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Rebuilt

  The day had finally arrived, the first day of my Bone Marrow Transplant. On the way to the hospital, I had my earphones plugged in, listening to the one song that has carried me through every dark moment, “One” by Metallica. It was my uncle, someone I’m really close to, who had first recommended it to me, and over time it became more than just a song. It became my shield, my companion whenever life felt too heavy. This time, though, things were different. My mother was going to be my partner for the next 30 days of isolation, my constant strength, my silent warrior. Just knowing she was by my side gave me a kind of comfort I can’t fully explain. But as soon as I reached, a surprise was waiting. For the transplant, they had to insert another tube, this time through my neck, to harvest stem cells. Even thinking about it was enough to terrify me. My heart was pounding, my hands had gone cold. And then I heard the doctor calmly say, “Bring the scalpel.” That word just stayed ...
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Fear-Touched, Yet Fearless

 As I had shared with you all earlier, there was a moment of hope in my journey. My disease was finally under control, and the doctors even reduced my chemo dosage. That felt like a small victory, but precious. We were overjoyed. For the next two months, I began living what I called my “new normal.” Those days gave my family and me a sense of relief, a breath of fresh air.  After those two months, my doctors suggested another scan. They said this might even be the last one  if the results came clean, we could stop the medication altogether. That possibility lit up our hearts. We walked into that scan carrying nothing but hope, expecting either further reduction or maybe even the complete disappearance of the disease. But life had other plans. The results broke us. Instead of shrinking, the disease had grown. I was frozen,  shocked beyond words. It felt as though the ground beneath me had slipped away. To be sure, my doctors ordered another biopsy, and when it ...
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Three Hours at a Time

  Before my treatment began, there was a brief, fragile pause—a few days between hearing the diagnosis and stepping into the long road of medicine and machines. During that pause, my family—wanting to hold onto something normal—organized a small get-together at our home in Pune. It wasn’t a party. It was a quiet evening full of warmth, hugs that lingered longer than usual, and unspoken fears tucked behind nervous smiles. Just a few hours to pretend everything was okay. The next morning, reality came rushing in—I was scheduled for a bone marrow biopsy. The word “biopsy” haunted me from the beginning. The thought of a needle going into my bone felt unbearable. I clung to hopeful online articles that said it wasn’t so bad, but my mind raced anyway. And honestly? It wasn’t smooth. The pain wasn’t just physical—it was fear, pressure, and panic rolled into one. But it passed. And when the results came in, they brought the first piece of good news we’d had in weeks. We could breathe aga...
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The Weight Beneath My Strength

 I’ve rarely talked about how I really felt through everything I went through. Most of the time, I stayed quiet—not because I didn’t feel, but because I was scared of what people might think. Would they see me as weak? Would they think I wasn’t as strong as they believed? So I kept pushing, fighting my demons in silence, trying to rise above it all. From the outside, it looked like I was winning. But inside, I was slowly falling apart. It took a huge toll on me, mentally and emotionally. We’re told as boys to “dust it off and move on.” Like nothing ever happened. And most of us do exactly that. But looking back now, I know how important it is to have someone to talk to. Whether it's your parents, a friend, or even a stranger who listens without judgment. I didn’t do that. I carried it all alone, believing silence was strength. When I found out I had cancer, I was shattered. I truly thought that was the end of my story. But a few people stepped in. They stood by me, gave me stre...
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Hearing the Unthinkable

I remember the day vividly when my dad broke the news to me about the test results. Up until then, I had no clue they were checking for cancer. I woke up late that morning, around 9-9:30, feeling some back pain, so I stayed in bed for a bit. I mentioned it to my mom, who gave me some painkillers before I went back to sleep. When I woke up again, I freshened up and started watching a movie.   Meanwhile, my parents were deep in conversation in their bedroom, so I left them to it. After a while, my dad came out and asked me to join him. I figured the biopsy results were back and maybe there was a small procedure ahead. Thanks to my habit of researching things online, I had a decent understanding of what might be coming, so I remained composed. We stepped out onto the balcony, and that's when my dad gently told me I had cancer. It hit me hard, and I hugged him tightly for about five minutes.   Despite having seen many movies where cancer seemed insurmountable, I also remembere...
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Strength in Struggle

  It was October 17th, just two days before my 10th standard prelims. I had been studying diligently for months, feeling confident and eager to prove myself in the exams. However, out of nowhere, I began feeling unwell. It started with nausea and quickly escalated to vomiting, accompanied by a persistent fever. Concerned, my family took me to our trusted family doctor. After a series of tests, the doctor's face turned serious as they informed us of the results: my white blood cell count was elevated, and there was congestion in my lungs. They suspected pneumonia and recommended immediate hospitalization. The news hit me hard—I couldn't believe that something like this could happen just days before my exams. At DMH, I spent what felt like an eternity—10 to 11 days—under observation and treatment, each passing day without improvement added to my anxiety. Despite the care and efforts of the medical team, my condition stubbornly refused to improve. It was then that another doctor r...
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