Misasja, mida kõik ned pressitu saepuruplaatidest suured kastid meie õuel teevad? Neid on ju üle kümne? “Sa pead endale igal nädalal ehitama oma isikliku Geisha kasti, kuhu sa Geishaks riietatuna sisse ronid,” vastas hääl mu seljataga.

See mees nägi välja nahu pikkade juusteda Ott, aga ei olnud tema, nagu pikkade juustega David, aga ei olnud tema ka. Siis oli temas natuke Elvist, natuke meie tuttavat endist Boulangerie omanikku, natuke laste Ukraina “vanaisa” Vovat, natuke Kung Fu Panda multikast seda vana õpetajat ja üllataval kombel mu kadunud onu Kalmerit. See tegelane oli osa nesit kõigist – ta oli tark, kogenud, näinud hauatagust elu ja tema hääl oli väga rahulik.

Võtsime esimese, selle nädala Geisha kasti. Ma olin pisut kohkunud, sest keegi teine ju ei teandud midagi. Aga tegime kasti lahti. See oli nagu kapp, kus tuli paika panna ja korda teha 4 sahtlit. Üks neist pisut suurem ja pidi mahutama mind, teised kolm väiksemad ja mahutama asju, mille võtan endaga hauatagusesse maailma kaasa. Aga need osad tuli kõik mul endal kokku panna, mingi veidra Geisha-maagia abil. Soperdasin siis käteda mingeid arusaamatuid liigutusi teha ja see nn minu kastiosa sai paika.

Soperdasin veel natuke ja valmis said ka teised osad. Kast nägi iseenesest välja lihtne, hele nagu oleks valmistatud kasepuidust. Aga, mida siis sinna kasti panna? Selgus, et kõige ülemisse kuulus Geisha parukas. Aga mul ei olnud seda. Pidin sinna siis panema oma lemmikmütsi. Sirli kootud valgekirjulise mõnusa lötu.

Teise kasti panin kunagi aastaid tagasi Reeda poolt mulle kingitud Alice’i Imedemaal temaatikaga päeviku, kus olen täitnud kuupäevi erinevatel aastatel. See on üks mu lemmikpäevik, mida pean, sest Alice lihtsalt on Lumivalhõgekese kõrval mu kõige lemmikum muinasjututegelane.

Kolmandasse kasti panin ühed ema kingitud kõrvarõngad ja türkiissinise Itaaliast sünnipäevakingiks saadud kaelakee.

Neljandasse panin ühe kalli punase pidukleidi, millega olin kavatsenud keemiaravisse minna, aga kahjuks ei lähe see mulle selga. See pilt on pildi peal. Üldiselt ei ole mul näiteks hirmu selle kleidiga kasvõi niisama muuseumisse vüi sõpradega restorani einestama minna.

Sest noh, arvestades minu praegust eluõppetundi, siis “If I’m going to feel like crap, I might as well look fabulous doing it”, või nagu Paris Hilton on öelnud: “Life is too short to wear boring clothes.”

Mulle endale tuli selga ajada Geisha rüü. Kui see oli valmis tuli mul ronida kasti ja jääda ootama, kas suren, või väljun sealt mõne aja pärast elusana. Kogu see askeldamine tundus mõnevõrra kõhe, aga ära ma selle tegin. Ronisin hommikukoidu ajaks kasti ja jäin ootama. Mu kõrval seisis truu valvurina Lissaboni piirkonna parima Itaalia Grilli BOH! omanik ja kallis sõber Rui ja teisel pool uskuge- või mitte Johnny Depp. Nii me siis ootasime seal.

Vahepeal arutasime, kas peaks kastile kaane ka peale lükkama. Aga kuna kirkas päevavalguses olin ma ikka veel elus, otsustasime, et ok, sel nädalal ma ei sure. Ronisin kastist välja, vahetasin riided, võtsin esemed karbist, lammutasime selle ja lõpuks ülakorruselt alla jõudnud David sai ainult rõõmustada, et näe, meil on materjali Jaanitule jaoks.

Paraleelselt ajasid eelmainitud tegelased: David, Elvis, Ott ja kõik teised taga mingi laiali kukkunud kasti osi taga. Kogu meie hoov oli neid kaste täis ja nad olid paanikas, sest arvasid, et kaotasid ühe “legojupi” ära.

Aga neile tulid appi Helin, Triin, Anneli, minu ema, Patrick, Lea, Jorge, Helen, Sirli, Karen, Cleelia, Eva, Rodrigo, Rui, Jaan, Kadi, Margus, Annemari, Eda, Olev, Ljuda, Misha ja Mariia ka. Aed ja maja oli rahvast ja Geishade suremiskarpe täis. Algas kummaline võistlus selle üle, mis asi väärib mingisugusel nädalal suremiskarpi minekut.

Ma mäletan, et eemaldusin sellest massist karpidest ja inimestest ja mõtlesin ühel hetkel, et kust see suremise teema nüüd tuli. Sain ju hiljuti ühe šamaani kontakti, kellega pidin ühendust võtma, Alles eile tegime Cleeliaga plaani, et mis on mu järgmised väikesed sammud ja meie järgmine keemiajutt. Ma ootan seda suure põnevusega!

Kus see suremine nüüd nii aktuaalseks sai. Kas nemad ootavad seda? Kas mina ootan seda? Ei, see hirm on mu alateadvusest pesitsenud alates biopsia kuupäevast ja radioloogi ilme nägemisest, mis pärast iga mu küsimust järjest rohkem loppi ja õnnetult segadusse vajus.

See hirm, et mis siis, kui ma ei tule sellest välja ja surengi ära. See hirm, mille viskas Elsa välja nähes Amazonist saabunud pakis oleva t-särgi kirja “Triple Negative Breast Cancer Warrior” ja karjatas ehmatusest: “Kas sul on Cancer? Kas sa sured siis ju ära?”

Ma tutvusin lähemalt selle surmahirmuga öösel pärast boipsiat, kui olin juba Eestis. Olin ema juures ja magasin elutoa diivanil. Õigupoolest ei maganud väga. Mõtlesin erinevate stsenaariumite peale. Mõtlesin sellel, et mis saab siis kui ma ei tule sellest välja. Kui nad ütlevad, et mul on jäänud pool aastat elada. Kui mul on jäänud veel vähem aega? Või mul on jäänud mõni aasta elada.

Ehk siis nedne unes ehitatud Geisha-kastide juures on oli oluline tajuda ja mõista seda, et mul on praegu rinnavähi üks kõige karmimaid ja kiiremini kasvavaid vorme. See on kolmiknegatiivne ja põletikuline: see tähendab, et tavalised hormoonravid ei tööta, vähk kasvab kiiresti ja võib levida märkamatult. Ja ongi juba levinud vähemalt lümfisõlme.

Sellepärast antakse mulle topeltannus keemiaravi ja immunoteraapiat. See on väsitav, halb on olla, aga seda tehakse põhjusega, et oleks üldse lootust. Et vähk kaoks. Et ma saaksin elada. Et ma näeksin oma lapsi kasvamas, et ma saaksin veel reisida, oma abikaasaga aega veeta, oma sõpru ja pere kallistada.

Kui see ravi ei toimi hästi, siis on võimalik, et ma ei ela kaua. Mõned ei ela isegi viit aastat. Statistika ütleb, et umbes 30–40 inimest sajast jäävad ellu.

Aga kui ravi mõjub ja vähk kaob, siis on kõik võimalik. On neid, kes elavad veel 10, 15 või 20 aastat. Mõni isegi terve elu.

Kas see vähk võib tagasi tulla? Jah, võib. Eriti esimese 2–3 aasta jooksul. Aga ka siis on olemas ravi. Mind jälgitakse pidevalt ja kui midagi muutub, tegutsetakse kiiresti.

Ma tean, et see on raske. Aga ma ei mõtle ainult protsentidele. Ma mõtlen sellele, et ma olen mina. Ja ma võitlen. Iga päev. Mitte ainult enda pärast – vaid ka nende pärast, keda armastan. Mul pole aimugi, kui palju on teid, kes te mind päriselt armastate ja kes te mind päriselt omaks peate, või paljud teist üldse mu matustele kohale tuleks, aga… ma olen võitleja. Kui ma varem olen võidelnud oma pere eest, siis nüüd võitlen enda eest, et neil oleksin mina. Et ma ei kaoks, et ma näeks veel pikka ja ilusat elu.

ENG

“What the heck are all these giant boxes of pressed sawdust doing in our yard? There are more than ten of them!” I asked.

“You need to build your own personal Geisha box every week, one that you climb into dressed like a Geisha,” a voice behind me answered.

The man looked a bit like long-haired Ott, but wasn’t him. A bit like long-haired David, but not quite. He had a touch of Elvis, a dash of the old Boulangerie owner we know, a sprinkle of the kids’ Ukrainian “grandpa” Vova, a whiff of the old wise master from Kung Fu Panda, and, oddly enough, a bit of my late uncle Kalmer. He was a mix of all of them – wise, experienced, someone who had seen the afterlife, and his voice was calm, soothing.

We approached the first box: this week’s Geisha box. I was a bit startled, since no one else seemed to know anything. But we opened the box. It was like a cabinet, and it needed to be set up with four drawers. One was larger and meant to hold me, the other three were smaller and meant to carry the things I’d take to the afterlife with me. And all of this had to be assembled by me, with some strange kind of Geisha magic.

So I flailed around with my hands, making some mysterious gestures, and somehow managed to get my part of the box in place.

I fumbled a bit more, and the other drawers came together too. The box itself looked simple, light – like it was made from birch wood. But what was I supposed to put in the box?

Turns out, the top drawer was meant for the Geisha wig. But I didn’t have one. So I placed my favorite hat in there instead – the soft, white-and-grey knitted slouchy one that Sirli made for me.

In the second drawer, I placed the “Alice in Wonderland” themed journal that Reet had given me years ago. I’ve filled it with random dates over the years. It’s one of my favorites because Alice, alongside Snow White, is my all-time favorite fairytale character.

The third drawer held a pair of earrings my mom gave me and a turquoise necklace she got from Italy for my birthday.

And in the fourth drawer, I placed a dear red party dress that comes from Carolina Herrera fashion house – the one I had planned to wear to chemo, but sadly it no longer fits me. It’s captured in a photo.

Honestly, I wouldn’t even hesitate to wear that dress to a museum or out to dinner with friends. Because considering my current life lesson, “If I’m going to feel like crap, I might as well look fabulous doing it.”
Or in the wise words of Paris Hilton: “Life is too short to wear boring clothes.”

I had to put on the Geisha robe myself. Once I was ready, I had to climb into the box and wait – to see whether I would die, or come out alive after some time. The whole ritual felt slightly eerie, but I went through with it.

At dawn, I climbed into the box and waited. Standing guard next to me was Rui, the dear friend and owner of BOH! – the best Italian grill in the Lisbon area. And on the other side, believe it or not – Johnny Depp. So there we stood, waiting.

At one point, we discussed whether we should close the lid of the box. But since I was still alive in broad daylight, we decided – okay, this week I won’t die.
I climbed out of the box, changed my clothes, took out the items from the drawers, we dismantled it, and when David finally came downstairs, he was delighted to find we now had firewood for Midsummer’s Eve.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned characters: David, Elvis, Ott, and the rest were frantically searching for some scattered box parts. Our whole yard was full of these boxes, and they were in a panic, thinking they’d lost one vital “lego piece.”

But then help arrived: Helin, Triin, Anneli, my mom, Patrick, Lea, Jorge, Helen, Sirli, Karen, Cleelia, Eva, Rodrigo, Rui, Jaan, Kadi, Margus, Annemari, Eda, Olev, Ljuda, Misha, and Mariia all joined in.
The garden and house were full of people and Geisha death-boxes.
A strange competition began over what was worthy of going into this week’s death-box.

I remember stepping away from the crowd and the boxes, and at one point I wondered where this death theme had suddenly come from.
Hadn’t I just recently started to make plans to be connected with a shaman I was supposed to follow up with?
Hadn’t Cleelia and I just made a plan for my next baby steps and our next chemo chat? And it is a damn good plan!

So, how did death suddenly become so present?
Are they expecting it?
Am I expecting it?

No, that fear has been nesting in my subconscious since the day of the biopsy and the expression on the radiologist’s face – which grew increasingly heavy and confused after every question I asked.

That fear – what if I don’t make it through this? What if I actually die?
That fear was screamed into the open when Elsa saw the “Triple Negative Breast Cancer Warrior” shirt I got from Amazon and blurted out in shock:
“You have cancer? So that means you’re going to die?”

I became intimately familiar with that fear of death the night after my biopsy, when I was already back in Estonia. I was at my mom’s place, sleeping on the living room couch. Or rather, not sleeping much.

I was thinking about different scenarios. Thinking about what would happen if I didn’t make it.
What if they tell me I have six months to live? What if it’s less? What if I only have a few years?

So, with those Geisha boxes built in my dream, the point was to truly feel and understand that I am currently facing one of the harshest and fastest-growing forms of breast cancer. It’s triple-negative and inflammatory, which means that regular hormone treatments don’t work, the cancer grows rapidly, and it can spread without much warning. And in my case, it already has—at least to the lymph nodes.

That’s why I’m being given a double dose of chemotherapy and immunotherapy. It’s exhausting, I feel awful, but it’s being done for a reason – to even have hope. Hope that the cancer will disappear. That I get to live. That I get to see my kids grow up, to travel, to spend more time with my husband, to hug my friends and family.

If the treatment doesn’t work well, there’s a possibility I won’t live long. Some people don’t even make it five years. Statistics say about 30 to 40 out of 100 survive.

But if the treatment works and the cancer disappears, then anything is possible. There are those who live 10, 15, even 20 years more. Some even a whole lifetime.

Can this cancer come back? Yes, it can. Especially in the first 2–3 years. But even then, there are treatments. I will be monitored constantly, and if something changes, they’ll act quickly.

I know it’s tough. But I’m not just thinking about percentages. I think about being me. And I fight. Every single day. Not just for myself, but for those I love. I don’t have an idea how many of you actually love me or take me as a friend and would show up at my funeral, but… I’m a fighter. If I’ve fought for my family before, I’m now fighting for myself, so I can be there for them. So I won’t disappear. So I get to see a long and beautiful life unfold.

If you’re with me, it means more than any doctor or percentage could ever say. As long as I have fighting spirit, I’ll keep writing down these strange dreams, where I build Geisha boxes to await departure at sunrise, only to wake up groggy and grateful that, thank heavens, it was another false alarm.

I look at life differently now. I take every good day as a gift. I even take the bad days as a gift—a gift that teaches me. Teaches me, perhaps, to focus on myself, to listen when someone says, “Please take a break.” And honestly—I don’t want to die yet. I want to get better. I will get better! I’ll live a long life! I’ll run a half marathon! I’ll be a great mom to my kids and a great wife to my husband! I’ll be a great friend to all of you! I’m learning something from this. That I promise!