CHENNAI : In September 2018 my husband and I were having the time of our lives in Amsterdam. But the joy was short-lived when, I started having mild stomach aches...it gradually became severe. When I visited a hospital to get the symptoms checked, the doctors suggested I take a couple of blood tests. When the results were out, they misdiagnosed it with peptic ulcer and put me on medication that gave me no relief.
My brother who was pursuing MBBS in the Philippines asked me to take a second opinion, and get an ultrasound done. But the hospitals there had protocols and I was asked to follow the prescribed medication for two weeks. The symptoms worsened and I decided to go back home.
I came to India and went through a panel of investigations like blood tests, ultrasound, endoscopy, CT scan, MRI, PET scan and other exams. I remember the day when the doctor announced that I have an aggressive form of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Tears rolled down my eyes.
I could barely walk up to the door without breaking down. I had numerous thoughts, worries and fears. The feeling of anger was predominant. My hands trembled, my stomach flipped. I had just turned 26…was it my fault? How could I have prevented this? The ‘what ifs’ started plaguing my mind.
But there was one concern that bothered me the most — the thought of losing my hair. It was one of the biggest parts of my identity. In fact, when I visited my oncologist for an initial discussion about treatment, I had let my hair loose.
He looked at me and said: “You will lose it. But, it will grow back.” I was disturbed. A couple of days into the first phase of treatment, my hair — including lashes and eyebrows — began to fall in massive chunks...all at once. I then decided to shave it all. What I couldn’t fathom was a weird sense of shame that shrouded me. It drove me to disguise reality. If anyone rang the doorbell, I used to throw on a scarf and run into my room.
Until then, I had never been on heavy medications, hated needle pricks, and always refrained from taking tablets unless extremely necessary. It all felt new to me, but this was all part of the process.
After about three cycles of chemo, we took a scan and found that there was 70 per cent regression.
We were elated. By the end of my sixth cycle, I was positive and in fact, excited to be nearly done with the process. I began dreaming of my life ahead and things that I wanted to do after recovery. My perspective about beauty had changed by then.
Around this time, when I was confined to my room for months, I needed a distraction. So, art is what I turned to. I began sketching my cancer journey. But life threw another challenge at me. We identified a progression of cancer in my scan reports after the sixth chemo cycle. I was shattered. I had become chemo resistant.
I had to start all over again and do things that I never wanted to go back to, including a gruelling regimen of two rounds of intensive chemo followed by two sessions of lumbar puncture — where chemo is inserted through a needle in the spinal cord.
It was the highest threshold of pain I’ve ever endured. To flush my medicines, I had minor surgeries to insert ports, one peripherally on my arm and centrally on my neck — a weird foreign object that I couldn’t get rid of. It left me with a scar, a constant reminder of my battle.
For me, a lawyer who worked from 9 am to 9 pm, a person who loved meeting new people every day, to be confined to a room for months was unbearable. Life is unfair and it is not okay, but I’ve fought hard and continue harder every day.
Everything I am today is because of the love and support of my family and friends. They’ve seen me in my most raw and vulnerable moments and helped me through it. 2018 was probably my least favourite year. But, as I count the blessings I received, it truly outweighs all the bad.
Around two months ago, I was admitted to the hospital to begin my bone marrow transplant. During my isolated stay, I endured the hardest chemotherapy treatments and pain. I had never imagined that life would push me to my limits, that it would shatter me. But, it has only rebuilt me. Today, I’ve made it to 50 plus days and I can’t wait to make it to the 100th day — marking the end of the most critical time after bone marrow transplant.
Cancer changes you without a doubt. I stop and reassess how I spend my time. None of us know how much time we have on this beautiful planet. I now appreciate sunrises and sunsets because, at one point, I thought it was the last one I would ever see. Cancer is more than just a physical disease. It shakes you to the core. No matter what tomorrow brings, I’m thankful for each and every day.
During this period, I’ve had the chance to meet other cancer survivors and patients. But what struck me the most was seeing children diagnosed with the disease. This made me rethink the ‘Why me?’ question. Now I ask, ‘Why them?’. I want to create awareness about paediatric cancer. To me, it’s not about fixing their life, but about telling them that they are not alone in their journey.