Dying To Be Me Read online

  Danny also had an incredible sense of humor, and I found that very attractive. He laughed easily, and his laughter was infectious, so our dates together were always a lot of fun. He seemed to know exactly when to call and what to say at the right time. He was gentle, yet strong and persuasive, and I loved that about him.

  However, I still found myself thinking that it was only a matter of time before he discovered the inherent flaws within me. I was afraid he’d soon become disappointed.

  But that day never arrived. Danny was steady and unwavering in his affection for me. He called me on the phone just to see how I was doing and sent me flowers and gifts on special occasions. Unlike many of his counterparts, he loved my independent nature. And instead of being horrified by my interests, dreams, and aspirations, he found humor in my warding off my parents’ attempts at arranging a marriage. He thought all these qualities of mine were endearing. He was genuinely interested in me for who I was, and this feeling of acceptance was so new and refreshing for me.

  Danny had graduated from university with a business degree. As commonly happens in our culture, his father owned a company and Danny, being the only son and heir, was obligated to join the family business.

  At the time, my job entailed some travel outside of Hong Kong. Since Danny’s business did, too, I’d occasionally find his smiling face staring at me in various ports of call, as he purposely coordinated his trips to coincide with mine.

  One evening, as we were walking along Deep Water Bay, one of my favorite beaches on Hong Kong Island, I casually asked Danny if he knew about my past engagement and what people in our community had been saying about me. We’d never spoken about it, so I was almost afraid to ask. I wasn’t sure how he would feel if he hadn’t already heard.

  “Yes,” he replied, “I’ve known about this almost since the time I met you. And thanks to our wonderful community, I’ll even bet the version I’ve heard has been embellished tenfold, with lots of seasoning added for effect!”

  “How did you feel about me when you found out?” I asked, a little bit concerned about what he was going to say.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to know the truth?” he responded, a slight smile appearing at the corners of his lips.

  “Yes, the unadulterated truth, please. I can handle it,” I said, bracing myself for what was coming.

  “Well, when I heard about what you did, the first thing that came to my mind was: Yes! That’s just the type of woman I’d want to marry—someone who has a mind of her own!”

  A broad smile spread across my face as I felt a huge flood of relief pour over me. I remember saying, “So I take it you aren’t attracted to me for my chapatti-making skills, then?”

  “Hey, you underestimate my abilities, young lady! I roll a pretty mean chapatti myself—but that’s not all. I do windows, bathrooms, and laundry as well!”

  And at that moment, my smile broke into full-blown laughter. We both fell down on the sand and laughed until tears streamed down our cheeks. We laughed about everything and nothing at the same time.

  As our laughter died down, he clambered up on his knees while I was still sitting on the sand, and our eyes met. He took both my hands in his and said, “Anita, I’ve been wanting to ask this from the day we met. Will you marry me?”

  It was at that moment I knew. I knew for sure that he was the one for me. I had found my soul mate.

  ON MARCH 17, 1995, EXACTLY TWO MONTHS after Danny proposed to me, the unexpected happened. The telephone rang as I rolled over in bed to look at the time.

  What’s going on? I wondered as I lifted the receiver, It’s only 5:15 in the morning. Before I answered the phone, I knew that it wasn’t good news.

  “Beta, darling, is that you?” I hear my mother’s tearful voice on the other end of the phone before I had a chance to speak.

  “Yes, I’m here. What’s wrong?” I felt the fear racing through me and heard it coming out in my voice. As I felt my heart skip a few beats, a part of me dreaded the news that would come at me through the piece of plastic I held in my hand. Another part was anxious to know and get the suspense over with.

  “It’s Dad,” my mother’s tearful voice told me. “He didn’t wake up this morning. He went in his sleep.”

  When my father’s health began to deteriorate some months prior, my parents went to India so that he could seek alternative therapies, such as ayurvedic treatments. I’d expected him to return in time for my wedding, with his health intact so we could dance the bhangra (a favorite Indian dance of celebration) together during the festivities. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I frantically and tearfully packed my things, throwing whatever I could find into a suitcase as my brother made arrangements for both of us to take the next flight to Pune, India, about four hours outside of Mumbai.

  My trip to India, the funeral, and that time with my family seem to come and go in blurred memories. But I won’t forget the day we took my father’s ashes, contained in a beautiful enameled urn, to the Indrayani River, which runs through the holy town of Alandi, just east of Pune. We stood on the rocks overlooking the expanse of the river at the auspicious time of day when the mahraj had told us to be there. My brother opened the lid of the urn and tipped it slowly, letting the breeze carry the ashes and scatter them across the surface of the water. We watched, tears streaming down our cheeks, as the river carried the ashes away. How could we say good-bye to this wonderful man?

  Dad, oh my dear Dad! I’m so sorry if I ever caused you any pain, I whispered to my father as I stood there with my hands held together in pranam (in prayer).

  I’m getting married, and you aren’t here to see me walk around the wedding fire. You lived for this day my entire life. How can you leave me now? I asked the waves as they swallowed up his ashes, while the tears flooded down my cheeks.

  THE NEXT FEW MONTHS WERE BITTERSWEET, as my family and I seemed to be both mourning my father and talking about the upcoming celebration. I could tell that my mother was relieved that she had my wedding to look forward to, as it seemed to brighten what would have been a very difficult and sad time, and helping plan it gave her something to focus on.

  Yet we all missed my father and felt so sad that he wouldn’t be there for the one occasion that was so important to him. Seeing me get married had been like his life mission. But I consoled myself by reminding myself that he was there when I got engaged, and he was so happy for me. It was almost as though he passed on with a lighter heart.

  Together with Danny’s parents, we consulted the mahraj for an auspicious date for the wedding. We told him that it had to be later in the year, as my family was still grieving the loss of my father, and we weren’t yet in the right frame of mind to celebrate. He consulted his holy almanac and, after taking into consideration our birth dates, informed us that December 6, 1995, was an auspicious date for us.

  At the time, it seemed to be a long way away. However, the months flew by as we made arrangements, booked the venue, ordered the wedding sari, designed invitations, and worked through all the myriad chores that go with organizing an Indian wedding.

  My mother threw herself into helping me plan the event in order to take her mind off her recent loss, and she took great pride in choosing my wedding sari and all the other outfits I was going to wear throughout the related occasions. She chose a stunning bronze-colored lace sari for me to wear on my wedding day itself, and a white sari with fine gold thread woven in a light design for the civil wedding.

  So on December 6, 1995, I married my soul mate, Danny, in an elaborate Indian wedding with festivities that lasted almost a week! Our friends and relatives from all over the world flew to Hong Kong to attend the rituals and festivities that culminated in a reception under the stars on the lawn of the Hong Kong Country Club, which overlooks my favorite beach, Deep Water Bay, on the south side of Hong Kong Island.

  One day several months prior to the date, we’d been discussing venues for the wedding, and I’d half-jokingly said, “Wouldn’t it be gr
eat if we could get married on the beach where you proposed to me?”

  We toyed with the idea for a few minutes, but quickly dismissed it when I thought about the frustration the female guests would face when they found their stilettos getting stuck in the sand. Then I remembered that just above the rocks toward one end of Deep Water Bay beach was the Hong Kong Country Club, with its sprawling lawns overlooking the very bay where Danny had proposed. It was at that moment that we decided it would be the perfect spot for the celebration.

  It was a beautiful evening at the country club, and there was a cool breeze blowing as the shenai (Indian wedding music) echoed hauntingly into the night air. Danny and I walked hand in hand seven times around the fire to seal our union, as the mahraj chanted our wedding vows in Sanskrit. Danny looked handsome and princely, standing by my side in his shervani (regal wedding outfit), complete with turban. I was wearing the bronze lace sari my mother had picked out for me, and the end of it was draped loosely over my head, on top of the jasmine flowers woven into my hair. My hands and feet were painted with henna in a delicate paisley floral design, as is the tradition for Indian brides.

  As we made our way around the fire, I kept looking across at the faces of my family members and could sense that my mother and brother were both aching for the presence of my father, wishing he were there to experience the special evening.

  After the rituals were completed, a huge celebration ensued, with food, drink, music, and dancing. After the last of the functions was over, and Danny and I were in our hotel room for our wedding night, I was both exhausted and excited at the same time. I knew this was the man I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. We were going to live happily ever after …

  CHAPTER 5

  Diagnosis of Fear

  As the years passed, Danny and I built our life together. He left the family business to start a career in marketing and sales for a multinational organization, and then we moved out of his bachelor pad in the heart of the city and into a lovely apartment in a quiet suburb of Hong Kong. We adopted a dog whom we named Cosmo.

  Not long after I got married, my brother decided to leave Hong Kong and start up a business in India because there was a major recession in our city, and he saw an opportunity in India. So he and his wife, Mona, and their toddler son, Shahn, all moved there; and my mother followed them shortly thereafter. I missed them all terribly because I’d never lived in a different country from my family.

  To make matters worse, because of the recession, I lost my job at the French company since sales had gone down dramatically. This upset me, as it came unexpectedly and added to the stress and loneliness of my family leaving Hong Kong.

  During that period, I also often felt pressured by our community and my peers to have a child, although at that time, I was more interested in working, traveling, and exploring the world.

  Finally, I found freelance work for a relocation company. My responsibilities entailed helping newly arrived expatriates integrate into Hong Kong, and I enjoyed the freedom it offered, as it wasn’t full-time.

  I just didn’t feel ready to have kids, but in my culture, the moment you got married, you were expected to produce children. I often found myself torn between external expectations and what I really wanted to do, and I sometimes felt almost inadequate among my friends for not wanting the same things they did, especially because of my desire to delay having children.

  Members of our community kept reminding me that as women, we had a body clock running against us, which did nothing but feed the fear already living inside me—old worries, starting with my anxiety over being too much trouble because I was a girl, being wrong because I didn’t fit in anywhere. I recall thinking, But if we really want children, we can always adopt! There are so many unwanted children in the world who’d love to be given a home. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about a biological clock!

  Danny and I actually discussed this seriously, and we both agreed that adoption made a lot of sense. It would also remove the pressure of having to be a slave to my own body. However, whenever I mentioned the possibility to others in our community, I always received negative responses. The most common was: “Can’t you bear children? Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Once again, I found the old fear of not “measuring up” rearing its head within me…but my focus on that subject came to an end all too quickly.

  During the summer of 2001, my best friend, Soni, was diagnosed with cancer, and the news shocked me to the core. She had difficulty breathing one day, and when she went for a checkup, they found that she had a large tumor in her thorax, pushing against her lungs. I just couldn’t believe this could happen to her. She was young, strong, vibrant, healthy, and had so much to live for. The doctors had her admitted to the hospital right away for surgery to remove the mass, followed by radiation treatment and chemotherapy.

  Then, within a few months of Soni’s diagnosis, we received news that Danny’s brother-in-law (his younger sister’s husband) had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer.

  This news instilled a deep fear in me because both of them were close to my age. I began researching everything I could about cancer and its causes. Initially, I started doing this in the hope of helping, because I wanted to be there for Soni, to help her fight. But I found that the more I read about the disease, the more I was afraid of everything that could potentially cause it. I started to believe that everything created cancer—pesticides, microwaves, preservatives, genetically modified foods, sunshine, air pollution, plastic food containers, mobile phones, and so on. This progressed until eventually, I started to fear life itself.

  APRIL 26, 2002 IS A DAY NEITHER DANNY nor I will forget easily. Hesitantly, we walked into the doctor’s office as though entering a house of death. Fear crept in around us, warning that a shock waited around every corner. It was late Friday afternoon, the last day of work before sharing a weekend together. We wove our way through the rush, as everyone was starting to leave work to celebrate the pre-weekend happy hour—everyone, that is, but us. We scarcely noticed the setting orange sun casting its fiery glow on the glass skyscrapers of our vibrant city as it lowered itself behind the harbor. Today we were to learn the results of the tests the doctor had run on me.

  A few days earlier, I’d found a lump on my right shoulder just above the collarbone. In that moment, I refused—rather, I demanded that it be nothing more than a cyst or large boil. Yet the ugly little voice in the back of my mind, a predictor of doom, harped at me relentlessly, convincing me it was more than that.

  Over the previous few months, I’d been tearfully visiting my friend Soni as she lay dying in the hospital from cancer diagnosed the year before. In terror and sorrow, I watched her body, being eaten alive inch by inch, consumed by a beast that refused to be tamed, even by the most advanced medical science available. I couldn’t allow myself to think of that horror happening to me. Still, the lump at the base of my neck forced me to face the possibility and have it checked out. I’d had a biopsy, and I was getting the results that day.

  The doctor was very gentle and kind as he broke the news: “You have lymphoma, which is a form of cancer of the lymphatic system.” But from the instant he uttered the word cancer, I didn’t hear much more of what he was saying. His voice came to me as though he were under water. My eyes glazed over and rested on the view from the clinic window. Outside, nothing had changed: The sun continued its journey, slowly setting behind the harbor; the skyscrapers glowed in muted hues of orange and amber; and people went on their way to the laughter and joy of happy hour. Yet learning the reality of what was happening within me had instantaneously changed my whole world.

  Sympathetically, the doctor went through the options available. “I will stick by you,” he assured me, “no matter what decision you make, what treatment option you choose. But first, I’m booking you for a scan for Monday morning so that we can ‘stage’ your diagnosis—find out what stage the cancer is. After the scan, come and see me, and we’ll discuss your
results.”

  His voice was a muffled roar in my head, and I shoved away his advice. I could barely hear him tell us to try to relax and enjoy the weekend as best as we could.

  Terror collided violently with reason. Neither Danny nor I could think. We refused to. We didn’t want to think about cancer, about options, about death! I wanted to pull the normal world around me and run away. Indeed, I could not consider—was not capable of considering—the options. That was too scary, and my brain swirled in confusion. Luckily, the doctor had said that we didn’t need to make any decisions until Monday morning, when I was scheduled to have the MRI scan and talk to him about my ongoing treatment.

  Although my mind was far away and I had so many questions, Danny had convinced me to go out on a date and leave the world behind. So when we returned home, I got into my favorite coral-red dress. As I stood there all dressed up, my husband put his arms around me and said, “Don’t be scared. We’ll get through this together.”

  So that evening, we ran away…at least for a while.

  We dined under the stars at El Cid, my favorite outdoor restaurant, right by the Stanley Bay waterfront on the south side of Hong Kong Island. The moon shone in its glorious fullness, while a gentle sea breeze fluttered through the air. The soft sounds of waves from the nearby ocean complemented the music from the mariachi band that serenaded from table to table. To ensure a perfect night, we tipped the band so that they’d stay by us for the longest time, performing my favorite songs. The sangria flowed, the musicians played, and we forgot about the world beyond our table.

  The next morning, I awoke curled in Danny’s arms. It was glorious to snuggle next to him and push away the world. I wanted the trip to the doctor’s office to have simply been a bad dream, but reality shoved its repulsive head into my thoughts. I still had cancer and couldn’t run from the knowledge. How was I to get away from my own body?