It's surreal how one doctor's visit could change my life forever. I always try my best to never show my emotion or cry in public. But that day at the doctor's office, I cried. In between sobs, I learned about my dismal prognosis.
I have a terminal illness. I'd be lying if I say I have accepted it. I'm angry and frustrated. At the same time I'm sad and heartbroken. I'll never be cured, no matter what I do. I've read somewhere or heard someone say that a cancer diagnosis is not a death sentence. But to me it is.
"It is important not to "need" what you are calling to you but rather to have a certain detachment about it. Let it be all right if it doesn't come, or if it comes in a different form than what you expect. After you have asked for something, surrender to whatever comes as being appropriate." - Sanaya Roman & Duane Packer
I'm diagnosed with an incurable cancer. The oncologist gave me 1-2 years to live. And if I chose not to undergo chemo treatment, I will only have less than a year. Each passing day brings me closer to my "expiration date". Funny how that sounds. I'm not some canned goods or product on a shelf that gets thrown out when it reached or go past its "best before" date. I chose to undergo treatment. I mean, at least, I give it a try. For the sake of my family, especially my mother. Chemotherapy is a double-edged sword. I'm basically poisoning my body with the hope of killing all those stupid cancer cells and stop them from spreading. The downside is I'm now vulnerable to a whole new world of complications. Either way, they're out there to get me. I once asked the oncologist what's the point of undergoing chemo treatment when I'm going to die anyway.
Plans were changed. My sister and I decided to go home. Our brief visit was a welcome relief for me. For two weeks, I didn't have to think that I have cancer. Everything seems normal and life goes on. But when it came time to tell my mother, I find it difficult and heartbreaking. My mother is the most kind and selfless person I've known. And I didn't want to cause her grief with my situation.
I was raised to believe in God so as expected, I have these one-sided conversation with Him in my head. I even asked, why me? Did I mess up that bad to deserve this punishment? I think I'm being punish for whatever reason, I have no idea. Perhaps, I have not live my life as expected of me.
My life is not perfect. I am not perfect. But I love my life and I love being alive. Never once that I feel sorry or regretted being alive. And I'm always grateful for my parents for having me. I think what's hard for me to accept is that I'll never go back to my old life--- I mean, my life without cancer. Eventually, I will depend on someone to help me. My quality of life will diminish. I'll never get to do the things that I still I want to do. ( Like, climb Mount Everest, okay, that's a joke. ) It tears me up when I think about this.
Sometimes, I think it was all just a bad dream. That somehow when I wake up the next morning, all is good. Then I glanced at my arm and see the needle mark and bruise, from my recent treatment. And I know its real.
So, what's next for me, you might ask? I'll try to still live each day. I guess that's the only thing I can do now. I can't make plans anymore. Each day that I still get to wake up is a good day, I suppose.
"The most obvious thing might be an impulse to frantic activity: to " live life to its fullest", to travel, to dine, to achieve a host of neglected ambitions. Part of the cruelty of cancer, though, is not only it limits your time: it also limits your energy, vastly reducing the amount you can squeeze into a day. It is a tired hare who now races. And even if I had the energy, I prefer a more tortoise like approach. I plod, I ponder. Some days, I simply persist." - Paul Kalanithi
