I Had Stage III Cancer At 23 and 3 Books That Kept Me Surviving After

14 years later, a story just in time and never too late.

“You are the books you read, the films you watch, the music you listen to, the people you meet, the dreams you have, the conversations you engage in. You are what you take from these. You are the sound of the ocean, the breath of fresh air, the brightest light and the darkest corner. You are a collective of every experience you have had in your life. You are every single second of every single day. So drown yourself in a sea of knowledge and existence. Let the words run through your veins and let the colors fill your mind until there is nothing left to do but explode. There are no wrong answers. Inspiration is everything. Sit back, relax, and take it all in. Now, go out and create something.” — Jac Vanek

I do not know what I am supposed to do in life since cancer, but all I know is to show up in life every day, be the best authentic version of myself and create something positive.

I am 37 this year. I am a single woman living in Singapore with my family of 7. In the Western world, this might seem weird, but over here, this is a norm for a single Asian woman.

I also grew up living with a big extended family. We shared spaces, household chores, and values. We learned how to be supportive, respect each other’s decisions and celebrate every birthday or holiday over food. When we have personal troubles, we share them over dinner and talk them out. Sometimes, it intimidated me to speak up as they are more vocal and strongly opinionated people. Their self-assurance also scared me to speak my own truth.

When I first found out I had cancer on Sept 13, 2007, I just ended a toxic 4-year relationship. He was 10 years older than me and of a different race. My mother did not like that I was dating him. In the last 2 years of the relationship, we were having lots of heated quarrels, and it would almost always end up with him hitting me.

I did not go home as I was in pretty bad shape. I kept all these from my family. I did not want to bring more problems back as there were other family issues going on. I wanted to keep that good girl’s image, like every daughter would, Asian or not.

At the turn of a new year in 2007, I finally decided to end the relationship. I wiped my tears and dusted off every memory that reminded me of us. I made a pact with myself to forgive him and myself. I was also determined to get back in better shape.

I ran, swam, and cycled for hours every day. I hiked for 3 hours every weekend. I signed up for Asia’s first women's triathlon too. I got into pretty good physical shape but I never took time to look into my mental and emotional state. No one told me to do so.

In the middle of 2007, I noticed a small 0.5-inch lump on my left neck. It was painless to touch. I still appeared super fit and tanned. No one ever guessed anything was wrong with me.

3 months went on, and that lump did not go away. I still wasn’t worried. But my parents suggested that I accompanied them to their weekly visits to our TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) doctor. For some reason, I accepted and went ahead.

The TCM doctor highly recommended that I went for further check-ups at the hospital. He described our neck with the iceberg analogy.

What we saw as a 0.5-inch mass on my neck was just the tip of an iceberg. Because of the structure of my collarbones, there laid a deeper “hole” beneath it. His face looked bothered, I could tell he was imagining the mass to be 4 times bigger. My parents became worried but the positive mindset in me felt otherwise.

I opted to see doctors in public hospitals as the cost was heavily subsidized. Things happened pretty fast once I made an appointment with a doctor at one of the local public clinics.

• I met with an ENT specialist in 2 weeks.
• I then had a Fine Needle Aspiration (FNAC) which came back inconclusive.
• The specialist also ordered a simple biopsy and a day surgery was subsequently scheduled.

I still didn’t’ think much of it since it was a day surgery. I even assuaged my parents not to worry. I would head to the hospital and back home on my own after the surgery was done. I was young and healthy. Nothing could get in my way.

But something I often said during the relationship quarrels kept emerging at the back of my mind.

“At this rate that we are quarreling and fighting, I’m not surprised that one day I am going to be really sick with all that amount of stress and negativity my body is facing.”

Yet what was supposed to be a day surgery turned out to be a 21-day hospitalization stay.

According to the doctor, some of my lymph vessels had burst during the surgery, which was inevitable due to the mass sticking on the vessels. He also said I would return for another biopsy.

On September 13, 2007, a few days after the biopsy, a new doctor came in and said that he had good and bad news.

• The Bad news — I had cancer, specifically Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.
• The Good news — Hodgkin Lymphoma is a very treatable cancer and many patients have gone on to live very normal lives after treatment.”

I was casually doubtful about the diagnosis because not only did I feel fit, I was also probably the most health-conscious person in my family. Yet the doctor confirmed my medical diagnosis again. I didn’t shed a single tear throughout the entire time.

Since I needed to be hospitalized to monitor the recovery of my burst lymph vessels, it was the perfect timing for the necessary tests to be carried out to stage my cancer. I was also referred to an oncologist and put on a completely non-fat diet till the vessels heal.

The doctors who came on their daily morning runs often laughed with me that I got a free “liposuction” and how oxymoron the situation is because I was already within a healthy weight range, of 100lbs at a 5ft2” frame.

L-I-F-E, right?

Soon within days, after all the CT, PET scans, blood work, and a bone marrow spinal aspiration were carried out, my cancer had a stage name to it — Stage 3A Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

The course of treatment: 6 cycles of chemotherapy with ABVD. (Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine, Dacarbazine)

Each cycle consisted of 2 ABVD visits spread over 4 weeks, which meant the entire course finished in 6 months.

I had to skip my maiden race and discuss with my doctor my first chemotherapy date, as I needed time to “tie” up loose ends at work.

The dreaded question all cancer patients face

Through the 24-weeks of chemotherapy, many people often asked how I felt.

Honestly, I wasn’t scared at all. I felt mostly tired and hated when the ulcers came. The pain was unlike in this world, maybe short of childbirth pain.

Instead, the first thing that came to my mind when the news dawned upon me was, “S***, how am I going to tell my mum this time? There is no way I can avoid not her knowing!”

After the diagnosis was confirmed, I called one of my aunts to tell her the news. It was 4 in the afternoon. Over the phone, I relayed to her my concerns about breaking the news to my mum. “She is going to freak out. Is there a way not to tell her?”, I said.

My aunt replied, “Don’t you worry about her. Are YOU okay?”

Gosh, I hated this question. How was I to answer truthfully? I mean I was alive talking to her, but I had cancer now, so how would I know if I would be okay?

Silence loomed over the phone for about 10 seconds, before I released a cry, took in a deep breath, and said I am okay.

I guessed the reality of the news started to sink in.

She said, “Ok, I am leaving the office and going to the hospital now.” I wanted to stop her, but she had already hung up.

More questions

One late night during my hospitalization stay, I got up and walked around as I couldn’t sleep. I sat on a chair outside the nurses’ station. A nurse came up to me and checked if I was alright.

I said, “Yea, I am.”

“Can’t sleep huh?”, she asked.

“Yea”, I said.

“Are you scared or worried?”, she asked empathetically.

“Honestly, nurse, I don’t think so. I’m not sure what to feel also.”, I replied.

But at the back of my head, I still remembered the words I said to my ex — “at this rate that we are fighting, I won’t be surprised that I will get really sick.”

I guessed, words have so much power we don’t realize. That was the first time I truly believe in the power of the words we speak, the thoughts we hold, and the stories we tell ourselves.

Other patients who fight and fought

I didn’t read much while I was in the hospital. I spent most of my time observing the other cancer patients in the haematology wards. I watched many of these patients, who have been fighting their blood cancers for years, most of them almost twice my age.

One was given 6 months to live. She was tall and skinny. She burst with life whenever she could stand. She walked around, made jokes and all the nurses would laugh. Such a positive spirit for a dying body.

One morning, the bed beside me was cleared. I wondered what happened. In the afternoon, a new patient replaced the bed. She was a jovial and spirited lady. She immediately chatted with me.

“You are young!”

I said, “I guessed? I don’t know. How old are you? What are you in here for?”

We both laughed.

She mentioned she was in her early 50s and had a form of blood cancer that needed her to come in every few months. She called herself a “frequent flier” of this same ward and went on sharing about her life.

She pointed to the bag of fluids hanging beside my bed. “What are you having?”

I said, “Potassium”.

“Ah, that stinks”, she went on.

“Kinda”, I said.

Then she said, “I am going to have that tomorrow too and you probably won’t hear me joke as much now. Haha.”

I chuckled.

The next afternoon, she was rolled off to do some spinal tap tests. She shared with me yesterday that she hated the feeling after the test.

I recalled my spinal aspiration experience and didn’t feel it was that bad. Then again, I only had to do it once and I was a young 23. She had to do this every few months and was more than twice my age.

They say when you are much younger, your body’s capacity to withstand pain and to bounce back from any ailments is so much faster. I supposed so.

Hours later, her bed rolled back. And all I could hear from then on into the night, was her moaning in pain.

I felt the fragility and unpredictability of life right there and then. I felt her suffering and agony. I wanted to get up and rubbed her back to tell her she’s alright, but my body was just too tired.

I wondered what was life for me after my treatment ended. I wondered what am I to do in life? I wondered what all these meant?

I had always felt I was so fortunate to have this cancer, if I ever were to have cancer, Hodgkin’s Lymphoma would probably be the best cancer to have, with such a high prognosis, recovery, and survival rates.

I didn’t have to go on lifelong medication. I didn’t have to pay exorbitantly high medical treatments. I didn’t have to do any major surgery or radiotherapy. In many ways, I felt like this cancer was just a big flu bug that required a radical approach to treatment. I was ahead of my time.

It was also exactly how I answered when others asked me how I felt about my cancer episode — a question I am sure many cancer survivors often get.

But,

How do you make sense of living and dying?

How do you make sense of why cancer happened to you?

How do you make sense of your identity as a “before/after”?

To me, it is still just a big flu bug that needed a bit of radical treatment and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Besides, these days it seems that cancer is normal. But what is normal does not make it alright.

It wasn’t the cancer days that took me hard, but the days after. Because when you survived cancer and passed the 10-year survival period, you start to wonder again what is living? What is time? How many 10 years do all of us get to live? 10 years may seem long but they do go by pretty fast.

The books that I hold close to my heart weren’t for fighting through cancer, but life after cancer, even till this day, 14 years on.

These 3 books in particular always make my heart tug and tears roll. Because words do matter as I came to experience them. Here are some of my favorite quotes from these authors.

1. “For One More Day” by Mitch Albom

“I also believe that parents, if they love you, will hold you up safely, above their swirling waters, and sometimes that means you’ll never know what they endured, and you may treat them unkindly, in a way you otherwise wouldn’t.”

2. “The Last Lecture” by Randy Pausch

“An injured lion wants to know if he can still roar. It’s about dignity and self-esteem, which isn’t quite the same as vanity.”

3. “The Art of Communicating” by Thich Nhat Hanh

“Once you can communicate with yourself, you’ll be able to communicate outwardly with more clarity. The way in is the way out.”

May these 3 books teach our hearts and souls how to treasure the one life we have, the many chances we survived, to live fulfilling authentic lives, and most of all, to communicate well with ourselves and others, especially our loved ones.

Merry Blessed Christmas everyone. 🎄 And have a healthy New Year 2022.

Author’s Note: This was originally written for a cross-collaboration with an owner of a substack newsletter for October, however, we did not move forward due to overloaded work schedules. I decided to publish it here this season.

This story was also inspired by Caitlin Flanagan’s I Tell You The Secret of Cancer on The Atlantic

and also by a Coffee Times writer Danielle Monique and her moving story about words, forgiveness from her mum, even long after she’s gone.

If you enjoyed reading my personal stories, please consider supporting my journey by tipping me cups of tea on ko-fi. I appreciate it deeply.