Update - 6 years later

It has been six years since my battle with breast cancer and I'm hoping, nay ... praying for many more six years to come ... and go. The trouble with Big-C is that you do not know for sure. You need to be constantly vigilant for it might return. Might. 

Might is something that could except that the probability of might, in my case, is a tad higher.

Take the time when I had chapped lips some two years ago. I thought nothing of it at the time but when the problem recurred, the might occupied my mind. What if ...

The soreness began at one end of the lips and spread to the rest of it leaving, in its wake, dry cells which hurts. The pharmacist prescribe a dose of moisturizer which should settle the matter. It did not.  Old Dr GP said it was a viral infection and a cream was prescribed. It settled the matter until the next recurrence. Someone mentioned honey so I applied them to my lips. It did not help so I went back to the cream Dr GP prescribed. And my lips were fine until the next recurrence. I noticed a pattern in the recurrence. Fried food stuff. It usually appeared after I ate anything fried. A couple of days ago, I ate some fried buns for lunch and on the following morning, the dry lip whatchamacallit returned. My neighbor told me of her friend who had the same problem. Aloe vera was the solution. I got me a stick of aloe vera, remove its outer skin and wash off the yellow toxic sap. The inner core was a pulp rich in gel. I applied this gel to my lips and the soreness went away. The might and what-ifs temporarily took a back seat.

Then four days ago, I drew up my hair in a tight clasp to prevent them from falling all over my face. At the end of the day, my scalp became sensitive, almost like inflamed. I was ill tempered on account of the discomfort. The scalp hurts when I brushed my hair with my fingers. It hurts when a light breeze tousled my hair. The might and what-ifs returned. A brain tumor perhaps? Old Dr GP said its due to trauma and prescribed some painkillers. We'll see if the pain goes away. In any case, one must be vigilant.

Are my hormones giving me all this trouble, I wondered. The oncologist had taken me off the hormone medication since December of last year. Although the usual hormone treatment is for ten years, mine was reduced to five because there were no conclusive evidence to show that a ten year treatment would make a difference in my case.

The retired teacher (mid-fifties) sat next to me at the Oncology Clinic. We were waiting for our number to be called. The hospital was packed with unhappy patients. We exchanged pleasantries and spoke about our issues. A young girl (late twenties) seated behind us tapped our shoulder to ask about our food regimen. And so we talked some.

All three of us had had our mastectomy done. The retired teacher had opted for a reconstruction by plastic surgery. The surgeon had replaced her breast with fatty tissue taken from the back of her shoulder. This meant she had to endure the pain from two different area on her body. It had been 2 years since the reconstruction.

"Does it hurt still?" I wanted to know.

"Oh yes. The pain comes and goes, even after the two years." she replied.

"Would you recommend this reconstruction to anyone?"

"I wouldn't. The pain isn't worth it. I only did mine because it was free."

From here, we shifted our attention to the young girl seated behind us. She opted for a reconstruction too. Then again, she's young and had every reason to do so. The surgeon remove fatty tissues from her belly to reconstruct her breast.

"They took the fats from my stomach area and moved my belly button a few inches up" she remarked.

We were gob-smacked and the look we gave her prompted her next response.

"It is true. They shifted my belly button a few inches up from its original position. I can show you."

Her magnanimous offer cleared the doubts from our minds as each mulled quietly over this new intelligence.

What a strange world we live in.

A couple of months ago, someone told me about Mr Leather-Bag. He sells affordable luxury handbags for a living. Now Mr Leather-Bag had a hormonal imbalance which made him slip in and out of high fever over a considerable length of time. Several specialists, MRIs and two hospital tests later, they diagnosed him with fatty tissue cancer. He died.

Over at the gastroenterology clinic, the professor sent me for a FibroScan of the liver.  (I passed the test, by the way.)  Here I met Mr Abstinence, a well built man in his mid-fifties. Mr Abstinence had been struggling with elevated liver enzyme for years. His case so perplexed the specialists that he was one of the patients in their case studies. He abstained from alcohol. His diet and exercise routine was controlled. Supplements were eliminated from his diet. He did not respond to the usual treatment.

He was sent for the FibroScan because the professors wanted to see the state of his liver. His elevated liver enzyme had gone down significantly.

"How did that happened?" I wanted to know.

"Daily food abstinence for at least 16 hours,"  he told me as he told the befuddled professor and his team.