The first two rounds of chemotherapy went surprisingly smoothly. This time, however, we’ve hit a bit of a roadblock, and it’s not entirely clear how things will go from here. We’ll see what a little more rest and a few extra vitamins can accomplish.

A quick note before I start: I only just realized that two of my articles somehow ended up in the wrong order. The post called “Cancer 3 : 0” was actually supposed to come before this one. So apparently we’re running a little behind not only with chemotherapy.

January 12th was supposed to be my third treatment. My routine had become fairly simple: blood tests on Friday, then straight to the doctor on Monday before heading for the infusion. That Monday, I was the very first patient in the waiting room. I had a list of questions prepared and several things I wanted to discuss. The moment I sat down, however, the doctor told me he had bad news.

“The results aren’t good.”

“Which results?”

“All of them.”

At least that’s what I understood.

He then gave me a much more detailed explanation involving platelets, white blood cells, bone marrow, and liver values, but my brain mostly registered: everything. He admitted he hadn’t expected it. Up until then, I’d been doing remarkably well. He prescribed two supplements: essential phospholipids to support liver function and regeneration, and another medication containing diosmin to help circulation and blood vessels.

A few extra days, I thought. We’ll be fine.

I mentioned that I’d been going to the gym and using the sauna, but he didn’t really comment on that. Thursday arrived. Blood test at 6:45 a.m. Doctor at 8:00.

“I’ve got bad news again,” he said. “One of the white blood cell parameters is still causing problems. We’ll have to postpone treatment again.”

The first delay hadn’t bothered me too much. I’d adjusted my plans, moved a few things around, and accepted it. A couple of days wasn’t the end of the world. This time felt different. My dad had already arranged time off work. Visits had been postponed. Trips had been moved. Mentally, I was prepared for the next round of chemotherapy. And suddenly there wasn’t going to be one.

To stay motivated, I went to the gym. I lifted tiny dumbbells. I limited my sauna sessions to three rounds of five minutes. I was actually quite proud of myself for not overdoing it and felt reasonably good afterwards. Then the doctor scheduled my next blood tests for the following Thursday.

That hit me hard.

When I’d read stories from other cancer patients, I’d seen how much they feared blood test results. How stressful delays could be. How they prayed for good numbers and worried about every postponed treatment. I sympathized, but I never truly understood. Because that happened to other people. Not me. I had a strong body. The first two rounds had gone great. Nothing like that was going to happen to me.

Apparently, life was once again offering me a valuable lesson.

Will I ever learn? 🙂

Fortunately, I have family and friends who seem professionally qualified in cheering me up, so I never had enough time to completely drown in self-pity. But I felt it. A lot. Those are the nights when your eyes are closed because you’re too tired to keep them open, yet sleep never arrives. Rationally, I knew it was only a week. Just a few extra days for my body to recover, rebuild, and become strong enough to handle the next round.

The thought that haunted me was different. Those extra days belonged to the cancer too. More time. More opportunities. More chances to spread. More chances to quietly keep eating away at me from the inside. I felt like I’d failed. I’d failed my body. I’d failed my son. I’d failed my family. Part of it may have been accumulated stress. Part of it may have been slower recovery. But if I’m honest, I think I pushed too hard. That’s my problem.

“If not now, then when?”

My son had just started kindergarten, which meant waking up absurdly early by my standards. After drop-off, I’d head to the gym or into the forest. Then home to work on my laptop. In the afternoon I’d pick him up, play with him, do something active together, and once he was asleep, I’d work again. I was sleeping a little better because I had to get up earlier, but nowhere near enough. My family took care of most of the cooking and household chores, which helped enormously, but I was still exhausted during the day.

I simply ignored it.

I’ve been tired plenty of times in my life. Truly exhausted? Only a handful. One example would be after my first and last amateur MMA fight.

That was who I used to be.

I didn’t have a six-pack. I wasn’t the best athlete in the room. But mentally, I approached training as if I were preparing for the Olympics. That’s one of the reasons I was never the worst either. In China, I won medals in categories full of Chinese competitors. I won European gold. I won matches in combat sports.

The first surgery and the first two rounds of chemotherapy went well largely because of the body I’d built over all those years. But the little monster inside me has changed everything. I have to admit something I don’t particularly like admitting.

I’m fragile.

The mindset that served me well for years is now working against me. My body is doing everything it can to recover from surgery, chemotherapy, and my own stubbornness. No amount of protein shakes and vitamins can magically make it perform the way it used to. Right now, rest and recovery have to be the priority. And I need to learn not to see that as laziness. At university we were taught that recovery is a full and essential part of training. When you’re healthy, though, it’s easy to ignore that lesson.

There’s another lesson I’ve been avoiding for years. Several people have been reminding me of it for a very long time.

I just never listened.

Be kinder to yourself.