I flew to Hong Kong.
And this time, despite the T-Shirt, I’m totally sure I’m not gonna get a brain tumor. Hell I’m so sure of that, I’m not even going to bother to get an MRI while I’m here!
“But isn’t that what you normally do when you’re in Hong Kong?” you say, quite perceptively.
“Yes, that is historically true,” I reply, “but why would I need to, when I just got an MRI yesterday in LA, and it looked exactly like this!
Not a spot of cancer to be seen! Just like the last one, and the one before that. Hooray!
And guess what else happened yesterday? I got my last (and arguably most painful) TRIPLE SHOT IN THE ARMPIT!
See that little bulge under my girlish armpit hair? That’s the ICT-107 Brain Cancerful Vaccine (or sugar water, depending on my luck) seeping into my lymph nodes. For me, the most painful part of having one of the most deadly forms of cancer has been getting needles in my armpit, and then having to hold my hand up in the air for 15 minutes afterward. That’s how lucky I am, and why you will not often hear me complaining about any of this (although if you’re scoffing right now because you have heard me complaining– hey, step off! Have YOU ever had 3 needles stuck in your armpit and then had to hold your hand in the air for 15 minutes afterward? Yeah, didn’t think so.)
So anyway, yesterday I got a clean MRI, and I got my last shot of (hopefully) magical armpit juice. And since it’s almost exactly two years from the day that I was checking out of this place…
… I figured this might be a good time to go back to Hong Kong.
But why the hell would I want to Return To Kowloon? (As my mother asked, quite expectedly and quite hilariously, when I told my parents on the phone yesterday.) OK, I’ll tell you why.
See, there was a moment when I was here two years ago (two years ago!), post surgery, when I was walking around somewhere weird (which is everywhere here), looking around at the weirdness, and thinking to myself…
“I wonder if I’ll ever come back to this place.”
My gut immediately said “Probably not.” The Law of Probability (ungoverned by my gut) said (quite rudely) “No fucking way, Peacock, are you kidding? You’ll be lucky to survive the flight home! How about settle for Ocean City, New Jersey. I might be able to get you back there. Even that’s only a 37.24%”
Now I’m not one who likes to be told what I can’t do, so when all of this rushed through my head, it made me sad. It put a limit on my life. It put a cap on my hope. It was the beginning of the glass ceiling that all of us Cancerful People feel above us at almost every moment, when we’re feeling uncured.
But then–BUT THEN!!– my next thought was a nice one. My next thought was this, filled with wonder and unknowing and certainty and hope:
“If I ever do find myself in this place again, if I ever am able to come back to Hong Kong… that will mean that something really really good happened.”
And so it has.
And so I decided to come back.
And after I landed (safely!), just when I was leaving the airport, I SAW A SIGN!
And when I saw that sign, I thought to myself “I’m so sorry, sign. I hope you had a good service life. I’m just now reaching the beginning of mine.” And that thought made me happy.
And so now I find myself back in Hong Kong (miracle!), feeling great (miracle of miracles!), working on a movie. A movie that cures cancer. (Miracle of miracle of miracles!).
And if those first two things could happen, then why not the last one too?
Speaking of signs, when I went for a walk around the block about an hour ago, I saw another one:
That’s a pretty damn good sign.
(And if you’ve ever wondered where I got the title for this blog, it’s not from there. That is a complete coincidence.)
More signs to inevitably come tomorrow, when I Actually Return to Kowloon.
So stay tuned: I almost guarantee you that I am going to end up in the hospital!
PS: A humble and deeply felt thank you to the generous and loving friends who have gotten me this far. And by “this far” I mean both “to Hong Kong,” as well as “still alive.” I certainly could not have done (or even dreamed of) any of this without yous.