Conversations

Day 2 of chemo. As the session started this morning, I got a call from Australia. It turned out to be someone I've not caught up with for more than 25 years. Quarter of a century, think about that. It was a short call but it reminded me that there are lots of people out there who cares and who are concerned. It is a slippery slop to isolate yourself and feel that nobody else understands. In my opinion, that is an untruth to tear down even with cancer. Sometimes other people's life experiences may be so bitter that all they are able to say to you is that they understand.

Yesterday, after I had time to download my emotions of possibly meeting my aunt, I felt ready to meet her. She came in the evening together with a few of my cousins. It was so good to see them. They were relieved to see that I was okay. My aunt reassured me that medical advancements and Jesus will get me through this. When they were leaving, my cousin sister told me that my aunt was very worried when she heard about my condition. It is not hard to understand why; she has known me right from the time I was a newborn. Sometimes, it is better to face the emotions with a bit of preparation than to hide from it.

There can be many opinions on what the best course of action is, what are the do's and dont's. Conventional or alternative, western or TCM or both. Raw salads and juicing or everything in a capsule. Every person speaks from their own experiences, each unique. I decided earlier on that I would be open to listen. At times when you are so sure about something, you want to avoid listening to views that confuses you and bring you back to the state of indecision. But if something is important enough, there is time for some indecision. Nobody takes away your decision by telling you something. I find that it helps if you ask clarifying question so that people tell you more about their own experiences. I have certainly picked up some good tips along the way.

I am very appreciative of all the messages and suggestions received. Don't feel awkward about asking me anything if you really want to. That was the reason I blog about my condition, so that we can just be comfortable talking.

Facing It

Several days back, I was trying to place my thoughts on how I felt facing my first chemotherapy session. It took awhile. I scanned my memories but nothing turned up. I wasn't screaming so dramatic wasn't what I was looking for. I was pretty positive but it would be fecicious to think it's a walk in the park. What sums it up for me? 

Two days back I found that thought. It was the memory of mom bringing me for my first visit to the dentist. I was not in school yet at that time. We lived in Old Klang Road in Kuala Lumpur and had to take a public bus to Brickfields. The government dental clinic was in Jalan Pantai so we had to take a short walk from the bus stop. And it is the image of this walk that played in my head. My mom was walking slightly ahead holding my hand. I see her back profile as she gently tugged me along. I remember asking her the classic  first dental visit question "Will it be painful?" And she gave the classic mother response "The jab will feel like an ant bite. The rest will be okay." I was still analysing but it was reassuring to hear her say that.

This morning as I was in the midst of my treatment I received well wishes from my cousin who just found out about my condition. He mentioned that my aunt, my mom's eldest sister, happened to be in town and wondered if they should visit me. My aunt reminds me a lot of my mom. They were very close and similar in many ways. I remember how she came over to visit me when I caught German measles as a child and applied egg white on my skin to reduce the itchiness. Eggs on measles, you have to try that one. I have fond memories of the Chinese New Year brunches at her home. I really do want to see her but I told my cousin that if I saw Yee Ma face to face I would just break down. It would like breaking the news to my parent if they were still around. Whatever drugs they are giving me right now, it is making me emotional.

Today, God is holding my hands. He too is walking ahead. With nail pierced hands, He too is assuring me that I am in good hands. With kindness He is telling me that He is right here in my midst. I don't have to tell Him anything if I can't find the words because He know exactly how it feels. I don't have to contain my emotions because He laid bare his emotions when He was hung on the tree for me.

Do you not know?
    Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
    and his understanding no one can fathom.
29 He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.
30 Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
31 but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint

Getting Ready

Yesterday I got into the office early. I am usually up by 6am, the kids didn't have school and there were a couple of things I wanted to finish up. The first thing I did was to put a note into my calendar to remind me of the things I had to do before I leave the office in the evening. I wouldn't be coming into the office at least for the next two weeks and possibly longer depending on how I respond to the chemotherapy.

It felt like my final day at work and I was relocating to some other part of the world. My siblings visited me, friends asked me out for lunch and dinner, colleagues popping by to extend their best wishes. One of them talked about her one-month trekking adventure in Nepal and how the thoughts of glorious Singapore food kept her going when it got really tough and demoralising. Made me laugh. Another friend took me to an organic shop because I wanted to get soursop tea. Yet another bought me a medicinal plant. Many said a prayer for me over lunch.

At home, it feels like we were preparing for a state-imposed curfew. Not quite sure what to expect, we are hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. Reorganising the responsibilities at home as well as our diet. Stocking up on supplements in case I completely lose my appetite. Bought my second son a pair of new shoes in case I am not well enough to go out when his current shoes give way. I can't override the attachment he has to his current shoes so we did the next best thing. I also bought my daughter's birthday presents in advance. I think you end up buying better presents when you are in a better state of mind. We shall see.

This morning my second son woke me up. He showed me a note and a present my elder son had left on the dining table for me. He had to leave home early in the morning for a camp at school and would be away for a few days. In his note he explained that he would not be around when I start on the chemo. He signed off the letter with "I hope this is encouraging. Love you". I think I am as ready as I can get.


"This is my Father's world. 
O let me ne'er forget 
that though the wrong seems oft so strong, 
God is the ruler yet. 
This is my Father's world: 
why should my heart be sad? 
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring! 
God reigns; let the earth be glad!"

Family Planning

On my first visit to the oncologist, he explained a number of things to me - the basics of cancer and lymphoma, the types of treatments and the do's and don'ts of chemo. He also asked me a number of questions including some which made me wonder why - what do I do for a living, how many kids do I have, their age and gender. When I was settling the bill, he asked a final question, whether I had "finished my family planning".  Besides a chuckle, I didn't hesitate to tell him that we were done having kids. But not wanting to assume, I did ask my wife when I got home that evening.

It did make me think - a single living cell can form into a complete person, and a single cell if it mutates without self-destructing can take a complete life. That is all it takes, a single cell to kick off life-altering events. Crazy stuff. I read what a doctor said in a recent Humans of New York Facebook post "The extraordinary thing is that cancer doesn’t happen more often... There are numerous fail-safes at every level to prevent mistakes. How is it possible that it ever works correctly?" 

I am reminded of what the book of Genesis records for us. In the six days of creation, God saw what He had created and they were all good. Every cell and every molecule, they were good. Not certain that everything was good looking by our current human standard, but they were all good - no mistakes, no blemishes, no 14-18 chromosomal translocation which is characteristic of follicular lymphoma. There was a time when everything was just good. I believe this and I believe that this is the reason why "cancer doesn't happen more often". Our world, although fallen, still echoes God's amazing good works. Over the ages, the not-goods of this world haven't overcome the good works of God.

Sometimes, it is easy to lose sight of the goodness of life because God exists. With all the horrible things happening around the world today, it is not difficult to conclude that there isn't a God or if he exist, he certainly isn't in control. I did it once before, I un-believed that God exist. But then some crazy stuff happened and I realised that God can speak loudly. Everything that is good speaks of God, and everything that is not as good as it can be speaks of our need for God.

Doctors Visit

I am lying on my back with which a coffee machine and a printer near my head. I've just finished a bone marrow biopsy. To stop the bleeding, I need to keep the pressure on the spot where they poked the needle. They numbed the area before the procedure but the imagery which I conjured when I felt the tugging and twisting wasn't so pleasant. The sensation of something grinding against my bone was a bit like listening to fingernails scratching against the blackboard, for those old enough to know what a blackboard is. Also, I shall have to carry the heavy burden of exposing my buttock to a female other than my wife. It's good to just say a little prayer and think good thoughts.

I did a couple of tests including this biopsy to prepare for the chemo. I've arranged for the doctor to delay the first cycle by a week so that we don't have to change the arrangements for the morning school rounds just a week before end of term. It also gives my poor wife the time to adapt to the changes during the school holidays. The practical aspects of dealing with a medical condition.

I am glad I have another week of doing what I can with the kids. More for me than for them. I will get my wife to video more of their playful and crazy moments. I hope the rest of you will do the same.

The Results

Life got a little more complicated for me early this week. The biopsy I did more than a week back indicates that I have lymphoma. Although the final report is not out yet, the tests so far suggest that it is a low grade sub-type. The doctor said that if I had to have lymphoma this was the type I would want to have. I took in the news a-matter-of-factly. I don't think it was courage; I did some form of mental gibberish calculation in my head and concluded that this was going to be okay but quite inconvenient. There is a fine line between optimism and denial, and I am not quite sure which side I am on.

Today I had to explain to my two younger kids why we may have to cancel our family vacation to the UK in June. My son asked me what the doctor needed to do to me. I explained that they had to give me a strong medicine to kill the white blood cells that have turned into mutants. He understood and hid his disappointment well. We agreed we will get a Lego set instead.

I don't have the benefit of knowing what lies ahead in life. This is my detour and I have to let my faith be my sight in these unfamiliar terrain. I take comfort that Jesus knows exactly what I am about to go through. I am also glad He has an answer for me whichever way this story unfolds. In the mean time I am going to follow my daughter's stern reminder a moment ago. She wanted do have some milk and I asked her to ask Mommy. She said "Didn't Jesus give you these legs? Can't you walk?" So I got up and got the milk for her. I shall march on with whatever God has given me.

Thanks for the overwhelming support I have received and please keep me and my family in prayer.

Day Surgery

I always thought that biopsies were keyhole procedures. When the doctor suggested the procedure, I assumed that he would just be sticking something into my neck whilst I sat quietly in his clinic. But he explained that it was a day surgery involving sedation, and I would be in the operating theatre. So yes I would be quiet but no I wasn't going to be sitting upright. But I am not wimpy - I have been in an operating theatre twice before and faced it calmly. Watching my two younger kids being yanked out from my wife's abdomen during c-sections isn't something that everyone can stomach so I consider myself initiated.

Although this was supposed to be a fast and simple procedure I was nevertheless conscious of my mortality. I took a good look at my three kids and wife before I left home in the morning. They are precious and in good hands. The rest of the day at the hospital gave me a lot of time to gaze at the ceiling. I went to the hospital in shorts, t-shirt and flip flops but even then I had to change into something more basic. The nurse's instruction was to change into the blue operation gown, put on the disposable "panties", and remove the watch and all jewelleries. I thought she was generalising when she referred to "panties", but later I realised that maybe she wasn't. I guess I wouldn't be the first guy wearing one. It really puts things into perspective. Whatever you think you own and however good you think you look, you can't bring any of this into an operation. Perhaps a glimpse of what entering the pearly gates is like, you don't get to talk about what a superstar you were or what you owned.

I always wondered what it would be like to be sedated. Would it feel like I would struggle to remain consciousness as consciousness is taken away from me, like in one of those spy movies? Would the doctor check if I was conscious by asking me if I was conscious? And what if I felt conscious and wanted to tell him not to start? In my case, he asked me if I felt anything, and I said yes as I was beginning to feel a need for a good nap.

This was a minor surgery and I wasn't particularly anxious, well maybe I was anxious about whether they would serve me the chicken porridge I ordered for my post-op lunch. But lying on the operating table, looking up at the many clusters of operating theatre lights, I was reminded that the membrane between this life and the next is paper thin. This life is real, so is the next.