Between October and November

I found a lump.

In the days thereafter, followed what I would remember as a silence gripping my throat. Cancer runs for two generations above me, and this was enough to put me in my primitive survival mode: I researched and researched, trying to put a name on whatever it was that suddenly became a part of me.

There were unnerving tests. Cold, rude and dismissive doctors whose mannerisms prompted me to ask myself: am I ever that rude to a person in need of my knowledge? Have I ever told a student off simply because he doesn't understand my explanation the first time round?*  There were a lot of time spent nervously waiting - for test results, for appointments, for a kind word to assure me that this thing had a name, and its name was benign.

There was a time when after leaving the consultation room, R said I looked like I needed to sit down - so I did, and broke down instantly. The rudeness of the doctor was beyond my comprehension, and to this day I am trying hard not to even play out that scene in my head anymore.

There were days when I walked around the campus feeling everything was trivial: who needed theory and calculators when you knew something foreign was growing inside you? There were times when a panic attack surged: I tried hard to focus on my breath for fear that at one time I would just decide that it didn't matter whether I inhaled or not.

There was a day when I had to pitch for a continuation of my research project, and the reviewers tore me apart in roomful of strangers and colleagues. I sat and realized that I did not mind the fact that some old professors had taken the liberty to publicly call me stupid and worthless. I might be stupid and worthless as an academic, and the one thing I was sure of that evening was that I carried three lumps, not just one, in me.

At the height of my insanity, I reached out to my siblings, something I had never previously done whatever hardships came my way. Kind words, I learned, were what helped one through difficult times. Kind words.

I reached out to a stranger in Twitter, who had been through the rough journey herself. I wasn't sure what I was looking for: wisdom, knowledge, advice, kind words - perhaps all of them.  She offered every single one, and even asked to accompany me during the ordeal. Her messages to me were:

"Hey, please let me know if you need company. I would like to be there with you. In person. *hugs*"
"Anytime you want to have coffee, do let me know. My thoughts are with you. Chin up! :)"
"Just thought I let you know that I am thinking of you. Please keep me updated. *hugs* "
"Hey, you! How's it going? What's your update? Care to share with me?"

She told me a wealth of information: names and contact numbers of specialists. How to best approach the first screening. More importantly, she showed me there was a way to deal with this calmly, composedly. I admit to looking at her picture in her Twitter profile longingly, hoping to possess her elegance, and time and again I find myself surrendering to her serene tweets.


I know for a fact that it is not easy to talk about this - even being asked about it might push a wrong button. Therefore I opt not to talk about this with "real-life friends", instead I find comfort in the company of my "internet friends".

A month has practically elapsed, and now I am almost sure that I will be fine.  There are still appointments to go to - and perhaps follow-up tests standard to this condition. However the panic attacks are no longer here. I have begun thinking about writing again, a thought that never occurred to me in the month of researching and tests and hospital visits. I am trying to forgive ill-mannered doctors, and hoping to never exude such wasteful rudeness myself.

This November will see me in several places: I vow to finish reading 10 books this year (apart from school textbooks) and am now on my 8th. I will present my research in a conference at the end of the month. With the writing pact I made with my close friend of 25 years, I am hoping to write more. And, and: of course I'll begin shopping for worldly stuff again.

My constant companion for the bumpy ride was of course R, who suggested coffee to celebrate the word "benign" scribbled across my lab result. What I have always known was this: no matter where you are in the world, the sun is there - if only you knew where to look.




* (I took solace knowing I never did, and openly apologizing for my mistakes in front of the classroom is something I have done more than once.)