My Oncologist Dr. Sumantal Pal

                      

I. He is a Research Doctor

I first met Dr. Sumanta Pal seven years ago in a clinic on the third floor of City of Hope Hospital in Southern California. At the time, I was diagnosed with kidney cancer and had had two major operations within the past six months. Three months after the second surgery, however, my cancer relapsed. The cancer cells were like tough prairie grass, constantly rising again from the ashes of each successive wildfire. They seemed almost to be invincible in their resilience.

During the consultation, Dr. Pal suggested that I take a new drug called Afinitor, which was currently going through a clinical trial. He also gave me a booklet to read carefully at home. It was a patient consent form and authorization to participate in the trial. It also contained medical information on Afinitor.  From the first few pages, I learned a new term: research doctor or study doctor. Dr. Pal is a research doctor.

The booklet explained that the relationship between a research doctor and a patient is different from the relationship between a personal doctor and a patient. When you visit a hospital or a private doctor's office, the physician who treats you is usually your personal doctor, who chooses a specific treatment for your condition and believes that the treatment chosen will benefit your health.

Unlike a personal doctor, a research doctor is knowledgeable of new treatments through a specific research project and understands that the participants may not necessarily benefit from that project. In a clinical trial, every participant must receive exactly the same research procedure in order for the research doctor to derive meaningful conclusions. In other words, a research doctor, unlike a personal doctor who treats his patients individually, treats all patients equally and uniformly with the same experimental drugs.

This part of the booklet was rather depressing, especially where a research doctor referred to his or her patient as a "subject," which means "a person who is tested". I realized that the "subject" was actually synonymous to “guinea pig” in the lab.

II. Risk to Subject

At the time I didn't realize that not every patient in the world could find a research doctor for his or her treatment because research doctors were far fewer than personal doctors.

In addition, not every cancer patient is willing to let the research doctor treat him or her due to risks involving life and death. To mitigate the potential for court cases, the booklet contained warnings from the research doctors and new drug research and development institutes. In their view, a clinical research project entails two risks. One risk is that the experiment may not cure your illness and may even aggravate the subject's condition. Another risk is that clinical trial drugs can have mild to severe side effects, which may last for long periods of time or even threaten the subject's life. During the research phase, the medical community does not know all the risks that a new drug may bring to the human body. To put it plainly, this is telling "test subjects" that if you cannot be treated or even lose your life in clinical trials, you or your family members must consent that the research doctor cannot be sued because you have signed the consent form voluntarily.

I read on and learned about cancer drugs. Since many drugs used to treat cancer are designed to cause the rapidly dividing cancer cells in our bodies to slow down or die, these drugs can also cause the same effects in other rapidly dividing normal cells as well. These include the blood cells that help to fight infection (white blood cells), the blood cells that help blood clots (platelets), and the blood cells that carry oxygen throughout the body (red blood cells). When anticancer drugs cause a decrease in these blood cells, it is called bone marrow suppression.

The more I read the more chilling it became and the more reluctant I felt about signing this consent form. Honestly, I felt that this booklet from Dr. Pal seemed to be treating potential patients as nothing more than experimental fodder.

III. A Dialogue during an office Visit

A week later, I walked into the City of Hope Hospital with the consent form unsigned. This was the second time I saw Dr. Pal.

"Have you finished reading the booklet? Any questions you need me to answer?" He smiled politely.

I timidly asked him: "If I do not participate in this research project, how much time do I have?"

"A year or so," was his matter-of-fact reply.

"If I participate in this research project, how much time do I have?" I asked.

"Two years!" He replied.

I was sensitive to numbers because I spent many years working in our company's IT Finance and budget field. Trying to reassure myself, I asked "Are you saying that the new drug may extend my life by only one year?"

A bit surprised at hearing my question, Dr. Pal hesitated a few seconds and said: "So to speak”.

IV. A Rising Star

Accompanied and encouraged by my wife Diana and children, I finally signed the consent form, unaware that I was lucky enough to "sign" with a rising star among the world cancer research doctors.

Dr. Pal is a genius. He skipped grades in elementary and middle schools. At the age of thirteen, he was admitted to a special class in college. Students in this special class were required to complete all eight years of high school and college courses in four years.  He graduated from college when kids of his age were still in high school. At the graduation party, an unwitting professor walked to his table and asked his classmates to raise their glasses to celebrate. He stood in embarrassment and told the professor that he was yet to reach the legal drinking age.

The young man finished medical school at twenty-one and became a MD at twenty-five.  In just a few years, he has published more than 150 peer-reviewed articles that have been featured in prominent journals including The Journal of Clinical Oncology, Lancet Oncology, Cancer Cell, and European Urology.  Many U.S. pharmaceutical companies and research companies collaborated with him to bring new drugs to clinical trials. Often he is invited to speak at medical research conferences across the United States and other countries to share the results and achievements of his clinical trials.

Dr. Pal’s clinical trials resulted in outstanding achievements in cancer research and treatment, allowing him to receive many medical research awards. For example, he received research funding from the California Breast Cancer Research Institute, the U.S. Integrated Cancer Network Center and the U.S. National Institutes of Health. In recognition of his research achievements in kidney cancer, the American Society of Kidney Cancer awarded him the "Young Research Doctor Award." In support of his work on bladder cancer, Charles A. Coltman of the Southwestern Association for Cancer Research grants him research funding.

V. High Medical Ethical Standards

Dr. Pal’s superb medical skills and high ethical standards have won him the respect of his patients and their families. I met a cancer patient, Mike, in the hospital. He was a retired university professor. Like me, he had late-stage kidney cancer. His family lived in another state and every week his wife would accompany him to the City of Hope Hospital for treatment by Dr. Pal. An anti-cancer warrior, Mike had undergone 12 surgeries and participated in several different clinical trial drugs. Unfortunately, he passed away in the end.

Mike's wife told me that when they learned that the drug had no effect on Mike's cancer, Dr. Pal went to see them in the apartment they rented near the hospital, giving her a great deal of comfort. After Mike died, she took a special trip to Southern California to attend a charity dinner for Dr. Pal’s research.

This dinner was sponsored by one of Dr. Pal’s patients.  His name was Frank DiBella. He was diagnosed with late-stage bladder cancer in 2011 and was told to expect to live only three months. Desperate, he got transferred to the City of Hope Hospital under the care of Dr. Pal. He is still alive today. He said: "When I first met Dr. Pal, he was real honest with me. He told me there was not a cure for my disease but that I was not going to die in three months. He said he would keep me alive for at least four years and hopefully, during this time, more progress would be made in finding a cure. I believe that if anyone in the world can find a cure for my cancer, this person must be Dr. Pal.     

Mr. Frank is a successful accountant and has many celebrities among his clients. To thank Dr. Pal for his life-saving efforts, he organizes “Let be Frank” annual gala to raise money for the research Dr. Pal and his colleagues are doing. Many celebrities came to help out, and even our Governor Brown of California spoke at the dinner. In just two years, this event has raised $4.6 million for Dr. Pal and City of Hope to find ways to better understand how cancers develop and metastasize, better predicting recurrence, and improving treatments with fewer negative side effects.     

VI. Meticulous care of "guinea pigs"

When I signed the consent form seven years ago, I thought as a "guinea pig" in the last stages of kidney cancer, I could only live for another two years. I never imagined that I would miraculously survive five more than that under the care of Dr. Pal.

I might be one of the longest surviving "guinea pigs" associated with his research, and he shows particular care about my condition. Every time I go to the clinic, he always inquires in detail about the side effects of the drugs I am taking. To ascertain what I tell him, he will also ask my wife, who accompanies me, to see if she, as a bystander, observed any abnormalities during the previous week.

Earlier this year, my cancer relapsed for the fourth time with the cancer cells spreading to my right thyroid. Before the operation, the surgeon told me that as long as the biopsy analysis confirmed that the thyroid gland in the patient's neck had a malignant tumor, the surgeon would usually resect the two thyroid glands together because the cancer would quickly move to the other thyroid.

When the surgeon was about to raise his knife for my second thyroid resection in the operating room, he had a phone conversation with Dr. Pal and was persuaded to spare the thyroid. Even though this decision was risky, he decided to take it because he wanted me to be free from the complications of losing thyroid function after the surgery.

In order to get a better understanding of the efficacy of clinical trials, "guinea pigs" are scanned once every three months (sometimes every two months).  To these "guinea pigs," waiting days for CT scan results is an experience of spiritual purgatory. Empathizing with my agony during the waiting period, Dr. Pal always emails me the scan result a few days before the appointment regardless of whether the news is good or bad. Sometimes, he gives up precious weekend time to do so even though it is unnecessary.

Dr. Pal is not only empathetic towards me as a doctor, but also compassionate about my family. Once in an outpatient clinic, after hearing that I had a son who was interested in medical study, he offered my son an internship in his department. He encouraged him to realize his dream to become a doctor, and created a good working environment for my son to actively participate in the preparation and writing of his clinical trial paper. In the course of a year, my son participated in the writing of three different clinical trial papers. All three papers were published in medical journals in the United States. During his busy schedule, Dr. Pal also wrote a recommendation letter for my son, who was admitted to medical school this summer.

VII. Unexpected guest during despair

Two years ago, I had an unforgettable experience. It was April 2013 when my cancer relapsed for the third time after five years of taking Afinitor. Seeing the CT scan result, Dr. Pal immediately decided to let me try out a new drug that was still in the early stages of human testing. The drug, ASONEP - also known as Sonepcizumab or LT1009 - was a new experimental drug developed by Lpath in San Diego for the treatment of cancer, including renal cell carcinoma.

ASONEP  is a human type of a mouse monoclonal antibody. This antibody has been made to target or attach to a molecule called sphingosine 1-phosphate or S1P, which may be involved in cancer. 

ASONEP was designed to reduce and shrink tumor growth.

Although the drug had not been approved by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the medical community had a limited knowledge of it at the time, Dr. Pal decided to try it on me because his medical research indicated some possibility that it might inhibit the growth of my renal cell carcinoma.

So I signed my consent form, but Dr. Pal kept me waiting for a week. According to his plan, during the week when I stopped taking Afinitor, my body would be able to get rid of the residual drugs to facilitate the start of clinical trials of new drugs. At the same time, the hospital should obtain the approval from my insurance company to cover the expenses of these clinical trials.

A few weeks later, the unexpected hit me. The insurance company refused to pay any expenses arising from this clinical trial. I petitioned the insurance company and my company's HR with no success. Apparently the insurance company's decision was going to kill this well-thought-out medical plan that Dr. Pal had developed for me.

Now I had no drug to take. Two months went by and I was still not able to obtain the new drug I was supposed to take a week after the plan was implemented. I was extremely worried that in the absence of any cancer suppressing drug my cancer cells would grow rampantly.  I feared that the end was near.

As one can imagine, I was in great despair.  Then one day after dinner, the phone rang.  Picking up the call, I heard a familiar voice.  It was Dr. Pal.  He was taking care of some matters in the vicinity and wondered if we could meet at a nearby sushi restaurant.

I couldn't believe what I heard. To think that such a well-known and busy physician would come to visit an ordinary patient!

Half hour later, we met at the door of the Japanese sushi restaurant, went into the dining room and sat down at a table. Turning on his laptop, Dr. Sumanta explained to me, "It's not the end of the world, we have other drugs to treat your kidney cancer". Pointing at the screen, he continued: "You can try this one, which has been approved by the Federal Food and Drug Administration or FDA. This chart is part of my report in a medical journal that summarizes the clinical trials of this drug over the past few years. The vertical bars of various heights above the parallel lines represent the number of patients and years they have survived after taking the drug. The vertical bars below the parallel lines represent the number of people who have died after taking the drug".

He moved the laptop toward me so I could have a better look at the chart. This FDA-approved drug for treating kidney cancer was called Pazopanib. The colorful charts clearly showed more vertical bars above the parallel lines than those below. That is to say, among the kidney cancer patients receiving this drug treatment, more people were alive than dead. Among these living people, most survival rates ranged from three months to a year, the longest being five years.

To dispel my doubts, Dr. Pal said in a somewhat authoritative tone: "It is worthwhile for you to try this target drug, which has the advantage of proven efficacy. The new drug, ASONEP, which the insurer declined to pay, is only in Phase II trials, and its efficacy in patients with advanced kidney cancer is yet to be confirmed.”

This half hour talk made me feel as if I was riding a rollercoaster ride.  In an instant, I was thrown into the sky from the bottom of a deep valley. It was a dizzying experience, allowing me to see a glimmer of light. When we were about to leave, I was in tears for the gratitude I felt for the doctor. Hugging him tightly, I thanked him for the visit and comfort I received and the explanation of the new treatment plan he'd patiently provided, all at a time when I had been sinking into the depths of despair.

VIII. Success and Failure

The great scientists of the past all experienced ups and downs, twists and turns before achieving break-through research results or succeeding in inventions.  It is a process requiring strong will and tenacity, regardless of success or failure.

According to a 2014 report from the American Medical Association for Cancer, the survival rate of kidney cancer patients is only 3% for men and 2% for women, the lowest in an incurable disease. This almost-untreatable disease is what Dr. Pal's research focuses on. Like the great scientists of the past, he has had successes and failures in investigating new drugs for kidney cancer treatment.

His new drug, Afinitor, for which I later got approval from the insurance company, is an example of successful experimentation. Five years after I joined the clinical trial, the drug was officially approved by the FDA. That year, Dr. Pal flew to Beijing to share the new research findings with his Chinese medical colleagues. Now the drug has been approved in China for the treatment of kidney, pancreatic and breast cancer. Many Chinese cancer patients have benefited from this medicine.

The new drug for the second clinical trial I participated in was less fortunate.

In the United States a new drug needs to go through four long clinical trial phases. If the outcome of a clinical trial is less than optimal, the new drug can fail at any of the four trial stages.

ASONEP had completed the first phase of human-safety clinical trials when I started taking it, meaning it was at the proof-of-concept Phase II trial stage. Approximately thirty-nine patients with end-stage renal cell cancer voluntarily participated in Phase II clinical trials. Dr. Pal and other research doctors in the US divided the volunteers into two groups. The first group of twenty-two, the second group of seventeen. If 11 of the 22 patients in the first group showed potential efficacy after receiving ASONEP, the 17 patients in the second group would be able to start clinical trials. I was in the first group.

In two years of treatment, this clinical trial drug ASONEP had a surprisingly good effect on me. Many of my cancers were suppressed, except for the right thyroid gland cancer whose growth rate remained significant. Earlier this year the cancer was surgically removed.

Yet other “guinea pigs” in my group were not as lucky as I. On average, they took only four months of clinical trials and then quit because their conditions were exacerbated. The ASONEP clinical trial was discontinued due to the efficacy of less than 50%. Lpath, which developed the new drug, also declared bankruptcy. I was somewhat regretful when Dr. Pal informed me about this development two months ago. After all, this medicine prolonged my life by two years, which is a record. I jokingly said to him: "Is it fair to say that I am honored to become an unprecedented case in medical history?" He thought for a moment and replied: "It is indeed".

On my last ASONEP clinical trial, I sat in a chair with an infusion tube on one arm, the liquid drug slowly entering into my bloodstream. I picked up my cellphone and took a photo of the medicine bag hanging on the infusion rack with the ASONEP label and my name.  It was in memory of the last bag of ASONEP for human clinical trials as part of medical history.

IV “Holiday” of Surprise

On the day Dr. Pal informed me of Lpath's bankruptcy, he also reassured me that he would not give up on my treatment, and had in fact found another clinical trial drug for me. The new drug was just beginning to be tested for its safety in humans. But he did not immediately get me into the first trial of the new drug. On the contrary, he gave me two months of "holiday" to allow my body to dispel the toxins accumulated over the course of many years, and for me to recuperate before I returned to the battlefield to wrestle with the cancer cells.

What a surprise! I was absolutely elated and filled with gratitude. In the past seven years, I never expected that I could have a "holiday".  As far as I knew, when the doctor informed me to stop receiving treatment, it must have meant I was hopeless and near death. The anti-cancer drugs had been killing both my body's cancer cells and its good cells as well, for the past seven years. I was physically and mentally exhausted.  What a divine gift to be able to live without drugs for two months!

I thank God for the privilege of meeting a research doctor with a noble grasp of medical ethics and innovation. For seven years, his superb medical skills, compassion and love have allowed me – who was originally expect to live only one year – to become one of the rare 3% renal cell carcinoma survivors.

Note:  This article was originally written in Chinese in December 2015.  It was translated to English on January 13, 2017. I am fortunate to have Ms. Ida Liting von Mizener and Mr. Jianming Xia help me edit and translate this article.         

Life and Death in the Waiting Room

I.                    Unfamiliar Faces in the Waiting Room

I first met Matthew a year ago in the infusion unit’s waiting room, on the third floor of the City of Hope Medical Center in South California.  Like me, all the other patients in this waiting room were "guinea pigs," patients in the advanced stages of cancer, waiting to receive clinical trial medical treatment.

It was a Wednesday morning when two unfamiliar faces appeared there: a father and his son, sitting quietly on the chairs in the waiting room. Having come here often for a long-term clinical trial, I had by this point become familiar with the faces - if not the names - of almost all the patients who came here, making these two stand out immediately. Over the past seven years, people would come and go, in and out, receiving clinical trial treatment on an average of four to six months. Afterward, one by one, they would disappear. I never asked my doctor how long they'd lived, and he will never tell me what happened to them.

On that day, having waited a good while, and looking for something to stave off my boredom, I glanced over towards the unfamiliar father and son who sat on the opposite side of the room.  The father was over fifty years old, tall with a burly physique. His son was a handsome young man in his twenties.

I wondered: between the two, who was the cancer patient? Was it the father? I often saw cancer patients accompanied by their children for treatment. However, after observing further, I realized I was wrong. I saw the father open a bottle of mineral water and pass it to his son, who, when reaching to take it, exposed a white strip on his wrist. This white strip was given to each patient at the registration desk, on which was printed their name, date of birth, and personal identity code. The one with cancer was the son.

I couldn't look away from the pair. Although they did not talk to each other, from the father’s facial expression, I could sense his strong love, heartache, and anxiety towards his son. But the son himself had an unusually calm demeanor. His eyes were bright, and he looked very composed as he sat there. He gave off no signs of being terminally ill or close to death.

That night was a sleepless one. My mind was full of images of the father and son. My heart was replete with heartbreaking anguish. I felt sad for the young man. He was in the prime of his youth, with a promising future ahead of him. And yet here he was, suffering from an incurable disease. I felt sorry for the father. He would have to bear a cruel reality: an aging man witnessing the loss of someone who should have lived long after him. I wondered, did they need someone to comfort them? Were they mentally prepared to accept the ominous result?

A week later, when I walked into the waiting room on the third floor of the hospital, I saw the pair again. Similar to the picture I saw that first time a week ago, they sat quietly, waiting for the infusion.

Suddenly, I had an urge to talk to them.

The waiting room on the third floor is usually very quiet. The "guinea pigs", who are awaiting for clinic trial treatments here, rarely talk to each other. They are reticent, each immersed in their own thoughts. Yes, when a person is near the end of his or her life, any mundane conversation will seem redundant.

To their consternation, I abruptly approached to the father and son. We introduced ourselves, and started to talk. I learned the son’s name was Matthew, and that he had the same terminal illness I did: the fourth stage of kidney cancer. When he and his father heard that I've had kidney cancer for six years, they showed interest in learning how I'd survived this deadly disease for so long.

II. Friends with Shared Destiny

Matthew and I became ​​friends in the waiting room. We had a mutual empathy for each other, and together, we were running through that metaphorical field towards our final destination. Every Wednesday when I went to hospital for my clinical trial infusion, I always hoped I'd see him. If he was not in the waiting room, I would snoop through each room in the clinical trial unit, hoping to find him, to hold his hands, to encourage him.

Every time I met this young man, who was almost the same age as my sons, I was touched by his calm temperament. He was supposed to study his favorite subjects in college; he was supposed to date a girlfriend, and fall in love with her; he was supposed to pursue his career in the workplace. Unfortunately, unlike other young men his age, he could not do any of these activities.  

I asked him how he usually spent his time. He told me his family lives in Central California. In order to get treatment at the City of Hope hospital, he had to stay at his sister’s house which was located in a nearby city.  He said that because of his illness he was unable to study and work. Whenever he felt he had physical strength, he would do some light carpentry at his sister's home. As he talked, he showed me a picture on his cell phone, of a refurbished wooden table he was working on.

The clinical trial drugs were ineffectual on Matthew, despite doctor's trying several different types of experimental drugs for him. The malignant tumors were rampant, relentlessly spreading to his lungs and other organs. Every time I saw him, I had to suppress my sadness, keep a smile on my face to comfort him, say a few words to cheer him up. I shared with him an article I wrote titled "Dancing with Cancer", hoping he and his family could get spiritual comfort by reading it. Because I know, only God can solace the souls of cancer patients who are as close to the finishing line of their life as Matthew and me.  

The last time I saw Matthew, he was lying in a single treatment room reserved for severely ill patients. A needle was injected into his arm, connected to a bag filled with clinical trial drugs. His face looked wan and tired, and he was having difficulty breathing; it seemed that his illness had gotten much worse. I did not want to disturb him, only stood in his doorway, making a ​silent sign to tell him he was in my prayer.

Since then, I have not seen him. Every time I came to the infusion unit, I always deliberately walked slowly through the hallway, probing into each room and hoping to see him there. But there was no trace of him. Like many other patients I've seen in the past seven years, he quietly disappeared.

Recently, I received two letters from Matthew’s father. I was informed that Matthew had already left this world. As we raced together in the field leading to death, it seemed Matthew had reached the finishing line ahead of me.

Matthew and his father shared the same name. Sometimes I think, this must be a very close loving family; otherwise, with father and son both being named Matthew, how much confusion must it have caused in their daily lives?

In the senior Matthew's letters, “I” and “We” were often interchanged, indicating that the texts in the letters reflected the personal feelings of Matthew’s father as well as those of his family. The second letter was not just signed by Matthew’s parents and family, but also included Matthew’s own name, making me feel as if I was reading a letter from an angel.

These two "angel letters" were full of love: the love of parents and sons, of brothers and sisters, love in the waiting room, love of the thousands of people in the Dodge Stadium towards a young man dying of cancer, and mostly, love of almighty God. As I read the letters, I broke into tears. A Bible verse came to mind, a commandment by our Lord Jesus before He was crucified on the cross:

"Love one another as I have loved you: This is my command," (John 15:12)

Yes, if there were no love, it would have been impossible for Matthew’s parents to write letters, just nine days after their son died, to a stranger they'd met in hospital waiting room.  After I obtained Matthew’s consent, I attached the two letters to this article, to express my condolences, and in memory of my dear young friend Matthew Smith.

III. The first letter written by Matthew’s father, dated 7/26/2015

Joseph,

I am sorry that it has been so long since we last reached out to you. It has been very difficult for us and our Matthew.

I am deeply saddened to inform you that Matthew's fight is over. Matthew passed away on July 16th. He has ascended to heaven and is truly at peace now.

On June 4th, after further complications from his disease, he was released from the hospital and placed in Hospice care. His Doctors determined that there was nothing further that could be done with treatments to help him. The cancer had spread further throughout his lung and chest areas that made it difficult for him to breathe and swallow.

Matthew was a trooper though and he originally decided to go to his sister’s house here in Palos Verdes. We were able to take care of him, mostly on our own, and spend precious time together as a family. It was quite difficult for him but we made some special arrangements and he got to experience a baseball game at Dodger Stadium. He was treated like a king and got to go down on the field and even meet some players. He absolutely loved it.  Matthew was a big dinosaur fan growing up and wanted to see the new movie Jurassic World. We were able to share that with him also.

As his condition exacerbated, he wanted to go back to our original home, where he grew up, and finish his time with his family. We were so blessed to be able to give him exactly what he wanted on his terms. We spent about two weeks with him just loving him and giving him the peace and quiet that he deserved. No more hospitals, doctor appointments, or treatments, just the most important thing to Matthew - his family. And it was our opportunity to say goodbye in our special way.

Matthew was so dignified and professional throughout this entire process. He never complained and was more worried about all of us than even himself. Matthew fought so hard and the last thing he wanted to do is see his nephew born so he could meet and know him. Matthew's sister Sierra and her husband are having their first baby and the due date is August 20th. Matthew wrote special messages to the baby and bought him surprises. That's right, it is going to be a beautiful boy just like Matthew. What a blessing and we just wish Matthew could have been there to see him.

This will be very special and Matthew will certainly be his guardian angel to protect him and love him with God's light. Matthew was able to handle this on his own terms. No regrets.

We miss him deeply and will always have him and his spirit in our hearts forever. He will never be forgotten and will always be part of our family as we move forward with the next generation.

I worry that we haven't heard from you and we pray that God has continued to provide you the peace and comfort during your journey. Please respond back and let us know how you are doing. You have always been so caring and helpful to us with Matthew. You were an inspiration to all of us, including Matthew, and we care about and love you. As I think I had told you before, I believe that you were an angel of God’s love that was sent to help us with Matthew.

Your love is the greatest gift of all. May God bless you and your family. And remember, that Matthew will now be looking over you and will be waiting to see you again. Take care of each other until we are all united in the Heavenly Kingdom.

Love,

Matthew & Sara Smith and Family.

IV. The second letter written by Matthew’s father, dated 7/29/2015

Joseph,

Thank you, so much, for your loving thoughts and words for Matthew. I wish we could have had more time with you so you could know how special Matthew is. He was a perfect son and brother. He lived his life with a deep respect and love for God and family. And he was such a giving person for being so young. We couldn't be more proud of the man that he would become.

It is funny that you commented about looking for Matthew in infusion unit of hospital. We actually always looked for you too. I am pleased to hear that you are still receiving treatments and we will always maintain hope for your peace and comfort.

I know how difficult your condition is for you and your family, but I want you to know how important you are to so many others who face these dreadful diseases. The work you are doing, with your writings, helps us all to try and understand how to cope with the heartbreaking situation with a pure focus on Love. Thank you for touching Matthew and our family's hearts. We appreciate you spending precious time to educate us and helping us to understand what is most important. We were able to use your love and spiritual guidance to help Matthew cope with his condition.

You are an inspiration to all of us and we hope and pray that you also receive God’s loving light to comfort you. And don't forget about Matthew. He will continue to be with you in your treatments and be an angel for you. Matthew absolutely believed that we will all be united again with our Heavenly Father.

It would be an honor for us if you would share Matthew's story on your blog and we have included some of our favorite pictures of Matthew. When you post it, can you send us a link to read it? It will be a great tribute to our loving son.

I have to share with you how our hearts ache for Matthew. We miss him every moment of the day. I had tried to convince myself that I would be ready to let Matthew go, but I was wrong. I still want to provide for him and make sure that he is safe and loved. I stare at his pictures constantly and pray for him. I have to trust my faith and know that he received his calling from God to continue his love and blessings for so many others. He will continue to make a difference in the lives of so many more now. It is just so hard not to be selfish and want him all for ourselves.

Matthew had always talked about and hoped that the clinical trials and studies on his condition would help others, especially the sick children that he would see at The City of Hope.

I also wanted you to know how peaceful Matthew was at the time of his passing. He had just given Love to his brother before going to bed for the night and both Sara and I were holding and comforting him with love. He was ready and gently passed in our loving arms. Our prayers with the Peace of the Lord for Matthew were granted.

Please keep us posted on how you are doing and if you ever need any help or support from us. I would love to come and see you, while you are in treatments, to give back to you like you have done for Matthew. I will try to check with you when I am in the area. We will continue to keep you in our prayers and always know that you are loved. God Bless You.

Love,

Sara & Matthew Smith

And your angel Matthew II

Eunice’s Diaries

I.   Preface

Last Tuesday I received a surprising email from a college student who used to study violin with my wife.  Her name is Eunice Lee.  In my recollection, she is a shy and reticent girl.  She was a brilliant student who excelled in her academic study in high school, and was accepted by one of the top public universities in the United States, the University of California, Berkeley. 

The email was written in English with an attachment of her two diaries.  The first diary was written five years ago, when the cancer spread from my kidney to my pancreas.  The second diary was written recently.  These two diaries were written in a span of five years, and by reading them, you can see how Eunice has grown, from a naive teenager to a college student with self confidence and wisdom; from an immature young girl, to a young lady with faith, love and inspiration. 

When reading Eunice’s diaries, my eyes filled with tears many times.  I am deeply touched not because her diaries are attributed to me and every small incident that she wrote is based on a true story, but because she revealed a common secret to me:  Every seemingly common and insignificant thing we do in our daily life, a hug, a smile, a word of encouragement, may plant a seed into the soil of the people around you, and someday it will sprout up, bearing startlingly sweet fruits.

Next day in the hospital waiting room, while waiting for my next infusion, I shared Eunice’s diaries with two ladies sitting next to me, a mother and her daughter.  Because the words on the print-out were too small, the mother had trouble reading it, so she asked her daughter to read it for her. Having only read halfway through the first diary, the pair both began to weep.  The entire clinic waiting room was quiet, every cancer patient and his or her family members seemingly deeply immersed in thought.        

Could a diary written by a junior high school student really have such a great influence on its readers?  That afternoon as I went back home, I immediately wrote a letter to Eunice asking her to give me permission to translate her two diaries from English to Chinese.  With her permission, now I am delighted to present Eunice’s two diary entries to readers.      

II. Eunice’s email, Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Dear Joseph,

 When I first heard that you were diagnosed with cancer in my high school years, I remember how hopeless and lost I felt, because you were and still are one of the most precious people in my life. I have always appreciated everything you have done for me and everyone else in Diana's studio. I would not have had my love of violin if not for you and Diana, and I'm very thankful that you always accompanied me. Recently I went back and read my blog that I wrote in 2008. This is what I wrote when I was a sophomore in high school.

III. Eunice’s first diary entry, written five years ago

Saturday, November, 22, 2008

No one I have known well or truly loved has ever been diagnosed with cancer. Until recently.

Ever since I started playing the violin, he has always been there for me. Always comforting me, always giving me hope.  In a sense, he is my number one fan, though I don't deserve one. He is someone who will always tell me I did a great job, telling me that it does not matter whether I win or not, because in his heart, I am always a winner.

I remember many years ago when I went to a Bach Festival Competition, I sat in the front row of the church, and my violin fell on the floor. I started crying hard because I thought I would not be able to perform. But he came up to me and told me it was okay, that my violin was okay…actually, that he had also dropped his violin once when he was a young boy. As much as it comforted me back then, I realize that it could have been a lie. A good lie. A lie that helped me cheer up, helped me perform successfully in the competition.

Whenever I play the violin, I feel safe and comfortable knowing that a familiar presence is behind me, accompanying and helping me.  He's always giving words of help. Telling me that he loves hearing me play all the time. He is someone who helps me continue to pursue my goals as a violinist. Someone I always want to play for, showing my style, my passion and my love.

And now that it seems like there might not be much time left, the only thing I can do is regret. Regret that I did not cherish the moments with him as much as I should have. Regret that I do not have that many pictures with him. Regret that I do not remember as much as I should have. Regret that I was only able to spend 11 years with him till this moment. And all I can do now is pray, cry and actively try to remember moments with him. 

I remember all those recitals we had together. He would always play the piano with me and once, I remember, I accidentally skipped a page of my music and he quickly skipped the page on his piano parts accordingly, so it would not be evident to the audiences. Those small details, those small deeds are special and memorable to me.  In those years, he's always put long hours into practicing his piano parts, so my recital will sound great with his accompaniment.  And I forget to thank him for all his efforts.

Around two years ago, I went to VOCE, a string competition held by the Music Teachers Association of California. After I finished playing he gave me a hug and told me that he was my number one fan. And now I realize that is not just him who is my number one fan, but I who am his. I don't deserve to have a fan like him. He always tells me he loves to hear me play. And I never once told him that I love to hear HIM play, and I never once told him that I am ever so grateful and thankful that he has always accompanied me all these years. And that I am able to play violin because of him, because he is the bow to my violin. As cheesy as it sounds, it is the perfect description of him. I do not seem to be able to play without him. And I never even thanked the Lord, for giving me such a blessing, having someone like him there beside me.

And then I remember when I won a gold medal in a competition at the Southern California Jr. Bach Festival. During my lesson he came in and gave me a hug, telling me how proud he was of me.

During the Concerto Competition at Biola University, he told me that everything was in God’s hands, that no matter what, he was so proud to hear me play and so proud that I improved so much. And then his proud and excited voice told me that I won the audition.  Bouncing up and down, screaming and yelling, I thanked him, but I was too focused on my own accomplishment to mean it with my heart, as I do now… which seems to be too late.

As I search my computer for pictures at the concerto concert, I cannot express enough how angry I am at myself for not noticing earlier that I have no pictures with him. How foolish and stupid I am. Not even able to realize how special someone is to me until there seems to be no time left. 

And now I do not know what to do. When I go to competitions, I will have no one to rely on anymore, no one telling me I did a great job, no matter how crappy I played. No one telling me that he is always my number one fan. And now that word seems like a lie. Always. How is there an “always” when he will not be there for me anymore? He is the one person I should have realized was the reason behind all the success I have right now. He called me early in the morning on the day of the audition, told me to come over so he can help me one last time. And now the only words I can think of are: “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Without you, nothing would have been possible.” I cannot even say these words directly to him because I am afraid that I will not be able to tell him without breaking down, which is something I must never do in front of him. I must be strong. I must tell him it is okay, for the first time in my life, tell him instead of him telling me, and all I can do is pray and pray for a miracle.

He is such a great person. Always living life honestly and cheerfully, despite all the hardships he has. He is one of the nicest and most caring men I know. And I cannot help but feel some sort of anger at God that He is taking him away from me. This man has always lived his life honestly, always with a smile on his face. I can still see him with his briefcase of music telling me last minute tips before I go into my competition. Who will do that for me now?   

And it hurts remembering that the last time he ever played for me was on that day at UCLA at a master class. The professor is Movses Pogossian, a world renown violinist. I sounded utterly horrible without an accompanist playing the third movement of Bruch's violin concerto. But Joseph told me that he would accompany me during the master class. I remember precisely how Allison, Diana, and I met Joseph at UCLA. He told me to play Bruch one time before the master class started. I can still see him vividly with his briefcase full of music, going over one last note, phrase, beat, and especially tempo, the obedient accompanist who followed my dynamics at a simple command, the one who took pictures of my master class at UCLA. I do not know what I will do without him. I feel like I cannot play violin without him at my side. And I feel even more lost and alone.

I will miss him and I will never stop loving him. He is like another father to me. I am so scared that I will forget about him and forget those memories I had with him. And I am so angry with the one word that is taking away someone so very important in my life: Cancer.   

IV. Eunice’s note

According to the National Cancer Association, pancreas cancer life expectancy is minimal: Only 20% of those diagnosed live past the first year, and of those only 4% live to 5 years.

 I never intended for you to read that, but I attach it because I want you to know that I have always appreciated and loved you. I attach it also to refresh these memories and to tell you that I remember the small details. And so that you will remember that the high school Eunice, the college Eunice and the working Eunice will always remember everything you did for me.

It is only now as a believer in Christ that I look back and see how you loved me and everyone else in Christ’s love. That the love you poured out and your sacrificing heart would not have been evident or possible without Jesus, and I thank Him for that. In fact, I praise God because back in high school, I was not Christian. But I still blogged about praying to God and I remember praying to God, asking Him for a miracle. I also attach the diary I wrote in five years ago, to shed light on God’s perfect plan and to show His glory, because back then, I did not truly understand who Jesus was. But as a sophomore in high school, I wrote about how I would pray to God.

The next blog is a more recent entry from my diary. Here is what I wrote. 

V.  Eunice’s diary entry written five years later

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Looking back, I realize how faithful God was and is. It is only when I look back that I realize really how faithful God is in my life. I asked for a miracle, and He provided… all before I was a believer. He really treasures us as His children. He knew I was his daughter and that I would accept Him one day, and He provided a miracle to me. He loves us so much. He is indeed perfect. His plans are so deliberate- back then, nothing was certain, but here we are, you having survived cancer the past 5 years, and becoming a stronger Christian in the process. Here I am, as a believer. I had no idea I would ever come to become a devout Christian.

I accepted Christ as a sophomore in college. My life before was built on hopes, dreams, and ambitions, and I was always afraid to commit to Christ. Now, I am a firm believer in Christ and I lean on Him for everything. I believe my calling is in the workplace (business), and I hope to glorify Him and spread the gospel in this calling.

Reading your article moved me far deeper than when I remember you being diagnosed with cancer because I see God’s glory now. I weep at how beautiful it is that you acknowledge God’s plan, how much He loves you, and how He has redeemed you. And I am amazed and humbled at how you are pointing all your glory back to God- through your article, through you helping cancer patients, you are leading them to our rock, our savior, Jesus Christ. It is so humbling and it gives me strength to see you work so hard for the kingdom. I am inspired to do the same in my calling.

I was afraid a long time ago when I thought we would lose you. God has been so good and given us more time with you, and I am sorry I have not been able to visit more. The future is always unplanned-only God knows what will happen. But I know now that it was in God’s plan for you to be diagnosed, and for you to become stronger in your faith, and ultimately for you to deeper realize Jesus’ love for you. This note does not come close to capturing everything going through my mind right now because I am making the connections now, and am praising God for another testimony of His perfection. I did not see in high school how God would be relevant in my life, and in your life as well.

Thank you for being an obedient, sacrificing, loving, humble, and strong man of God. It is an example for us believers to trust in God with our heart, and it is an example for non-believers to cherish the gift of life, and to ultimately be led to Christ through this revelation.

I do not know how your health is right now. Of course, I would like to hear good news. But I am not in high school anymore, and I see things differently, not only as a more mature person, but as a more mature Christian, so I say in confidence that although I do not know your health at the moment, I do know that God is so so pleased by you. And that He loves you so dearly. God has redeemed you from all illnesses. He is forever renewing your heart, and your heart is strong and courageous. Jesus is forever your healer, and the Holy Spirit gives you wisdom and strength through these times.

VI. Postscript

As I read Eunice’s two diary entries written over a span of five years, I recalled a conversation with a recent visitor, a young man who recently graduated from a seminar school. When this young man heard that my cancer had started spreading to my lungs and other parts of my body, he candidly asked me which pastor I would like to choose to host my memorial ceremony and present the eulogy for me.        

I was stumped by this question which I never thought of before, and remained tongue-tied for a good while.  I then honestly told him that I had not planned for such after-death arrangements.  As I spoke to him, a second thought flashed into my mind – maybe this young seminary student was trying to recommend himself to me, seeking an opportunity to present the first eulogy in a memorial service in his pastoral career.

It is traditional to have a memorial service for people who have passed away. Although the form of memorial ritual varies between countries and ethnic groups across the world, the purpose of holding a memorial ceremony is similar:  for the people still alive to reminisce about the people who have died, to comfort the surviving spouse and close relatives of the dead one.    

The eulogy is the climax of a memorial ceremony.  If the dead one was a great person with high social status, the eulogy would be filled with praise for his accomplishments.  If the dead one was a common person, the eulogy would muse over memories of the past in his simple life.      

The first half of my life was spent during the first thirty years of the People’s Republic of China.  This was a turbulent period with political propaganda embodied in every common citizen’s daily life.  Beginning in elementary school, I had to live under the strong political influence of a eulogy, which was compiled in our text book, and had become a reading requirement for everyone.  Using contemporary twitter words to describe it, this eulogy drew “most reads” among readers in China in those days.  It was a famous eulogy presented by the communist supreme leader Mao Zedong in a memorial ceremony for his bodyguard Zhang Si-de.  In this eulogy, there was a phrase, “Serving the People”, which became a famous political quotation across the country thereafter.        

The second half of my life was (and is being) spent on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, in southern California. In this later life I have attended many memorial ceremonies. I noticed that although life is busy and people may not have much time to visit each other, they would show up to the memorial ceremonies of their old friends to comfort their spouse and relatives, in spite of having not seen each other for many years.  I also learned that in most memorial ceremonies I had attended, there was hardly ever any political milieu or eruption of howling and weeping.  The atmosphere of memorial ceremonies overflows more with solemn silence than wailing. The spirit of eulogy encompasses more blessing and trust than melancholy.            

How will my memorial ceremony to be held?  Which pastor will present the eulogy at my memorial service?  As my health deteriorates and the tumors start spreading to different parts of my body, it appears that these questions should be brought up to the family for discussion.     

By reading Eunice’s diaries, I have found my answer.  I do not need my family to hold a memorial ceremony, asking all of my friends and relatives to come all the way to southern California to eulogize my life accomplishments at the service. I do not need a pastor to deliver a eulogy as the lid is laid on my coffin. I want to have a new and meaningful commemoration to substitute the traditional memorial ceremony.     

The person who will write my eulogy doesn’t need to be a pastor of high prestige with a background of theological training.  He or she does not have to be my close relative who knew me well or a colleague who worked with me for years. The contents of my eulogy do not need to commend my life achievements and those philanthropic projects done by my right hand, but unknown to my left hand.  I want my eulogy to be a very common story, which can arouse an echo from people’s hearts, make them ponder, and take action.        

Although I have not discussed it with my wife and children yet, I feel that Eunice’s diary entries are the best choice for my eulogy.  They were written by a young high school student, telling the true story of her spiritual transformation. Five years ago, a seed was planted into the soil of her soul:  a casual praising, a sincere hug, a collaboration at a musical performance. Five years later, this seed has sprout up, releasing positive energy, and trumpeting a splendid symphony over her life.  It makes her live through the love of the people, and feel the grace and love of God.        

I choose Eunice’s diary, as my eulogy, to be presented on a platform, weibo.com, which is not a traditional memorial ceremony. I hope that these two simple and straightforward passages can generate positive energy from the hearts of web readers.  So you can take humble initiatives in the ordinary course of your daily lives, starting with trivial duties and events, passing your love to your family members, your neighbors, your schoolmates and coworkers, even to people unknown to you on the street and in town. May every reader, after reading Eunice’s diary, be able to keep a tranquil virgin soil in your soul, while laboring to amass earthly wealth. In this soil, you can stay away from the noisy and booming business, talk to your own soul and the God in your heart, seek the everlasting truth, create and build up heavenly wealth.

Finally, I would like to share with readers a beautiful poem that Eunice sent to me in her email.  This poem was written by King David in the Bible, in which David described how he communicated with his own soul and God.

Praise the Lord, my soul;

  all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

Praise the Lord, my soul,

   and forget not all his benefits—

who forgives all your sins

   and heals all your diseases,

who redeems your life from the pit

   and crowns you with love and compassion,

who satisfies your desires with good things

   so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s. 

 (Psalm 103, 1- 5)

Dancing with Cancer

Dancing with Cancer

Five years ago, I was at the apex of my career, living a happy and comfortable life with my wife and children. However, fate played a terrible joke on me: I was diagnosed with terminal kidney cancer.  This unexpected calamity struck and horrified me, who rarely ever needed to see a doctor.

I was told that the cancer I had was malignant and incurable, with an average life expectancy of one year. During the next 6 months, I walked in the shadow of death with two surgeries, which afflicted me with excruciating pain. My world, which used to be an elegant castle built by solid rock, was now crumbling and falling apart.

The surgeries left me an incomplete body. Besides the extreme physical pain following the surgeries, I lost my left kidney, where the fist-sized cancer tumor had originated; I lost my pancreas, because the tumor was spreading and growing on my pancreas after the first surgery. I also lost my duodenum, part of my stomach and bile duct.

Having lost all these precious organs that God had deemed necessary for our lives, I found myself as helpless as an infant, and every moment of my daily life became an unknown challenge. What is left of my stomach is extremely sensitive, giving me intolerable pain when it cannot digest the food I eat. With the loss of duodenum, no matter how good the food may be, my body cannot fully absorb the nutrition contained in it. Loss of the pancreas, the only organ in the human body that functions both as an endocrine and exocrine gland, brings even more serious trouble to me.   Without the pancreatic juice and digestive enzymes produced by the exocrine gland, I have to take a very expensive medication named CREON whenever I eat; otherwise, none of the food will be digested.  Without the insulin produced by the endocrine gland, my blood sugar can rise up to a fatal level that will eventually lead to dysfunction throughout my entire body.   In order to maintain my blood sugar, I have to use a needle to test my sugar level five times a day, and then adjust the insulin quantity injected into my body.  I've become a “bio creature” that needs medication to sustain every minute of my life.

The most traumatic moment for me was when I heard news that I was going to die soon after my second surgery.  The tumor continued to grow and was spreading at an exponential rate. The doctor told me that I was left with only one year at most. At the doctor's suggestion, I signed up to be a “guinea pig” in a clinical trial for a new drug that was not yet approved by the FDA. I was informed that this new drug would give me another year of life, if I was lucky.

This was the darkest period of my life. Unlike the two previous surgeries, in which I was rushed to an operation room without much time to think of death, being a “guinea pig” was a completely different story. Every patient participating in the trial for this new drug had to draw blood every two weeks for testing, and take a CT scan every three months to monitor the growth of the tumor and effectiveness of the drug.  Every visit to the doctor's office was a traumatic experience, as if I was walking to my death.

We all know that, sooner or later, everyone will die. However, when you are actually approaching death, you start to realize that you are not yet ready to handle it. According to research, 60% of people with cancer die from fear and other psychological reasons. Though I could not find any proof to test its accuracy, I believe that this statement is somewhat true.

During the clinical trial, when I heard that the effectiveness of this new drug was measured by weeks of participants’ life, I realized that I was only a few feet away from the gate of death.  I was chilled and horrified by this imminent threat.   

People rely most on almighty God when they are in the deepest pit of despair.  During those days, I looked up into the sky and prayed to God for strength and peace. I started reading the Bible often, hoping that the gospels would be the living water, which could heal my spiritual wound.

The character that eventually lifted up my spirit was an unexpected person in the Bible.  It was neither Peter, the great leader of the twelve disciples with eloquent oratorical gifts, nor Paul, the most prolific writer in the Bible, the author of thirteen New Testament books, and the greatest evangelist in the history of Christianity. 

He was a silent man. He didn't write a single book in the Bible. You cannot even find a single sentence that he said in the Bible. He was an ill man. Although the Bible does not reveal what kind of illness he had, I guess he was in a similar situation to me, having an incurable disease like cancer, and being in spiritual desperation. Although this man didn't leave any words for later generations, I believe people who read the Bible would all remember him. He was Lazarus, who was called and revived by Jesus four days after his death.

Reading the story of Lazarus revealed a brand new picture of life in my heart.  To me, Lazarus was no longer a remote historic character who lived in two thousand years ago. His story of reviving from death by Jesus was no longer a legend.  He was a lively person staying right by my side, carrying me out of breathless deep shadow, giving me the strength and courage to overcome every obstacle in my daily life.  

Lazarus’s grave “was a cave, and a stone was lying against it.” Jesus said, “Remove the stone.” (John 11: 38-39) I was inspired and shocked by these short verses, realizing that  Lazarus and I had been walking into the same cave, the cave of death, suffering in pain and fear. This cave, blocked by a huge rock, had no air, making people suffocate and lose the desire to live. If we did not remove that rock, I as well as Lazarus would have no chance to survive.  We were dying. 

Lazarus and I cannot move the huge rock based on our power alone. It is an impossible mission.  Lazarus is already dead, with his body decayed, rancid, and filthy, whereas I am a stage IV cancer patient with a death sentence, devoured by the merciless tumor. We have no choice but to surrender ourselves, and to completely rely on the supreme almighty God stretching out His merciful hands to remove the huge rock which blocks the cave.

When Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:43)  Lazarus was raised from death, and walked out of the cave.

Lazarus revealed a mystery to me.  If you learn how to embrace death, you will know how to treasure every precious moment in your life. This is a required course that I have to learn.  I began to understand that I must learn how to completely trust in God, calmly accept death, and relieve myself of fear.  This will heal my overwhelming sorrow and keep me with a high spirit in adversity.   

Relieved of the fear of death, I feel alive and revived like a newborn child.

I no longer regard those radiology reports as a verdict of my death sentence. Regardless whether the report shows either good or bad news, I treat them as a banquet celebrating a new born baby.  Compared to most kidney cancer patients who died without much time to say good bye to their loved ones, I am very fortunate. I enjoy a VIP treatment that most cancer patients do not have.  Because I am a “guinea pig” in the clinical trial, my blood is being drawn and analyzed every two weeks, and I have a CT scan every three months. Every tiny change in my tumors is scrutinized by my doctors.  This gives me a special blessing. Before I reach the end of my cancer journey, I have enough precious time to tell my family members and friends how much I love them.        

I no longer pity myself as a “bio creature”.  Loss of my left kidney, small intestines and pancreas put me into an unpredictable hardship.  It is a tremendous challenge to sustain my life. Every time my wounded stomach pains, erratic blood sugar levels cause my feet to go weak, heart beats fast, my head dazzles, and my eyes blur, I am always left in awe, praising almighty God who created heaven and earth, and how amazing he is to create such unbelievable, precious, irreplaceable organs.   I feel ashamed to have taken them for granted so long before I lost them.    

I am no longer wandering through shadows.  Although I don't know how long the revived Lazarus lived after he walked out of the cave,   I believe that after he experienced death and learned how to embrace death, every day of his new life was immersed in the glory of God. It will be a meaningless effort to find out how many more days he lived.

Time flies by. This is the fifth year after I was diagnosed with cancer. Most of the people who were in the same clinical trial with me had already died, but I am still miraculously alive, becoming one of a few survived rare species.  Every time I go to the hospital for my routine treatment, Dr. Pal, my oncology doctor at the City of Hope Hospital,  always warmly greets me with smile. The way he smiles seems to say:” You are still alive.”  He told me that among the many patients who participated in the clinic trial, I am the top one percent performer, having the best result in responding to the drug, and living the longest so far.   

“I am still alive!”  This sentence has become the most frequent greeting phrase when I greet visitors or talk with people on the phone in recent years.  People familiar with my situation understand the underlying meaning of this greeting. But for those people who do not know my condition, it is an awkward moment when they first hear this unusual opening, trying to find the right words to continue our conversation. 

During five years of dancing with cancer, away from busy work, I have spent most of my time with my family, enjoying dwelling in a warm household.  This is the most intimate and happy time that I and my wife have ever had in our thirty years of marriage.  Together, we water the blooming flowers on the backyard slope, plant vegetables, feed the colorful Koi fish in the pond, listen to a pair of parrots singing, pick up the eggs laid by our four hens, and play with our two loyal dogs. I treasure these precious moments, and consider every simple meal we eat as the last supper given by God. 

Living at home and spending time with family does not mean being isolated from the rest of the world. I try to do little things to help the people around me, let them feel the love of God through me. As my life term is being extended and prolonged on a three month basis, I've become an amateur cancer consultant. Many newly diagnosed cancer patients have heard of my case and call me, asking questions. In our conversation, I listen to their sorrow and pain, and comfort their souls.  I've become a live witness, sharing with them my experience of dancing with cancer, from the fear of death, to accept and embrace the death. Learn how to completely entrust in God, living in God’s glory every day.    

After a long period of time in the clinical trial to treat my cancer, the side effects of the new drug began to show up in my body.  This has made it difficult for me to schedule any long-term plans and travel arrangements in advance, as a normal healthy person does.  It is a new lesson to learn and a great challenge to my faith in God.  I found my love of music at a young age, and I used to enjoy playing piano accompaniments for my wife’s violin students.  Now every student competition and recital schedule written on my wife’s teaching calendar becomes a milestone that I am not sure I can cross. I revel in every performance, the final movement of my splendid life, with these lovely young musicians on the stage.       

Dancing with cancer, I no longer fear death. While the CT scan taken two months ago confirmed the cancer has spread to my lungs and other parts of my body, I calmly and peacefully accept reality. I do not count how many days remain in my last earthly journey. “Each day has enough trouble on its own.” (Matt 6:34). With gratefulness in my heart, I peacefully walk on my cancer journey, enjoying the beautiful scenery alongside the road, reaching my hand out to help those people who are in hardship and difficulty.      

I no longer regard cancer as an unexpected calamity, but think of it as a ladder leading me to an extraordinary new life.