Six chemos later…

It has been five months and six rounds of chemo (sixth and last round on 28^th Feb) since my diagnosis during which I have the luxury of “me time” spent in reflection. From unsettling thoughts to insightful discernment, there are things that I used to say but they are now uttered with conviction and reverberate through every part of my being.

I’m referring to my relationship with my life and mortality.

I know very well that being sick and dying happen to everyone, that nothing is permanent. However, they were always other people’s stories. This time, it is different. Things happened to me. Although it is not terminal and I’ve declared myself a survivor, this first person view has put things in better perspective and advanced my relationship with life and mortality.

After the diagnosis, news or articles of death relating to cancer disturbed me. When I read studies on cancer survival rate, I felt I’m part of the statistics. I don’t know whether this is a common symptom among cancer survivors.  What it did to me was striking me with a sudden wave of anxiety at the thought of death. I couldn’t explain why it was so terrifying. On hindsight, I now realize that it was the first time I had a glimpse of the finishing line. We all know we are going to die one day but it is always a remote idea. Very few had the opportunity to come so close to the finishing line, even if it’s just in their mind. It’s like we have been on a cruise to a destination which the arrival date is unknown. The journey feels like forever and we identify ourselves as a permanent passenger more than a traveller. Along the cruise, we learn from and indulge in everything our senses could feed us, form relationships, accumulate treasures and memories. This is the only world we know. We are too occupied with it we forget about the destination or what happen when we get there. After all, it is a strange and far away land. So, we continue to cruise. I’m on the cruise having the time of my life when somebody shouts the land of my destination suddenly appear in the horizon. I am to abandon everything and prepare to disembark anytime. Only me. To an unknown land. The faint sight of my destination makes me nervous. For all the stories I heard about it on the cruise, I realize I haven’t been preparing myself enough for it. There is no definite date of arrival yet. Each day on the cruise will bring me closer there, I just don’t know when. And I hate surprises. This explains the anxiety I felt.

By now, I’ve learned the best way to deal with it is to make peace. Make peace with mortality. I have to say, seeing it so up close is very from different from knowing it. It is a reality vs an idea.

The reality started to sink in after I saw a video shared on FB. It wasn’t something new but it struck a chord with me at just the right time. Death is a natural phenomenon, just like sickness. But it strikes fear every time it’s mentioned. Our society defies death and sickness. We struggle with it. Very often, this is what makes it more unbearable than the physical suffering. People accumulate too much, be it possessions or hatred/ regret, to let go. And the uncertainty of what’s in store for them beyond the finishing line makes it scarier.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_56UYN10bA

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oycJE_FUSzo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0Jd4hJBwHg

The fact is we don’t suddenly become peaceful at the moment of death. It is how we live that builds up to the last moment. Perhaps I should add; it is how we live, fully aware of the finishing line that builds up to the last moment. Note it is how, not what. Living to the fullest to me doesn’t include how many countries I’ve visited, whether I’ve done bungee jumping and skydiving or tasted all the rare delicacies.  What is more important is, am I fully there? Am I fully there to experience the richness of my emotions? I vividly remember the feeling I had when I took a sip of the hot soup during lunch alone in a shopping mall and another time while watching my two cats playing. I don’t have enough vocabulary in me to describe but it just felt…”that’s all I need right now”

Although I can proudly say I have not wasted my life, I now have a deeper appreciation in living it. 

Presence and authenticity. Living with them have enriched my life in ways more than I could imagine. At the very least, being whole and fulfilled are not just words now. I can feel it. I feel so light and yet grounded by a strong sense of “being”, as opposed to this feeling I once described as walking on the street but felt “not fully there” as if a part of me has been locked away in a safe.

I like where I am now in my journey. Being aware of the final destination but not knowing when I’ll reach makes enjoying it the best thing to do. I look forward to exploring the rest of it. I treasure the connections with my fellow travellers. And I can imagine I’ll continue to grow as I sail on. When I feel safe and loved, the transition is not so dreadful anymore. Because I’m home already. It is the very purpose of the whole journey.

Celebrate life (epiphany from the chemo centre)

Prior to my first chemo, I mentally prepared myself for a scene of grim and sombre looking people at the chemo centre and determined not to be affected by it. Contrary to what I imagined, I was cheerfully greeted by the staff and most of the patients there. Probably because we are on the same boat, we can easily strike a conversation. Whether it is a direct interaction or through my sis who is my ambassador, there is always a sense of camaraderie and air of optimism. We share our medical conditions, the side effects and exchange ideas of the antidote, and sometimes a word of encouragement to each other.

Some of them are in more advanced stages. There is a woman with breast cancer more the five years ago and had since metastasized to her lungs, brain and ovary. I learned of her condition from my sis who chatted with her. She described them in a matter-of-factly tone. My sis said she didn’t see any traces of resignation or anguish in her expression. Although look a bit thin, she’s still going strong and is capable of taking care of herself. Another man who has fourth stage prostate cancer which spread to his bones was there with his wife on my last chemo. According to his wife, he was told to have only a few months to live but it has been more than three years now.  For him, it’s still life as usual; eat well, sleep well and travel occasionally. He certainly doesn’t look sick to me.  What I see in them is not desperation to prolong their lives. I marvel at how they live with such courage despite the flag at the finishing line waving at them in the horizon. The difference is they see theirs while most of us have yet to notice ours, not that they aren’t there. Sometimes we don’t know how strong we are until we come face to face with a crisis. It takes courage to face it and facing it gives us more courage.

And there’s these two women who are in their last lap of treatment. Both are looking forward to celebrating their “graduation”. It seems to me that it is more than celebrating a graduation. I somehow feel we have all intrinsically learned to celebrate life. Being shown the hard truth of our own mortality is a good wake-up call to examine our attitude towards life which can be taken away anytime. That calls for an urgency to live it well. Instead of worrying when will be the end of it, we celebrate each day by living it.