This post is part of A Decade of Lessons series. It’s recommended to read the previous part of the story first 2015: The Messenger Had to Die

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Surviving what happened in 2015 gradually changed my perspective, particularly on how I see myself.

Through those years, I didn’t seek any professional help. Not that I didn’t believe in it but simply because I don’t like being told how to deal with my feelings.

But, after experiencing some really dark moments, I asked some of my friends who regularly went to therapy for their therapist’s contact. So in case things got out of control, I know who to contact.

I decided to figure out to learn how to love myself without any exact plan. I just believed that I would figure it out somehow. Might take a long time because I know how slow I am in learning, but it’s not a problem. The goal was to have a sustainable source of feeling good-enough, and it ought to come from within me. I just prayed so God would be kind enough to show me the way.

Over the years, I encountered people or situations that kind of “tested” the strength of my “self-love”. After a few encounters, I came to conclude that, “Aha! I got it.” I reached a point where it just made sense that I’m worth loving, at least by me.

Apparently, that was not enough as there’s more to it. And I only found out that there’s the “next chapter” after I met the Emperor.

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“The Emperor of All Maladies” is a Pulitzer-prize winning book written by Siddharta Mukherjee, a physician and oncologist. What he referred to as “the Emperor” is the disease that for whatever reason people tend to hesitate to call by its full name — usually disguised by C-word or CA — that also happens to be the 4th sign of the zodiac in Greek astrology: Cancer.

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I think it’s kind of cute when a couple get matching things. But for my ex to die from having cancer and then I also got one — not cute.

It was around a month before my 34th birthday, when I noticed a tiny blood stain on my bra. At first I tried to ignore it but then every day there’s another tiny blood stain. There was no pain at all so I tried to convince myself that it’s probably just a minor thing.

One day, after I got one of my teeth removed, I started feeling something like pins and needles on my face and it got me so scared. I thought I was having a stroke so I went immediately to the ER and while I was there, I casually mentioned about the tiny blood stain to the doctor. She then checked on my boobies and said, “I don’t see that you’re having any sign of stroke but I would recommend that you go see a neurologist to check what’s on your face and make sure it’s OK, and then please go see an oncologist.”

I didn’t like hearing the word “oncologist” mentioned but what choice do I have. I made an appointment to see a neurologist and an oncologist in one day. In this period of time, I already moved to another advertising agency, still a small one far away from the skyscrapers. After a meticulous check, the neurologist concluded that (1) it’s definitely not a stroke, (2) very likely when my tooth got pulled out, it affected nerve system #5 and I just needed to take vitamins to help the recovery.

The visit to the oncologist, though, wasn’t a pleasant one. While I was trying to convince myself that the tiny blood stain was nothing, out of habit I just had to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario: if it’s cancer, I was ready to let go of my boob(s). The oncologist that I saw that day, after inspecting my boobs, asked me if I was ready for the worst-case scenario. It was not a long conversation since I already had a prepared answer. I was ready to get a surgery scheduled when I found that if I had surgery in that hospital, my insurance would pay in reimbursement. Hell, no. So I looked for another doctor.

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One of my best friends told me that her colleague went to a doctor for a lump she found in her boobs, and the therapy given to her was to go on vegetarian diet — and it worked. I didn’t expect to be given the same kind of therapy but at least I knew this particular doctor wouldn’t just resort to surgery. His name was dr. Evert Poetiray.

Apparently dr. Evert was one of the most respected gynecologic oncologist in Jakarta, who’s an avid campaigner of “Eat your vegetables! Eat them until you want to throw up!” He inspected my boobs thoroughly and advised me to get biopsy. The biopsy result indicated that I had 3 malignant tumors in my left boob and 2 benign ones in my right boob. Tumors be partying in my boobies. Given the amount of malignant tumors in my left boob, and their sizes, dr. Evert advised that I removed the whole left boob — which I agreed. On our last meeting before the surgery, he told me, “Pray. God can do the impossible.”

I remember having a goodbye ceremony to my left boob. I thanked her for her service and I apologized for bad decisions I made in the past that might have led to tumors showing up.

After I started paying attention to the tiniest thing my body does for me, a habit I started just a few years back, I often refer to myself as a group of troops fighting to keep me alive, consisting of organs and other cells. During the goodbye ceremony, I told my “troops” that our left boob had to leave us so the rest of us could continue living.

And so I went to surgery, convinced that I would get out with one less boob. A few hours after the surgery I was back in the patient room. When the anesthesia started to wear off, I asked my sister, “So I only have one boob now, huh?” And she responded half-shouting, “Didn’t you hear what the doctor said?! One of the malignant tumors was a false-positive. So there were only two malignant tumors and dr. Evert managed to keep your left boob!” I was surely still unconscious when the information was delivered but it was such a relief to hear.

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When I decided to stop going to Church and start building my faith from square one, based on what my heart believes, I had doubts. What if it’s not the right thing to do? What if getting cancer was a pay off to that decision? The moment I heard that one of the malignant tumors was a false-positive, I had a feeling this was not a pay off. It was only later, once I completed all treatments, that I was able to get the full picture and understood how the whole thing was “the next chapter” of loving myself.

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A few weeks after the surgery, the pathology report came out and the cancer that I had was at Stage 2A. That would require me to undergo radiotherapy but not necessarily chemotherapy.

To me, cancer was like a death sentence. When the biopsy result came and stated I had malignant tumors, I immediately went into evaluation mode. “If I only have a few years left, have I been living the way I believe I’m supposed to live?”

It was during that period I felt like I was forced to stop and inspect my life’s priorities. And that’s when I found out I wasn’t on top of the list.

Yes, I had understood that I need to love myself and it had became so easy to see how wonderful I was as a person, at least to me. But still, I often sacrifice myself to serve other people. Don’t get me wrong though. It was all out of sincerity but I just wasn’t giving enough for myself. I was always willing to go the extra miles to help other people, even if it meant less rest time for me. I guess I was still operating under “my work defined who I was”.

While waiting for my surgery day, there was one day when I went outside at around 3:30 pm. The sun was already on its way down. The lighting was just at the right level of brightness and the part I particularly enjoyed was how warm the sun felt on my skin. “If I die, would I be able to feel this warmth of the afternoon sun as a ghost?” I asked myself. Then came the follow up questions, “Why didn’t I have enough of this afternoon sun while I’m still alive? It’s free. I just need to make the time. Why didn’t I have the time for this? Why didn’t I have time for me to just be?”

Was it a divine timing? I don’t know. Maybe it was. But when the whole cancer ordeal happened, it was during Covid-19 pandemic. The agency I worked for couldn’t continue their operation and so I started working as a freelancer.

Suddenly, I had the time to enjoy the afternoon sun, and even more. I had the time to go to the gym in the middle of the day. I had the time to go to a cafe by the tiny lake and did my work there. I had the time to visit my friend in the middle of the week. I had the time to cook for myself. All while I still had the time to do work, and did it well.

I never knew it was possible to have such life arrangement. All of this time, when I heard people talking about giving ourselves a me-time, it often refer to getting a massage, going to a beauty parlor, or something else that basically pampered ourselves. But how is it a me-time when I still had to do something instead of just being me in nothingness?

I understood that cancer didn’t just come out of nowhere. It was a result of decisions I made in my life. The choice of foods. How I managed stress (I think I wasn’t really managing it). I knew I made a lot of bad choices. But, surprisingly, at that time I had loved myself enough to the point that I didn’t blame myself for those bad decisions. I know I wasn’t inherently choosing the bad option for myself. At that point I have come to understand that all of the bad decisions I made in the past, and I will make in the future, came from the believe that it was the right one. So when cancer came, I didn’t spend much time blaming my past self and could immediately shift my focus to realigning my priorities to make sure they serve me.

We know how bad cancer could be and for whatever reason, I was delivered the Stage 2A version. Just enough to force me to evaluate my life and not put it to an end.

The Emperor said stop so I could take a hard look at myself — the one I’ve been learning to love — so I could realize that not only I need to appreciate me as I am, but I also need to serve me well.

Turns out there’s so much depth to self-love and I think it’s a privilege to have the opportunity, and especially the support from my family and friends to explore it.

Is there a limit to self-love though? Because I started thinking I probably have reached the “unhealthy” part of it when something happened in 2025 that made me question myself “Excuse me, who is she?”