I am 22 years old and I don’t think I have cancer right now—but that was not always the case.

When I was 15, I noticed a lump that was an inch long. I told my mother but as she was swamped with housework, she said that it was normal to happen when you got your period, or because of sports. I used to play. Perhaps it was a pulled muscle?

I ignored the lump for two years until it become so prominent the size of my right breast changed. It felt like a golf ball. One day, I casually told my aunt, who I am quite close to. We are not used to talking about our private parts or the female body in our society. This is why it was awkward for me. Not only was it taboo, but I feared being judged. But I underestimated my aunt, who took me straight to my mother.

We made an appointment with a doctor at a nearby hospital, who suggested ultrasounds and tests. She predicted from the size of the lump that it was not normal and said I might have to have a biopsy to determine if it was cancerous.

I do not claim to be a strong person but I had to keep calm, as I am not only an elder child but my brother had a medical history. My mother started panicking and to make things worse, I had my final second-year board exams ten days later.

I tried my best to keep it together but the constant ultrasounds, tests and appointments in a loop made me feel scattered and drained. Even though my parents were always with me, deep inside I felt alone and scared. It was overwhelming to keep seeing new faces, new doctors, new hospitals; my parents wanted second opinions but the process took a toll on me.

There were many awkward conversations or silences in empty rooms while I was half naked. I used to freak out knowing that someone was going to touch me. “Just a minute more, bas ho gaya, act normal, keep your eyes closed,” I kept saying to myself, but it rarely helped. Along the way I developed severe chest pain. I was unable to write in my exams because my right hand used to hurt and I struggled with constant back pain.

Eventually I was booked for the operation at Liaquat National Hospital with Prof. Dr. Rufina Soomro the day after my exams. If you are from Karachi, you’ll know that my exam center was Khatoon-e-Pakistan which is right across the road from Liaquat National. So whenever I used to go for my exams on that road it was like facing a countdown to the operation.

On May 21, 2018 right after my physics exams, I was admitted. It was an entirely new experience, for I had never even had a drip in my life. My parents and aunt came to the hospital but other than immediate family, my parents decided not to share the news with anyone. They said they did not want gossip. At first this used to bother me, as if this was my fault or a sin I had to hide. I argued back but now I realize they were right. The things people have said to me have cut deeply, their questions have kept me up at night.

I changed into my gown in the General female ward with the help of a nurse. I was scared to go under the knife, but I kept making jokes so my mother would not cry. They called my name three times for the operation theater, and I started praying.

There was a waiting area inside where I met two older women, 35 or 40 years old. It was like being in a film where prisoners were lined up for execution. I couldn’t hear what they said because all I could hear were other patients moaning in pain. There was a boy crying after surgery for a bike accident.

When they called my name I went into the OT where there was a senior doctor, four males (which we had asked not to be there), and a practice doctor (the senior doctor was directing her when she was giving me anesthesia). Dr Rufina was not there.

My last memory was them giving me anesthesia and asking me to lie down. It was the only time, I cried out of terror because I was being uncovered in front of people. The operation lasted two hours and I was back at the general ward by 11:30am.

Dr Atiya Hussain, an Oncologist, told me that I had to bear the pain as long as the hollow space in my breast filled up since the lumps had been removed

The operation revealed that the situation was worse than we expected. The lump turned out to be 6 cm long and backed up by two more lumps deep inside. They had grown roots inside and damaged the area around it which had not turned up in ultrasounds. The biopsy showed, however, that the lumps were not cancerous. And since they had been removed, I just needed to take precautions. No medicines were prescribed. So Dr Rufina said I was completely fine but should have regular ultrasounds.

I sat my board practicals three days after the operation with a sanitary pad stuck to my bralette but my teachers helped me get through as I was barely able to move my arm. After the operation I started struggling with breast pain constantly and my right hand wasn’t working, so we consulted a new doctor.

Dr Atiya Hussain, an Oncologist, told me that I had to bear the pain as long as the hollow space in my breast filled up since the lumps had been removed. My father got so worried he took me to a homeopathic doctor who prescribed around six medicines three times a day. But then again, in January 2019, I found another lump in the right breast again.

I know it doesn’t make sense but I am not mentally prepared for a mastectomy right now

I know it doesn’t make sense but I am not mentally prepared for a mastectomy right now. I used to have frequent ultrasounds but since Covid, my checkups were derailed. The pain, swollen feet, loose skin, backache or constant pain in my arm have become a part of me and I have learnt to live with them as I don’t have much choice.

Whatever anyone says, in the end you battle it alone emotionally, mentally and physically. So don’t rely on anyone. It’s been five years now but there are still days when I feel alone, tired and drained. I don’t understand how people ignore an entire living being and reduce them to a lump.

But despite this all, I own myself because if I don’t who will?

The writer’s name has been withheld for privacy