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kiyuso
☕ Partially active. Just blogging down my messy thoughts for the record and future references. Also a story writer, typically concerning my gays. I don't particularly have any interests. It's more like, if something piques my interests, I become infatuated or obsessed.
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When you're young, you think you'll be untouchable by the hands of cancer, but the disease can claim anyone at anytime. Sometimes, a disease does not choose you, it comes to you regardless of the time or circumstances. It was the fall semester of my second year in college and I was slowly growing frantic about the lumps appearing across my chest by the day. Every night I'd fall asleep and wake up with twice the amount of lumps. Some weren't painful, but they were an angry red and so firm that they could be seen over my clothes. It took me several weeks before I got them looked at, hoping that they would just go away on their own. As life would have it, they didn't and for fear that it would worsen I finally sought help. This was the start of my journey. I saw many doctors. Delayed help for myself. Then I was misdiagnosed five times before my actual diagnosis. After that, I spent a year in denial before I actually sought treatment. The first doctor merely took a look at my chest, felt the lumps, and slapped my diagnosis on the table and promptly left the exam room for her next appointment: back and chest acne. The second doctor took a look at my medical history and went through the same physical examination as the first doctor, except my lumps at this point were receding: lymph nodes responding to stress. The third doctor implicated that my one stubborn lump that wouldn't go away after months was a sign of breast cancer. The fourth and fifth doctor confirmed the diagnosis, but after a lab work suggested by the fifth doctor's colleague, but results came back negative for breast cancer. My lymph nodes were reacting to my immune system fighting to something else not breast cancer, but bone cancer. After the epic failure of my misdiagnosis', that doctor's colleague officially took over my case. He's been my oncologist ever since and for the foreseeable future. I was barely 20 when my medical records became permanently tainted by the words cancer. The doctors felt it was too young to even consider such a diagnosis with the type of cancer I had. Even I felt like it was false news to my ears. My doctor urged me to seek treatment immediately with how unstable the cancer was for someone not an adolescent. Instead of heeding his warning though, I thought if I ignored the problem long enough it would go away. I found excuses to my follow-up appointments with schoolwork, extracurricular activities and work. I threw myself into my classes, but when I found my grades slipping because I couldn't focus or lacked motivation when exams came around, I turned all my focus into my work at the editing office. It was approaching a year and I hadn't even informed my family of my diagnosis. I didn't want to scare them, and I especially didn't want to let my mother down. All my life I had problems with my health, and I felt like this would've been the cherry on top to every health complication I've ever had. For a year, I rolled around with the idea of cancer in my head. Playing out my prognosis and death like my friend before me who died of brain cancer without telling a single soul. In my pensive moments, I felt it a fitting way to go even though I raged and cried at his funeral about why he did such a thing. Now I was living in his last moments and thoughts before he carried it out like a hypocrite. However, bottling so much for so long can only have catastrophic results. By the start of my fifth semester, I was literally bone weary and ready to lay down and never wake up. Baron, my boss at the editing office and rock during my journey, noticed my diminishing effervescence. It didn't take much probing on his part to get me to spill everything, a simple question and genuine look of concern made me into a gibbering mess of tears, snot, and mush. I was tired of pretending everything was ok. My grades had been failing, there was no motivation for me to muster to even attend my courses, I just moved into a house with a bunch of former floormates that felt more uncomfortable than the dorms, and there was no peace from my mind even if I closed my eyes. I was constantly plagued with this growing, gnawing feeling that felt anywhere from falling off a cliff to drowning in the pitch dark ocean to mourning so much at a funeral you can't breath or get up on your own two legs (the only experiences I have ever encountered that can equate to how I felt during that time). Baron immediately took charge of my life at that point. He scheduled every single appointment himself and drove me to them to make sure I wouldn't even consider running away ever again, did whatever means it took to list himself as my emergency contact and caretaker, moved me out of the house I was living with into a better situation (that evidently was just as worse by the end of the next semester), and made sure I would wake up every day feeling better about myself and the situation. Baron might've done some things that I felt invaded my rights and privacy, but at that point in my life I felt like that was what I needed to get me out of rock bottom. I wasn't willing to get myself out of there and he must've feared for the worst for me when he truly saw the light of things. Even before all this, Baron and I shared a relationship that equates to father-daughter, and it must've grown tremendously during this time. He must've feared and mourned losing a daughter that may have not been his own, but the closest thing to it. When I think back to this time, how hard he worked to get me back to who I was before, I'm consumed with so much gratitude, respect, and regret for this man. The lengths that he went through to make sure I could look back and forwards on this proudly touches my heart so painfully. It's not everyday someone is going to care that much, and I question it every day how I deserved his salvation. Ewing Sarcoma. I could score the world wide web and ask every oncologist about this cancer and I still wouldn't be well informed about my own disease. There is no definite understanding of a cancer, and I learned this first and foremost after my experience with it. Cancer is constantly growing and changing, just like you and I. Most doctors fear cancer because it is a disease that cannot be truly defined and confined. They hate how its a disease that will never leave their patients body and mind. And they most definitely hate delivering the news about how their patients cancer was beyond their estimation, fumbling with their words how to explain to us citizens that sometimes something is out of the realm of definite and possibility because it cannot be categorized, no matter how hard we may try. My first treatment dealt with a localization of the cancer. The treatment plan for it was a simple chemotherapy regimen that didn't interfere too much with my life. I refused radiation therapy with it because I still wanted to continue my life as a college student and work leisurely (since Baron didn't allow me too work overtime at all). My doctor understandably agreed with my request. However, not even a year later, I relapsed and the cancer came back. Immediately, the radiation therapy was added onto my treatment plan. I was in constant pain during this time. I spent long hours in a humming machine that made my skin pulse and throb like something was trying to get out of my body, my skin. The needles and catheters used left scars that made me insecure about my body, mutilating the delicate skin of the radiation site. Sleep was hard because I couldn't lay on my side without pain shooting throughout my body. Even sharing a bed with someone was difficult to bare, fearing a kick or mere brush near my hip would send me into a gasping, shivery mess. It was also the start of something I should've noticed before it spiraled me into the bloody mess Baron and Martha later found me in though. I found an addiction to the pain I felt sometimes. At times I'd deliberately roll over onto my side that was tender so I could gasp intensely in pain, try to feel something that I felt I was lacking most days. It was like I was alive during those short moments of high wheezing, dry heaving, and delirious laughter. I don't honestly know where my mind was at that time, but it must've felt like I could return to consciousness when I felt intense pain. I vaguely remember being in the clear for a mere week before my cancer returned once again with a vengeance. I do, however, remember my doctor being upset, not at me, but the cancer and his role as my oncologist. He felt as if he failed me in my treatment and future. The two of us weren't personally close by any means, but he knew my desire to finish college timely and the treatments have always been fashioned around that goal. We both knew it wasn't going to be easy, but we also came to a mutual understanding about how important school was to me and my health to him. However, his suggestion for a surgery would not be able to oblige that. I would be out of school for a week at least and months at most. I couldn't afford to miss that much time. I already had to withdrew at the end of the semester so as to not risk my failing grades affecting my GPA anymore than the past year has; inevitably I was behind track. I spent almost a year deciding and debating whether or not to get the surgery, living in a limbo as my cancer ate at me. All the while, I still followed a strict treatment plan to prevent the cancer from spreading further. The doctors feared if I didn't receive the surgery soon the cancer would spread to vital parts of my body. They feared my lungs the most and even stressed that the longer I delay I could risk infertility with how close the site of my tumor was in conjunction with my reproductive organs. Stubborn as I was, I had hopes I could finish this last year of my undergraduate and then commit to the surgery. However, I was sorely wrong. The dazed state the treatment plans left me in could not allow me to focus on school, let alone my exams. I was failing my classes spectacularly even though I was attending every single one without a pinch of absence. If I kept going at this rate, I would be behind by two years. Everybody around me reasoned for me to hurry and get the surgery, that taking a leap year wasn't going to hurt anyone or anything. But the only thoughts that kept running through my head during their suggestions was: how would I explain this to my mom? She would become suspicious if I suddenly took a year off. I hadn't even told my family yet about my cancer. I kept pushing it off like I did everything else in the past. I was too scared to face up to my cancer and family at the same time. I didn't want to deal with her disappointment, frustration, and the fallout we would most likely have because of it. After all, I went to a college somewhat far away so I could escape her. I wanted to live independently and freely, and maybe I feared that if I told her that freedom would be revoked and I'd have to come back and live with her. In the end, I took the surgery because I started obsessing over the term 'normal'. I wanted to have a normal life where I could do well in my classes like I did before this all started. A normal life where I could have a boyfriend and be a proper girlfriend that consisted of physical contact and not just social gratification. A normal life where I wasn't a stranger to myself more often than not. A normal life where I could actually hold an appetite and eat whatever I want without fear of being able to keep it down or not. A normal life where I don't dread going to bed, and especially waking up. At this point, normal was whatever my life wasn't currently at that point in my life. So with that firm normalcy ringing in my headed before the surgery and after it, I finally agreed to the hip replacement surgery. I'd like to note that deciding to go forth with the surgery was also not an option for a poor college student such as myself, even if I worked as an editor and made a lucrative paycheck since I didn't even any health insurance! There was an unlucky incident where I left the company briefly to take a break, but because of a lawsuit during my absence the company reformed their policies. So once I returned to the company, I was not eligible to qualify for their health benefits until a year of commitment to the company. Baron fought tooth and nail with admin, the board and CEO for my sake, grieving that my commitment to the company for all these years should be more than enough to allow me to qualify for health insurance. The company held firmly to their new policies though and turned the both of us away. We were both devastated. Perhaps because they knew my situation and weren't willing to pay for my surgery, or perhaps they were truly turning over a new leaf after that lawsuit. Either way I'll never know. All I know is that this was a huge road block in my journey. Surgery related to cancer is expensive. Replacement surgeries themselves are extremely costly. I would be paying hundreds of thousands out of pocket for this surgery if I got it that year, but time was not kind and if I waited I would've live for long. Many of my friends and coworkers heard of my dilemma and they organized FundMe's for my surgery, and even though it didn't collect much in comparison to the actual cost of the surgery, the sentiment touches my heart deeply. I'd like to take this moment to thank every one and anyone who spared any thought or donation towards my time of need, and especially to Baron who paid for the rest of the surgery in its entirety. I wouldn't be here this day without his support and generosity. I owe him my life and so much more. I don't know what I did to deserve his sincerity and kindness. After the surgery, I surprised my doctors and everyone with who quickly I recovered and returned to my every day activities. A little over a week I was back in my classes and working with much vigor as if I wasn't a cancer patient for years, as if I was normal. And I certainly tried to feel normal after my hip replacement. Like a placebo effect too, I started feeling normal. I was getting better grades. My mind's clarity was clearer than if had been in years. I could initiate intimacy with my boyfriend at that time without fear of my mind, body, and pain taking flight. I wouldn't have to take anymore bottles of pills, stuffed into the back of my underwear drawer or socks in fear of people judging me. I wouldn't be haunted by this diseases anymore. I could finally be at peace, if only a bit. But let me tell you, your battle with cancer is not with the disease itself, but yourself. Along the way, cancer battered my ego and body, and I've had to reform the both of them so many times. I was never the same person each time I built myself up. Along the way I'm certain I've lost many parts of myself, and I'm just now reacquainting myself with some of them. I suffered from severe forms of anxiety, insomnia, and depression. I found excuses in them for everything like I did in the past, as if I didn't learn the first time. I lived cowardly and excused some of the things I did as a part of my cancer and mental illness when truthfully it was just me living willfully. I don't condone some of my behaviors in the past, especially if they've ever brought harm onto anyone, but I also want to let other people know that that doesn't excuse you to take advantage of them. The most important thing is to educate yourself on the diseases and situations that surround you every day so you can articulate more accurately on how to approach something or someone. Sometimes you'll have to be careful and thoughtful around some, other times you'll have to be brash and straightforward, other times you'll just have to remove yourself from the situation if you feel like you can't do anything without bringing harm. I'm talking about all the people who have been fragile around me as if I was going to break, and I couldn't stand that about them because I was itching to be normal. I'm talking about all the instances I put myself in that position where I elicited that from people because I was bearing my vulnerability fragility with hopes of being comforted. I'm talking about all those times Baron barged into my life, dictating everything from my schedule down to what I ate for dinner. I'm talking about how without that I would've been an even more slobbery mess without that. I'm talking about the time when my best friend and now ex-boyfriend left because they couldn't understand me or be what they thought I needed. I'm talking about how that ruined me because they neither communicated to the me, who was just finally moving on in her journey, their proper feelings and thoughts, leaving me to piece them all myself how I will. All I'm saying is that we shouldn't take a disease at its face value. Just like how cancer is ever growing and changing like I am, and you are, the people around you are also. So we should all look to try our best in doing our best in that situation so we don't live our life in regrets. Because I know I do, but I try my best now and I hope that's what will count from here on out. |