This is a series of pieces I've written on three separate days, concerning my condition (Primary Mediastinal B-Cell Lymphoma) - physically and emotionally - and general thoughts.
Friday, October 27th, 2017, 10:22 PM:
Yesterday, I had a throbbing headache that would come and go. It felt like my skull was too small for the ticking time bomb that was my brain. It lasted all night too. I woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn’t help but cry a little. The idea that my headaches were a symptom of the cancer spreading to my brain couldn’t escape my mind.
You see, after my cancer diagnosis –headaches or a mundane sickness just isn't that anymore– but probably signs of something much more concerning. This goes for all cancer patients too, even survivors. Just like my cough was a result of the lymphoma growing in my blood vessels, my facial swelling was a sign of my blood clotting. A fever is a sign of infection, hair loss is a sign of chemo doing its job, and fatigue is a sign of the immune system weakening as treatment progresses.
While in the back of my mind I knew that it was the four hours of sleep that I had gotten for the past five days and the hours past midnight of studying I've done at the library, I still couldn’t help but shake the feeling.
Thankfully, with 13 hours of sleep and four aspirin pills, I think we’ve successfully diffused the bomb. I’ve realized that my body simply cannot handle the stress and overwork I’m used to putting it through, but it’s okay. Everything will eventually be ok.
Saturday, October 28th, 2017, 03:28 PM:
It’s all about the small things.
On many days, I’d wake up and forget that I was battling cancer, or that I had chemotherapy scheduled in five days. I’d walk around and enjoy the rare sun we get here in Seattle. I’d go to class and listen to my professor go on about John Locke’s Second Treatise of Government with passion and enjoyment – my political science class is my favorite.
However, the small daily tasks that have been added to my rather typical schedule always brought me back to reality. The numerous pills I had to take in the morning for instance, or having to pick up my hair from the floor, my clothes, and even the shower drain before class. My father has to even vacuum the apartment several times a day because of how much hair I'm shedding. Sometimes I have to go up flights of stairs or walk uphill, and my lungs simply can’t handle it, so I have to take multiple breaks. I also have to inject myself twice a day now with blood thinners, since a new blood clot was found on my recent CT scans.
It is rather difficult to feel normal, and as I watch people walk down the streets or sit in the same lecture hall as me, I wonder if they feel “normal”, or if they’re going through the same thing as I am. Having cancer may make you feel isolated and lonely because at first, it seems like no one really understands what you’re going through, but the first step is to talk about it. Your friends and family might not be going through chemotherapy, but they surely can understand and ease things a little.
Don’t hide or shy away from it.
It has become part of your life, and the sooner you face it, the sooner you’ll be able to look at the positive side of what may seem like a heavy burden.
Monday, October 30th, 2017, 3:13 AM:
Today, it’s all about the smaller, happier things.
My hair situation was getting out of control. I was balding from one side of my head more than the other, and I was spending 30 extra minutes every morning to clean up the mess behind me.
I got dressed and declared to my dad,”I’m going to shave my hair today.” I may have just saved him the trouble of sweeping the apartment for hours after I leave for class to clean up my hair too.
God works in mysterious ways, let me tell you this. I walked to a salon across my apartment building, hoping to shave the less than 10% that was left of my hair, really it would take five minutes to take the rest off. They told me they were too busy and that I had to book an appointment.
Desperate to rid myself of this burden, I decided to go to the barbershop next door, and I am so grateful that I did.
I met the wonderful hairdresser, Nicole, who had her hair dyed green and it looked amazing. She took me in ever so kindly, and upon sharing my story with her, she shared her frustrations and was familiar with lymphoma as well. Nicole has an aunt who is going through cancer too, and she takes her to almost every appointment when she’s not busy taking care of her daughter, who is only two years old but is already learning three languages.
As she was finishing up, I couldn’t help but look at my reflection in the mirror and tears rolled down my face. I was a different person now, and “I have cancer” was branded across my forehead.
My father rushed to comfort me, telling me I was even more beautiful bald, and I couldn’t help but smile. Nicole also showered me with encouraging notes and let me see the positive side of it. Shorter showers, no combing, and no styling either.
Well, maybe there’s a good side to it after all.
As I gathered up my things, I took out my wallet to pay, but Nicole refused. She said it was free of charge, and that I was going through enough. I insisted, embarrassed and overwhelmed by her kindness, but she absolutely refused. She hugged me, not once but three times! I loved her already.
Such a pure and sweet soul, she left a mark I’ll always remember. Nicole is unforgettable, extremely positive, and compassionate. She is humane in every way possible. I hope she is blessed and always well.
Sidenote: Give Nicole a visit if you ever need a haircut or a person to talk to! She works at Rudy’s Barbershop on University Way in Seattle.
