JULY 9 — I could never say that cancer is a gift.

No, it’s a disease that’s painful, the treatment is also painful as well as expensive and — 10/10 zero stars would not recommend it.

Even s**t has its uses so I decided, well, I might as well see what good I can squeeze out of it.

Mind you, whatever blessings I might have managed to wring out of this chronic illness will not be the same ones for other people.

Every day I am reminded how many people have it worse.

Like this man I saw on Facebook with his head bald, a noticeable surgery seam across his head.

Multiple surgeries for a cancer that metastasised from a childhood brain tumour; doctors had written him off and told him well we’ll just see how long we can keep you alive then.

I was a tired, weepy husk after six rounds of chemotherapy and here is this man enduring treatments for so long his bones are brittle, yet he’s like hey look at me I’m still here isn’t it great?

Next week I’m back in the hospital for another round of immunotherapy but the woman I mentioned last week is still collecting funds for immunotherapy (and has had to pawn her last bit of jewellery) so you can help her out here.

Lest you accuse me of pushing toxic positivity, I’m not advocating that we lie to ourselves when we’re suffering.

It’s important to be able to look at the myriad horrors existing in this world, see them for what they are, while not letting them block the view of what is still good, or can be made good.

Just saying “I’m a cancer patient, I don’t need this bulls**t” has achieved the previously impossible — getting my credit card’s bank to stop calling me multiple times a week.

My credit’s in good standing, don’t worry folks, they just keep trying to convince me I need a credit card loan (no I do not).

Doesn’t matter who I argue with, whether it’s a Shopee seller, bank or unit trust salesperson, the almost immediate backing down when I play the cancer card is both amusing and a great relief.

Don’t be lying to people that you have cancer if you don’t, though.

It’s not like I’m asking for free stuff, being first in line at events or VIP treatment.

Cancer is hard.

If telling people (or annoying cold callers) I have cancer means I get a pass from stuff like the EPF asking if I truly need to be reimbursed for a PET scan (yes I bloody do), I will shout it from the top of the Petronas skybridge.

How am I now?

I still wake up with stiff achy shoulders.

I can’t go downstairs without holding the railings as dramatically as an actor in a Titanic recreation.

Walking means sucking in my core hard to try and stay upright because my back keeps threatening to collapse forward on me.

I can’t go more than 15-20 minutes walking in a mall without having to sit down because my feet hurt too much, which is why I don’t leave the house for anything less than “damn, my surge protector power extension got fried again.”

Bouncing on a mini trampoline daily seems to have helped with my leg stiffness but my right ankle continues to be stiff and swollen, probably from compensating for my bum left knee (which is almost functional now) for literally months.

It has also had a surprising bonus effect on my digestion.

Who knew bouncing on a trampoline could help with constipation? I didn’t.

The fall I had months ago? My knees still have bruises.

I understand why people keep their health struggles and cancer diagnosis private; it can be a lot to deal with as sometimes you can feel as though you’re managing everyone else’s feelings about your illness.

In my case the truth set me free.

I didn’t have to pretend to be strong or that I wasn’t in near-constant pain; I can let people help me without letting it swallow me up in guilt.

Joy shared is multiplied. Pain shared is often lessened.

Though I also watched an interesting TikTok by a physiotherapist who said some people tended to try too hard to intellectualise their pain.

You have to feel it, go through it and not try to think of the whys, he said, because otherwise you’ll only end up taking longer to heal.

Wow. Who let him spy on my webcam?

I plead guilty to spending too much time online trying to find the next exercise or routine to “fix” my stiff body.

What I can conclude is that maybe what I need right now is to be present in my feelings, not just in my mind.

I cannot intellectualise my pain away or use logic to heal faster — I have to be OK with just being where I am right now.

At this moment I’m resting after making myself some vegetable noodle soup and thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow.

My belly is full, my mind is calm and after the multiple horrors of previous months, I am enjoying a little peace and a break from the hospital.

Until August comes and I spend nearly every weekday at the hospital for follow-ups, tests and radiotherapy, I will be glad for this lull.