How do I even begin to tell this story? The moment I try to go back, a wave of pain and agony washes over me. About a year and a half ago, in April 2024, just before the holy month of Syawal, I was home, battling a painful period and a relentless cough in my bathroom.
My younger sister, worried, came to check on me. I tried to brush it off, telling her I was fine, but she wasn’t convinced. In fact, she threatened to call an ambulance if I didn’t go to the hospital with her.
Reluctantly, I dragged myself to Hospital Sungai Buloh. The next thing I knew, I was in the emergency room, surrounded by doctors. They hooked me up to a heart monitor, took blood, and started an IV drip. I remember drifting off to sleep as they worked.
When I woke up, I was in a ward. The doctors were shocked. My iron level was critically low—my haemoglobin was only 2.4. They said they couldn’t believe I was still walking and talking. Over the next few days, I received blood transfusions. Ultimately, I ended up celebrating Raya there, an experience I’ll never forget.
Navigating a Living Hell
The doctors scheduled my hysteroscopy for August 16, 2024. My heart still sinks when I think about that date. Had I waited that long, I truly don’t believe I would be here today, writing this.
My sister, my guardian angel, insisted we get a second opinion. She brought me to PPUM, and that’s when my journey into a living hell began.
The next month, my period returned, and I was admitted to PPUM twice. The second time, I fainted from the blood loss. On May 10, 2024, I had the hysteroscopy. The doctors found a big mass on my uterus. As a result, I wept, mourning that I would never have a child of my own.
Letting go of that dream was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life.
The doctors removed the big mass along with my entire reproductive system. Over the next few months, I went through 25 sessions of radiotherapy and 2 brachytherapy sessions. I was coping, finding a strength I never knew I had. However, then came chemotherapy.
The Financial and Emotional Toll
Losing my hair was a blow I wasn’t prepared for. I spiralled into emotional eating, frustrated and heartbroken by the changes to my body. It took a long time to accept my new reality. When I finally finished the treatments, I felt a surge of hope. I started going to the gym, determined to get back to my old self. Eighty percent of my clothes didn’t fit anymore, a constant, painful reminder of what my body had endured.
Just as my hair started to grow back and I was finally shedding the extra weight, I began to cough again. It was early May 2025. I brushed it off, thinking it was just from eating too many nuts.
I had a CT scan in mid-May, and that’s when my worst fears were confirmed. On May 30, my doctor sat me down and told me the devastating news: the lymph nodes in my lungs had swollen to 4cm. I needed to start treatment immediately.
I was speechless. I just cried and cried. I was told I would need six cycles of Doxorubicin (chemotherapy). The thought of losing my hair again broke me completely. I had just gotten a small piece of my old self back, and now it was being taken away again.
A New Path to Recovery
I had my first chemo session in early June and just finished my third on July 14, 2025. I have three more to go, and maybe even laser treatment. My path to recovery is still long, but I’ve learned to accept this journey as a part of rediscovering myself.
I recently had a full-body CT scan, and the nodes have shrunk significantly. Alhamdulillah (Praise be to God), I am on the path to a full recovery. The cough is subsiding, and the chest pain is now only a mild ache that I manage with medication. My fourth chemo session is coming up on August 11, and I pray that I will continue to improve after my final treatment.
Guiding Lights: My Message to You
Through all of this, two lessons have become my guiding light—and a message I want to share with every single one of my clients.
1. A Financial Toll: The Unspoken Burden
Life is unpredictable. You never know what’s around the corner. While my body was fighting for its life, I was also fighting a financial battle. Every scan, every transfusion, every session of radiotherapy and chemotherapy—every single part of my treatment—came out of my own pocket. I’m fortunate to have had the savings and the family support to get through it, but I’ve seen firsthand how a medical crisis can not only drain you physically and emotionally, but financially as well.
It’s an unspoken burden that can crush you when you’re at your most vulnerable.
Please, I urge you, do not wait until it’s too late. Protect yourself and your family financially. Whether it’s with a medical card or a critical illness plan, make sure you have the coverage you need.
2. Early Action: Listen to Your Body
I cannot stress this enough: do not ignore your body’s signals. My journey began with a persistent cough and a painful period. I brushed it off, thinking it was nothing serious. In fact, it took my sister’s unwavering persistence to get me to a hospital, and even then, I was scheduled for a procedure months later. My doctor’s words still echo in my mind: “We can’t believe you were still walking around.” Ultimately, that delay could have been fatal.
My second nightmare began with a cough I again dismissed. I learned the hard way that early detection is everything. It makes treatments more effective, recovery more likely, and the path forward a little less daunting.
This isn’t about me being an agent; it’s about me being someone who knows firsthand that a serious illness can threaten to take everything from you. Your health is your most precious asset, and having the right plan in place—both for your finances and for your wellness—allows you to focus on your recovery without the added worry of financial ruin or the regret of having waited too long.
