A Gritty Story.
No Sir, the doctor looking at my reports was uncomfortable. I was asked to meet another set of doctors in a more elaborate hospital. After the meeting and a series of invasive tests, the conclusion was the big C. My obvious question was, how long did I have. There were no answers forthcoming as it was too soon. I was shunted to Mumbai or my Bombay where I was born and grew up, for a PET scan that would give a detailed picture of the disease in me.
Bombay. My luck ran out as the PET machine broke down so the PET scan was done at another centre. Along with the reports I met with doctors who’d help me decide the way forward. By now I’d decided, I wanted to be treated on my home turf. My home, my residence in Goa. It would give me far more resolve, strength and conviction to fight the disease. The next task was to find an oncologist in Goa.
Goa is a very pretty tiny coastal state with a population of roughly sixteen lacs. As a Portuguese colony, it was known as Estado da India and was ruled by the Portuguese for four hundred and fifty years till India liberated it in 1961.There is a medical college and hospital which is slowly adding specialty departments. The other choice is a private hospital that belongs to a prominent chain of hospitals. My doctors chose the latter as they knew the chief oncologist.
I arrived at this hospital which looked pretty impressive and organised. The Out Patients Department is a comfortable area. Soon we were shown into the onco’s room. There stood the Chief Oncologist, very slim trim and an amiable faced person. He had already seen my papers. His question was, “Yes, tell me?”. And my standard question, “How long do I have?” “Why do you say that, I’ve brought back people worse than you.” I should tell my readers that my lung cancer was at stage four. After a long discussion he charted out a course of treatment with dates etc filled in.
The treatment began with a port being inserted near the collar bone through which the chemo solution goes into the body. For starters a set of chemotherapy sessions every fortnight. Around this time I took a turn for the worse. Severe diarrhea and no appetite had me tottering on the brink. It is then that it was decided to operate on me. Two surgeries were planned under one anesthesia, the lungs and colon were cleaned of cancer. The surgeon and his team operating on me were excellent. Then began a set of immunotherapy which stretched over a few months. My doctor by now needed a PET scan which meant a visit to Mumbai. This PET was clean and the doctors and I were happy chappies. In between there were a few hospitalisations because the immunotherapy didn’t agree with me and that was trying.. About four months later the chief wanted another PET scan. Most despicable because travel is tiresome, but done it had to be. Doctor friends had fixed the appointment in Mumbai. With PET scan over I landed in Goa and the report had been whatsapped to me. I was stunned to read the report. The big C was back on the lungs. We met Chief next day. He too was upset. The battle began again with a combination of drugs.
It's three years now and I am clean. The struggle has been arduous for both the oncology team, the nurses too and me. However I live to tell you, near and dear ones my story.
