As I write about our current journey through surgery, genetic testing, and recovery, I often find myself looking back and asking a difficult question:
Were there warning signs before we discovered the lung cancer?
The honest answer is yes.
At the time, however, we did not recognize them for what they were.
Several months before the cancer diagnosis, (This story takes place before the cancer was discovered—that is, about two and a half years ago)
my wife occasionally complained of dizziness.
The episodes were not severe, but they happened often enough that we eventually visited a doctor. After several consultations, no clear cause could be identified. One possibility mentioned was a condition affecting the inner ear, commonly known as vertigo.
Life continued.
Work continued.
And we tried not to worry too much.
Then one day something happened that I still remember vividly.
We had just finished lunch outside and returned home. After parking the car, my wife stepped out and suddenly looked confused.
She turned to me and asked,
“Where am I?”
At first, I thought she was joking.
But within seconds I realized she was serious.
For a brief moment, she genuinely did not know where she was.
It was as if a piece of her memory had suddenly disappeared.
Fortunately, the episode lasted only a short time. Before long, she seemed normal again.
Later, I asked her what had happened.
She simply replied,
“I don’t remember.”
At the time, we did not fully appreciate the significance of that moment.
Looking back now, I realize that was the first time I truly felt something might be wrong.
Yet we did not pursue extensive testing.
Part of the reason was uncertainty.
What if the tests showed nothing?
Living in Singapore, advanced medical investigations can be expensive. Like many families, we worried about the potential cost of specialist consultations, imaging studies, and diagnostic procedures.
In hindsight, I sometimes wonder whether avoiding further investigation was a mistake.
Perhaps we should have insisted on more detailed examinations.
Perhaps we should have pushed harder for answers.
These thoughts occasionally return to me, especially during long nights in hospital waiting rooms.
But experience has taught me something important.
Regret changes nothing.
No one can travel back in time and make different decisions.
We make choices based on the information we have at that moment, not on information we discover years later.
What matters now is not what we failed to see in the past, but what we choose to do moving forward.
Still, I believe it is important to share these memories.
If our experience helps another family recognize unusual symptoms earlier, then perhaps something positive can come from our journey.
In the next chapter, I will share the events that eventually led to the discovery of my wife’s lung cancer and how our lives changed forever after receiving the diagnosis.
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