: "They die just like people. They hit their head and ... and ... then ... then blood comes out their mouth."


Well, I think I have a life to start living! See ya on the flipside!

"St Stephen's Cross" ~ Vienna Teng

dreams of ice and wings. so delicate, these things.

Thursday evening, I was in the family room hanging out or something, and Kiana came in crying. Since this is in no way an unusual occurrence, it was much more interesting what she said: "Dad's gonna kill a bird."

Since this isn't a usual occurrence, we were all a little nonplussed. Turns out a little bird hit the living room window where Kiana was reading, and was on the ground all skewampus. Mom and Dad were worried it'd broken its back, or its neck, and of course the kindest thing to do would be to put it out of its misery.

Mom brought it in for us to look at. Its wings were fluttering in panic as she held it gently in her cupped hands. We all looked at it. It was crooked. But as we watched, it did better and better until it looked like a normal little bird. So instead of taking it to the executioner, Mom put it outside. Where it sat. And flew around to the patio.

The bird was still there when it got dark, and to save it from any hungry cats that might be around, we put together a little shoebox for it, with water and bread, next to the open window.

It was still there in the morning, but looked all right. It liked to fly down to the carpet and hang out there, and Friday morning while we were supposed to be getting ready to go to the Rytting Family Reunion, we all gathered around and watched it. Copious pictures were taken. The little bird was stroked, picked up, and fussed over. Kiana even picked two raspberries for it, after looking it up (an orange-crest warbler) and seeing that it only ate bugs and berries.

Then we had to go. We left it on the carpet (spreading a dishtowel first) with water and the berries. Occasionally while hanging out with cousins and the like, we would wonder if it was okay.

But we all knew what we'd find when we got home.

It had folded its wings neatly, closed its eyes, and gone to sleep. When its deep muscles stopped working to keep it upright, it had tipped slightly forward onto the carpet. Dad, Mom, and I were the only ones to look. I didn't think it was sad -- its leg was broken, and I think that would be enough pain to put any small creature out before too long. It looked peaceful, and it had drunk some water and nibbled at some berry, so I might go so far as to say it had been well cared for.

I think Kiana still cried.

"Now Three" ~ Vienna Teng

(You may or may not have noticed that I have used this title before. I thought it fit this one better than the other, so I have adjusted that one's title.)

such a wide, wide chasm of faith to leap

I remember back in February, this blog was slated to become my cancer update blog. I was having all these medical experiences I'd never had before (really: who's had a PET scan?) and wanted to talk about it. But then I was too lazy, so it got wiped off that slate.

And really, I don't talk about it that often. Sometimes it's nice to pretend that it's not the only cool thing about me. (I was going to say "Requisite sneaky complaint: check." But then I remembered what this post's probably going to be about. So there's more where that came from.) However, the sad truth is, it's pretty much my entire life right now. And that's what we do in blogs. The boring ones, at least. Talk about our lives.

So, here ya go. A bunch of random stuff about my life now, as it pertains to my treatment.

~I'd spent my entire life thinking I was A+ blood type. Come time for my first transfusion (I've had 7 now -- donate blood!!) we found out I'm actually O+. Who knew?

~I am a master of finding my drinking glass at night. We recently bought these silly clear cups, so that makes them pretty much invisible in the dark. To me, at least, since I've never met anyone with worse eyesight. (Still one of my points of pride!) But somehow, I've never spilled. My hand just magically knows where to go. I'm going to jinx it, huh.

~Every conceivable part of me has lost weight. I finally dropped below 100 lbs, and I practically had a tantrum there on the scale. I'm talking my ears have probably lost weight and everything.

~My hair's coming out again. When I was at the hospital over the weekend, I kept getting eyelashes and eyebrows all over my glasses. And I have bald patches on my head, but that's mainly because I keep pulling it...this is hard to explain to people. Some few of my acquaintance had the opportunity to pull it out when it was longer than 1/3 inch, and they'd understand. It's addicting. And I'm okay with my hair being different lengths of that much.

~I got a lot of weird side-effects from chemo that nobody at the hospital had ever heard of. I got these peculiar brown stripes on my stomach, and a similarly styled image of a bandaid on my arm, and my elbows are really dark. Plus sometimes my feet burn off. No one ever told us about that. Even the side effects that I'm supposed to get, like mouth sores, come in weird. My jaw swells up. They all look at me like I'm an alien. My body's amazing!

~No, really, my body's amazing. You take things for granted, like an awesome heart and lungs -- which I hope to still have when this is over. And the way my surgery site healed up so awesome (except for that one little part -- c'mon bug, I wanna be able to submerge my leg). All these things I can't take credit for.

~I hate talking about my hospital experiences, because it makes me nauseous. Usually right before and right after, but why risk it?

~I think the ice cream truck just drove by. We didn't have one of those when I was a kid. Did it seriously come up our street? It must be lost. Um...there's a kid sitting in the back. Should I be concerned?

~Okay, so, my siblings? They think my walking assistance devices are so fun. Whenever I'm lounging about (which, let's face it, happens a lot more often than anything else) they'll pick them up and play with them. And ... sometimes leave them far away. Not on purpose, I believe.

~By the way...anonymous gifts/letters are really annoying. I wish I hadn't been so busy in March, or I would've done some serious handwriting analysis.

~Can't remember if I've said much about my tattoos. Well, there's not much to tell, besides the pain worse than a bee sting to get them. And that I have 'em.

~Guys, once my radiation burn healed up, it's been so fun! It's like a constantly peeling sunburn, without hurting. I wonder if it would look so very tan if I weren't so "constantly inside" complexioned right now.

~Right below my left collarbone is my port. It is the cyborg machinery they inserted inside me in order to pump me full of poison. And blood, when the need arises. It is a little metal disk just under the skin. Back when it was cold, and I would shiver, my port would totally shiver too, and spasm, and feel like it was trying to jump back out. Slightly creepy? Luckily I think it's grown to my ... whatever innards are right there and I only have to worry when I get hugged really tightly and it pops out of alignment. Which doesn't do anything, except for a while I have a crooked metal disk sticking up instead of a flat one. If they needed to poke me (you access it with a needle, of course) they could do it just fine.

~Oh yeah, I'm glad I was never afraid of needles. Do I love getting shots and blood draws twice a week? No, but I don't freak out. Especially not now. My arm veins are a little bit hashed, but I don't have to do it much longer!

~Everyone keeps accusing me of getting my nails done. Never! I just happened to get a really opaque white stripe one round and it's finally grown up to the top. And I don't think I would be pleased if I did get my nails done and they looked like that. Pretty sure they can make them look better than that...

~Sometimes I act really pathetic. But I feel like there's really just one thing that I'm consistently pathetic about, and it's something that was going on way before I was diagnosed. And, er, I'm too embarrassed about it to admit what it is. *wince*


On that note, which wandered off the Wonders of Cancer Treatment and onto paths that will remain untrodden on this blog, let's end. This is more than enough, though I'm sure if I left it for another day I'd come up with some more.

Have a great day, everyone!


"Soon Love Soon" ~ Vienna Teng


[P.S.: I had a typically hard time finding a good subject line for this post. My first choice has already been used! But luckily before I found that out I'd already found a bunch of possibilities. Here are the runners-up, since I'm unlikely to use them for any other post.

blind, only my hands to guide me ~ now three
i'll tap into your strength and drain it dry - my medea

And now you see why!]