The Unwinding of the Miracle - Julie Yip-Williams Page 0,111

in the days and months before my trip, seemed shrouded in shadows. What if I was mugged or got into a terrible accident or developed dengue fever? I remember acknowledging the fears and doing everything I could within my control to mitigate the risks—I had my mother sew secret pockets for my money and passport into my underwear; I worked out hard so I could be physically strong and fight as fiercely as I could if I were attacked; I bought travel insurance. Then I let everything else go and put faith in myself and a higher power, and I just walked forward, through the fear, into my incredible adventure. Rather than shrouded in shadows, Bangladesh was and is a beautiful place filled with vibrant colors and kind people. My dark prognostications had been wrong.

That night in the hospital room, I willed myself to again acknowledge the fear, told myself to do everything within my power to control my destiny and let everything else go, and then ordered myself to look ahead and walk through the fear once more.

Allende describes her life as a “multilayered and ever-changing fresco that only I can decipher, whose secret is mine alone. The mind selects, enhances, and betrays; happenings fade from memory; people forget one another and, in the end, all that remains is the journey of the soul, those rare moments of spiritual revelation. What actually happened isn’t what matters, only the resulting scars and distinguishing marks. My past has little meaning; I can see no order to it, no clarity, purpose, or path, only a blind journey guided by instinct and detours caused by events beyond my control. There was no deliberation on my part, only good intentions and the faint sense of a greater design determining my steps.”

Each of us has a story. Each of us has experiences from which we can draw strength and that can serve as the basis of our faith. It is just a matter of whether we are willing to dwell in often unpleasant memories, to extract the lessons of our history, to find the secrets of the journeys of our souls. Just as Allende sought to give the secret of her life story, her past and her memories, to her daughter, I find myself wanting to do so for my daughters.

38

Home

Just after the new year, scans showed that I had failed the clinical trial I had been on at Memorial Sloan Kettering (or more accurately, the trial had failed me). The scans revealed growth in abdominal lymph nodes and two new lesions on my liver (which I suppose is preferable to new lesions in my liver). The news was, while not unexpected, still upsetting, because I now have involvement in another vital organ, another way by which the cancer could actually kill me. Will it be my lungs or my liver? There was some shrinkage and some growth in my lungs, so the thoracic tumors were overall unchanged. I lost my hair for that awful trial, suffered unbelievable fatigue, underwent an atrocious lung biopsy, and for what? Absolutely nothing!

Dr. V. offered to put me on Lonsurf, which is standard of care. It is oral chemotherapy that has shown limited effectiveness in a subset of colorectal cancer patients and at best can only offer stability for several months. When I had consulted with Dr. M. at Georgetown in October, he told me he always prescribes Avastin with Lonsurf because they operate on different pathways. Based on his recommendation and the tolerable nature of Avastin, I wanted to do the same. Dr. V. told me Memorial Sloan Kettering doesn’t do that. Why? Because that combination is not indicated, Dr. V. told me (i.e., there are no studies to support the combination, although there are no studies to not support that combination, either). I left her office, emailed Dr. A.C. while on the subway, and received a response minutes later, saying that he would prescribe the Avastin with Lonsurf for me, assuming there was no objection from the insurance company. He secured both for me in less than two weeks.

I left home, for college, when I was seventeen years old, and other than short stints, I never went back. For years, I lived in dorm rooms, homes of host families abroad, sublets, and apartments with short leases. I flitted about, going to school, studying abroad, traveling, working, and then more school, and then more work and more travel. I craved newness—new places, new people, new