My MBA Journey — Battling Cancer (Part 1: Discovery)
How it all began
Friday, 3 March 2023. Still in winter. Just 3 months into my MBA program at HEC Paris, I was already juggling between reading case preps, networking, playing basketball and competing in the Global Case Competition at Harvard. Thinking that I was experiencing normal symptoms of exhaustion, I strolled to the campus infirmary in early morning complaining of fever. I also had been having pain in my right waist, but I just thought it was muscle spasm from bad posture or overstretching. The doctor simply advised me to take paracetamol and rest. I continued my day as usual, with an interview scheduled after lunch with a reputable sustainability advisory & investment firm.
Saturday, 4 March 2023. I woke up quite sweaty, but feeling normal, with the fever gone. Come to think of it, I found it pretty regular as I had been sweating a lot in my sleep for months during the winter climate. I figured it was probably a normal consequence of being crumpled with my blanket, jacket, and heater as I’m pretty bad with cold weather. Simply enjoying my weekend, I start my day off by meeting with my teammates for the Harvard competition, followed with a catch-up call with a friend and former colleague in the afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary…or so I thought.
Sunday, 5 March 2023. It was 3 AM. I was awakened with a very sharp stabbing pain to my right ribs every time I breathe. I was curbed in bed and couldn’t move, as any slight movement worsened the pain. I had my phone on my bedside yet was reluctant to contact anyone as I thought this was nothing and should shake off in the morning if I can just go back to sleep. After struggling for 20 minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore.
With the force I have left in my body, I grabbed my phone and dialled 15 to call service d’aide médicale urgente (SAMU), which is basically the 911 for medical emergency in France. Thankfully the dispatcher was able to speak English so I was able to communicate my situation. Within 15 minutes, ambulance arrived at my accommodation on campus. They checked up on me, made sure I had my identity and insurance documents, and by 4 AM I was already in Hôpital Antoine-Béclère, a public hospital in Clamart. I was put in the ICU, mostly surrounded by elderlies. I expected this to be nothing major and that I would be discharged by the end of the day. After describing my condition, the nurses took my blood samples, and after waiting for 6 more hours, was put in the CT scan. Shortly after lunch, they revealed that I had pulmonary embolism (blood clot in my lungs) that was causing the stabbing pain in my right ribs.
More mystery
I didn’t really think much about it and was simply relieved of the discovery but was surprised that they weren’t releasing me just yet. Apparently, they were still searching for the cause of the pulmonary embolism because it doesn’t just happen on its own. I was a physically active 26-year-old male with no history of heart disease, surgery, or any related disorders. I was pretty pissed that I had to prolong my stay at the hospital, but I guess at least I was well taken care of. They gave me an injection of anticoagulants everyday to help as blood thinners and dilute the clot. I didn’t really understand what it was that they were searching for at the time. Regardless, I spent the remainder of my Sunday in my hospital bed in the ICU, working on the Harvard competition, informing my family back home and letting a few friends and personnel at HEC know of my situation.
Monday, 6 March 2023. They conducted a more thorough analysis of my PET scan and found an anomaly in my mediastinum, which appears to look like a large mass near my heart. They weren’t sure what it was exactly at the time. For a more advanced diagnosis, they were in progress of requesting to transfer me to a larger hospital in Paris. Later that day, they mentioned that my transfer has been officially approved and I would be transported the day after.
Tuesday, 7 March 2023. After spending two days in Hôpital Antoine-Béclère, an ambulance picked me up in the morning and I was transferred to the pulmonology ward of Hôpital Européen Georges-Pompidou, which is known as one of the leading hospitals in Europe. The next two days went in a similar pattern with all the blood samples and PET scan procedures, as well as me occupying myself with school assignments and Harvard competition stuff.
Wednesday, 8 March 2023. It became much clearer that what I have near my heart is a tumor, but they’re still trying to figure out whether it is benign or malignant, in which a biopsy is necessary to ascertain.
Thursday, 9 March 2023. I had my biopsy.
Friday, 10 March 2023. It was sometime after lunch. The doctor, a pulmonologist, came into my room with a rather cautious and careful body language. He then proceeded to explain the diagnosis of my condition with the best English he could possibly use, in which I could catch mainly 2 key phrases:
Malignant tumor…cancer…
Those words brought me to a sinking feeling. Drowning.
He eventually reached out to his pocket to grab his phone and type into Google translate: Tumeur germinale non séminomateuse, which was the type of cancer I had. Simply put, I had what was supposed to be a testicular cancer, but ultimately transferred and resided near my heart.
The doctor further explained on my move to the oncology ward for my next steps of treatment, which involve chemotherapy.
How I felt
As the doctor finished and left, I had mixed feelings.
I realized chemotherapy was going to be challenging physically, mentally, and emotionally. Not to mention the toll it would put on my body with the numerous potential side effects. Likelihood for infertility was the one that I can’t easily shake off, because it has always been a part of my plan to have children in my life. I’ve arranged my life timeline with that fact at the centre of it all. Knowing that it could all be in jeopardy simply didn’t sit well with me.
But I was also grateful. What better time and place to be sick? Being in France as a student with a scholarship from the Indonesian government, and now having to undergo cancer treatment in France, a place with the best healthcare in the world, as well as having it all fully covered by caisse primaire d’assurance maladie (CPAM), which is the French public health insurance fund. As a firm believer of God, I felt like it was all written in the stars.
So, there I was: alone, not knowing what was happening to my body, hospitalized as a foreigner in a country where I barely speak the language, on a Friday with plans to do for the weekend, the coming week and a wholly planned out transformative MBA journey and life afterwards…seemingly fleeting away, slipping through my fingers. Yet I was hopeful, no matter what life throws at me or how much hard it would be.
A blindly optimistic lad. Little did I know.
How did it all go? A roller coaster of a journey. But that’s a story for another time.
