FEB 18 — One lie I tell often is that I do not have regrets.

Like anyone, I have many. Sequestered into the corners of my psyche, sometimes mixing themselves in as discordant notes in the daily songs of my days.

What I wish I could do is thank every single person who has helped me, whether with words, actions, donations or even irritating me enough to make them column fodder.

I would like time to stand still so I can have more moments and less shame in telling everyone who has gifted me their kindness, resources or their ability to annoy, how I am truly grateful and that I will always struggle with feeling that it is undeserved.

All the doctors, nurses, support staff at all the hospitals I attended, whether Assunta, Universiti Malaya Medical Centre and KL General Hospital, I am so thankful for your care. 

Literally I would not have gotten this far in this strange journey without all of you and also those who have supported this column and kept me writing it. 

Thank you, I love you. Truly.

Now that we have gotten the maudlin sentiments out of my system, we come to the announcement that this is the final instalment of the Cancer Diaries.

No, not even cancer could come between me and this column there will be plenty to write about and many things to explore besides disease.

Not as much current affairs or politics because I think at this stage of my life I would rather write about things that are bigger than me than continue to be stuck within the narrowness of certain issues, to give way to fresher voices on certain topics.

All things must end in time; after all, my last day of active cancer treatment came on the eve of Chinese New Year.

My birthday is, I gleefuly remind friends, on February 22 and I am a cheap Emperor of the Day so will be happy for tribute in food.

Self-aggrandisation aside, I had planned to come earlier to the hospital to check on some other appointments, like my next mammogram.

I was out the door at 10.30am but silly me, locked the grille while my house keys were not in hand but locked inside the house. 

Because I live to entertain (even not on purpose), my clownery meant being trapped on the porch until my brother could come rescue me with a spare key.

This left me no choice but to take a Grab to HKL instead of taking my time with public transport and oh, did I laugh when I saw the licence plate of the rideshare.

XXX(censored for privacy)1978. 

My birth year. 

I guess the heavens like reminding me of the occasional futility in trying to control everything.

On the way, for the first time, the hospital actually called just to check if I was going to come in.

Was it because the next day was a public holiday or were they afraid I was going to do a runner? Who knows.

This time It didn’t take very long for me to get a number, be seen by an oncologist, and then jabbed very quickly for my usual IV placement.

I was out the door before 3pm, the oncology ward wasn’t even full, I even made a new friend.

So I had time for a little thrift shopping (paid 5 ringgit for a Pokémon Ichiban Kuji mug) and then a modest celebratory dinner of roast duck.

Not fancy Irish duck or Peking duck, just a good old local raised duck. 

Next month I have my last echocardiogram for a while and each time I feel the same trepidation, wondering if my heart has managed to hold up through a long course of treatment.

Yet there is no point in worrying, no way to forestall what may or may not happen to my heart.

It is good enough that I have made it to my 48th year when my birthday arrives on Sunday.

Throughout this cancer journey I knew there was no path but forward, no running away, only towards the oncoming day.

The last six months have been full of a strange grief and loneliness but perhaps it is just the shedding of a snake’s skin as spring beckons.

My gardenia plant has already blessed me with three large beautiful blooms, likely out of pure terror after I pruned off most of its branches last month leaving it looking like an ayam togel (featherless chicken).

I feel like an ayam togel some days with this unruly mop of hair regrowth on my head, menopausal acne and walking like the Tin Man.

Perhaps I might not feel beautiful but I am a lot more appreciative of being able to wake up to a new day, and mobile enough to walk (albeit very slowly) to the LRT to have duck.

There are still many, many follow-up appointments in my future and I will never truly be free of hospitals.

But at least I have finished the first draft of a book and hope to finish the second draft before I run away to another country for a couple of days.

Truth be told, I am not really in the mindset of soliciting publishers or agents; maybe I’ll just put up the book on Ko-fi on a pay-what-you-want basis but that bridge will be crossed when I get to it.

The last year has been heavy, many tears and tribulations were endured but now I will run (hobble) towards the future and the promise of cake.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.