July 8th may go down as a landmark day in my life. A five-hour operation to remove a sizeable chunk of the right side of my body cannot go unnoticed and/or ignored. Now, weeks later, I’m feeling fine and continue to defy the expectations of every specialist I’ve seen. What I can say, though, is that for two weeks after the surgery, I suffered from what can only be called “post-op blues.” My mind and body shut down. I could only sleep my way through the days. Whenever I talked about how the doctors were surprised about the way I reacted to treatment, I broke down and cried like a baby. I was like a pressure cooker that had just been opened and was filling the entire kitchen with steam, but also with a delicious odour of food that had been well prepared.
In February 2024, my oncologist told me there were no more curative options—only palliative treatment. But deep down, I refused to believe that. My mind was locked on one goal: surgery and fighting for recovery.
Months later, that’s exactly what happened. All visible lesions have been removed, and my recovery is going far better than anyone expected. I prepared for surgery the way an athlete prepares for a World Cup: three days beforehand, I rode 17 kilometers on my bike. I even made sure my weight was exactly where it needed to be, knowing I would lose weight after the surgery.
I spent just one day in the ICU. The doctors decided I was strong enough to move to a regular ward right away. I heard one of them say, “It’s rare to see a patient like this.”
Calm mind, calm body
I wasn’t afraid. No panic, no sleepless nights. Instead, I joked with my surgeon: “You know where the liver is, right?”—“I might need to check my anatomy book.” That calmness probably kept my stress hormones low, which helped my immune system and healing.
Trust gave me strength
I trusted my medical team, but I also trusted my body. That trust kept me from tensing up and allowed my body to do what it needed to do: heal.
Listening to my body
I force nothing. If my body says “rest,” I rest. If it says “walk,” I walk. No pressure, no performance goals—just listening and responding. That’s how I keep moving forward, one step at a time.
The crucial months ahead
Yes, all visible tumors are gone. But the coming months will determine whether I can remain disease free—whether true recovery is possible. I know that, but I refuse to live in fear. Instead, I’m choosing to put my energy into healing, rebuilding my strength, and embracing life fully again. Brain over body; yet again.
My message to you
We often underestimate how strong we really are—on the inside. Even when doctors give you little hope, your mind must stay focused on recovery. I believe more than ever that healing doesn’t just begin in the body; it begins in the mind.