Cancer Diary: Part 1, English translation from Japanese

CANCER DIARY
2009 December 3
From now on, it is impossible not to know.
Yesterday, the doctor at the hospital told me, “You have lung cancer. I am sorry.”

I will die in two years.

Little by little, from October, I have come to believe this.

The process began in April with a mole, sometimes called a beauty spot. It can be a little dangerous I hear. So in October, the mole was removed.

What luck. Due to the removal of the mole, there was early cancer detection.
I seemed to be healthy. My mother, uncle, and cousin—three people in my family—suddenly died of lung cancer.

Why did I think the epidemic was over?

2009 December 4

The doctor who removed the mole did a routine blood test. The mole was not malignant. But the blood test showed irregularities and I was referred to a Kyoto University hospital, where lung cancer was found.


My brother asked if I had any premonitions. I remembered that I had felt a pain in my upper chest and a small voice saying words to the effect, “This will be my death.”


Then, there was a dream. On Halloween, I dreamt of a good friend; Paul died eight years ago, sick with emphysema. In the dream, I did not see him, but heard him calling playfully, “Find me.”
2009 December 5
If I had not seen the images, I would not believe the news. Many images were taken, yet they were not photographs. The images were CT scans, MRIs, PET-CT scans, and X-rays.

The Kyoto University Hospital blood tests shows tumor markers. The doctor searches for the tumor.

X-ray and CT scan are done. I wait a week to learn the results. I watch movies and I just about forget to worry by the time of the next doctor’s appointment.

At the hospital, I am sent to a specialist I have not yet met. I look at the sign on the door. “’Pulmonary’. Lungs. Lung cancer,” I think. But it will be weeks before a final diagnosis, weeks before I hear those words from the doctor along with the compassionately scripted touch on the shoulder.　The dimpled doctor is a handsome stand-in for the grim reaper.　

PET-CT scan. I wait a week. I play piano, take long walks, don't worry.

At the hospital, the doctor tells me the results of the PET-CT with its radioactive markers. The images show yellow where the tumor is in the lung and where it has metastasized in the lymph nodes between the lungs, above the collar bone, and under the arm.

We walk down the hall where the doctor takes a biopsy from the neck.

I wait a week. Before going to the appointment, I walk through a local shrine, conveniently located near the hospital. I know I will hear the diagnosis today.

It is autumn in Kyoto and becoming cold. I have lived in Kyoto since 2008. People say that Kyoto is the heart of Japan: People go to Tokyo to work; they come here, near the heart, to die. It is a good place, a beautiful place.

2009 December 5
Because the result of the blood test showed something wrong, the doctor searched for where the problem was. I had a x-ray and CT scan. One week later, I learned to understand the nature of the illness.　At the hospital, I was send to a corner new to me: pulmonary medicine. The pulmonary doctor showed me the results of the x-ray, and said she did not know yet what it was, but suspected cancer.

I was sent to have a PET-CT scan. After the PET-CT scan, I waited a week. I watched movies, played piano, and took walks.

At the hospital, I was shown the results of the PET-CT scan. Bright yellow showed between the lungs, on the throat, and under the left arm. These were the sites that had taken up the radioactive marker indicating rapid sugar uptake, typical of cancer. Only one more test remained: a biopsy of one of those sites. The doctor walked me down the hall and took some cells from the swollen lymph nodes in my neck. He told me to wait for one more week. One more week I had a vision of my life as extending in an indeterminate healthy and long future.


2009 December 6
My brother and sister and sweetheart sob.
It is very sad to hear them.　　I will soon cry, too.
I have not sobbed yet.　 Do I want my life to end?
My mother died at aged 61, on her birthday. Next year I will be 61.