DEC 3 — It was December 4 last year when I first announced, in this column, that I had cancer.

A lot has happened since then.

I truly did not know how things would end up and while for the most part things did turn out for the better, the recovery process is an arduous slog.

My left shoulder blade is still not working as it should.

My legs are still stiff going down stairs and I now understand why it takes much older people a long time to get out of a car.

When your legs feel more like stilts, it’s hard getting around.

I am pre-diabetic, with high blood pressure, slightly overweight, going through menopause while my skin feels inflamed and itchy all the time, and it feels like I am going to combust whenever I go out in the sun.

Perhaps it was a menopausal woman who first created the vampire legend because oh, boy, even overly bright LED lighting makes my skin prick and burn.

My latest echocardiogram showed that my heart function has reduced by five per cent.

While it is still in the healthy range the not-insignificant drop means I’ll have to have a discussion with my oncologist about how to make sure my heart literally doesn’t die on me before I finish my immunotherapy. 

Despite all these annoyances I am for the most part grateful.

I am grateful for family and friends who have rallied so hard for me, as undeserving as I feel I am.

I am grateful for my readers, to the strangers who reached out, prayed, and donated so I didn’t have to worry about all the extra expenses that come with being very ill.

My surgery was successful and no residual cancer was found and besides echocardiograms to check on my heart, I have had no other scans.

The oncologist said that the data isn’t strong enough to warrant my getting an MRI “just to check” and until enough time has passed since my radiotherapy sessions, I cannot do a mammogram.

I won’t lie and pretend that I don’t get a little anxious.

When I feel twinges around my surgery scar, I wonder if the tumour is back, if my cancer cells are truly gone or are just hiding behind a bone or organ. 

I don’t want to have to go through the whole grueling marathon of chemotherapy, surgery, radiotherapy and immunotherapy again.

Yet many people do have recurrences and bravely endure the gauntlet of treatments.

I say brave when in truth most cancer patients hate being called that.

We do what we must because there is no other choice if we decide to try and live.

It’s also rather fitting that after years of advocating for the public healthcare system and more equitable healthcare access, I got to experience it in a way that now truly qualifies me to write about it.

While I’ll probably still write the occasional current affairs commentary, there are plenty of other voices in that space but not as many talking about healthcare in a very personal capacity.

There are things that I would never have learned if I wasn’t a patient, things I think everyone else should know too.

I have no time for regrets or what-ifs and while I’m never going to call cancer a gift (a pox on those who call it that) I can say I made the best of it.

Now that I have the seeming luxury of time to deal with the enormity of my diagnosis, my mental health took a nosedive alongside the US dollar.

Getting away to Bangkok for a bit was more stressful than relaxing; but I think I needed a reminder that even with a bad shoulder and creaky legs, I must just keep taking one shaky step forward despite pain, fear and anxiety.

I am more than my cancer but cancer, it seems, has given me more than it has taken away.

May there be more to give thanks for next December 4.

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.