It all began with a visit to the doctor following a New Years festival. Blood tests were taken confirming severe strep throat which was then treated with antibiotics successfully. On the 26th January, I went for follow up blood tests, these were done and I went on with life as usual. On the 29th January, I was advised to get to the hospital as I had a haemoglobin level of 62g/L and ferritin of 2µg/L. I was immediately given six units for blood transfusion then proceeded to an urgent oesophago-gastroduodenoscopy for suspected upper gastrointestinal bleeding. The gastroscopy showed a fist size ulcer/mass with an adherent clot on the greater curvature of my stomach. Along with two low density lesions on the VII segment of my liver.
Blood tests, CT scans, endoscopes, biopsies and MRIs were performed with the intent to find out exactly what was growing inside me. During this time I was still unaware of what was going on inside my body. I was told various diagnoses: stomach ulcer, gastrointestinal stomal tumour and Ewing sarcoma. It was a tough week of unanswered questions and uncertainty. On the 1st February, 2018, my whole world changed and I became a cancer statistic. My diagnosis read like a foreign language: matastic gastric neuroendocrine carcinoma (NEC; Ki-67 60%; Type 3) to liver (local invasion and metastases) and possible portal node. I never thought cancer... I didn't think it was possible, now I'm here.
My histology was reviewed by multiple pathologists who identified the cancer as an aggressive, poorly differentiated neuroendocrine carcinoma which required immediate treatment. “There is a chance we can cure this cancer but we will need everything to go your way.” These words have been permanently etched in my mind since the day I was diagnosed. I needed to respond exceptionally to chemotherapy and the biology of the cancer needed to be a perfect match to be vulnerable to the way chemotherapy works.
Due to the nature of my cancer, it required immediate chemotherapy treatment. I started intensive chemotherapy on the 13th February. All I remember is holding my chest while struggling to breathe and the sound of the emergency bell, while people began flooding into the room. I had reacted to the chemotherapy drug Etoposide Rex. Fortunately, I recovered well and symptomatic treatment was applied to avoid it from happening again.
And just like that I finished my first cycle of chemotherapy.
Then it hit me. I had cancer. I might die. It's hard to write this because, for me, this was my darkest moment. You never truly consider your own mortality until you are faced with it. At 22 you feel invincible, and so you should; you're in your prime and it's your time to make your mark on the world. So where do we go from here? You're 22 years old and you're told that you have cancer. You are told that everything you've been promised since you were young, the job, the family, the world, might never be yours. You are told that you will need to fight for your life to beat this. So this is what I'll do. I will fight until my cancer diagnosis is a thing I have overcome.
Chi x
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