1. The beginning of what felt like the end
To my darling daughter,
You often ask me why I went away and left you at home with your grandma for a few days. You ask why I don’t pick you up and toss you up in the air now. You ask why I don’t carry you around in my arms. You ask why I don’t pick you up from school or take you out on playdates with your friends. You ask me why I no longer have glossy straight hair that you loved so much. When your older self reads these blogs by your Mum, you will know my reasons, what I was going through, and how I tried to give you a childhood as normal as I could, given the circumstances. I hope you will draw strength from my story, knowing your mother fought on bravely and stayed strong while her world was crumbling.
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I had heard of a lot of stories of people suffering from Cancer, seen a few patients in my extended family closely, who had suffered. Some of them triumphed in their fight, some did not. But I always thought that Cancer was something that happened to other people. I don’t know why, but I always had the confidence that I was fine and something as grave as Cancer could never strike me, for I had a healthy and balanced lifestyle.
When I first discovered the lump in my breast, I was flabbergasted. I Googled my symptoms and found that it may be transient and waited for my full cycle to complete before I checked again. The next few days and nights were spent wishing the lump away. But that day did not come. After fretting over it for a few weeks, I finally went to my doctor. She examined me and pronounced it as a benign lump, much to my relief. That proved to be my undoing, as I would discover later. I believed what I wanted to hear. An ultrasound categorized the lump as a Birads II, seemingly benign, but had a few ‘living cells’, so the clinic that tested, recommended an FNAC, commonly called as a needle biopsy. I went for it, but the results were inconclusive. Finally, it was decided that a General Surgeon would extract the lump or perform a ‘lumpectomy’. The extracted lump would be sent for a biopsy to further confirm that it was, in fact, benign.
Never, for even once, did I suspect that the converse could be true. The surgery required an overnight stay at the hospital and I left you in your grandma’s tender love and care. I was back on my feet almost immediately and kept waiting for the results of the biopsy. The report was expected in 3–4 days, but the lab kept advancing the due date every time I called them. I was growing restless.
My hands trembled, while I read the report on my desktop. The terms were confusing, to say the least. The only words I recognized were ‘Carcinoma’ and ‘grade III’. The eyes were moist but tears refused to flow out. I pulled a chair and sat down. My shaky fingers typed out words into the Google search bar to understand the meaning of the report. I was just thankful to have something to do with my hands while my brain worked overtime to process this information. I could hear your Dad sitting down on the sofa, breathing heavily. He had read it while peering over my shoulder. Your Grandma asked, petrified, “What does it say?” “I have Cancer,” I said, in a tightly controlled voice. I could hear her sobbing into her saree, while I kept my gaze fixed on the screen before me. She almost stumbled out of the room to tell your Grandpa. That we were shattered, would be an understatement.
I thought I had Stage III cancer. It was only later that I found out that grade and stage weren’t the same things. One by one, I called my brother and sister to convey the news. Thankfully, they were able to control their emotions while I conveyed the news. Mom held me tight while I sobbed into her shoulder. I promised myself at that very second, that this would be the last time I showed any emotion in the presence of my family, for there was a long and arduous battle ahead of us, that would take every bit of our resolve to win.
