The ENT surgeon and the oncologist at ESI finally identified the stage of the cancer, if not the exact type. It was stage 2—they couldn’t specify further. It had advanced past stage 1, though they didn’t yet know the precise cancer type, they were firm with us. They criticized our family for not bringing her earlier and for delays in testing. But we couldn’t explain how the hospital had wasted months on referrals and false leads. Only after transferring her to ESI did we get real answers. Previously, the hospital had shuffled my grandma and aunt like pieces on a chessboard—transferring her between the OT and ward weekly without operation. They hesitated due to her hypertension and fears of anesthesia. At ESI, the approach was different: the doctor was experienced, calm, and confident. He patiently prepared her, and when ready, performed the thyroidectomy in one go, removing the lump and preserving the tissue for biopsy. She awoke to a large scar around her neck, like a necklace, which was harder for her than the lump. No matter her age, appearance and dignity mattered—she didn’t want to be stared at or judged. With society’s emphasis on karma and shame, that scar felt like exposure. Now, her thyroid was gone, the source of her illness, but also her hormone regulator. She now takes thyroid-stimulating hormones and calcium daily, reminders of the unasked-for fight she faced.