Site Search:

Story from Liyue: April 2006

I am now eighteen years old and nearly three years in remission from osteosarcoma. Since my story was first posted in 2003, I have gone through quite a few ups and downs. Needless to say, life today is very different in many ways from what it was, but the everyday struggles of being an amputee and cancer survivor still remain with me.

I graduated from high school last summer after somehow getting through my junior and senior years. Those two years were tough. During my junior year, I had to deal with medication side effects like hypothyroidism, episodes of paralysis, and unexplained swelling of my lips, and that made everyday a battle. My artificial leg was neither functionally nor aesthetically fitting, so there was the extra burden of having to limp painfully and wear clothing many sizes too big in a place where everyone else was normal and healthy. My junior year was a dark time for me. I often wondered if I could make it through the day without breaking down in a bathroom stall, and I considered quitting school more than once. My mom was always there to comfort and encourage me, but both of us felt pretty helpless at times. I think it was God alone who gave us the hope to keep going. Fortunately, my senior year proceeded much more smoothly. My doctors found the source of my symptoms and stopped my immune boosting medication. Life almost returned to normal with college applications and senior activities. In the end, I even went to prom against my own predictions, and left the graduation ceremony feeling a little nostalgic despite the chaos of those four years.

Last September, I began my first year of college outside of California. There were many apprehensions about living by myself so far from my parents and doctors at home. What if the cancer came back? Would if I have to fly home for treatment? What if my leg broke down? These are questions normal people never need to think about, but they were the real risks of my independence. But most of our worries were unfounded in my first semester. Only walking remained a problem. My new leg that I received the day before my flight did not fit. I needed to wrap myself in bandages every morning, and walked with gritted teeth on the bad days. I realize that as much as college was a new beginning filled with joyful memories and incredible people, some things will never change for me. It will be the lesson of my life to accept my brokenness in peace, to learn contentment with what I do have rather than pine for what I do not. A man who understood the meaning of suffering said, "I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

I am at home right now while my friends at college are finishing up their freshman year. I found out over winter break that I urgently needed brain surgery to treat another rare condition called Moyamoya disease, which would have killed me eventually. No one knows how I got Moyamoya disease, but one of the Moyamoya specialists said it is related to Hashimoto's hypothyroidism, the autoimmune disease I got when I was on interferon. It was not possible for me to continue my college studies with prolonged absences the way I did in high school, so I withdrew. One of my fears had come true. I will start all over this September as a freshman.

I was devastated at first. I was on my knees crying, "Why, God? Why?" But I have taken this time of rest as a gift that I may never receive again. The surgeries bypassed the Moyamoya disease, which should be no longer a cast-member in the drama of my life. I am not working. I am not taking classes. I am at home catching up on all the books I never had the time to read. I am walking up the hill behind my house thinking about people and relationships and the groaning of this earth. I am thinking about why I am here at all, why things happen as they do, and the relevance of it all to those big questions people ask themselves when they realize that life is more mysterious than they had thought. For me though, there is beauty in the mystery, beauty mixed with pain, and I am finding everyday that a point exists where the beauty spills over. It is this point I search for every morning, this point that gives everything else its meaning, this point that remains constant despite all the inconsistencies of my life.