In spite of my lighthearted earlier post (about stuffing my face), life really doesn’t get any easier. In my teens, I really thought I knew it all. Every bit of drama back then was real: after all, if I’d felt it in my heart and in my gut and in my soul, it was most certainly (and undeniably) true. In my 20s, I realized just how little I knew in my teens. The world really was so much bigger than just me. My eyes opened in wonderment, and there was this sense that I was seeing outside the ivory tower of my youth (finally). There was so much to do, so much to conquer, and it was just a matter of finding the right path. Now I’m in my 30s. The idealism is not as fervent as it used to be. I’ve witnessed problems with the system, and I’m no longer certain there will always be solutions. While the resiliency and fortitude of human beings continues to astound me, I see a new fragility that I rarely noticed before.
Today I learned that my friend has cancer. By no means is he a young chap (he turned 50 last year), but neither do I consider him outside our generation (though by numbers, I suppose he is). For the last 6-8 months, he’s had trouble with his bowels and trouble keeping his food down. How long has this been going on, you ask? Yes! Half a year at least! I recall his wife telling me a few months ago that he was having odd issues. I told her then that he needed to see the doctor. He’s a smart guy, and admittedly, sometimes his wife is overly neurotic, borderline hypochondriacal (can you believe that’s a word?) so I didn’t push it. But certainly, whenever she mentioned some health-related symptom, I advised her to get him to the doctor. Long story short, doctors found a 4-cm tumor in his stomach last week. His kidney and liver numbers looked strange, so they ran more tests. Today, his wife told me one kidney is completely shot and now they are testing his liver to see exactly what kind of cancer this is. I asked what the doctors recommended– surgery? Chemo seems to be the only option now. So what does this mean exactly? I have no idea. His wife is Indonesian-Chinese. English is her second language. Considering that medicine is difficult enough to understand even for someone with English as a first language, I can’t imagine how overcome she is with anxiety, not only having just learned that her husband is gravely ill but also not fully understanding his condition.
A part of me is so angry. Why the fuck did he wait so goddamn long? What kind of emotion or force would keep someone who is facing daily, blatant signs of trouble from seeking medical attention? I’m so frustrated and crazed and puzzled by what could have been critical six months! And yet, here he is and now we know. What now? How quickly life can change. One minute you’re twiddling your thumbs. The next minute, you are faced with a deadline– one you never realized was so damn close.
His poor wife. She was utterly distraught on the phone. What to do? Wait for answers. Follow doctor orders, and fight as hard as fucking possible. Hope the doctors and medical instruments and fancy expensive facilities can change the course. Is that what faith is? The hope for a miracle, the hope for a drop of good news in a sea of bad?