Ode to the fight
I cannot forget that I’ve battled cancer. I now take a pill for 21 days and then I get a week off and then I’m back again. I’ve been doing this for 39 cycles. That’s a total of 819 pills of Lenalidomide filtering and meandering in my system since late 2016. I’m still a rookie in this biz; I know individuals who’ve had myeloma for years and have been on maintenance treatment for nine years. My oncologist told me that his longest ‘serving’ patient with myeloma lived into his early 80s having had the disease for over 20 years. Multiple Myeloma is not curable, but it is treatable and can be managed. I consider myself lucky and grateful. This is my new normal — it does things to you.
I cannot forget that I’ve got a chronic condition. I’m not alone. There are very very many of us who carry a condition (cancer or otherwise) as we do our thing. That’s the important bit, being able to, ‘do our thing’. I’m getting on with ‘my thing’ and I’ve shared this before on this space and in person, that cancer leaves you differently. I’m not the same person who was in the Aga Khan University Hospital, hoping that I had Pulmonary TB. I’m not that guy anymore. This guy is a list of many things now, but more so a student of life. This guy has been laid bare, bald and broken. This guy lives, loves and laughs more than he thought he could. This guy is a reluctant soldier and is part of the C army that is full of less or full of free. It is colourless, ageless, tribe-less, free of class or sexual orientation, free of religion or free of nationality. This army spans the world and it is an army that many are scared of.
This army guarantees you a personal experience, with your own weapons, tactics, and scars that will leave you with your own unique story. The journey will get you your own custom made medals. This soldier is a lot more grateful, graceful and gay. You decide which meaning you’ll derive from the word.
My friend Eva, asks who are we to know the journey of cancer? Like everybody, I hurt and hate the news of a cancer diagnosis. The other day, I waited anxiously on a friend’s report on their test results for their own battle. The other day I put a reminder on my phone to wish a friend all the best with their chemo session. The other day, I was telling someone else to juice, exercise and preached that fatigue can be beaten- because this guy was and is not beaten, he still hopes. Yet, even with all the hope- the other day wasn’t a day I wanted to hear about another cancer patient, their diagnosis or their death. I didn’t have the energy to care. It can get too much. Between all the hope and battles won, I am reminded in those fractured moments that despite remission I am still enlisted and the enemy still exists…still lurking, tirelessly drafting and unwantedly reappearing.
I cannot forget. My emotions yo-yo, just like everybody else’s, but in the C army, our emotions yo-yo even more! I’ve struggled to look at my post and pre-treatment photos. I didn’t want to be reminded. I will talk and share about my experience, but I couldn’t look at my own journey. When I do catch a glimpse of those photos as I scroll through my phone, I get shocked that I was that sick. I may not have looked like it often, but remember a picture is worth a thousand words. I almost remember every month vividly and recall my state of mind at that time. Today I told myself to look at my post-transplant photos. I took in my bald head, naked face and new eyes. I remember, replay and reflect.
There is the temptation to end this on a high note…. but I’m not in the phase right now. I needed to put this down on virtual paper because there’s anger, sadness, and helplessness. I have no words or means to protect my fellow soldiers who’ve been pushed reluctantly to the front lines or are facing an onslaught on their flanks. I can only speak my truth and not forget that I’m still in a fight.
