The morning after the surgery, my primary surgeon, Dr. Valencia, came to my hospital room to check on me and said,”Dr. Patdu, the oncologist, will be here this evening and you can discuss your future treatment with her."
In Japan, the primary surgeon is generally also in charge of postoperative anticancer treatment. But in the Philippines, the surgeon is in charge of cancer surgery and the medical oncologist is in charge of anticancer treatment after the surgery. I trusted my surgeon, Dr. Valencia very much, but once the surgery was completed, my doctor switched to Dr. Patdu, an oncologist.

After that talk, Dr. Valencia showed me photos and videos of me in surgery. A photo of myself lying as if dead with my left breast cut off, and a photo of my left breast that had been cut off. A video of a piece of my skin being cut off with a swooshing motion, like slicing a radish. Seeing myself under general anesthesia with no memory at all was a strange sensation, as if I were astral projecting and seeing myself.
It was grotesque, to be honest, but Dr. Valencia played the video over and over again with his usual smile, as if to say, "See, I did it well, didn't I?"

Dr. Patdu, the oncologist who showed up in my hospital room that day, appeared to be a strong-willed and experienced physician. “The direction of future treatment will be determined after we get the results of the analysis of the cancer cells taken from the surgery, but if you have any concerns, please feel free to ask me anything," she said.
I told her, "I'm afraid of anticancer drugs because they would make me very nauseous." She laughed at me and said, "That was a long time ago! Nowadays, nausea-control drugs have been developed, so you don't have to worry about nausea at all,“ she assured me.
Dr. Patdu had already looked over my test results and quickly moved on to the next step. My preoperative CT scan showed a tendency toward bone metastasis, so a bone scan (bone scintigraphy) was scheduled for the next morning to investigate this in detail. That scan also showed a tendency toward bone metastasis, so an infusion to reduce bone fragility was arranged for the day after the scan.
On the morning of the third postoperative day, after an examination with the plastic surgeon and breast surgeon who had attended my surgery, I was cleared for discharge. It was the fifth day after admission.
From there, after accounting for hospitalization expenses, I could leave the hospital, but the accounting process took hours and I was on edge wondering if I would actually be discharged that day.
The reason it took so long, I found out when I finally saw the receipt for the accounting process that had been completed.The bill was several pages long, covering every expense of the hospitalization and surgery. It included hospital pillows, medical pads, alcohol and other minor items.
The nurse said to me, "This is what you already paid for, so please take it back with you." I was given pillows and cardboard boxes, so I had much more luggage when I left the hospital than when I was admitted.
But I could not carry a single one of those packages. They were all carried by my husband and the hospital staff. When I was discharged from the hospital, I still had a drain in my left chest and I could not raise my left arm because the surgery had removed my left breast and left lymph nodes. Additionally, I could not move my left leg well. I had pain in my left thigh because surgery had grafted the skin of my left thigh onto my left chest.

Unlike my hospital stay, where everything was taken care of for me, once I returned home I had to do everything by myself. However, everything I could do normally before the surgery was a challenge immediately after discharge. I could not lift my left arm and could not carry heavy things, so cooking and hanging laundry took much longer than before. My physical strength had dropped so much that even the slightest household chore tired me out quickly. I had never had a serious injury or illness in my life, and this was the first time I knew the pain of not having my body the way I wanted it to be.

Now I think this experience was necessary for my work as an energy healing specialist. Before the surgery, I’d been a yoga instructor. When a client would say, "My feet hurt, I can't do this pose," I assumed it was because she was not practicing regularly enough. In other words, I figured it was her lack of effort. Through my schooling in Japan, I had internalized the idea that hard work always pays off and that lack of results is due to lack of effort. That idea remained deeply rooted in my mind even after living away from Japan and studying yoga.
Thanks to my experience of living a life where my body did not work the way I wanted, I can now empathize with the pain of those who have "aching feet" or "get tired easily." I can see now that, in most cases, that is not something that can be managed by his/her own efforts alone. You can't handle it on your own, so you need someone to help you.

Anyone can experience such a situation. Now I think survival skills and true strength is being able to ask for help when you need it rather than trying to manage on your own.
The more painful the experience, the more useful lessons it will provide for the rest of your life.

Author's introduction: Chie Hoshiya
Since 2013, she has been living in Manila, Philippines, where she works as a yoga teacher and online Japanese teacher. In 2021, she was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent surgery and treatment, and in the process of treatment, encountered energy healing. In 2022,Certified as an Energy Healing Associate Specialist by the World institute for incurable diseases (WIID),founded by Master Del Pe, a world-renowned Healing Master.