CHAPTER 136

First published in Evergreen News: 2012-01-05

Rewritten: 2026-03-12

Liver cancer tumors were sprouting like bamboo shoots after the rain, impossible to eradicate. My wife and I decided to stay with it to the very end and make a bold gamble.

I had just returned to Vancouver from Eastern China via Hong Kong when, the next day at my office, I received a phone message that made me sweat. It was a Thursday. The call was from my oncologist’s office saying that chemotherapy had been scheduled for me the following Monday, asking whether I could attend. I was completely baffled.

During the previous three rounds of chemotherapy, I had to stay in hospital for two to three nights each time, then rest at home for another two to three days, which meant taking about a week of sick leave altogether. Yet a month earlier, when I went to the cancer clinic for a follow-up appointment, the doctor had never mentioned chemotherapy. That was why I had felt reassured enough to travel to China with my wife.

Afraid that the doctor’s office had made a mistake, I immediately called back to check. The reply was that after meeting me, the doctor and his medical team had held a meeting and decided that I should undergo chemotherapy. She herself did not know the specific reason, and the meeting record had only reached the secretary a month later. It showed that I was placed “at the top of the list,” meaning I could take the available slot the following Monday.

When battling cancer, the earlier the treatment the better. My supervisor and colleagues were extremely considerate and supportive. With everyone cooperating to cover the work, I had to take another week of sick leave on the very first day after returning to my job.

This was my fourth chemotherapy treatment. (Before my liver transplant at the end of the year, two more rounds would follow; the tumors continued to grow like bamboo shoots after rain.) Because abnormal blood vessels had developed in my liver, the procedure took three hours longer than usual — five hours in total. (Later, the liver transplant surgery itself took six hours.) After I was discharged from chemotherapy, I coughed for twenty-two days. I worried that it might be due to failing liver function. Fortunately, on the twenty-third day it suddenly cleared up, confirming that it had only been caused by an influenza virus — a false alarm.

After the chemotherapy, I received information from the organ transplant clinic along with instructions for various medical tests. The application procedures required considerable effort. The blood test requirements alone filled several pages.

More than ten tubes of blood were drawn. I underwent an electrocardiogram, a chest X-ray, and tuberculosis testing at the tuberculosis clinic. To be thorough, I also had to meet a doctor, give more blood samples, and wait for the reports. Finally, I had an echocardiogram. Only after all this was completed did I have my first meeting with the transplant clinic’s medical team. From the time I received the letter to that meeting, seven weeks had passed. Life was busy — and the real drama was still ahead.

That day we met two doctors, both quick-spoken and highly efficient. The liver specialist compared my liver to a house plagued by rats. Since the infestation could not be eradicated, he said, it would be better to tear the house down and rebuild it — in other words, a liver transplant was the best solution.

The surgeon who performed the transplant said that my case was extremely complicated. I had suffered from two different cancers over a span of more than ten years, yet I was still sitting there talking with him. That, he said, was extraordinarily fortunate.

I was considered high-risk, with three main dangers:

1. To prevent my body from attacking the transplanted liver, I would need to take anti-rejection drugs for life, suppressing my immune system, which might allow cancer to develop elsewhere in the body.

2. My physical condition might not withstand such a major operation.

3. After surgery, my body might not tolerate the various new medications.

Hearing this, our hearts sank. The doctors quickly reassured us that the risks would be assessed by specialists. Three days later, they decided to “go ahead,” accepting my application and proceeding with a comprehensive evaluation.

For matters beyond our control, we entrusted them to God and to the experts. My wife and I resolved to accompany this journey to the very end and make a bold gamble.