My battle with cancer

It was June 2nd, 1997, and I was just 10 days away from my 59th birthday. I had returned from work as usual in the evening and gone on to play a little badminton as part of my keep fit routine. I did not fancy badminton much, but I still played with a few neighbours when I did not go for walks, which was my favourite.

Later that evening I came home to find my wife had gone marketing. My son was on a pilgrimage to Kataragama.

When I brushed my teeth before taking a bath, I vomited some blood. Rushing to the refrigerator I took out some ice cubes and kept them in my mouth. After some time the bleeding stopped. I did not mention this to anybody.

Next morning when I brushed my teeth it happened again. This time I panicked. I called in my wife who was adamant that we should see a doctor immediately.

We went to our family doctor nearby who at first said there was nothing to worry about. He suggested, however, that I take a full check-up and ordered blood tests and an x-ray.

My daughter who lives close by accompanied me for the tests (she would go to work only after the tests were done). Meanwhile, my wife had contacted our son Prins and he was rushing home from Kataragama.

The reports came in-the blood tests were normal, but the x-ray was in doubt. They suspected it to be phlegm in the lung, but it was to be shown to a radiologist who later opined that the possibility of a neoplastic lesion could not be ruled out.

My neighbourhood doctor Ranjith Peiris took the initial step in the discovery of my illness. I owe my thanks to him for his detailed and prompt investigations.

Then he referred me to a chest specialist who acted fast.

A CT scan was then done and the radiologist was almost sure that there was a carcinoid in the right lung. A bronchoscopy was later done by the chest specialist which revealed a tumour in the right lower lobe, but what was more serious was an erosion into the right main bronchus which made it inoperable.

Samples taken for testing had revealed a definite adenocarcinoma, but I was not aware of this.

By that time however, I had got the feeling that I was a positive case of lung cancer. Yet I hoped against hope that the biopsy findings would be negative.

Meanwhile, we got a message from our GP to say that the chest specialist wanted to see me very urgently. Panic buttons were pressed all round and hell broke out virtually, instantly.

That evening I, together with my wife Preamani and daughter Tharanga rushed to see the chest specialist.

And there we were in a private nursing home, waiting outside the doctor's room till our turn came. I could hear my heart beating loudly. I could not see my face, but I was sure no one would have wanted to have a look at it, anyway. My wife was telling me not to worry! Tharanga kept her usual silence. The silence among the three of us outside that doctor's room was akin to that in a lone cemetery at midnight.

At last, after what seemed a century of waiting, it was our turn to see the doctor. I was the last to enter and most unwillingly.

The doctor offered me a seat. "I have your reports," he said.

With consummate ease and thorough professionalism, he went on to tell me that I had a cancer in my right lung, and he being a very radical physician would order immediate surgery to remove that lung. However, it was not be so as the erosion into the right main bronchus made it inoperable.

He gave me two reports - the bronchoscopy report said that I had adenocarcinoma of the right lung with an inoperable lesion while the biopsy report confirmed the presence of malignant cells in keeping with an adenocarcinoma.

The shock was immense. I felt dumb and benumbed - sweat rolled down all over me. My world had collapsed. The one thought that raced though my mind was simple - just what am I to do?

I had a whole lot of obligations in my office and I did not want my family to face them. My children were married and I felt somewhat relieved in the thought that both of them had found good partners, but the thought that I was to leave my wife without any money and my grandson chilled me.

"Doctor is there anything that can be done?" I asked trying to be calm and brave.

The reply left me thunderstruck.

"Doctor, I have a lot of problems to be solved and matters to be cleared. How long do I have?"

"Hardly any time. Finish them as soon as possible," he replied.

"Two months?"

"Why wait that long?"

My head started to spin. I just did not want to talk to anybody. I suddenly felt I wanted to be alone.

Each doctor may have his own way of telling a patient details of his illness. So did my chest specialist. However if not for his early diagnosis, things would have been entirely different - I would not be writing this two years later.

Thank you my Chest Specialist - I owe you a lot.

With the doctor's referral letter to an unknown cancer specialist we walked slowly out to my car (I had a car then which I later disposed of).

There we were three zombies on our way home. Two of them trying to say something, but not daring. Occasionally my wife, who always likes to say her piece at the end, ventured to say "Don't worry Weera, it's going to be alright." I did not take her seriously.

We went home to a funeral house!

They already knew the news, of course by assumption. But now we had to tell them in plain language.

Everybody was in tears; nobody had any courage left at that time. I was a total write-off, but the others tried their best to put on a brave face. A tornado had hit my son Prins, Enoka my daughter-in-law and Dilshan, my son-in-law.

Each one was trying to gather some courage. My son spoke first, "Thaththa, don't be scared."

"We will see what we can do," came out Tharanga.

"My prayers always answer, even this time they can't fail," said Praemani.

Enoka, expecting our grand-daughter may have had a hurried confinement, but she held on till another memorable day. To know that someone dear and near is yet with you, but doomed with a disease for which common knowledge knows of no cure is indeed a harrowing experience - that probably was what the members of my family felt.

Meanwhile the thoughts that were racing in my mind were far more devastating.

I had a lot of financial problems in my workplace. I had not saved a cent for the future. I had not made any provisions for my wife and family. I had no other resources or facilities to fall back on in case of prolonged illness. I had done so little for my children. And I could not think of leaving little Thakshila so soon.

I had been a happy-go-lucky man who never thought of a future.

The news spread like wild fire. My relatives, friends and neighbours down the road, business associates and friends from the Rotary Club began either calling or calling over. - All so concerned and sympathetic, telling me stories of how people had recovered from cancer, offering all kinds of support, assistance, prayers etc.

Everybody encouraged me to approach and fight the problem with a firm resolve and courage and an unwavering belief that I can control and overcome my illness.

All this time my family members did not show me their real feelings, instead they acted in a very positive manner, as if nothing had happened.

Yet I knew they were in tears - seen and obvious at times but more often than not hiding their feelings behind their false smiles. Particularly so was my son, a man of few words.

I distinctly remember one occasion. It was late at night. My wife seated on the bed next to me started crying out loudly. She said that she would never allow me to die of cancer. What authority or reason she had to say that at that time I do not know. But I can now say thus far, she has proved right.

My two children said in no uncertain terms that they would do everything in their power to help me. They meant every word they said.

On that decisive day we met the chest specialist, we also made the appointment to see the unknown cancer specialist. Then only did I know they were called Oncologists - Imagine my knowledge of cancer.

I also knew another well-known cancer specialist, a classmate of mine during my early schooldays. As a back-up we also made a parallel appointment to see him as well.

On the appointed date, once again with my wife and daughter we went to see this cancer specialist. All the time I was wondering why was I going to see this man when all was said to be over.

A day had elapsed since the chest specialist revealed my diagnosis. The world around me had collapsed like a house of cards.

I had by now decided to close down my company. In my own mind contingency plans were drawn to meet the inevitable.

We entered the doctor's room - to see a medium built person, one who definitely looked a doctor. Something told me that there was more to this man.

Silently I gave my medical reports to him. Was I handing over my death certificate to him to prepare me for the last journey? Nobody can blame me for thinking so, after all that had been told to me. He read the reports and raised his head.

"What do you know?"

"I have lung cancer, doctor."

"That solves my problem by half. I don't have to play hide and seek with you. We are now on equal levels. In your case I don't have to hide the illness and treat the patient," he said matter of factly.

"Okay doctor, what are the chances?"

"What did the other doctor tell you?"

I told him.

"Get if off your bald head," he virtually blasted me. "There are many things we can do for cancer these days."

My wife and daughter looked at each other in surprise and disbelief. Almost in unison they asked,

"Doctor, then what that other doctor said...."

"That is what he knows. I don't blame him. What I know is different." He then gave us a chit to see him at his Maharagama Clinic on July 15.

We thanked him fervently and left his room. As we were leaving I heard him say, "Don't worry!"

I was to hear these two words so very often - daily, weekly, monthly and now yearly too. Did he say this to please us or did he really mean it? I intended asking him one day.

Two things immediately happened in my mind.

Number one - 1 was REBORN. I knew I was half cured by then.

Number two - I realised that there were doctors who are thinking positively.

Coming out of the hospital, we decided to abandon the appointment with my classmate specialist - I decided I had already found the doctor I needed.

I called home immediately and told my son that everything was not yet lost - after all. The next few days were eventful.

Visitors and callers were many. My sister and brother came from Kurunegala. Everyone offered help - prayers, poojas, advice and encouragement, hope in plenty and even financial assistance. By now I had made up my mind to fight back. I had decided that I would not cave in. Strong willpower was needed, and suddenly I realised I had willpower there to spare. I would not die of cancer, I told myself and I gave that distinct message to my body too. I wondered at times whether I was overconfident, but then I said to myself I was not cheating my ownself. I did not know of any serious sin I had committed in this life for me to be afflicted with cancer - this must be a karmic event in my journey through sansara, I told myself.

Oh no, I did know of one very possible reason - I could not exclude the fact that I had smoked one packet of cigarettes a day from my University days in the early sixties.

Moral and spiritual support around me began to build in heaps and bounds. My wife, a Roman Catholic, made vows to St. Anthony and Infant Jesus. She goes to these churches weekly since the day I fell sick.

On that fateful day of the Slave Island bomb blast, she was on her way to the church and was being told by security men of the dangers involved. Yet she made her way to the church.

My daughter too made her vows to Infant Jesus and continues her weekly prayers for me. My son Prins and his wife Enoka held bodhi poojas and almsgivings on my behalf. My sister from Kurunegala made her own vows while my brother brought a special person to bless me. A friend from the Rotary Club made a vow to save a calf from the slaughterhouse while another took me to a temple to make a vow on my behalf.

A group of Christian families held a prayer meeting for me at my house.

The father of one of my office assistants arranged to hold a series of special poojas on my behalf. There were quite a number of others who prayed for me. To all these people I owe my gratitude.

I myself did not keep quiet. I offered my own bodhi poojas and other religious observances. I began lighting an oil lamp twice daily in the name of the Triple Gem and to offer merits to deities.

With the blessings of all these I entered medical treatment armed with a firm resolve - I am going to win.

On July 15, 1997, when I went in the morning to the Clinic at Maharagama I was a different patient compared with the other helpless, desperate and pathetic patients waiting with me in the queue.

Tharanga and Dilshan were with me.

The previous evening Enoka had been admitted for her confinement and while we were in the queue, my phone rang. Praemani was on line to say that a few minutes ago a bouncy baby girl had been born - so we had lovely little Kavishna among us. My seeking medical treatment and little Kavishna's birth coincided almost to the minute - since that date I have a special place in my heart for Kavishna. After consulting the doctor a treatment plan was drawn up and we returned home, - I with a lot of hope.

-To be continued

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