So far, I’ve completed two chemotherapy sessions and have two more ahead of me. After that, I’ll have my first major scans and tests so we can see how both my body and the cancer are responding to treatment.

I’ve now been through two rounds of chemotherapy and am getting ready for the third. The side effects haven’t been too bad, and overall we’re doing well. I was about to say I’ve been lucky. Maybe that’s true. But I also think a large part of it comes down to the body I’ve spent years building.

When we’re young, we tend to take our health for granted. Other people get sick, but it rarely feels real because it’s happening to someone else. China looks at health a little differently. Early in the morning and again in the evening, parks are packed with people. It almost feels like standing in the middle of Wenceslas Square. People walk, run, skip rope, play badminton, dance, practice martial arts, and do all sorts of physical activities. Most are older, but you’ll also find plenty of people in their forties. Younger professionals tend to prefer gyms and fitness clubs. University students use campus facilities. Schoolchildren are usually too busy studying to do much else.

Before I moved to China, I thought it was wonderful that Chinese people seemed to love exercise so much. After living there, I realized it’s not just enthusiasm. Of course, after years of doing it, movement becomes a natural part of life. It’s social. It keeps people connected. But there’s another reason.

For a long time, staying healthy wasn’t just a good idea. It was a necessity. People had to pay for everything themselves. Every appointment. Every test. Every medication. One of my classmates’ mothers developed cancer. The treatment became so expensive that the family had to sell their apartment. They ended up living together in a single room. Despite everything, she still passed away, and the family was left with debt on top of their grief.

Being sick in China is no joke.

Things have improved over the years. Health insurance now exists in various forms, and most people have at least some coverage. At university, all of us were insured. Bachelor’s students had lower coverage than master’s students, and master’s students had lower coverage than PhD students. For employees, the system works somewhat similarly to ours, with contributions coming from salaries. The problem is that coverage often only pays 60–90% of the costs. Another issue is that patients usually have to pay everything upfront, collect receipts, submit them to the insurance company, and then wait to see what gets reimbursed.

If you can’t pay?

Unless you’re actively dying, you’re out of luck.

There’s even a Chinese saying:

生不起病 (Shēng bù qǐ bìng)

“You can’t afford to get sick.”

Meanwhile, in the two months since my hospitalization began, I’ve paid the equivalent of about two euros in prescription charges.

So what side effects have I actually experienced?

The thing that affected me most wasn’t even the chemotherapy itself. It was the pre-medication. The drugs for nausea, allergic reactions, and relaxation left me sleepy, slow, and tired. The morning after my first treatment, I woke up with severe back pain. I went into the kitchen to prepare some pain medication, but suddenly I felt awful. Nausea. Stomach cramps. Cold sweats. Dizziness. My vision started fading.

I barely made it to the bathroom.

My mum brought me a bowl just in case.

A few moments later, she heard it hit the floor.

I’d passed out.

Once things settled down, I went back to bed and slept. By the afternoon, I was already feeling better.

Twenty-four hours after chemotherapy, I had to inject myself with Pelgraz, which stimulates white blood cell production and helps the bone marrow recover. That hit me much harder. I was exhausted, and my bones hurt.

The closest thing I can compare it to is growing pains.

As if my bones were stretching from the inside.

The first time was pretty unpleasant. If I didn’t take painkillers early enough, it took forever for them to work, and even then I could still feel it. After that, I started taking them before the pain arrived. Three days later, it would gradually disappear on its own.

The nausea was mild. Most of the time I didn’t even need medication. For two days my palms and the soles of my feet itched like crazy. I didn’t have any medication for that one. Cold water helped. I had a little tingling and numbness in my fingers, but that disappeared quickly as well.

The second round was easier than the first.

Overall, I was mostly out of action for about four or five days each cycle and spent a lot of that time sleeping. Other than that, things have gone surprisingly well. What limited me far more than the chemotherapy was recovering from the surgery. I still couldn’t lift anything heavy, got out of breath much more easily, and simply didn’t have the same endurance as before. The incision itself had healed nicely, but I was told that the fascia takes up to twelve weeks to fully recover.

So I started with breathing exercises.

In bed.

Sitting.

Standing.

Whenever I happened to remember.

Then I added walking.

Because I’m me, I didn’t start with ten or twenty minutes.

I went straight to two hours.

The next day I was, of course, completely exhausted.

After six weeks, I added resistance bands and continued walking. After eight weeks, I started going back to the gym. At twelve weeks, I should be able to start running again and lifting heavier weights without worrying about damaging anything.

So far, so good. 🙂