(First published June 25, 2025)

JUNE 25 — I am back at work after a month of recovery leave.

My mental faculties are surprisingly a lot better than they have been since I first started cancer treatment.

It feels like I no longer have cotton wool for brains though I still have the odd moment where I go downstairs for something and then forget what it is.

I wish I could say the same of my body.

It’s recovering but very slowly, besides the wound that has nicely healed up.

Every day is just stretches upon stretches for aching, stubborn muscles.

Each morning I wake up with a now-familiar ache in my shoulders as though I had spent the night in some Sisyphean ritual of pushing a boulder up the nearest hill.

You know, like our civil society groups trying to push for more transparency.

Going downstairs is a special kind of hell where the demons of gravity smack my knees with a gigantic hammer as soon as my foot touches a step.

Am I in constant pain? Not to sound dramatic, but yes, but it’s not the kind of pain that drills at you like that neighbour who thinks 6.30am in the morning on a Sunday is the best time to install wooden shelves.

It’s more like: I bend my knee. Ow. Lift up my phone. Ow. Attempt to open a jar — may the saints have mercy on my fingers, I try, give up, consider calling out for my brother and then remember I have a jar opener made for the now-disabled person I am.

(While I have the Wiltshire jar opener I got in Spotlight’s closing down sale, Ikea has the UPPFYLLD jar opener for less than 10 ringgit and no I’m not getting paid for this.)

My fingers feel as though the bones have been hollowed out; I wake up with frozen hands that need massaging throughout the day to ease the nagging soreness.

I wish these jokey descriptions were exaggerations of the actual experience I’m having but they’re unfortunately rather accurate, just with a lot more specific vocabulary used than simply stating “It hurts everywhere all the time.”

As a chronically ill person, I ask that you be nice to sick people because one, they’re having a hard time and two, one day it could possibly be you being that sick so maybe don’t be an ass?

Positive note: my hair regrowth has progressed from Buddhist monk to GI Jane/someone with new hair plugs from Turkiye.

On Monday I met with the nice people down at the radiotherapy department for what they call a “simulation”.

As always I had to endure the indignity of a pregnancy test but I suppose the alternative would be sharing CCTV footage proving the non-existence of my sex life.

Then it was CT scan time: I had to lay on the scanner flatbed, the upper part of my body exposed while the radiotherapy tech took measurements and positioned my body in as straight an alignment as they could manage, while my arms had to be raised, resting on two stands positioned behind my head.

It was easier to just keep my eyes closed to avoid awkward eye contact and instead I thought about the salmon sushi I would be having after.

Then the tech told me I was, gasp, getting tattoos.

They aren’t anything fancy, basically tiny pinpricks to help guide the radiation beams for when my radiotherapy starts — I will only know the dates in another four to five weeks.

While you read this I will also be facing my tri-weekly challenge: being stuck with an IV needle for my sixth cycle of Herceptin, with another 11 to go.

Every day that I go to the hospital that I manage to successfully stop myself from running away screaming is a victory.

In truth I bribed myself with the aforementioned salmon sushi (before it becomes a lot more expensive in July with the SST Tax or How We Found Out How Many People Don’t Know That All the Cheap Fruit and Veg Are Imported Seriously Have They Seen How Much Rambutan and Manggis Cost These Days?)

Everything is going to be more expensive for everyone in the coming days as war looms, supply chains tighten and travel becomes fraught with uncertainties and new dangers.

It feels unjust that so many need to suffer just because there is no profit in peace when war makes more money.

No one could have prepared me for a 2025 where the US has cut off spending for cancer research but is burning trillions in the Middle East to kill people instead.

As I recline in a seat while attached to an IV of a very expensive drug, I will probably daydream about a world without war… and maybe the Nintendo Switch 2 (how does it cost more than my PlayStation) and wait patiently for the day when going downstairs doesn’t feel like I’m being kneecapped by tiny invisible assassins.

If people would also not stare at me when I hobble around awkwardly like a little old lady trying not to fall over, that would be nice too.