Did you hear the one about my trip to Hawaii?

Lol. Or, not.

For my 40th birthday/Cancerversary (it’s a thing - google it) I cajoled my family into going to Maui.

As luck would have it, my aunt and I are birthday twins, so, she joined our birthday trip to Hawaii. And her besties were in Hawaii at the same time in the hotel next door, so she wasn’t going to be trapped 24/7 on a kid friendly trip. Also, if anyone remembers, Adam’s 40th happened in the midst of a super covid surge here AND I got sick on his covid safe birthday road trip to meat. On his 41st I literally started chemo. Also if anyone remembers, his birthday is 2 days before mine, so this was a BIRTHDAY tah-rip.

This trip was meant to be epic.

Long story short - It was epic. Epically WTactualF.

Long story long…see below.

I watched (via insta of course) all y’all go to Hawaii. I watched you enjoy the sun the surf the sand the food the topography ALL the things Hawaii. It looked like fun. I waited my turn. I felt like the caboose of the line of Hawaiian vacations, but I was mostly patient, and someone has to be the caboose, it’s a fact of life. It wasn’t jealousy or envy I felt when I watched everyone’s good times. It was happiness for you, but also yearning for me. I too needed a beautiful vacay to soothe my soul. But I couldn’t go on one. Certainly not to Hawaii. Certainly not on a plane. To an island. Far. Far. Away. I was sick. And furthermore, I have a long history of trying to vacation only to get sick or have some terrible sickly mishap. Vacations to islands had to wait. Vacations, in general, had to wait. At a certain point in the instagram parade of loved ones Hawaiian vacations, I just couldn’t watch anymore. I even had to ask people not to tell me about their trips. It was just too heavy a feeling. I know, we’re talking about vacation here, and I know how trite it must sound. But I was sad. It felt sad to be trapped in California. In LA. In my house. Mostly alone. While the world continued. Cancer people know this feeling. This feeling is hard. This is a level of sad I wish on no one. I really was glad for you all to live life fully, but, you know, sad sad sad.

So anyway, it was my turn! You guys! It was my turn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was well. I felt good. I was pumped.

I guarded my mental health by allowing myself to look forward to the trip, but not actively participating in the planning of activities and food stops. It felt too much like tempting fate to participate. I could daydream about the cloud filled blue skies of Maui and the warm ocean, but I could not be the planner. If shit hit the fan - I just couldn’t, I don’t know.

My husband planned a magnificent Hawaiian vacation, I planned what to pack and went shopping. We are an excellent team.

Before boarding the plane I had a lot of doctors appointments. A lot. I addressed what was becoming a strangely swollen boob with multiple doctors, physical therapists, and specialty compression garment fitters. The team couldn’t pinpoint why I was swollen. Did I have an infection, a reaction involving chemo pills and the radiation I’d received, or lymphedema? No one really could say for sure, so we treated it. All of it. I was on mega antibiotics. I was off the chemo pills for a cycle (bonus vacation gift!) and I was compressing and setting up PT with specialists. I had my shit together. I packed all my medicines and some clothes and all my bathing suits. My doctors kept saying “if you get a fever of 100.3 or higher, you must go to the hospital.” I kept laughing and saying, “nothing is going to happen on this vacay. I’m feeling great! But yes, if by some freak occurrence I were to get warm, to the hospital, yes, sure sure.”

Fam - we’re going to Maui. Did I mention it was whale watching season in Maui? Stoooooked. Aloha to me! I mean us!

We took a super early flight and got into beautiful, wet AF Maui around lunchtime. It rains in Hawaii they say. On and off they say. Ok, it’s raining but surely not for too long, let’s get some lunch. I had no appetite, but, I would share what everyone else got. No biggie. Foreshadowing? Maybe.

Friends, in weather news, it rained for days and days. On and off. 83% on, 17% off. So, yeah, on and off. Luckily for us, our whale watching trip was scheduled for our first full day in Maui and for that 90 minutes it didn’t rain. Much. In body news, I was kind of nauseous but thank God for zofran and dramamine; I double dipped, and I was totally fine for the boat ride. After seeing real live wild whales out in the ocean I was happy. Magical giants, whales are. We got off the boat, it rained relatively heavily onto our heads, Adam bought the overpriced picture as I knew he would, and we planned for the next stop. The family was hungry. We went to lunch. I continued to not be hungry and not eat much. The rain continued to pour. We knew it couldn’t rain forever (OR COULD IT) so we accepted that which we could not change and went back to the condo.

A note on our lodgings - Gorgeous. I can only imagine what it would look like in color! We had booked a condo with a king bedroom and a room with 2 twins, since Adam and I haven’t been away from our kid in years I think, but upon arrival both rooms had king sized beds. (It was then that I should have known this trip was not going to go as planned, LOL.) No biggie, we can share a king with our kid, snuggles forever. Congrats on your own room, Aunt, hahaha.

Once settled back on dry land after our lunch inside a flood, I stayed back with my kid to rest while my husband and aunt went to get groceries. Upon return they reported the radio DJ saying something to the effect of, “hey guys, welcome to Maui, listen to me, dun’t go in the water. It’s dangerous out there. Dun’t be stupid.” So, ok, the locals don’t think we should go in the ocean. That’s interesting. Cool. Aloha. Mahalo. I like to read, I’ll wait this one out on the gorgeous balcony I have. I’ll swim when this rain event is over.

Yada yada, the next day it rained less, but I was starting to feel foggy headed. And my swollen boob was getting bigger and redder. And my traveling companions kept discussing when our next meal was. And food was not sounding super appealing to me. Everything was annoying. This really couldn’t be happening to me. Not this vacation. Not after all of the precautions. No no no. Not happening. Why was I not eating. Why was I cranky and needing so much sleep? WHY WAS I NOT BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS TO GO ON ADVENTURES?!

I sent them off to do fun food things and exploring knowing I’m still a sick lady, that means I need to rest more than the average bear, this is just how it is for now. So, book and balcony alone, yes. Yes, please. All the yes. I will adventure next round. But, something was not right, I could feel it. Chalk it up to jet lag and finally being here, ya? Uch, if only that’s what it had been.

I took a nap before what was to be mine and Adam’s date night. We were going to watch the sunset over the ocean. I had a new dress. Adam and I were finally going to have a nice meal, and even if I wasn’t hungry, it would be nice to be together. A few minutes before we were to leave, I was still resting in bed. I had a headache. Tylenol would help. But, something inside me told me to take my temperature before taking a fever reducer. Fuck. 100.3. The number. No. Fucking. Way. Nonononononono. No. No no no. But, ya, hi, it’s me, I’m the problem. It’s me. Or maybe what I’m trying to say is, this is why I can’t have nice things, because I break them so I have to take them awa-ay-ay-ay.

Back on the mainland, a week before heading on this trip, one doctor had suggested I might need IV antibiotics. The team as a whole kind of agreed that orals were probably fine, I was feeling good. If there was an infection, prophylactically administering IV antibiotics was a pretty big choice when the pills should work just fine. Only now, on an island, on a trip, a trip that I had waited a LONG ASS TIME FOR, a trip that was not free my friends, a trip that I had done all the things medically for, now I had a fever, which pretty much points toward an infection. Either way, I knew what was about to happen, even if I didn’t want any of it.

The ER in Maui is downright pleasant compared to the horrorscape of LA ERs. Clean, moderate wait times and friendly, caring, helpful, funny nurses and doctors and caregivers make the Maui ER my favorite ER so far. Hands down. I found out, in my ongoing quest to be favorite patient, that most of the nurses were travel nurses. No wonder they were so nice. They live for a few months in Hawaii, briefly escaping their real lives while also working a job they love. Ten points for their life choices. Maybe ten thousand. Anyway, after running the tests, we found out I was super low on the white blood cells. Damn it. And they thought I needed some IV antibiotics. Mmm, hmm, innnnnteresting, imagine if only we had done this pre-trip. So, admitted I was, in isolation, in Maui. No oncology ward in this small hospital, so I became a resident of the ICU, though not an actual ICU patient. My room was at the end of the hall, pretty standard hospital room, except its one special feature. While my bed faced a mountain, and a brown squat building blocking my view of the mountain, my toilet/chair had an ocean view. Wait… my what? My toilet chair. You know, the toilet that was just in my room, next to my bed, no door or anything. The chair that I was to use as a toilet, but it also has a clever seat that comes down over it to make it the place to sit if I didn’t want to be in bed. It had an ocean view. V fancy. V funny. While trapped in the hospital with no immune system, I mostly made jokes about the toiletchair and it’s view, kind of ate Hawaiian hospital food on said toiletchair, and read books and chatted with my ICU nurses. Easy to be favorite patient on this floor, as you might imagine.

Adam had of course wanted to stay with me, but I said, hell to the fucking no way, you’re on vacation with our son, don’t you dare have 2 of us in the hospital. Thank God my aunt was there, so Adam could visit me briefly and bring nurses sweet treats while our kid was with people who love him. From what I hear, they had a really great vacation. I mean, it was pretty rainy for a lot of it, but they made it work. Thank GOD.

After 2 nights on the inside and many bags of antibiotics, I was less swollen, less red, and hoping I could safely go back to my vacation. I woke up to the color blue mixing with the color cloud in the sky. I cried. I couldn’t believe the sky was blue and I was in the fucking hospital. I just couldn’t believe it. The fine nurses predicted, correctly, that I would be getting out in the early afternoon, so at least I had that. Who needs a morning anyway, right? Then they told me that once out I couldn’t go in the ocean, and at first I thought they were joking. Ummmmm. OK. OK… Um. Ok…Turns out…They weren’t joking. OK, no ocean. What about the pool. Ohh, no, so sorry, you need to be extra extra clean. It’s too dirty in the pool and the ocean, especially after all of that rain. OK. IS THIS REAL LIFE?? You can put your feet in, they told me. OK. Sure. Ok. Can I shower? Yes. Why are you crying? Dun’t cry, they say. I’m sad, I’m allowed to cry, I tell them, I’m ok though, thank you. This is sad. Let me out of here. Pretty please?

The doctor finally rolled in to release me around lunch. I was sprung. And folks, the last 22 hours of my Hawaiian vacation were everything (ok, except for the swimming stuff) I could have wanted in Hawaii. The sky was blue. The air was warm. A breeze blew. I watched my kid have the best time at the adventure pool. I drank a delicious V Pina Colada. I hung out with my aunt. We waded carefully in tide pools. I experienced a magnificent sunset with my guys on a gorgeous grassy overlook. Whales and dolphins played while we watched and the sun put on a show to the sounds of a luau close by. It was truly incredible. We had a simple dinner, and I was able to eat some. I read a book on the sand. I cut a pineapple for snacking. I had a delicious piece of fish on rice in a hippie arty town and washed it down with some alright shave ice. I bought some art. It was great. It really was.

And then it was over. By some magic my husband released me from my familial duties on the flight home and I got to ride in first class. My seat mate spoke almost no words to me, except the obligatory pleases and thank yous and excuse mes, but she was dressed head to toe in rainbows. I hope she didn’t see me cry when I realized that I was literally sitting next to a person that obviously dressed intentionally as a human rainbow. Part of me had hoped she had noticed and then had asked me why I was crying so that I could say bc I’m literally sitting next to a rainbow after the most intense epic storm, you are a miracle. But she didn’t notice, and if she did, I didn’t know she did. And maybe that’s better, my miracle rainbow seat mate didn’t need to be anything more to my story than the symbol that she was. But that is real, I really did get a rainbow at the end of my tragicomedy of a cancerversary vacation and that friends, that is epic. E. P. I. C.

Mahalo for being with me through this trip. The whole trip. Cancer is a fucking trip and people, well, it’s a fact that people need people. Whether because we’ve known each other forever and always or just for a while or because you found your way to these words somehow, I’m grateful to have you all as part of my trip.