It is the foulest of ‘C’ words. It strikes fear and loathing into our hearts. It was with some surprise and more than a little apprehension that I was informed that I had cancer. (You see - didn’t that small sentence just make your heart sink a little). My Japanese is pretty limited and my doctor’s English is worse so all I got by way of explanation was a single word: "cancer". Not very reassuring and pretty fucken scary when you are a long way from good advice and clear information (in English). Dazed, I cycled from the doctor’s clinic back up the hill to school. The doctor called my supervisor and my supervisor informed me in a calm and even tone that chunks of my body would be removed. That was a shock.
Cycling back to my apartment I remember noticing that it was a beautiful day. The sun had real bite, the birds were brave and noisy, and I had cancer. I cursed those endless summer days I lay on the beach foolishly toasting my skin. I unlocked my door and walked into my apartment, threw myself onto the bed and sobbed. It felt good. Once the salty tide had ebbed, I poured the first of many glasses of scotch that night and started ringing friends and fellow JETs (thanx guys). Through those conversations my suspicions concerning Japanese hospitals were confirmed (sharing the same bath water with a ward of sick people can’t be good!) and I became certain that returning to Australia was the best thing form me to do. I knew that Australia was the skin cancer capital of the world (I think this has something to do with the hole in the ozone layer and possibly because the place was originally set up for black people rather than pasty white folk like myself) and Australian doctors are highly skilled at its treatment. My thoughts became clearer, sleep came easily and I dreamt of good things.
The next day at school, I announced to my supervisor that I was fleeing the country but that I would return as soon as I was well. Meetings were hastily arranged with the Principle, the Head of Teachers and the Board of Education. Everyone one was very helpful. They all looked concerned and nodded gravely when my supervisor explained the situation. They even gave me money!! It seems this is the Japanese thing to do in times of tragedy: illness, death, marriage, etc. I spent a busy day booking and paying for my flight and having meetings. Later, drinking with friends and finally, packing a few belongings into a pack in readiment for my urgent journey home. All the while, people I knew were dropping by to offer support and wish me well. I finally crashed around four in the morning and was woken at six by my supervisor who had come to drive me all the way to Kansai Airport near Osaka (thanx Koba).
It was a strange trip back to Oz. Part of me was excited about returning after eight months in Japan. Part of me was scared. Part of me was cancer. At St. Vincent’s Hospital I was informed that I had the most common and least dangerous form of cancer - Basal Cell Carcinoma (garden variety skin cancer). The treatment is simple and effective - cut it out and sew up the hole. The prognosis is good. I got a great young Indian Doctor called Mohhumad. I greeted him with the traditional Islamic greeting, "Salaam whalikum" to which he replied "Whalikum salaam". This impressed the shit out of him and we had a great chat about India’s politics and film industry. All the while he was slicing (not so large) elliptical-shaped chunks of flesh out of my forehead and shoulder. He informed me that India’s population is set to overtake China’s in a few years. He sewed me up and wished me well in Japan.
It was great to be back in Fitzroy, Melbourne. I drank in all the wonderful sights, sounds, tastes and smells that I miss in Japan: food from all over the world - Greek souvlaki, Indonesian chilli squid, real Italian pasta made by real Italians. I saw dreaded hippies walking barefoot down dirty streets, Vietnamese kids selling smack to an increasingly varied clientele on Smith Street, colourful freaks tripping in op shops, live bands playing in smokey pubs, cafes awash with strong black coffee and oozing cool jazz, trams rattling and screeching down to St. Kilda beach, genuine road rage (so refreshing!) people walking shirt-less through the city - just stuff like that. Stuff I never see in Japan.
The stiches are out now and the wounds have healed. I am back in funky Mimasaka and my supervisor bought me a case of beer. All is well.
But always remember kids - "wear sunscreen!"