And here's what happened. One day I'm living a normal life, choosing to live healthy, and suddenly, I have Cancer. That's the gist.
A few months ago, I wrote this thing about Iron Guts Jol, a tribute to my good old days of eating like a viking. It ended with the granddaddy of all stomach cramps that left me writhing on the floor, too paralyzed by pain to even move.
And that stomach cramp is the symptom, apparently.
Weeks back, I suffered from constipation. I hydrated, ate fiber, ate veggies, etc. 4 days in, I consulted a doctor because I do not want to reach a week without moving my bowels. I was given antibiotics (because there might be inflammation somewhere in my guts) and castor oil, with a specified dosage pegged between laxative and purging.
The whole evening, my guts revolted, and yet still no movement. Morning came and I was doubled in pain. I was then rushed to the ER. My doctor told me that since I was given a strong laxative and nothing came out of it, my intestines were definitely blocked. I had a CT Scan and true enough, a large growth has choked a section of my large intestine.
Long story short, I had an emergency surgery. The mass was removed and it was confirmed to be an advanced stage of Cancer. While other nodules and growths were cleared from my intestines, the Cancer also spread to my liver.
So now I start my long journey to recovery.
Every step is an exercise of torment. The cramps, the fucking catheter, the post-operation soreness, the stabbing pains where my guts were cut, the fucking catheter, the colostomy bag, and the fucking catheter... every fucking movement, even slightest act, hurts like hell. Every night needles squirm inside my core, trying to scratch their way out.
And that's what fuels my rage. I can fight, yes. I have fought for deadlines, I have fought for my family, and now I'm fighting for my life. The difference here is that the pain drains my strength. You get punched hard in the gut, you fall down gasping for air. Me? I got punched hard, sliced, fucked up in the gut, and left withering in a whole world of agony. Yet I still have to endure and fight back with resilience.
Sure, the odds seem to be stacked against me, but I do not feel depressed. I am pissed off. I am angry. But since I was advised to avoid stress, I have to keep my seething rage behind a veneer of calm and stoicism, not just for my sake but for the people around me who are affected by this shitty news.
That said, I do feel optimistic that I will pull through, not just because of the rage that motivates me, but also because of the help and support that I continue to receive from friends and family.
I do not need to survive this for myself. I need to survive this for them. For all of them.
Captain of my ship, master of my soul, and all that... This is by no means an inspirational journey to healing. This will be a violent and painful story of survival and payback.
Punk's not dead.
Punk's gonna punch Cancer in the face with brass knuckles.