中Cancer-free.
In layman conversations, we often hear how some cancer patients have won their “battle” against the disease and were crowned as “cancer warriors”. In contrast, those who unfortunately lost their lives to the disease are sometimes described as “losing their (long) battle against cancer”. Either way, patients are portrayed as fearless fighters or warriors on the frontline of the battlefield, regardless of the outcome of the “battle”.
Attack and defence; casualties; one shall stand, the other shall fall —— aren’t these what battles are about? And there should be some sort of military strategy too, with the end goal of winning the battle (or war)?
In pre-ninja days, my modus operandi when solving difficult problems in life and at work was to be the “warrior queen” in combat mode, full armour on, rising to the challenges and never letting the problems get the better of me. Yet, in the face of the uninvited ninja, I never put up any fight. I didn’t even have the intention for confrontation. Why?
That’s because I never saw the ninja as an enemy.
In the early days of being introduced to the ninja, it was a scientific conundrum to me, for things like the parapharyngeal space, tumour type, or how surgery is conducted are all outside my area of expertise. Once I had a grasp of the science, I gradually developed the view that the ninja is in fact a messenger delivering a critical wake-up call: what I thought was a well-balanced life with managed stress was far from the truth; the body is complaining and if its cries are ignored, future consequences could be direr. Don’t shoot the messenger, right?
As for radiotherapy, even though the side effects were way more severe than expected, they were not totally out of the blue. Their visit was unwelcome but not quite unannounced, so they also didn’t count as “intruders” that needed to be fought off.
Rather than warfare, I negotiated with my own body. I sought appeasement. The “business as usual” lifestyle was no longer a viable nor sensible option, so I had to change. It’s a little late, but better late than never. I hadn’t reached the point of no return and there was still room for manoeuvre.
I don’t see the point of turning my body into a battlefield. It had suffered in silence for some years, and extra conflict wasn’t going to improve matters, thank you very much.
The prolonged sick leave was the perfect opportunity for the negotiations. Away from the medical treatments and recovery, my life went into slow motion. I had the headspace to think about what ideal life I should pursue once the side effects are all resolved.
While negotiating, I also got to witness biology in action. Take the operation as an example. Isn’t it amazing that the human body could be opened up surgically for whatever that needed fixing, then stitched up like that, left no scary bleeding, and healed provisionally in a matter of days, as if it’s as simple as needlework on garments? Of course operations are the bread-and-butter of modern medicine, but my amazement at the magic of opening and closing an incision remains, just like how I feel as a passenger in an aircraft taking off. Like surgery, flying is not rocket science, with numerous aircrafts around the world taking off every minute pre-COVID-19. Yet, it still moves me that a plane loaded with cargo and passengers can be safely lifted into the air just by the revving of some engines hanging under specially shaped wings that work with the rules of aerodynamics!
Moving on from the visible surgical wound to invisible radiation, the latter didn’t create any bloody scenes, but quietly caused substantial internal damage that definitely wouldn’t heal in just a few days. Yet, all other major organs out of the path of radiation were pretty oblivious to what’s going below my nose and above my neck, and carried on functioning as normal! Somehow the organs managed to isolate themselves like that, when in contrast, other diseases as ordinary as the common flu could cause more systemic trouble around the body?
Even though the ninja departed months ago, it did leave a legacy —— stern reminders that dare I play with fire by courting my body’s bottomline ever again. I’m not only referring to the permanent surgical scar, but also the elevated risks of having skin cancer and complicated dental surgery. I must be disciplined to look after my heavily irradiated skin and gum properly for the rest of my life. This doesn’t mean ruling out sunny beach holidays or abstaining from desserts, just need an extra dose of caution. Life can go on!
Throughout my cancer journey, I have received many messages describing me as a “fighter”, encouraging me to “be strong”, to “keep fighting” and “don’t give up”. I could see where people were coming from and they all meant well.
What’s closer to reality was that I was a “listener”, who had to “be patient”, to “keep listening” to my body.
The wake-up call worked. It took a massive concerted effort of the medical team, myself and those around me to de-escalate the situation. Life is far more precious to me than ever; it would be very stupid of me to squander it all away.