60 years have passed since the war, and people who do not know war now make up most of the population. In peaceful Japan, as long as one lives an ordinary life, being conscious of death has probably become rare, especially among younger people.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I have been conscious of death several times. The first was when I was in my 2nd year of high school, during an attempted coup in Kenya. I could hear machine guns nearby, as well as what sounded like artillery fire. Apparently about 50 people were killed not far from our home, and a family friend died when a rocket struck their house.
The next time was when I had cancer in my 2nd year of university. I had left it alone for half a year after noticing symptoms, because I never imagined it could be cancer. That was 20 years ago. At that age and in that situation, it would normally have been too late. In my mind, death was a given; the question was how many months I had left and what I could do during that time. Perhaps because I was still young and had little to lose, I was strangely calm and felt completely clear. Poems poured out of me.
Fortunately, and very unusually, there had been no metastasis despite so much time having passed, and I survived cancer.
The next time I briefly became conscious of death was 6 years later, less than 1 month after my eldest daughter was born. A lump appeared on my back. This was in Canada. I wanted at least to make sure it was not a recurrence. If it was serious, I intended to return to Japan at once and go to the National Cancer Center, which I knew well. I knew that an incomplete incision could be fatal. The diagnosis was a lipoma, and since it hurt, we decided to remove it. I was told it could be done as an outpatient procedure, so I agreed.
The operation required general anesthesia. As the anesthetic was administered, I had trouble breathing and began coughing violently. The last thing I remember was asking whether this was normal; then I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, my wife was standing beside the bed, pale-faced. I did not fully understand the explanation in English, but she said that something unexpected had happened and that, in any case, I would not be able to go home that day. Still groggy, I thought, “Oh, I have done it now.” I thought they should not have cut there. After a while, the doctor in charge came and explained that it had not been a lipoma. Contrary to expectations, it was a hemangioma; the operation had taken longer than planned, and the bleeding had not been properly controlled, so I would need to stay in the hospital overnight. I did not know what a hemangioma was. I called a doctor friend, who said it was a benign vascular tumor. I was relieved.
The next time I thought things might be bad was in the autumn 2 years ago. From around August, I had not been feeling well, so I went to a hospital near my workplace. My lymph nodes were swollen. I assumed antibiotics would probably clear it up. But the doctor asked, “Is there a hospital you would prefer?” “What?” “There is nothing more we can do here. You need to see the hematology department at a larger hospital.” I had a bad feeling. I had long decided that, if I had cancer, I would go to the National Cancer Center, but to me its hematology department meant death. When I had previously been hospitalized at the cancer center, I had heard from the head of internal medicine, a friend of my father’s from his tanka circle: “If surgical patients come to the cancer center from the start, 8 tenths can be saved. With blood diseases, there is no similarly effective treatment. It is hard.” Instinctively, I answered, “No, not really.” I realized that I was trying to avoid facing death directly.
The hospital was Juntendo Hospital. A variety of tests began. There was a suspicion of malignant lymphoma. I told my family nothing. I researched it myself and learned that there seemed to be many types. For acute forms, treatment appeared to be difficult, but the prognosis was good. With chronic forms, it seemed one waited for death while monitoring the course. Still, it appeared that there would be at least several years. My condition was not progressing acutely. I prayed that the suspicion would be cleared.
However, the suspicion was not cleared by the medical tests. It was decided that a lymph node would be surgically removed and examined, and I was referred to surgery. I asked the doctor in charge, “What possibilities are there other than malignant lymphoma?” The doctor replied, “It is 100% malignant lymphoma. This operation is to determine which type of malignant lymphoma it is and establish a treatment plan.”
The operation was scheduled for early November. I had still not told my family. I decided to take a trip with my wife. We visited the castles built by Ludwig II in Bavaria, Germany, a place I had long wanted to see. Until then, I had usually been the photographer, so there were few photos of me. On this trip, I tried to have my picture taken as often as possible.
After returning from the trip, I told my wife about the surgery. Tears came flooding out, and I could not stop them.
The operation was completed safely, and 2 weeks later I went to hear the results. The doctor who had told me “100%” said, “Sometimes unusual things happen. I think hematology will explain the details, but it is not something bad.” I was relieved. According to hematology, the cause was unknown, but in any event it was not malignant lymphoma. Moreover, by then the swelling in lymph nodes other than the one removed had also subsided, so I was given a clean bill of health.
More than a year has passed since then. I now live each day in peace. But perhaps that is what is abnormal. Last year was a parade of natural disasters. Even now, the victims of the Chuetsu Earthquake and the Indian Ocean tsunami are suffering. The day after tomorrow, January 17, 2005, will be the 10th year since the Great Hanshin-Awaji Earthquake. I want to live by cherishing the peace of each and every day.
Related posts
My 7 Recommended Books
Long ago there was something called the #7BookCoverChallenge, intended to help promote a culture of reading. “To participate, post a photograph of the cover of one…
Twitter Renga (collaborative linked verse)
At the after-party following a GLOCOM study session, we composed a Twitter renga, among other things. Links to the original tweets and such can be found…
Of August
After the late-August typhoon, in the autumn sky, mackerel-scale clouds seem to be falling.