APRIL 2 — Naturally, the one instance when I visit a shopping centre sans my cane, I trip in such an impressive manner that all I recall is spinning about and managing to scrape both of my knees.
My mask was loose and instead of stopping to adjust it I kept walking and alas, I keep forgetting that lesson I should know by now — cancer makes you a terrible multitasker.
I recall yelling in the parking lot when all of a sudden, a large group of people rushed over to assist.
Right now, I must admit I wasn’t particularly graceful, but honestly, all I managed to do was roll onto my side, moan, and dread getting up since everything was just terribly painful.
Luckily, I wasn’t alone as my friend cleaned and wrapped up my bloody knees with disinfectant and bandages. However, I believe that even with all the bruises and bleeding, it was actually my ego that took the bigger hit. hurt the most.
Maybe the Fates are attempting to drill it into my head that my mental fortitude doesn't compensate for the need to be more cautious and embrace my new reality gracefully.
I make an effort, but occasionally I get swamped by all the other things I have to manage and the sheer pile of fresh challenges that come my way.
My hands are stiff and numb from nerve damage so I now use a TENS device, which is basically zapping them with a current to lessen the pain and slow atrophy.
My bathroom now features a shower chair due to nearly toppling over from loss of balance, and my extra room includes dumbbells since, even though I wish to remain in bed as an eternal "noodle," I must dedicate time to building strength so as not to lose additional muscle mass beyond what I've already lost.
If I had the choice, I wouldn’t leave my bed at all; instead, I’d burrow under my blankets, giving up the constant battle of maintaining health and battling this illness brought about by my own cells running rampant.
Afterwards, I recall that existence is a present.
So is pain.
Discomfort informs me that my physical form is functioning, battling, and striving to stay intact; it serves as a reminder that "In this moment, you are very much alive"—a cherished line from Terry Pratchett’s book. Small Gods .
The discomfort from my immunotherapy feels bizarre and unfamiliar, shifting around different parts of my body without ever staying in one spot.
Initially, it was my hip, but soon after, my knee started acting up, followed by my calf, my back, my bladder, my ankle, my foot, and even my hands.
The discomfort doesn’t strike altogether; instead, they appear to alternate, each one bothering me individually. As I attempt to focus on working, eating, or sleeping, the ache echoes subtly in the recesses of my thoughts.
It may appear excessively tough or even self-punishing, but I only use my pain medication when absolutely necessary, thus I simply endure the rhythmic waves of unease circulating through my frame.
Certainly, it pains me, but then I consider those who likely suffer even more and still manage to bear it—the individuals I encounter at the hospital every time, be they elderly or young, composed or restless—and I believe if they can do it, so can I.
Everyone at the hospital is simply attempting to carry on with life amid the inconveniences and discomforts, and occasionally, I wish I could encapsulate that silent camaraderie, this mutual understanding of one another’s suffering, into a pill for all Malaysians.
Past history, past beliefs, past the shade of our skin and the languages we speak, beneath it all, we all shed tears and feel pain. We should strive for each other’s well-being rather than always assuming the worst.
Although I appreciate the support and compassion demonstrated by both acquaintances and total strangers, I realize that I am fortunate.
It’s fortunate not having to argue over the phone with insurers, schedule meetings with welfare departments, or explore various forms of assistance. Yet, I can’t shake off the guilt since nobody should endure extra pain atop the ordeal of dealing with a chronic condition.
I came across a story about a young girl whose leukemia isn’t responding to her cancer treatments, and heard from a friend’s acquaintance who needs to undergo chemotherapy continuously as their cancer can only be managed but not fully cured at this time.
It’s all too tempting to get caught up in pondering the "what-ifs," "what-thens," and "how-nows." However, cancer isn’t quite so straightforward—even with current scientific understanding pointing out just two food categories that unequivocally increase your cancer risk: alcohol and processed meats.
However, the sole method to genuinely evade death is through living.
Hence, I faithfully document this prolonged suffering, hoping it might assist someone out there or at the very least, encourage others not to delay their medical appointments.
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