Trusting the Unpredictable

I’ve always had a difficult relationship with my body. For years, I’ve tried to lose weight and tried all sorts of methods, but the stubborn extra pounds just refuse to shed. To maintain an acceptable baseline body shape, I used to spend two hours on rigorous exercises each day and be super careful with my eating. But after cancer, my exercise regimen was heavily disturbed; I gained 10 kilos within a few months, and a year later am still suffering a big confidence loss from it.

At first, I was determined to not let go of my body. I was doing matt exercises on my hospital bed every day while waiting for my operation—up till the hours before I had to be operated on. Why did I do that? I’m not sure. After all, I wasn’t even sure if I’d get off the operation table alive. And if I do end up dying, wouldn’t this effort be all wasted? I suppose my hospital roommates could see more common sense than me, so they decided that waiting for a brain operation is a time when you have bigger things to worry about than body image. They often smiled amusingly when they saw me turning my little hospital corner into my gym, but I wasn’t going to give up.

But eventually, I realised that my workout wasn’t having much effect. My dresses no longer fit me, and I dared not to look at myself in the mirror. I tried extra hard, getting up at 6.30am every day to go to reformer pilate classes—every single day, even the weekends. In the afternoon, I would return to the gym for another hour of cardio. I told myself that I have to do it, otherwise things would be worse.

My weight gain affected my self-confidence a lot. I hid away. I hid away in my thick winter coats. I hid away behind the Zoom camera. I hid away from myself, by not stepping onto the scale for as long as I could. But deep down, I knew I could not hide forever.

Then, there came the hair loss. Starting with handfuls of hair, it then became bunches and locks of hair, falling out from my hair every time I dare to touch it. My pillow was always covered in hair in the morning, and after showering I had to vacuum the floor completely—the vacuum cleaner picked up ten times more hair each morning than the weekly cleaning I did in the past.

After radiation therapy, I started chemo, and that’s when I realised weight gain and hair loss aren’t my only concern. Every month, on the days of my chemo treatment, I am overwhelmed with nausea. My whole mouth went numb, everything was tasteless, and I continuously felt like I had vomit in my stomach, throat and mouth.

The first time I vomited, I was surprised. It was in the middle of the night, and I didn’t realise what was going on until a few minutes later when I semi woke up. I felt strengthless and vulnerable, and couldn’t believe that my body was so unreliable.

During subsequent months, I’ve always been very careful on chemo days. I’ve exercised great discipline in meticulously preparing for the right diet and heading to bed early. But even so, I was frequently woken up in the middle of the night by incredible nausea, sometimes countless times throughout the night.

On some days I threw up all the food I’ve eaten in a day. On other days when the anti-sickness pills are having their claimed effect, I could only vomit saliva. The horrible sick feelings are the same, and in the morning, I marvel at the big rubbish bag half-filled with saliva.

On some other days, it’s actually neither the vomit of food nor the vomit of saliva that bothers me. Even if I do manage to sleep through the night, my body is still plagued by fear—fear of vomiting, fear of feeling sick, fear of waking up in the middle of the night and feeling hopeless. Consequently, I go to bed feeling down and wanting to fall asleep as soon as possible. I wake up in the morning feeling triumph that I’ve made it through the night, but totally exhausted like my body has been up fighting a battle all night. 

My therapist said I should learn to exercise more self love and that I am being too harsh on myself. She said that there are so many factors that determine how our bodies behave. She used her own experience of menopause as an example to explain to me that we can’t always be in control of our bodies, and we shouldn’t have the expectation to do so either. After all, isn’t acceptance what we learn from spiritual growth activities like meditation?

I said yes to her, but I don’t truly feel convinced. Surely we must have a way to be master of our bodies, otherwise what’s the point of trying?

So I have tried and tried. Diet, exercises, mindfulness exercises—I have tried everything I thought of. I’ve learned to live with my unpredictable body.

But as I’m writing this article today, I suddenly realised, why haven’t I realised the most unpredictable element of my body? Well, isn’t it strange that my body got cancer? Isn’t it the perfect demonstration of how unpredictable my body is, given that I lead such a healthy, balanced, and emotionally nourished life? No sign was pointing towards cancer at all, let alone cancer at the age of 32. In fact, no symptom was pointing towards cancer, so you can just imagine my surprise when I was told the news during a regular health checkup.

I am now halfway through my chemo, and the journey ahead still feels long and unpredictable. But I am determined to trust the unpredictable and fully experience the rest of my life through my body.