Entrusting a Great Comeback to Clovers
Almost every day, I receive feedback on my book from someone.
It comes from friends and relatives who have read the essay collection I published recently, 'The Happiness Theory of a Writer'.
Just having them read it is enough, so even if it's just a short note, I'm happy to receive any kind of feedback. I have nothing but gratitude.
My mother-in-law distributed many copies to our relatives, so even my uncle-in-law sent me his thoughts.
He is my mother-in-law's younger brother.
Actually, it wasn't addressed to me, but was a letter to my mother-in-law, but she secretly forwarded it to me because she wanted me to read it.
When I read it, it seemed that at first, he intended to just glance through it with the attitude of, 'Oh, Kaori's essay, hmm, hmm.' But as he read on, he became absorbed in it, and he told me that from halfway through, he read it while taking notes on words and feelings that caught his attention. He even enclosed those notes.
My uncle's feedback was written in frank words with a slightly humorous touch, and it was overflowing with kindness.
As I read it, I went beyond feeling happy; I felt humbled, or rather, overwhelmed.
The feedback also included clovers pressed between sheets of paper like pressed flowers.
Three types: four-leaf, five-leaf, and six-leaf.
It seems he sent these as well.
'He said he hoped one of them would work,' was added to my mother-in-law's message.
Four-leaf clovers aside, I had never seen five- or six-leaf clovers before.
Later, I received a follow-up message from my mother-in-law:
'Four-leaf is for happiness,
five-leaf is for connections,
six-leaf is for good health.'
I think that with all of these, I have nothing to fear.
Yesterday was my blood and urine test at the hospital.
Since I have finished all 35 rounds of Keytruda, I discussed future treatment plans with my doctor. My husband was also present.
Simply put, there are 'no moves left to make'.
If I really wanted to keep trying, there are things I could do, but they aren't treatments I should actively pursue, as they are either unlikely to be effective or involve only single-agent anticancer drugs.
The genetic panel test I was hoping for might not yield an accurate judgment because the specimen is from a surgery 10 years ago and is too old. Or rather, that possibility is quite high.
Even so, my husband said, 'If there is even a slight possibility, let's take it,' so in the end, I applied for it.
I felt bad because the test is expensive, but I left the decision to my husband, who is paying for it.
I was told the results of the panel test would be available around the end of June. Until then, I will continue with Lenvima as before, to the extent that it doesn't affect my kidneys.
However, my tumor markers had risen again.
It is very difficult to 'suppress' the cancer with the current dosage of Lenvima. The best I can do is slow down the progression speed a little.
That said, I am managing the pain somehow, and as long as I can continue Lenvima, it doesn't seem like 'something will happen today or tomorrow'.
I have no choice but to survive one day at a time.
Until the day comes when I can use a new drug.
When I decided to take the panel test, my doctor muttered, 'I really want to pull off a great comeback.'
I really hope that happens.
The doctor looks away from the CT scan results sheet, which is filled with the words 'tumor enlargement'.
When my husband said, 'Please print that out' before we left, the doctor said, 'I forgot. I was trying not to look at it as much as possible. Ah, I don't want to see it,' and looked away from the results again.
My husband and I felt a little comforted by that, and for the first time that day, a small laugh echoed in the examination room.
I'm still okay.
I have no basis for it, but I can feel that I'm okay.
Protected by so many people, supported by them, and prayed for a great comeback—how happy I am.
Besides, I have the four-leaf, five-leaf, and six-leaf clovers.
I'm probably invincible.