Lucky fate!

Would you prefer an early diagnosis and prompt treatment to prevent illness and maintain good health, or would you opt to forgo a diagnosis out of fear of pain and potentially face dire consequences due to delayed treatment?

As for me, I would unequivocally choose the first option. Yes, I do experience fear. I dread the idea of discovering pain within myself. However, is that fear substantial enough to justify jeopardizing my life? Clearly not. So, ponder this: it's wiser to be informed early rather than waiting until it's too late. What are your thoughts on this matter?

This thought-provoking question was posed by my friend from Mexico back in 2017. He inquired whether I'd opt for medical intervention or accept the consequences of not seeking treatment, and I find it to be a profound question.

In 2017, I penned the aforementioned post about the dilemma of seeking medical attention or facing the unknown without understanding the pain. I must apologize for my less refined English during my teenage years. I hope I've made strides in my language skills since then. Returning to my story, in 2022, I received a diagnosis of ovarian cancer and subsequently underwent surgery and a series of treatments. It was an excruciating experience, and I consider myself fortunate because the diagnosis occurred in the early stages, despite the tumor's massive size, measuring 15x10 cm, akin to a toddler's head. Candidly, during my college days, I would often pretend to be pregnant, a fact known to all my roommates, due to a persistently distended and hard bump on my stomach. At the time, I ignorantly believed that fainting, vomiting, severe menstrual pain, and unusual bladder issues were all part of a normal existence. I battled with these symptoms for several years, even enduring bullying during my school days. My skewed perception of normalcy stemmed from my unhealthy lifestyle. I would relentlessly push myself to the brink of stress if my work failed to meet my own stringent standards. I remained indifferent to others' opinions, determined to redo my work from scratch, even when deadlines were mere hours away. This unhealthy approach led to debilitating anxiety, panic attacks, elevated heart rates, and brought me perilously close to losing my life in 2018. Consequently, experiencing pain became the norm for me.

Speaking of cancer, the period leading up to my surgery was agonizing. I can only liken the pain to a ceaseless, relentless punch to the stomach, rendering me unable to consume food and resulting in continuous vomiting. I found myself needing to urinate every 10 minutes, despite abstaining from fluids, as even the slightest intake triggered excruciating stomach pain. I endured this torment for five days before the emergency surgery. In the initial three days, doctors misdiagnosed me with gastritis and prescribed gastric medications. However, these remedies proved utterly ineffective, with my pain level consistently at 8/10, characterized by agonizing stomach pain and profuse cold sweats. It's important to note that I had already spent nearly a month in the hospital due to leptospirosis, a result of being a flood victim. On the fourth day of unbearable pain, I pleaded for painkillers. They initially administered paracetamol, to no avail. After a few hours, they tried buscopan, which yielded no relief. Sleep remained elusive, and it wasn't until the night shift doctor palpated my abdomen and inquired about the longstanding hard mass in my stomach that things began to change. Confirming my affirmative response, they administered a potent painkiller injection at 3 am, finally allowing me to sleep. But, to my dismay, the pain resurfaced at 8 am, robbing me of sleep once again. I lay in bed, tears streaming down my face as the unrelenting pain persisted. An ultrasound scan revealed an abnormality measuring approximately 10 cm in my abdomen. Although they couldn't definitively identify it as benign, malignant, or a fibroid, they ruled out the possibility of a cyst. Their inability to confirm malignancy stemmed from the absence of any family history of cancer fighters or survivors, with our familial medical history primarily consisting of high blood pressure, thyroid issues, heart attacks, strokes, and diabetes. Consequently, the following day, I was slated for an MRI. Unfortunately, due to a lapse in allergy medication the previous night, the doctor opted for an emergency operation. The process was swift, and I knew that my ovary would be removed. Despite the overwhelming sadness, the unwavering support of those around me provided solace. Deep down, that sadness still lingers today, and I find myself easily fatigued. Prolonged walks are particularly painful.

One decision I've recently made is to forgo marriage altogether. It's no longer a desire of mine. My plan is to relocate to another country and build a life there. Living in Malaysia has proven to be a traumatic experience for me. While it may seem dramatic to some, every time I see my body marked by scars, I can't help but blame myself for circumstances beyond my control. I hope that my decision to seek a fresh start in another country will offer respite for my mental well-being and afford me the opportunity to lead a more fulfilling life.

Over the past few years, I've waged a relentless battle with my mental health. The specter of suicide has loomed large in my thoughts. At times, I've contemplated whether enduring the pain and succumbing to the unknown without the knowledge of cancer might be preferable to living in constant fear of its presence, particularly given my heightened risk of contracting a severe illness from COVID-19.