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With my left hand, I touched the contour of my reconstructed breast. There were still faint traces, but it was already much better than right after the mastectomy. In my right hand, I clenched the report confirming brain metastasis. It felt like a block of ice, sending a chill straight through me. My phone screen was lit up with a divorce agreement sent by my ex-husband. Every line carried impatience. My two children were still back in our hometown, waiting for their mother to return. I stood in the hospital corridor, staring at the gray sky outside the window, and more than once I felt that I could not hold on any longer.
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in the summer of 2021, I was not afraid. After my left breast was removed, the doctor said reconstruction was possible. I gritted my teeth and agreed, thinking that no matter how much I had to endure, I wanted to live as normally as possible. Later I underwent targeted therapy. The 25 sessions of radiotherapy left me feeling as if a layer of skin had been stripped away. Looking at my gradually healing chest in the mirror, I even joked with my doctor that "the cancer cells must be afraid of me."
In January 2023, after completing the final session of dual-targeted therapy and switching to maintenance treatment with pyrotinib, I thought I could finally catch my breath. I made breakfast for my children every day and took them to school. Life seemed to be returning to its proper track.
The turning point came with the follow-up report in May. On the brain MRI, a newly appeared small lesion in the right occipital region looked like a poisoned thorn. My attending physician said brain metastasis was suspected. The situation was not optimistic and he recommended that I transfer to the Second Radiotherapy Ward of Jinshazhou Hospital to try precision radiotherapy. When I walked out of the hospital that day, the sky was gray. The pain felt even sharper than the wound from my reconstruction surgery.
What made it worse was my husband's phone call. "I can't hold on anymore. Let's get a divorce." He did not mention that I had just been told about brain metastasis. He only said that life could not go on like this. Later he sold the house to repay debts. I stood at the entrance of an unfamiliar hospital with two children and only a few thousand yuan left in my hand, feeling like dust scattered by the wind.
After I arrived at Jinshazhou Hospital, Dr. Wang from the Second Radiotherapy Ward noticed something was wrong with me the very first time we met. "Sister Li, brain metastasis can be controlled now. Don't scare yourself," he said. He did not overwhelm me with complicated medical terms. Instead, he sat across from me and carefully drew the location of my lesion on a piece of paper. "Look, with precision radiotherapy, we target this tiny spot like aiming at a bull's-eye, without harming the healthy areas."
At that time, I could hardly take any of it in. All I could think about was money for treatment, raising my children. My older one was in primary school. The younger had just learned to run. If I collapsed, they would have no one to rely on. That night in the ward, I held their photo and cried until a large patch of my pillow was soaked. For them, I had to grit my teeth and survive.
Perhaps Dr. Wang noticed how often I stared blankly into space. During rounds, he would always stay a few extra minutes. One day he would say, "Your younger one is about to start primary school, right?" Another day he would tell me, "Yesterday there was an aunt with a similar condition. She can dance in the public square now." He never pushed me. He simply said, "We will treat and reassess step by step. There will always be a way. Staying alive matters more than anything."
Head Nurse Li was another person who did not act in the usual way. While changing my dressing, she would suddenly remark, "The weather is nice today. Good for a short walk," or unexpectedly ask, "What dish do your children like best when you cook?" Those casual words felt like strands of sunlight quietly entering my gray days. Once, she found me crying in the restroom. Instead of handing me tissues, she crouched down and said, "When I was young, I also faced hardships. At the time it felt like the sky was falling. Looking back now, it was just a hurdle."
She understood my difficulties. She helped me apply for financial assistance for patients in need. Later, no matter when I came to the hospital, even if she was extremely busy, she would always spare a few minutes to check on me, ask whether I was eating well and sleeping well, and offer a few reassuring words.
The days of radiotherapy were not easy for me. Deep down, I was still worried. But every time Dr. Wang came in to adjust the treatment plan, and Head Nurse Li chatted with me with a warm smile, I would tell myself, "Hold on for one more day." After completing 20 sessions of radiotherapy, the follow-up scan was done. Dr. Wang held the films and patted me on the shoulder. "This follow-up looks very well controlled. Even better than we expected." I could not believe it. I suddenly crouched down and burst into tears --- not because of pain, but because for the first time, I truly dared to believe that I could stay with my children a little longer.
I am not well educated and cannot say beautiful words. I only know that when I was holding just a few thousand yuan, looking at my two young children, and feeling as if the sky was collapsing, it was the medical team of the Second Radiotherapy Ward at Jinshazhou Hospital who reached out and pulled me and my children out of the mud. What they gave me was not only medicine to treat the disease, but also the courage to keep living for my children. I am truly grateful. Being able to meet you in this lifetime is a blessing for me and for my children.
Ms. Li said that being "pulled out of the mud" was not a single "miracle" from one treatment session, but the result of every step being executed without a hitch: the plan explained clearly, processes carried out, support provided, follow-ups recorded. Our team at Jinshazhou Hospital hopes that more patients in difficult situations can not only feel "seen" here, but also receive actionable treatment and continuous follow-up management. We cannot promise outcomes, but we will do our best to make evaluations more standardized, management more continuous, and support more accessible.
