It was the month of February; there was a different excitement and joy in my family as we were planning my little brother’s Bratabanda. It was special not only because we had a special occasion but also because it was the very first function organized by my family. On the Bratabanda day, we were all very busy, and the party was about to end; my father’s school friend group joined. It was so fascinating for me to see how they were so connected even after years. During the conversation, some of his friends noticed a change in his voice. His voice had become hoarse. We all thought that, as the day was full of communicating with guests, his voice might have been affected due to overuse. The day ended so beautifully; we came back home. The days passed, but there was no improvement in his voice. His voice used to be normal during the morning, but as the day passed, it used to get hoarse.

He went to Kirtipur Hospital, where he was given some antibiotics for a sore throat and told to have voice rest and to follow up in five days if there was no improvement in the symptom. But there was no improvement, so he again went for the checkup. During that visit, a nasopharyngolaryngoscopy (NPL) was done; he was diagnosed with a vocal cord nodule, so he was advised to have voice rest and referred for voice therapy. I was in my second year of medical school and by that time I knew that vocal cord nodule occurred in those individuals who had to use their voice a lot but Baba’s job was not like that so I was in doubt but thought I was just a kid in the field of medicine so I thought my knowledge was not sufficient enough to question the diagnosis made by the consultant.

My father then went to Bir Hospital for voice therapy, where every week his outpatient department (OPD) book mentioned improvement in his voice, but we couldn’t notice the changes. After around one month, we decided to do a checkup in the Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital (TUTH) OPD. So, as the famous saying at Tribhuvan University’s Institute of Medicine (IOM) goes, I had my first social. However, I don’t like the term social whenever it comes to your parents because it is your responsibility and more than just social. We went to the OPD, NPL was done, and as soon as the vocal cord was visible, the consultant’s expression changed. I, full of fear, asked what had happened, and sir told me that there was a mass in the vocal cord which looked like a papilloma and we should proceed toward surgery.

Getting a surgery appointment earlier in IOM is like winning the lottery. However, sir put the surgery on a chance basis, in which I had to attend every pre-op, and if any of the scheduled surgeries were cancelled, Baba would get a chance. Luckily, I got our slot within a week, and the surgery was scheduled in three days. We were told to do all the necessary investigations, go to the pre-anesthetic checkup (PAC), and then come for admission the day before our scheduled surgery day. I collected the pre-op report, but I was shocked to see that his random glucose was very high. We went to PAC; he was told to check HbA1c, whose value was so high that the OT was postponed. He was kept on insulin, blood glucose was maintained, and then planned for surgery in two weeks.

Surgery itself is a bit terrifying, and in addition, Baba had a difficult intubation. Most of the departments at TUTH are very student-friendly, and I got to know ENT and anesthesia fell under that category after I got permission to attend my father’s surgery. I got to see that all the tissues were taken out and his vocal cord was now normal. The tissue was sent for biopsy. My father was doing well after the surgery, and he got discharged on the first postoperative day. It was Friday; I was told to collect the biopsy report on Sunday. I was not so stressed about the report because I believed it was papilloma, which I had seen being all resected out, and his voice was back to normal. Baba was very happy to have his voice back.

On Friday, I had gone shopping; there I received a call from the lab and was told to collect the report. I informed them that I am at home and will be collecting on Sunday. I went home after shopping, cooked dinner, and had it. As usual, around 10:30 p.m., before going to bed, I opened my phone and checked the mail. I received my father’s report in the mail; I randomly opened it just like all other emails. But when I read it, it was not like other mail. Before scanning any other details, my eyes went to the impression section where it was mentioned “Moderately differentiated squamous cell carcinoma.” I paused; I couldn’t press the back button on my phone. I was devastated; tears started rolling from my eyes. I was scared; I was anxious. I had never felt such emotions before in my life. It might be difficult for you to believe, but that day I searched on Google that “Is carcinoma malignant?” and prayed that Google would make it benign, but why would it? It gave me the reality check.

I was so scared to share it with anyone at home. I then downloaded the report and sent it to my best friend, Lila. Lila then immediately told me not to panic, and she told me that she would go to ENT first, ask the resident in more detail, and get back to me. During that time, one of my seniors who was an intern also knew it via Lila, so she also texted me to calm down and take every decision in a thoughtful manner. After consulting with residents and interns whom I know, I was told to meet Dr. Prashant Sir, the ENT surgeon who had performed the surgery. I didn’t have the guts to share with anyone in the family. I chose to first be strong so that I would have the energy to handle my family once I disclosed the news. I couldn’t sleep for that whole night.

I had seen my friends whose loved ones suffer from cancer and how they felt hopeless and emotionally weak. I used to wonder why people fear by the name of cancer, but that day I realized that, though there are so many incurable diseases which are far more dangerous than cancer, our mind was so much in fear of cancer that stages and progression don’t come to mind when you see the word cancer, and that within your own family, you feel devastated and you can never feel the emotion unless you suffer from it.

The next morning I woke up; I couldn’t stay at home, so I decided to come to the hostel. Though it was Saturday, I told them that I had some important work to do at college and left without having breakfast.

First, I went to the lab to take the report and then met Lila there. I called Prashant Sir; he was the kindest and most humble doctor I have ever met. He received my call at once; I shared the report with him. He told me that he had also not expected the report to be like that, but as we have already got the report, he further counseled me, saying not to waste my time in search of new advice and experts; rather, going to a cancer center where there is a facility of radiation therapy as soon as possible would be the right choice. Then I asked him whether he could disclose the news to my family the next day because I was so clueless about what to tell them and what not to.

He agreed to meet them even though he had no OPD duty. He counseled my parents, said it was only on one side, and that it was the very beginning stage, and he had resected every visible mass and motivated them to start radiation for some cells which are microscopic, and to think positively.

We then moved back home, full of silence. Every member of the family was affected; all were not in their usual state. I decided that I had to become strong; I had to make everyone agree that Baba would be OK. This is our test of patience, and he will be alright after a few months, and till then we should only think positively; we should be his support system in every way possible. There must not be a place for negativity inside our mind.

The next day we decided to visit the cancer center situated at Lalitpur, as it was one of the feasible places for us in every aspect. We went there, met the radiation oncologist, and he decided to start within a week. Starting radiation might sound easy, but it too had a lot of side effects. I was very scared and also felt so helpless to see Baba going through all these alone. I used to take Baba to radiation most days, and when I saw many cancer patients there, I used to feel that we were not alone and Baba was the strongest among all. While waiting for Baba outside the radiation room, I used to read many cancer survivors’ stories that were printed there and that had motivated me to trust God and the process.

I have to say Baba was the best patient I have ever seen. He obeyed everything that we told him to follow; he never said no to food. He spent his time reading books, went for evening walks, and stayed calm throughout. By the grace of God, Baba completed his radiation cycle without any big issues during the cycle. We were told to do an MRI after two months to see if radiation had worked or not, and the report was good, stating a clear impression with no residual disease. That day was the day of relief.

Now, it has been almost three years, and Baba is doing great. His blood sugar is under control, requiring only metformin 500 mg once a day and regular follow-up every six months in ENT for NPL; other than that, he is completely normal and healthy.

The phase was not easy. Though I acted strong in front of others, I had a huge fear within me, thinking about how its progression would be. I cried many times, read many related articles (many consoled me while a few triggered more anxiety), watched cancer survivors’ stories, and asked ChatGPT about my fear more than one hundred times. I was scared to disclose that my Baba had malignancy to even my friends, and whenever anyone asked me about the surgery and report in college, I told them that it was a benign one until Baba’s radiation was over.

It took me more than two years to heal and accept the trauma. I used to feel uneasiness in the lectures where the malignancy topic was discussed, and palpitations when I shared the incident with anyone. But what I learned is to be compassionate with patients; I am now able to put myself in the patient’s and the patient party’s shoes. I aspire to become the doctor I once needed during the most difficult phase of my life, someone who not only heals, but listens, understands, and gives hope when it is needed most.

Now, when I remember that time, I feel so lucky that I got so much support from close ones around me. I felt extremely thankful to my best friends for helping me to cope with it during the initial time. And a very special mention to my extended family, my cousins Umesh Dawadi and Usha Dawadi, and my maternal uncles and aunts, for being our support system since day one. I am extremely grateful to everyone who sent their prayers for us.

Sneha Dabadi is a medical student in Nepal.