June 30th 2024.
It wasn't Big B, but Big C that first introduced itself to us some time ago. We never received an invitation to KBC, but unfortunately, a most unwelcome visitor, BC, came knocking at our door. It was a shock for my mom, who was always diligent about self-examinations and regularly performed them, to discover a small, berry-like mass in her right breast. Suddenly, our family conversations shifted from the usual topics like the weather and politics to discussions about chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and the challenges of surviving cancer. We were thrust into a difficult journey that cancer had chosen for us, with my family now facing off against stage II Ductal Carcinoma of the breast.
Amidst all the confusion and questions of "why us?", we were faced with a barrage of tests and investigations. Following the recommendations of surgeons and oncologists, and even suggestions from my doctor father's friends, we underwent all the necessary and unnecessary tests. My pathologist daughter also demanded a few tests, and we even threw in a couple of hearsay tests. We were determined to leave no stone unturned in our quest for my mom's cancer-free diagnosis. With my twelve years of knowledge in cancer biology, I thought I would have a better understanding of the situation, but when it came to my own mother, I felt like I was at a loss.
Surgery was definitely on the table, but the idea of mastectomy seemed too extreme. Despite my mom's initial fear of losing her femininity and appearance, she eventually realized that letting go of society's narrow definitions of beauty was ultimately in her best interest. Thankfully, the unbiased onco-surgeon agreed with her and saved the day, or rather, her breast. The tumorous lump was successfully removed, and my mom's sense of dignity remained intact.
As for the test results, there were some good and not-so-good news. I've seen patients go into denial when faced with a cancer diagnosis, which always bothered me as delaying treatment can have a negative impact on the outcome. Ironically, I found myself in denial over the bad hormone profile shown in the reports, doubting the accuracy of my dad's trusted lab. I repeated the tests at my own trusted lab and even at a third lab approved by the government, but unfortunately, the results remained the same. It seemed that the cancer cells were cleverly hiding and avoiding detection, and we needed to come up with a strategic plan to contain and eliminate them. This felt like a war, with us using all our resources to find and target the enemy cells, while also trying to minimize collateral damage to my mom's healthy tissues. It was a daunting task, but we were determined to win.
During this challenging time, we found ourselves seeking out stories of cancer survivors and sharing them with each other. We also made plans for post-therapy celebrations, like going to my mom's favorite restaurant and taking a family vacation to Vietnam. It may seem strange, but these little things helped us cope with the looming shadow of cancer. As Mahatma Gandhi once said, the human spirit is indomitable, and we certainly drew strength from it. I, for one, even found comfort in swallowing some of that strength myself.
We had to prepare for the upcoming chemotherapy, marking the dates on the calendar like important festival dates. My mom's new diet plan involved cutting out most fried and fermented foods, as well as anything raw, refrigerated, sugary, salty, processed, or packaged. Our dietician even suggested we ignore the fridge, microwave, and other modern appliances and stick to a more basic way of cooking. We complied with all the restrictions, focusing on a diet rich in antioxidants and free-radical quenching foods. If our dietician had suggested growing and harvesting our own food, we would have done it without hesitation.
Meanwhile, my sister, who was living far away, was closely following the developments on the cancer front. Despite our efforts to persuade her not to come, she arrived with a heavy heart, carrying her luggage and a super active five-year-old. Her presence brought a boost to everyone's morale and gave my mom the strength she needed to embrace her new lifestyle.
We didn't meet Big B, but it was Big C that came into our lives some time ago. We didn't get invited to KBC, but instead, BC, a very unwelcome visitor, showed up at our doorstep. It was a shock for my mother when she discovered a small lump in her right breast, especially since she was very knowledgeable about self-examinations and regularly performed them. This 2 cm tumor changed our family's conversations from discussing the weather to talking about chemotherapy, state politics to state-of-the-art precision radiotherapy, and surviving poor air quality to surviving cancer. We were suddenly thrown into a difficult journey that cancer had chosen for us. It was my family against Ductal Carcinoma of the breast, stage II.
Beyond the initial shock and questions of "why us?", there were a slew of investigations that awaited us. We went through every necessary and unnecessary test, as mandated by surgeons and oncologists, recommended by my doctor father's friends, requested by my pathologist sister, and a few based on hearsay. We all wanted my mother to be free of cancer, and for our own consciences to be clear of any possible negligence. Despite my 12 years of knowledge about cancer biology and behavior, I felt completely lost when it came to my own mother's diagnosis.
Surgery was inevitable, but the thought of a mastectomy seemed too radical. However, my mother eventually realized that letting go of society's narrow and conventional standards of beauty was in her best interest. The unbiased oncologist agreed and saved the day, or rather, the breast. The tumor was removed, and my mother's sense of dignity remained intact.
As for the test results, there were some good and not-so-good news. I have seen many patients in denial when diagnosed with cancer, and it always frustrated me because it often leads to delayed treatment and affects the prognosis. Ironically, I found myself in denial when my mother's hormone profile showed unfavorable results. I even doubted the reliability of my father's trusted laboratory. I repeated the tests at my own trusted lab and at a third lab recommended by our government. Unfortunately, all the results pointed to a lack of target cells for my mother's chemotherapy. The cancer cells were cleverly hiding, and we needed a strategic plan, similar to a war strategy, to contain them and eliminate any hidden cells. This would involve extra tests, advanced methods of detecting receptors, gene sequencing, brainstorming with molecular biologists, and a few promising results. However, there was still a chance that chemotherapy could be a gamble, and there would be collateral damage as with any war. Some of my mother's healthy tissues would also be affected by the toxic effects of the treatment.
In the midst of all the chaos and some moments of clarity, my family and I found ourselves unconsciously seeking out stories of cancer survivors. We would often share these stories with each other, and even plan post-therapy celebrations at my mother's favorite restaurant and a family vacation to Vietnam. It was our way of coping and making the looming shadow of cancer seem a little less daunting. As Mahatma Gandhi said, the human spirit is indomitable, and we drew strength from it. I, too, found strength by taking in some of it.
We marked the chemo cycles on our calendar, as if they were special dates, like festivals. My mother's diet had to undergo a major makeover. Most fried and fermented foods, as well as raw and refrigerated foods, sugary and salty foods, and all processed and packaged foods were off-limits. The dietician even advised us to ignore the presence of our fridge, microwave, and other kitchen appliances. We were now fully committed to a diet that focused on antioxidants and free-radical fighting foods. If the dietician had asked us to grow our own food, we would have probably considered it.
Meanwhile, my sister, who was living far away, was closely following every development in the "cancer war." Despite our attempts to persuade her to stay away and not worry, she couldn't resist and eventually arrived with her heavy luggage, a heavy heart, and her energetic 5-year-old son in tow. Her presence was a morale booster for all of us, and she gave my mother strength to continue with her new lifestyle changes.
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