Fortune's Daughter

By Carmen Juarez

When Carmen Juárez moved to Saipan with her husband and daughter, she fell in love with the lush beauty and welcoming community of the tropical Pacific island. Within a couple of years, however, her island life would be upended by a cancer diagnosis, sending Carmen back to the states for hospitalization and launching a decades-long battle against the disease.

Fortune's Daughter follows Carmen through five bouts with cancer and the challenges of rebuilding her life each time. She maintains strength through memories of a loving childhood in 1950s Colorado, evoking a house full of brothers, spirited performances with the Florence Kessler School of Dramatic Art & Stage Dancing, visits to relatives in rural farmlands, and the influence of her parents: Mama's belief in the spirit world, Daddy chauffeuring a carful of preteens to the skating rink on Sundays, and, decades later, waiting in countless clinic and hospital lobbies, ready to drive Carmen home.    

Juárez guides us through advancements in oncology, from chemotherapy to targeted immunotherapy to the emergence of genetics in understanding the disease.

Told with the voice of a true survivor, Fortune's Daughter invites readers to find resilience and hope in their own lives.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carmen Juarez
• Release date: Sep 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393854623

Book preview

FORTUNE’S DAUGHTER

A Journey with Leukemia

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a memoir by

Carmen Lydia Juárez

Copyright © 2020 Carmen Lydia Juárez

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or the publisher.

Disclaimer

The author has tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from her memories of them. To protect privacy, in some instances the author may have changed the names of individuals and places, and may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.

Although the author has made every effort to ensure that the information in this book was correct at press time, the author does not assume and hereby disclaims any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

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Cover photo credit © Greg Vaughn / wwwGregVaughn.com

Photo name: Pau Pau Beach, San Roque, Saipan

Table of Contents

Prologue

One: An Island Adventure

Two: My Far Away Home

Three: Island Life

Four: Second Sight

Five: Into the Unknown

Six: The Eleventh Hour

Seven: Dangerous Waters

Eight: Early Memories

Nine: Deepest End of The Ocean

Ten: My Growing Family

Eleven: A Brother or Two

Twelve: Almost an Only Child

Thirteen: Baby Love

Fourteen: Dark Days

Fifteen: The Forgotten Ones

Sixteen: Strength from Others

Seventeen: David and Goliath

Eighteen: Inner Strength

Nineteen: Childhood Dreams

Twenty: A Bream Betrayed

Twenty-one: A Denver Winter

Twenty-two: Me and My Gang

Twenty-three: Strength of Childhood Recollections

Twenty-four: Almost Home

Twenty-five: Living with Illness

Twenty-six: Good-bye Saipan

Twenty-seven: The Big Scare

Twenty-eight: Nick of Time

Twenty-nine: A Genetic Connection

Thirty: Bulls Eye!

Thirty-one: No Woman, No Cry

Thirty-two: Enemy of My Enemy

Thirty-three: Chemo Brain

Thirty-four: Necessity Is the Mother of Invention

Epilogue

A Note from the Author

About the Author

Author’s Note

I dedicate this book to you, my reader.

May the tools that I have relied upon as I’ve lived my life with leukemia help you with life’s difficulties.

In writing my memoir, I strived to factually portray my recollections of my experiences.

I turned to my journals, letters, and medical and laboratory reports, as well as interviews with maternal and paternal family members. My Uncle Augustine researched and shared facts and stories with me about our family.    

I recognize that others’ memories and recollections of events described in this book may be different from my own. Some names and identifying information have been changed due to confidentiality.

I’m thankful to The Williamson Institute for granting permission to use Prayer for Healing, from Illuminata, by Marianne Williamson. I want to thank Juliet Sharman-Burke and Liz Green for allowing me to incorporate readings from The Mythic Tarot.

I was forced to observe with a chill in my heart how my world, my good, happy, carefree life, was becoming a part of the past, was breaking away from me, and I was forced to feel how I was being shackled and held fast with new roots to the outside, to the dark and alien world.

~Demian Hermann Hesse, Year, 1919

Prologue

The year was 1995. I was with my father, whom I have always called Daddy, even as a grown woman. He and I were seated in an exam room at University Medical Center, in Tucson, Arizona. I waited for Dr. Taylor to speak, to tell me that everything would be all right; that with treatment I would be healthy, just like I’d always been... but he didn’t.

The chemotherapy could be rough; you’re very ill.

My right foot began to tap and the voice inside my head said, run. If I’d been a child, I may have abandoned all control and listened to that voice.

Instead, I waited. I watched Dr. Taylor’s mouth move. His voice seemed far away. It reminded me of the time I sat in the back of a school auditorium and craned to hear a lecturer from a podium on stage. I heard isolated words... hypoplastic marrow, pancytopenia, lymphocytes. He continued to talk.

I listened and when he paused, I heard myself speak in a hoarse voice. Are you saying I could die?

He nodded.

I don’t know how much time passed.

Carmen. Daddy touched my arm, and I realized that I was still in the exam room. I looked down, studied my shoes, and reached for a tissue to wipe my eyes. I sighed and waited for the rest of the news.

For months, I’d repeated that I wanted a label for the symptoms; had longed for a diagnosis. I said I wanted to know what was wrong; but when Dr. Taylor said leukemia, I wanted him to take it back. The word stung like nothing else I’d ever experienced.

Fate or destiny is an inevitable series of events that happen to someone, and I’d always believed in free will. That late afternoon on July 21st, I knew my future was predestined, and there was no going back to my familiar and healthy self. I was certain that fate had conspired against me. From autumn to winter, to spring to summer, my path led me closer to death.

One

An Island Adventure

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In my uncommon life’s story, the next several chapters of my life began one cold snowy February evening in the winter of 1993 when David suggested I leave Flagstaff and move with him to a tropical island.

Yes, I told him, but only if you marry me.

I had met David in January 1990 in northern Arizona, a few months after being promoted and transferred to Flagstaff. He was an attorney and I was employed by Child Protective Services. For the past several months, we had been spending time together. On different occasions, David had mentioned his appealing job offer in Saipan.

By that autumn, my 10-year-old Rachael and I were on a 6,360-mile journey to join David on Saipan. My older children, Emily and Mark, were students at the University of Texas, in Austin. I was saddened to be far away, but knew I would see them again.

Saipan is in a chain of islands and islets in the Marianas archipelago, now called the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI), in the western Pacific Ocean. Some still refer to the islands as Micronesia. If you rotated a world globe, you’d locate Saipan, east of the Philippines and south of Japan. It’s about 120 miles north of Guam, and only a 45-minute airplane flight.

Prior to World War II, for almost a generation, the Japanese had occupied Saipan. Without warning, on June 15, 1944, American military war ships invaded the island and bombarded them.

The bloody battle of Saipan lasted 24 days, with the main invasion in Chalan Kanoa, along the beach. Japanese soldiers did their best to drive back their military opponent, but without success. Some say the soldiers anticipated that the end was near, and moved north. As hours passed, American troops gained control by using explosives and flamethrowers to defeat the Japanese army. On July 9, 1944, the Americans raised a victory flag.

By coincidence, during World War II, David’s father was stationed near the island on a Navy aircraft carrier. He couldn’t comprehend our desire to live in Saipan. I suspected that in his mind, he must’ve pictured the aftermath of a devastated island.

For almost five years, we shared the island with fellow Americans, Australians, and Canadians. We lived among the islanders: Chamorros and Carolinians, who often called us haoles, which simply means foreigners.

We encountered individuals from Southeast Asia, including Chinese, Koreans, Filipinos, and Thai. We met people from neighboring islands: Rota, Tinian, Truk, also called Chuk, Pohnepei, Palau, and Guam. Many tourists from Japan vacationed on the island. It was common to see young couples honeymooning on the island with the glow that only newlyweds display.

Within a few weeks of our arrival, David, Rachael, and I went on an outing to the northern part of the island to Banzai Cliff. Others new to the island had told us about the spectacular overview of the north shore from the cliff, which is hundreds of feet above sea level. Near the edge, it’s windy and stormy, with waves crashing under the cliffs.

Banzai Cliff is also a memorable site to the Japanese. It’s a peaceful, pleasant place to sit and relax, with its constant breeze and lush greenery. I didn’t want to believe that during the United States invasion, it was a site where thousands of Japanese soldiers and civilians jumped to their death rather than surrender.

Lieutenant General Yoshitsugo Saito of the Imperial Japanese Army was quoted on a Japanese War monument as saying, Whether we attack or whether we stay where we are, there is only death.... As it says in Senjinkun (battle ethics), I will never suffer the disgrace of being taken alive. He and four commanders committed suicide.

Articles I read said that Emperor Hirohito was against a surrender of Japanese civilians. He issued a decree that death was preferable to capture and certain death by the enemy. He announced that those who committed suicide would benefit with rewards in the afterlife.

Many heeded his call, and even whole families leapt to their deaths, the youngest first and eldest last. Each stood by the cliff’s edge and was pushed by the person behind them. It was reported that some days, as many as 700 Japanese jumped into the ferocious waters.

American soldiers and others tried to coax Japanese civilians out of hiding. They offered them candy, blankets, and food. They tried to show them that they weren’t going to harm them. Some ran off, and others reluctantly came out of hiding; possibly from exhaustion and dehydration.

It was said that when the war ended, the military pushed trucks, war tanks and other surplus material over Banzai Cliff. They saw no need to ship it all home. Divers have named this location Million Dollar Hole, with a park and memorial to mark the location.

Suicide Cliff is nearby and greedily took many lives, with a vertical drop over 800 feet into the roaring ocean below. I read that some Japanese shouted, Tenno heika, banzai, which translates to, Long live the emperor, just as they leapt over the cliff’s edge. They pledged their honor and duty to their country.

When I scanned the region, I saw two rows with several white monuments similar to headstones and memorials. Each had Japanese lettering. Others landscaped the cliff, with its incredible views. There was a beautiful statue, named Heiwa Kannon, Peaceful Goddess of Mercy, who helps individuals who are in distress.

I noticed in the distance a couple of busloads of Japanese tourists who had disembarked. They had cameras and snapped photographs of the memorials, and of each other in front of them. Some stood next to the cliff to be captured in a photo. I watched as they paid their respects. I was certain that several had lost loved ones, perhaps a father, uncle, or brother.

The following November, there was a procession of about 200 Japanese pilgrims walking to Banzai Cliff for the annual memorial rites honoring the Japanese soldiers who died in World War II, as well as for the Americans and CNMI citizens who also lost their lives. The governor led the officials.

The memorial rites were a three-hour ceremony. There was singing, praying, and chanting. Brief speeches were given with offerings of flowers and sake. Some individuals cried as they hurled flowers or holy water into the sea. A trunk that contained the names of the Japanese war dead was buried. A spokesperson said the ceremony was to soothe the souls of the dead, while others recited solemn prayers for world peace.

Months later as I read the Marianas Variety, the island’s local newspaper, a caption caught my eye. The article reported that a female tourist, a 25-year-old Japanese national, was staying at the Marianas Resort Hotel. A person in a vehicle dropped her off at Banzai Cliff, located near the Last Command Post. The tourist wandered in the area, climbed over the fence, and walked to the edge. When a witness noticed her, he shouted for her to move back. She did not, but plunged into the sea.

The article noted that a responding Macau helicopter hovered over the area before personnel from the Boating Safety Unit could arrive to retrieve the body.

This island will probably remain unknown to most of the world, yet many Japanese feel a connection to the island and to their ancestors. Some, like this young woman, have been drawn to the island as if pulled by an invisible thread to join their ancestors.

As a child, I’d been exposed to folklore and the spirit world. I was drawn to the islanders and to their culture. I heard talk of ancient spirits called taotaomonas, and of duendes, little dwarfs. Instead of a traditional female healer being a curandera they were siruhanas. Many of the islanders sought out the hospital services, but still went to see a siruhana, or if the healer was male, a siruhano. Sometimes they took prescribed medications along with traditional herbs and remedies.

I didn’t find this odd at all. I was familiar with duendes, folklore, and home cures. I remembered one time when I was in kindergarten, I had a slight fever and didn’t go to school. Mama and one of my aunties had me lie down in bed. I was told to close my eyes and relax. A minute or two later I smelled vinegar. Mama had placed potato slices soaked in vinegar and layered in gauze on my forehead. Then she wrapped the gauze around my head and told me to lie still. I remember lying motionless for what seemed like a long time. The odor of vinegar permeated the air. Later when Mama came to check on me, I’m not sure if I really felt better or if I just wanted to be rid of the smell.

That September day when I viewed Suicide Cliff and Banzai Cliff for the first time, I didn’t know that two years later I would be confronting my leukemia diagnosis and its looming possibility of death. When I thought back to these cliffs, my mind wandered to the many individuals who chose death over any possibility of survival.

I knew I would make a different choice: my will was to survive not to surrender to my illness.

Two

My Far Away Home

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I adjusted well to tropical life and was soon in island-girl attire. I wore long brightly colored gauze skirts and sleeveless ruffled or lacey tops. I had a variety of sandals, but at home went barefooted most of the time.

I found a job right away as a hospital social worker, but my contract wouldn’t begin for a few months. While David was at work and Rachael at school, I explored the island and began nesting in our new home.

Rachael’s adjustment wasn’t so easy. She was ready to withdraw her first day of school.

I hate the boys, she complained. They twirled a dead stiff gecko in front of me.

Once I began my job, David, Rachael and I would leave Capitol Hill in an older-model Mazda sedan each weekday morning. Capitol Hill is situated on the road to Mt. Tapochau, the highest point on the island. It rises to 1,554 feet above sea level. Once the United States possessed the island, Mt. Tapochau was designated as an outpost for strategic spying.

We traveled to the central part of the island and approached a long bend, which curved onto Middle Road, the island’s largest road. Sparkles jumped off the bright turquoise Philippine Sea. Each time, I had the same response. This is breathtaking! I can’t believe we live here.

We continued along until we reached the school parking lot.

After Rachael disembarked and we assured that the trendy backpack contained all her needs, I promised her a better day.

Mom, I miss Flagstaff and my life there.

I gave her a tight hug.

Sometimes I do, too.

I waved good-bye and we sped away. I turned to watch her fade into the school entrance.

Before moving to Saipan, David and I had purchased a few books to become familiar with the island. We learned that from 1951 to 1962, the CIA had a $28 million base on Capitol Hill where Nationalist Chinese guerrillas were trained. The trainees arrived blindfolded so they wouldn’t know where they were being trained. This was easy to believe; our house was concrete and resembled a bunker, except it wasn’t underground and it wasn’t wartime.

Whenever there was the threat of a tsunami, Capitol Hill was like the promised land. One day schools were closed due to an island holiday. Rachael and I began the 10-minute drive down Capitol Hill to the shopping district of Garapan. Out of nowhere clusters of men, women and children appeared, scurrying up the hill.

As I drove, we heard loud shouts. Tsunami, tsunami, tsunami! Prior to living on the island, I was unfamiliar with tsunamis. I read that they’re caused by sudden movements of the earth that happen under the sea.

When the line of vehicles neared the bottom, we saw a police officer. He waved each vehicle through and into the line of traffic. In my rearview mirror, I saw the officer stop traffic to allow large groups of people to cross the street. I rolled my car window down as I slowed. I heard the officer say the danger was over and there was no longer risk of a tsunami.

We regularly attended mass at Mt. Carmel Catholic Church. It was a 10-minute drive from our house. Rachael enjoyed the services and her interest in God peaked. She decided she wanted to attend Mt. Carmel School. Unfortunately, there was a waiting list. Rachael prayed at least once a day to ask God to grant her wish.

Please make space so I can go to Mount Carmel School.

Sometimes, she added a convincing reason. Within a couple of months, her prayers were answered. Each school day she wore a turquoise gingham uniform, a white blouse and black and white saddle shoes. Each morning she checked to be sure she had her prayer book in her backpack.

The few months before I began my job, when David and Rachael arrived home, I’d have much to tell about my explorations of the island. One day I went to the fabric section of a local department store and had the salesclerk cut several yards of tropical fabric for curtains. I stopped when I estimated that the total cost of