
Awakening to Healing
My Journey Through Cancer
This is my story...
After years of being trapped in an energy-drained and weary body that constantly suffered from pain, I had tailored my entire life to accommodate this body. One day, I'd do the laundry and clean the house, and the next day, I'd be plagued with muscle aches and extreme fatigue.
I was responsible for my children and my household. I had gone through a divorce, which eventually turned into a bitter legal battle. I had to separate from yet another person with a narcissistic personality disorder. It wasn't my first encounter with someone like this; I had been through it all before. In fact, I was raised by a mother with alcohol and drug problems who also had the same narcissistic personality disorder. You could say I was a well-trained adult woman, carrying all the scars that childhood trauma brings. As a result, I made wrong choices in love. At that time, I hadn't acquired the right knowledge to free myself from these individuals; I kept attracting them. I couldn't heal. I had become a people pleaser, someone who was always there for others at the expense of myself, and ultimately, at the expense of my health.
What was my body trying to tell me? What happened after years and years of daily stress, being constantly in the fight, flight, or freeze mode? I could withstand it all. I could absorb the blows, stay sane, keep a clear focus, and persevere. My body was just a tool; they couldn't touch my soul. I quickly absorbed every blow, mentally or physically, and because I always felt a tremendous sense of responsibility, at the age of 20, I took on the care of my son and, subsequently, four daughters.
I did my best for everyone and everything. Then my body said, 'Enough!' It initiated self-destruction because it realized that I cared more about others than about myself. It was the result of too little self-love and inadequate self-care.

At that moment, a switch flipped inside me, and the moment I truly realized, 'I have cancer,' I started to grow and learn rapidly, as I have done my entire life. I learn quickly, adapt swiftly, and change instantly when needed. I never could undergo therapy because after every session, I was told that I could analyze everything perfectly and that they admired the way I dealt with the negative experiences of life. I was on the right path.
I was extremely self-critical; everything had to be on the brink of perfection, and sacrificing myself was easy. I had two modes: pushing myself relentlessly without breaks or crashing completely. When I crashed, I would sink into a deep depression that lasted a minimum of an hour to a maximum of a week, and then, at some point, I would wake up feeling happy and would start all over again.
Fortunately, I had always felt happy. What was happiness, really? For me, happiness was when I closed the door of my house, looked around, felt safe in my own environment, and let go of everything that belonged outside. Internally, I felt safe and joyful; that was happiness. And every day, I experienced happiness multiple times. When the sun was shining (and where I live, the sun almost always shines), I was almost codependent on the sun. When the sun warmed my skin, I felt an abundance of energy, warmth, and light; it recharged me and gave me a profound sense of self-love.
The wake-up call came during the chemotherapy sessions — the journey to healing, self-love, and self-care that had already begun when I was 13, with me accumulating more and more knowledge. However, in 2020, my body said, 'I can't take this anymore. It's great that you can hold yourself together mentally and physically through sheer strength, but no, this is not how you treat yourself. Wake up!' And wake up, I did.
While most people burst into tears in despair upon hearing the words 'You have cancer' and immediately enter panic mode, a smile forms around my mouth. I put my hand over my mouth, as if I'm ashamed of the grin that wants to appear. The only thought that goes through my mind is, 'YES, I'm going to get better! Thank you, body, you're right; this needs to stop NOW! Today. I am important; in fact, I am the most important. I can have a healthy life; I can have a fit body. Oh yes, indeed. I'm grabbing this opportunity with both hands. I'm going to get better, and I'm already doing a little dance of joy."
Soon ... My book about my journey .. Stay positieve with cancer ...
My Journey from Ignorance to Diagnosis: Battling Cancer
Maybe it's nothing...
I still remember saying this to myself at the doctor's office, the moment I decided to be completely honest about the list of symptoms I had been experiencing for a long time. Hmm, yes, all those vague complaints that were always dismissed with "it's just stress, talk to the house psychologist." Yet, there was something that kept nagging at my mind. I had managed to justify the extreme weight loss since the summer of 2019, attributing it to my strict adherence to a keto diet, which eliminated carbohydrates from my meals.
My body didn't react well to it, with my stomach often aching, causing severe discomfort after consuming potatoes or bread. But I had lost more than 17 kilograms in just six months. Then there was that nasty cough I developed just before Christmas in 2019. The pain in my throat, my voice growing hoarse, often failing me. My brother-in-law, Stephen, and I chalked it up to the cigarettes we smoked together during our festive holiday gatherings. But those lumps in my neck, the swollen lymph nodes, including the ones under my collarbone, continued to grow.
I'm not the type to run to the doctor for every little thing, so I turned to Google to research my symptoms. I read that doctors would usually send you home with a recommendation to wait for four weeks if the lymph nodes didn't disappear but grew larger. So, I, in my optimism, waited for more than nine weeks before officially reporting the lymph node that had now grown to over 4 cm, just below my collarbone. The lumps that I had hoped would spontaneously vanish were only getting bigger. Thus, in January 2020, I scheduled another appointment with my doctor, this time with my entire list of symptoms and a question: "Could this be cancer?" Or was it the result of my 2011 diagnosis of B-12 deficiency, known as Addison-Biermer's disease? My intestines weren't absorbing this vitamin properly, and I had been diligently receiving injections ever since. But I knew that stress had taken a toll on my pain and fatigue, which had become chronic by then.
My First Doctor's Visit
Published on January 14, 2020, at 11:40 AM
Two weeks ago, I made an appointment with my doctor online. I wanted to know if these symptoms, particularly extreme fatigue, were related to my chronic B12 deficiency, known as Addison-Biermer's disease. Feeling a bit nervous, I sat in the waiting room. I walked into the clinic, and she recognized me as a hardworking mother of five kids. An independent woman, a bit stubborn, but strong enough to withstand severe blows. We talked about my ongoing divorce, which had yet to be finalized, and the narcissistic ex who was causing me so much stress that my body was constantly producing stress hormones. I wanted to know how I could deal with this stress in a healthy way because I didn't want to feel those nerves, pain, and fatigue anymore.
Feeling utterly blocked, especially in communication and dealing with the torment, I had had enough. I wanted peace. The doctor suggested I might consider talking to a psychologist. For the pain, she recommended seeing a rheumatologist, as there could be an underlying issue like fibromyalgia. She also ordered some blood tests, and I had to wait for the results. That Friday, she called me back. It turned out I had an extremely low level of vitamin D. I was prescribed a high-dose vitamin D supplement and was told I'd start feeling better within a few weeks. I was overjoyed as I picked up the pills. However, there was one catch: I was over 40 and still breastfeeding my nearly 3-year-old daughter! She looked at me as if I were crazy. "You need to stop now! That's not advice; it's an assault on your body. Moreover, you can't breastfeed while taking vitamin D supplements." This was a compelling reason for me to stop breastfeeding that very day. I explained to my 2-year-old daughter, "Mommy needs vitamins, so you can't drink from me anymore." Amazingly, she seemed to understand, and that night, she slept soundly without any crying spells because she couldn't nurse. What wise, intelligent, and sweet children I had, I thought that night.
My Second Doctor's Visit
Published on January 21, 2020, at 11:40 AM
Every Friday at 11 o'clock, I had to take two vitamin capsules. Honestly, I already felt a bit better. Yet, I decided to go back because the extreme fatigue wouldn't let up, and I couldn't afford to sleep for weeks. I had kids to take care of, and all I wanted was to sleep, a luxury I couldn't afford. I seriously wondered if I'd truly feel better after a few weeks of taking vitamin D. After all, there were still those other symptoms. I wrote them all down and tried to mention everything when I sat down with the doctor. I told her, "It's probably nothing, and I don't want to exaggerate, but this is what I'm experiencing:
- I have these large lumps. Since October 2019, I've felt several swellings in my neck and under my collarbone. They are likely my lymph nodes. Back then, they were reasonably flat, somewhat oval, about 4 cm, I estimated. On top of one of them was a small bump.
- Sweating: This sweating was mostly at night, and it worsened during my menstrual period. I assumed it was hormonal.
- Sore Throat: Pain when swallowing,
hoarseness, occasional choking during meals and drinks.
- Extreme Fatigue: Especially in my neck and shoulders.
- Pain: In my kidneys, back, lungs, muscles, hands, feet, and head.
- Ringing in Ears
- Poor Sleep and Appetite
- Extreme Weight Loss: I was frighteningly thin at this point. Even my skinny jeans were falling off.
- Itching (on the left side) on my back and shins for over 10 months.
Moreover, in 2019, I had three root canal treatments to kill the nerves. I had experienced extreme pain in one of my molars, almost unbearable. But after X-rays, nothing unusual was detected. Nevertheless, I continued to suffer. Eventually, I panicked and asked the dentist to remove the tooth. My dentist agreed, albeit reluctantly, as pulling a healthy tooth wasn't his favorite pastime. But the pain persisted. In hindsight, I realized that the cancerous growths were putting pressure on my nerves, causing the pain. I sat on the examination table, and she quickly examined the nodes in my neck.

I didn't feel anything unusual. I took her hand and pointed to the lumps below my collarbone. I saw her eyes widen, and she returned to her desk, making a call to the hospital's internist. "I have a patient I want you to examine urgently." She told me not to worry, saying, "It's probably nothing. But if you go to the hospital, and they find nothing, please come talk to our psychologist." "Okay," I replied.
Three days later, I sat in the hospital, answering an extensive questionnaire for the internist.
To the Hospital
Published on January 24, 2020, at 1:45 PM
Today, I have an appointment with the internal medicine department. I have an introductory conversation and get to recount my list of complaints once more. The doctor asks if I ever thought about more serious illnesses given these symptoms. To be honest, no, my doctor had repeatedly assured me that I was too young for cancer, although the thought had crossed my mind a few times. But me, with cancer? No, I felt invincible. I've always felt something in my body, and I'm not the type to rush to the doctor for every physical complaint. I've experienced all sorts of stress, and I know how my character and past experiences can influence my way of life and my body. Also, I thought that some of the symptoms could be related to my B12 deficiency, especially the nerve pain. And as for fibromyalgia, I've been hearing about it since I was 25, but it seems like such a vague illness to me. Whenever I have a bit of stress, I experience pain, and I attribute it to fibromyalgia. Pain is an emotion, and emotions can be turned off. I either ignore those aches with diclofenac or simply carry on. Over my limits, just like I observed in the special forces in the army. Pain is an emotion, and emotions can be turned off.
I get weighed and measured: 54 kilograms and 1.77 cm. Yes, today, I was allowed to keep my 10cm-high heels on. I'm not that tall, after all. 😊
Before I head home, the doctor tells me he wants to rule out everything, so he plans to test me for tuberculosis and HIV, even though both seem impossible. However, that week, the idea did creep into my mind. Thanks, doc. There are moments when I think, "Could it be cancer after all?" And I wonder if I do have cancer, would it be treatable? Or could I have somehow contracted HIV mysteriously? I had been tested three years ago during my pregnancy, and the results were negative. So, it was impossible. A whirlwind of thoughts rushes through my mind. I'm allowed to go to the department where they'll draw blood. It feels like they're taking 5 liters of blood from me, although in reality, it's just ten vials. And then, I'm free to go home.
My First PET Scan: A Journey into Uncertainty
Published on January 28, 2020, at 6:45 PM
I receive a phone call from the hospital informing me that I need a PET scan and a biopsy. Fortunately, they also inform me that I do not have HIV or tuberculosis. It turns out, we're focusing on cancer.
On Tuesday, I have a PET scan scheduled. The day before, I need to drink a minimum of 2 liters of fluids. I measure out how many cups of tea that would be and fill two 500ml bottles. I also have a 500ml can of Coca-Cola Zero. That should be enough fluids. I haven't been eating much lately, and drinking so much isn't a priority, but I'm committed. My appetite has been absent for months, possibly due to the keto diet.
Two hours before the scan, I need to drink another 500ml of water. I get in my car and head to the Leidsche Rijn Hospital in Utrecht, which is conveniently close to my home.
I quickly get called in, take a seat in a chair, and the nurse explains what will happen. First, I get a finger prick to check my blood sugar, which is normal. Then, they insert an IV into my right arm, injecting a solution that will make me urinate more. After that, it's flushed with a saline solution, and they connect the large machine next to me to the IV. In just 30 seconds, it pumps a radioactive substance into my body. The nurse steps out of the room to protect herself from the radiation.
Next, I'm led into a dimly lit room where I can use the restroom as often as needed. I can listen to music on my phone, but I must choose only one playlist and avoid checking my phone constantly. "No problem," I think, as I select a pleasant radio station on my phone. I then lie back in the chair, place my warm jacket over my legs, close my eyes, put in my earphones, and search for a radio station.
After a minute, I find a station that doesn't have extreme static. I listen to one song and check the clock. 55 more minutes to go. The next song bothers my ears so much that it's painful. I quickly switch to another station. When I go to the bathroom to urinate, the lighting is ten times brighter, causing discomfort in my eyes.
After 10 minutes of enduring the static on the radio, I look for a nice playlist on Spotify. It works for a while, and I get to enjoy two whole songs before the static returns. I decide to momentarily abandon my phone and realize that I can hear a monotonous humming in the distance. It's probably the PET scan machine causing interference with my phone. I head to the restroom again and hear someone entering the room.
A woman sits down next to me, wearing a headscarf. It's evident that she has cancer. At this moment, I don't yet realize that in five weeks, I'll understand this woman more than ever. I glance at the clock; 40 minutes left. Suddenly, my music starts playing again. I lie down, close my eyes, and think of a good friend who does a funny dance to every song and can lip-sync songs perfectly. It makes me laugh, and time flies by.
Finally, they remove the IV from my arm, and I'm directed to another room where I can lie on a long table. They place a block under my legs, and I can position my arms above my head. I feel the board sliding towards a circular opening. I close my eyes and imagine I'm getting on a roller coaster at an amusement park. I sense the anticipation, hear the ticking, slowly being pulled up, going around a bend, and then speeding down... My stomach flutters, I laugh, and I fall asleep.
Then I hear a voice. "Ma'am, we're done." I wake up suddenly. Finally, it's time to go home. With a big smile on my face, I walk towards my car. It's over.
My First Biopsy: Navigating Pain and Uncertainty
Published on January 30, 2020, at 3:00 PM
Two days later, I'm in my car, en route to the Antonius Hospital in Nieuwegein. I find the atmosphere here strikingly different from the Leidsche Rijn Hospital.
When it's my turn, a young assistant escorts me. I'm directed into a small room and asked to lie down on a bed. My coat and bag are left in the changing area. Though they request I remove my sweater, I opt to keep it on since I'm still shivering from the cold, at least until the doctor arrives to perform the biopsy.
It takes a while, and I remain perched on the bed. After some time, the doctor finally arrives. "So, madam, we're going to do a biopsy because there were some concerning findings in the neck and torso on the scan," he says, pointing to my neck and lower body.
(I already know that a benign localized growth doesn't show up on a PET scan. And the areas he's pointing to with his words, body language, and gestures reveal the result of my PET scan. At that moment, I already know: I have cancer.)
He briefly explains the procedure and takes a seat on a stool next to the table where I'm lying. Above my head, there's a screen where I can follow along. We start with an ultrasound to get a clear view of the lymph node, as the biopsy will be taken from the 4cm swollen node in my neck, just below my collarbone.
Then comes the numbing agent. I feel a slender needle entering my neck. After a few seconds, he says, "Here we go." I feel an excruciatingly sharp sting in my neck and let out a loud "ouch." "Does it hurt?" he asks. Pain is an understatement; it's a hellish sensation. "I'll give you some more anesthesia," he says because that was the needle for the biopsy, and it still needs to collect a piece of tissue.
I brace myself. Then I feel the needle in my neck again, and once more, it's agonizing. He adds more anesthesia and asks if it's still painful or just sensitive when he inserts the needle into my neck again. Irritated, I reply, "Please, just continue. I want it to be over." I glance up at the screen and see the lump moving back and forth as the needle draws closer. I look away, and the doctor presses down on my neck. It hurts, but I change the word "pain" in my mind to "pleasure." I hear a click, and the needle withdraws from my skin.
"That's it; this one's done," says the doctor. I'm relieved and want to sit up. "Sorry, we're going to do it again," he informs me. Disappointed, I close my eyes again, hoping it will be over quickly.
The needle goes into my neck, and this time, I feel nothing at all. I open my eyes and watch the screen. I see the needle approaching the growth, struggling to pierce its thick edge. Suddenly, the needle jabs into the lump; I hear the click, and the needle retreats.
It reminds me a bit of artificial insemination, except now the needle apparently snatches a piece of tissue from the growth. Well, at least a bit of cancer is out of my body, I think.
Before the doctor came in, the nurse had asked me to remove my sweater. I asked, "Can I keep it on? I'm really cold." She replied, "It's going to get a little messy." I thought she meant messy from the gel they use for the ultrasound. But later, I discovered that by "messy," she meant: The doctor is going to hit some vein multiple times, causing a lot of blood to spurt from your neck, and your entire sweater will be stained red on your back. In medical terms, this is what we call "a bit messy."

As I sit up, I feel a tingling sensation in my fingers. Later, on the drive home, I realize that the local anesthesia is still felt in my left hand and fingertips.
I step into my car and head home, feeling slightly traumatized.
Tip! Don't attempt to drive yourself back after a neck biopsy. 😊
✅ CHECK
Soon more... in my book & English blog : My hodgkin Lymfhoma Journey
1 ) Chemotherapy
2) Getting long - Covid-19
3) Healing almost impossible during stress
4) Fear of cancer
5) 2023 Almost 2 years in remission!

