It began without much fuss. One evening, my grandma found a small lump on the side of her throat while she was massaging her neck. She didn’t think much of it at first, assuming it was just a cold sore or a swollen lymph node from the flu. It seemed harmless. But as the months passed, the lump stayed and got bigger. She kept touching it, as if her hands were trying to confirm what she was already worried about. 

Eventually, she told my aunt, who took her to Abbay Hospital, which was just down the road from our house. The doctors checked her vitals, nodded to each other, and then admitted her without much explanation. There were no clear answers, just a sudden change from normal life to being inside a hospital. 

After examining the lump more closely, the doctors seemed to realise it was something they could not handle. Still, instead of sending her to the right specialist right away, they sent her to the lab for an FNAC (Fine Needle Aspiration Cytology). There was no ultrasound or CT scan. Only a needle, with no images or clear plan. It felt like they were searching blindly, and we were left waiting in that same uncertainty. 

When the results finally came back, they did not give us answers. Instead, they left us with more questions. The report used terms such as “suspicious” and “should be reviewed by doctors.” There was nothing clear or certain. FNAC can sometimes detect cancer by examining cells from a lump, helping families understand what is happening. But for her, it only sent us back to the hospital, still searching and still without a name for what was growing inside her. 

And still, there was no PET scan or CT scan. We just kept waiting. Another week passed, maybe more, because the specialists, such as the otolaryngologist, the head and neck surgeon, and the endocrinologist, only visited the hospital twice a week. 

Time moved slowly, but the disease did not. The lump began to grow more quickly, pressing against her throat until it could be seen even under her clothes. What you once had to feel with your fingers was now visible to everyone. 

Meanwhile, the general physician monitored her fluctuating blood pressure. Every three days, her numbers would spike to 150/90 or 162/100, so she stayed on hypertension medication. But aside from those pills, there was still no real consultation and no specialist to explain what was happening or what to do next. We were only treating the symptoms while the real problem kept growing, right in front of us. 

This continued for months. She first noticed the lump in December 2022. By the time any real steps toward a diagnosis began, it was already March or maybe April 2023. That meant three to four months of waiting, watching, and being told to hold on while the disease moved ahead quickly.