[Episode 22] Even after treatment ended, my body hadn't returned to normal

As I briefly mentioned in my previous post,
my sixth chemotherapy session ended in late July.

Honestly, in the beginning, even though there was physical hardship,
it only lasted a few days.

I would feel nauseous. I would lose my appetite. My body would feel sluggish.

Even so, after a few days, I would gradually recover
and return to work.

As I went through the third and fourth treatments,
I felt like I had learned how to cope
with the chemotherapy in my own way.

However, things started to change a bit around the fifth session.

For some reason, the very act of heading to the treatment room became a chore.

And that bad premonition proved to be correct.

From the fifth session onwards, the side effects became stronger,
and I began to feel significant changes in my body,
including a sense of anemia.

The sixth session, in particular, was the hardest.

Still, the planned six sessions of treatment were finished.

The side effects also began to settle down little by little.

“From here on, my body will gradually
return to normal.”

That’s what I thought.

But the treatment ending and my body returning to normal were two completely different things.
That day was a practice match for the high school soccer team I coach.

Since it was mid-summer, it was naturally hot, but
because I had become somewhat acclimated to the heat,

I didn't feel it was dangerously hot.
I had also eaten a proper breakfast.
There is hardly a day out of 365 that I don't eat breakfast.

In fact, that day I left the house early,

and worked while eating a breakfast at a McDonald's near the site.
It was a morning like any other.

We were short on people that day.
Out of consideration for the players' physical condition, and
because I wanted to convey what I felt by actually entering the pitch,

I decided to participate in the practice match as well.

Before the match, I was in charge of the GK warm-up,

and I took about 100 shots.
Recently, I had been getting used to the dirt ground little by little, and for some reason, I even felt like I was in good shape that day.
Since the opposing team was also short on people,
we played three 30-minute matches.

I played in two of them.
Ever since I finished my sixth chemotherapy session,

I had a unique feeling of anemia, as if blood wasn't reaching the soles of my feet or my fingertips.

I felt it a little bit that day too.
Still, I judged that it would be fine

to join a high school practice match as a coach.

The first match was no problem at all.
If anything, it was fun to be able to play soccer properly for the first time in a while.
I conveyed what I felt on the pitch to the players,

and played in the second match as well.

However, halfway through, I started to feel discomfort in my heart.
I've had a slight heart problem since I was a child,

and I would have arrhythmias maybe once a year.

I had been told that this surgery and chemotherapy could put a strain on my heart,

so I was getting regular checkups.
At this time, I had a sensation close to an arrhythmia, but

it wasn't so bad that I couldn't play.
I tried to play as energy-efficiently as possible,

and finished the match.

It was after that when it really became painful.
When the match ended and I was cleaning up,
my breathing gradually became labored.

I had no strength in my legs.
It became difficult even to stand.
I couldn't help it, so I lay down on the bench.

I thought I'd be fine if I rested for about 5 minutes.
Thinking that, I stood up once.

But this time, a stronger feeling of anemia
than before attacked me.

I felt like I was losing consciousness.

I thought, this is really bad.
The players and the advisor teacher

brought me water and towels.

After that, I moved to an air-conditioned room

and rested for a while.

Although I managed to participate in the post-match meeting, I couldn't stand and talk,

so I talked to the players while sitting down.

The feeling of anemia remained on the train ride home.
Just getting home was a struggle.

I had lunch, rested for a while, and gradually recovered,

and by the next day, there was almost no problem.

Actually, that night,
I even thought a little bit, “What if I don't wake up tomorrow?”

In the end, it was an unnecessary worry, and I was relieved.
I think this physical condition was caused by the combination of anemia,

decreased cardiopulmonary function, and
the heat.
However, what I felt when I collapsed was

not so much “painful” as it was

a feeling of “sadness”.

Until last year, I was somehow
working as a soccer coach while playing as an active futsal player.

I thought I had been taking care of my body

to a reasonable extent.

Now, my physical strength has dropped, my appearance has changed,

and I can't play like I used to.

I haven't even been able to decide on a futsal team to join.
The fact that I could work was my only salvation.
That is why it was sadder than anything else that I

collapsed at my workplace.
I want to do it, but my body won't keep up.
I think I can do it, but I can't.

Is “not being able to do what you want to do”
this frustrating and sad?
The planned treatment is finished for now.

However, a significant impact still remains on my body.
Just because the treatment is over,

it doesn't mean I've returned to my former self.
Rather, I felt for the first time that day that my physical recovery starts from here.

And this time, it wasn't just my own problem.
I worried the players and the teacher.

I also caused trouble for those around me.

Even after I found out about my illness,
I kept running without stopping.

I coached even while I was hospitalized.

I returned to the ground the day after I was discharged.

I went to club activities even on the day I received chemotherapy.
Is it passion?

Is it resolve?

Or is it simply that I can't quit?

I don't even know myself.
I've been running without worrying about my illness, but

perhaps I had been pushing myself to the limit all along.
Even so, I surely cannot quit being a soccer coach.

Even before I got sick,

I had been standing on the ground with that much resolve.

But now, I know that my body is not just my own.

I have a family.
I have friends.

I have a partner.

And I have my students and their families.

Is pushing yourself until you collapse really resolve?

Is pushing yourself and shortening your life

really facing what you love?

Having had this experience, my way of thinking has changed a little.

I don't want to waste my life,

I want to live with my life on the line.
To continue standing on the ground for a long time,
I will face my own body.

I will rest when I should rest.
On top of that, I will do my best when I can.

The fact that the treatment is over was not the goal.
I think the next battle for me is to regain my body from here,

and become able to play soccer and futsal with all my might again.
I haven't returned to my former self yet.

Even so, I just need to bring it back little by little.

Until the day I can run on the pitch with all my might again.

Next time, I think I will write about
participating in a training camp for the first time since spring.

[Episode 23]
August 16th (Sun) 21:00 release