Stage Four: The Diagnosis Named

After the thyroidectomy, we finally exhaled. For the first time in months, there were no hospital bills piling up, no “we’ll call you tomorrow.” The surgery, the ward, the biopsy—all of it was covered under ESI. It was a relief that went beyond money. It meant she had made it through. After She was alive.

That had been her biggest fear all along—that she wouldn’t wake up. Even though her blood pressure had been under control for 15 years, the thought of the operating theatre, the bright surgical lights above her face, had sent it soaring off the charts. But she did wake up. And when she did, she couldn’t speak. Her voice was a whisper of air, replaced by hand gestures and small nods. She was in pain, but she was there. My aunt made sure she took her medications, and every woman in the family rallied around her.

After about a day and a half, she was discharged. For those few days at home, she was quiet but alive—and that was enough.

Three or four days later, the biopsy results were ready. We were called back to the ESI hospital. The anesthesiologist sat with us, not behind a desk but next to us, and told us what the lab had found. It was one of the rarest sarcomas in existence—leiomyosarcoma of the thyroid. A cancer so rare that only about 0.3% of all thyroid malignancies in the world are like it.

She didn’t understand the name. The word meant nothing to her except that it was serious. For her, it was just “why?” Why did this happen? Why now, at seventy-one? Why after living a clean, simple, careful life?

The doctors couldn’t answer that. They tried explaining that research on such rare cancers is limited, that the exact cause isn’t known. They said it could be due to lifestyle, diet, or even hygiene—but those explanations felt hollow. Because she had lived seventy-one years without trouble. She had eaten the same food, followed the same habits, lived with the same faith. Nothing had changed—except that suddenly, a disease no one could explain had decided to take root in her.

And that’s when my own question began to form—not out of anger, but out of disbelief. How can someone live seven decades with grace and discipline, and still be claimed by something the world barely understands?