The Wind That Hits Your Face…

Every action creates a reaction. Every wind creates movement. Every small stone thrown into the lake becomes a celebration.

There are moments when a simple act of change triggers so many things at once that we don’t even have time to think whether they are good or not so good. But in some way, they are: movement.

A simple “no” opens so many blocked paths that I often wonder why I didn’t do it sooner. And if it’s always this simple, what causes so many mental blocks? What creates the barriers that keep the wheel from turning, new things from happening, and old concepts from fading away? The solutions may be within everyone’s reach, but perhaps we need to go through more winding— and consequently more painful — paths. Maybe that’s how we learn to truly value the final achievement.

There is no real joy in what is simply handed to us without effort, persistence, or sweat… at least, that’s how I see it. Feeling the sweet pleasure of being free and making our own choices is far more meaningful when we’ve known the opposite. So, do we need to suffer to understand pleasure? I don’t know. I only know that when we find the way out at the end of the tunnel, everything becomes clearer and more obvious — and that feeling of freedom we experience is as intense as the wind hitting our face, whether on a motorcycle, a bicycle, or even a simple bus.

Original text from my former blog (in Portuguese) Frenéticas SA published in 2007.

I made a quick decision. And it wasn’t easy.

Last Wednesday, I had an appointment with my oncologist. It was another one of those appointments where I was trying to find out when I would stop chemotherapy. Unlike my first cancer treatment, this time there is no timeline. No clear finish line. It’s more of a “let’s see how things go” situation.

According to my doctor, there still isn’t enough data to prove whether stopping chemotherapy would cause the cancer to return or not. In other words, there isn’t a clear answer. If the body stops tolerating the treatment well, then we start thinking about stopping. And that’s what I decided to do.

The decision may have seemed quick, but in truth, it had been living inside me for a while.

I wanted one more confirmation that the cancer was truly gone — through the PET Scan and the liquid biopsy I take every three months. I had already had three negative results. At this last appointment, another one came back negative. Yay!

I’ll admit I walked into that appointment with a small hope of hearing the words: “You’re cleared.”But what I heard instead was something different.

My doctor reaffirmed that, in my case, the choice was mine to make. Simply because there isn’t enough information to decide for me. So I chose to stop.

Over the last three treatments, I started to feel some discomfort. Nothing dramatic enough to stop my life completely. But small accumulations that slowly drain your energy, your body… and your mind. My body wasn’t tolerating it the same way anymore. And my mind was tired too.

But I’m stopping knowing that I will continue to be monitored every three months. And that, in the end, the only way to know what happens next is exactly this: to stop and see how my body responds.

Could it come back? Could it show up somewhere else? Anything is possible.

But it’s also possible that it never comes back again.

And that I am — truly — cured.

Cancer is a strange thing. It’s different for every person. It doesn’t choose who it affects. Even people with healthy habits can find themselves here.

It places you in a constant state of alert.

But there comes a moment when you have to trust.

Trust your body. Trust life.

And move forward.

And I am moving forward.