APRIL 30 — When my grandfather was dying, he climbed a ladder and fell off it.
He passed on not long after.
It wasn’t from the fall however, it was mostly from complications of late-diagnosed brain cancer.
I wonder what he would have thought if he could see me last week, also up a ladder.
My ceiling light needed replacing and it was a task I often did myself.
As I perched, seated on top of my faithful, paint-splashed aluminium ladder, reaching my arm out, I realised this time it was beyond me.
My arm could not stay steady enough to properly fit the new light into the brackets.
I kept taking deep breaths, raising my arm again, and again, until I accepted it was a lost cause.
It feels as though cancer’s job is to keep knocking me down multiple pegs until I accept that I am but a limp noodle wrapped in skin, fragile and weakened.
Last week was rough as not only was my roof leaking, my air conditioner suddenly decided to release a stream of liquid on my bedroom floor, my legs were stiff and prone to giving way and everything tasted like s**t.
I gave into my inner child’s desire to run away and made camp at a nearby hotel — thank goodness for last-minute booking discount rates.
A good night’s sleep helped me see there were some bright sides to my situation.
Fixing my roof and air conditioning now would mean they wouldn’t be vexing me during my convalescence period post-surgery.
As of writing, my roof has been re-waterproofed, my air conditioner serviced, but now it seems the plumber must visit to check on my gutters (no this is not the setup for a porn episode).
I am counting down the days to my surgery mid-May and it feels like the days are coming faster and faster while the weeds in my garden threaten to engulf the house.
It is vexing coming to terms with my current fragility while knowing that I will be even more made of glass post-surgery.
Perhaps climbing a ladder was a way for me to feel less like a very crabby piece of crystal.
At least, for now, my bones have stopped hurting though one of my toenails is turning black and odd smells, like a certain fast food chain’s mango egg tart (a culinary abomination) make my stomach turn.
I am restless, and perhaps more than a little reckless, but if you were me, perhaps you too would be fiddling with the lights out of boredom and needing a change of scenery.
Alas, I can’t (by choice) travel beyond the Klang Valley as I can’t risk coming down with something so close to my long-awaited lumpectomy.
I hope that it will be just the one surgery, that my surgeon gets clean margins, because otherwise I will need to again be wheeled into the operating theatre until a satisfactory amount of cancer cells have been excised.
There is no point in mulling the what-ifs for now as I have an echocardiogram next week and another immunotherapy session, where I will have one final round of the very expensive Perjeta drug.
Then I will just be bleeding money paying for Herceptin (which is nearly RM2,000 per infusion) every three weeks for as long as my doctors think I need it.
Meanwhile I hear there is a shortage of the cancer drug letrozole at Universiti Malaya Medical Centre, which must be vexing.
I wonder if I will have to worry about my medication supply once I finish my immunotherapy and radiotherapy sessions, and start on five years or so of medications such as tamoxifen.
Still, I will just have to do what I’ve been doing — crossing each bridge, and river, as they come while trying to remain sane.
It does no good for me to worry about hypothetical situations such as my cancer fund running out or my cancer cells being more stubborn than expected.
For now I am alive despite my strange affectation for climbing up ladders despite my fear of heights so I will still enjoy being able to breathe, move, eat and tell you all about what daft thing I did this week, every week.
I will give thanks for ladders that stay strong, even when my legs don’t, and my guardian angel who is probably overworked and contemplating retirement.
Until next week, dear reader, when we find out if my heart has survived all the drugs I’ve made it endure so far.
* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.
