A red scarf. A yellow towel wrapped round. Tudungs. Brown hair. Short hair. Curly hair. No hair.
Almost there. Just finished. Not yet started. Been there, done that....twice....
Working mothers, retired career women, housewives, Chinese, Indian, Malay.
15 or so women; with no similarity except, the same words "Hello, I am a breast cancer patient."
I accompanied my mother to the breast cancer support group today. Being the only non-cancer person around the table, I almost felt like an intruder as each woman shared their personal journey with the dreaded C.
Each and every woman, desperate to live, wanting a few more extra years to see the sun rise, carry grandchildren and wake up alive each morning.
During the session, many where asking each other about what to eat; how to cook the vegetables, where to buy the best "kampung chicken." Almost like a cooking class, yet their scalps bear testament that there's more that meets the eye.
Others recounted their experiences with mouth sores and fatigue. When one lady complained about numbness in her arm after the removal of her lymph nodes, the whole room erupted with women's voices as all clamoured to excitedly say that they felt the same thing; and many lifted their arms to show the parts where they felt different after the surgery.
As I sat there listening to 15 stories or more of women with breast cancer, I felt that each story was so interesting, so personal. Even though the same umbrella of breast cancer applied to all, different people had different stages of cancer, with different treatments, different journeys.
I dare say, I learnt far more about the diagnosis and detection of breast cancer in that 2 hour session with the women than 2 hours of lectures in IMU & 10 pages or so of Mama Patho.
Hearing the women recount their experiences, I've learnt that as doctors/medical students, we must never be too sure to rule out a disease just because the presentation is not classical.
I won't regrugitate the stories out of respect and privacy for the women.
But from their experiences; lessons to be learnt, pain in the breast doesn't mean it's not cancer; even with a "clear" mammography and ultrasound and no lumps felt.
Even from my own mum I've learnt, a clean mammography doesn't mean cancer free, and even if the lump seems to be changing in size, it may not be infection...it could be cancer.
When in doubt, always, always.. seek a 2nd opinion or go for further testing.
I learnt that breast cancer patients must always try have a full CT scan if possible. A 2nd time survivor had metastatis to the bones through the internal mammary lymph nodes in her chest bypassing her other breast and thus was not detected on mammography. Mammography alone may not be enough. It was too late for surgery.
I also learnt from a patient how to talk about Christianity among patients who do not share the same faith.
She began by simply saying "Each of us have our own religions and belief systems, but this is what has helped me....talking to God everyday and hearing Him talk back to me. I am a Christian."
Unpretentious.
Simple yet true. Respectful yet firm.
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I never imagined I would spend my uni break in a breast cancer support group among cancer patients. Or going to the hospital everyday. Meeting oncologists. Battling tears and hopelessness.
But I know, somehow, these experiences have molded me to become a better doctor (to be), but most importantly a better person. I cannot afford to not be compassionate. I cannot not care. I cannot not understand what my patients feel. I've been there. I'm still there. I'm compelled to care because I'm there, in the same position. Helpless and fighting for the best.
I used to read books like "Jesus MD", "Fearfully and Wonderfully Made" with fascination when those doctors recounted their experiences of showing compassion and serving different people. And I realize, I'm now in the thick of it (not so glamorous or powerful though..) writing my own story, living out what it means to be a good doctor, but more importantly a child of God.
Things that matter suddenly don't matter anymore. Yet things you thought you could do without, you can't.
You don't need anymore Behavioural Science lessons.
A patient with many symptoms in the hospital no longer becomes a curious fascination. I recall, with dread, how disappointed I was if the patients we were assigned to in KKB etc had minimal symptoms because all we cared about was seeing morbid symptoms. The worst off a patient was and the more symptoms we saw, the better and happier we felt!
If there was no body in the morgue, boy, we were disappointed! If it was a police case, lagi bagus! Even more happy. The more gruesome, the better.
Yet now I'm on the other side. Suddenly everyone becomes not just a statistic. Nor a patient with this and this. But a person.
A person who's worth something to someone.
It's a struggle.
A hard one.
Worst than exams. Indescribably worst.
One where God doesn't always speak. (or maybe it's my hearing problem anyway)
Yet, one thing keeps me clinging; half dead but still clinging....
He hung on the cross.
He cannot not understand.
& its lame'ness' + mamak sessions + political talk
