Diary of a dying man

The beginning of a nightmare

First of all, I apologize to everyone for the days that I have been silent, but lately my mood has not been the best and knowing that I was not in a position to offer you a coherent narrative and be perfectly explicit with my words, I chose to remain silent.

Today I continued the review of what I had kept in the box. Inside I found a manila envelope, with some medical documents and an operation band... Upon reviewing them, I found the first diagnosis I was given about the disease that accompanies me day by day, hanging over me like the blade of a guillotine waiting to cut my throat

I don't really know how to start telling this story, I don't even know if I will tell it well but I will try.... It all started 8 years ago (specifically in November 2012) I was 3 months shy of 24 years old and as back then, nothing seemed to worry me. You see, since I was a kid I've always had problems with my lungs, whether it be a badly cured flu, bronchitis, early asthma, among a long list of etc, but nothing that couldn't be healed. However, that morning I felt a persistent dampness in my chest, accompanied by a whistling sound that I only heard when I had bronchitis or something like that. At first I did not pay attention to it, but when I got out of bed, I noticed that I was very tired to the point of almost not being able to breathe, just walking from my room to the living room, so I decided to take action on the matter and went to the emergency room to rule out any problem, having in mind that it would probably be solved with a couple of injections and some rest.

The doctor who attended me at Dos de Mayo did a series of tests and after examining me, he indicated that it could be an infection, so he sent me for chest x-rays. Everything went on, I got lost inside the hospital because I could not find where the damn X-ray unit was. After almost 20 minutes I arrived and had the x-rays done, then came the respective wait and the reconsultation in the emergency room. After spending half the morning there, I was waiting for the treatment, but the doctor, when reviewing my x-rays, was very serious and referred me to pulmonology. I must say that I am not very fond of this specialty, since my father suffered from lung cancer, in addition to fibrosis, which of course, brought back very bad memories... anyway... I went through pneumology and after several tests (I do not remember the name of each one, but one included blowing a little ball in a tube) I was referred to oncology because they had found three small irregular spots in my lungs (2 in the left and 1 in the right).

When I went into oncology, a particularly nosy lady (of which there is never a shortage) asked me if I had a thyroid problem because of my weight and even began to conjecture that I might have stomach cancer for the same reason... it took me a fabulous effort not to send her to hell... I went in for a consultation feeling more and more anxious and Dr. Salinas asked me several questions about my health history. She asked if there were any cases of cancer in my family (technically my family IS the history of cancer) and ordered me to have a Doppler test (I think that's what it's called) and an MRI. He gave me an emergency order (of course...as if that would put my mind at ease) and told me to come back with the results.

They did the tests and told me they would be ready in 2 hours... again to wait... after the waiting time (I waited 3 considering that in Peru the deadlines are rarely punctual) and I returned with my results in hand. After a long silence while analyzing the results, the doctor looked me straight in the eye and said: "There is no easy way to say this Mr. Guzman. You have not one, but 3 tumors in your lungs. I presume from the symptoms you present and what I can see in your results, that they are malignant tumors. However, I will make an appointment for a biopsy so I can get a clearer picture." With that said, he extended the appointment (the next day) and told me to keep my mind at ease.

I had the biopsy the next day and had to come back 4 days later, with a cough that was becoming more and more persistent, to the point that every time I coughed, it caused pain in the rib area, as if I had been hit with a maso with each sputter. Back in Dr. Salinas' office, her expression was funeral... the diagnosis was devastating: lung cancer stage IA1 and had metastasized from lung to lung. With this diagnosis, every day of life would be a battle won. It was in practice the same disease that had taken my dad... I knew beforehand that many patients once diagnosed decide not to follow any treatment, since for most with this diagnosis, this disease is really a death sentence... almost a counter that marks the time left before the bomb explodes. Many patients with this disease are only given palliative care to alleviate the pain it causes and thus die with dignity.

That day Dr. Salinas talked about everything that could happen and the treatments I should follow... however I only managed to catch one sentence that pierced me to the core: "The life expectancy that I could expect, with difficulty will exceed the next 5 years" and there it was... the sentence was finally given... I was going to be a father and after two suicide attempts, I finally had an approximate date to die. In fact, for a while I decided to put all my affairs in order and prepare myself for the imminent arrival of the end.

When my daughter was born, I decided to put up a fight.... but not just because my first daughter was born, but because when I held her in my arms and spoke to her in the softest, sweetest voice I could (those who know me know that I don't use a particularly sweet tone of voice) she clung to my shirt and buried her little face in my chest, smiling as she did so, as if the sound of my voice pleased her and made her feel warm. Then I decided to fight...if cancer is going to take me, it won't take me so easily. I started with the treatment and boy, it was not easy... little by little I started to lose my hair, the day after the first chemotherapy, I vomited my soul out... and every time I did it, I felt my body getting weaker and weaker. It hurt to laugh, but I would go to my daughter's crib and whisper to her some stories and songs that my mother used to tell me and sing to me when I was very little... just seeing her sleepy and smiling for a while, as if my voice provided her with a safety field where nothing could hurt her, made my courage return.

To date, my daughters do not know (at least not from me) about my illness. My weight loss and weight gain are constant, my breathing difficulty is more and more notorious and in 2020, I was one step away from leaving "pa la habana"... I don't know how much time I have left in this world, but as long as I can, I intend to keep fighting... if at some point death comes for me, I will welcome it, but I will not make it easy for it. I have already made some provisions and I am preparing others for when it is necessary, among them my will and several video messages that I leave recorded for my daughters... until then I chose to enjoy every second and when the curtain comes down, then I will go in peace, knowing that I did not give up my arms.