Narrow Escape
(Editing)
For devout believers, both religious and non-believers, this title might elicit a rebuke: "What is this?!" It might even be considered blasphemy. I chose this title because, in a sense, my own life seemed truly "divinely inspired." It means that God never abandoned me in times of need, and always extended a helping hand. I have written down, in chronological order and as I remembered, the numerous events I have experienced since my birth into this world—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say how many more years I will live, or will be allowed to live. There may be some parts that lack specificity, but I have tried to write an honest document. However, I cannot deny that there may be ambiguity in expression due to my poor writing ability, and I would like to ask for your forgiveness for this. And through this essay, I hope that you will get a glimpse of my way of life and empathize with the preciousness of life.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: My Mother's Laundry
Chapter 2: A Life Saved Even in Poverty
Chapter 3: Is War Wrong?
Chapter 4: Catching Dragonflies
Chapter 5: Carp Fishing
Chapter 6: A Crossroads of Fate
Chapter 7: Clam Gathering
Chapter 8: The Painter
Chapter 9: The Carp on the Cutting Board
Chapter 10: Cancer Diagnosis
Chapter 11: Colonoscopy
Chapter 12: Is It Unavoidable Because Cancer Runs in the Family?
Chapter 13: Passing the Tonsils Around
Afterword
(Reference) Content summarized by Copilot
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Chapter 1: My Mother's Laundry
As usual, that day, my mother went out with her neighbors to the stream (Shukugawa) that flows very close to their house to do the laundry. Despite the presence of Asahi Kasei, a large factory with numerous chimneys piercing the sky, nearby our house, the water flowing in the stream was clear, and it seemed that the local residents drank it. Surrounded by low hills, the water flowing from them was pure, making it the perfect place for the neighborhood housewives to do their laundry and a relaxing spot to chat. The so-called Shukuko River was an indispensable and precious part of life. As usual, my mother washed the laundry she had brought in a basket using a washboard, while she placed me in a tub, floated it in the shallows, and tied me to a stake driven into the riverbank to prevent me from floating away. My mother was engrossed in small talk with her friends. Some time passed in this state. Eventually, the laundry was finished, and my mother looked for the tub where she had tied me up to put the freshly washed clothes, but it was nowhere to be found! My mother screamed and frantically began searching for the tub with her laundry friends, along with me. Even though the stream was flowing gently, the washbasin was nowhere to be seen, neither around the washing area nor downstream. Had it been swept further downstream, out of sight? That's what my mother thought. Her friends frantically ran around in the bushes along the riverbank, searching for the washbasin, and others ran downstream; everyone was desperate. After a while, luckily, one of them found me. I was found on a not-so-long piece of driftwood near the riverbank of the old Shukuko Bridge, about 50 meters downstream from the washing area. I was clinging tightly to that piece of driftwood. And then, my friends rushed to my rescue. Imagining my mother's joy and the tears welling up in her eyes at that moment, it's heartbreaking to think of her at that very moment, as if the door to her life was closing. But why was I clinging to that piece of driftwood? No one knows the truth. Was it truly a "miracle"? This incident may have been merely the prelude to the "narrow escape from death" events that followed.
Chapter 2: A Life Saved Despite Poverty
I was living a happy life when I noticed a strange swelling on my head. I think I was about three years old. Several days passed without knowing the cause, until one day, my mother noticed me crying and screaming in pain. She asked my grandfather (my mother's father), whom I don't remember, to take me to the hospital. The hospital was far away, and there was no public transportation. Furthermore, our family finances were not in a position to pay for treatment. So, my grandfather explained the situation and tried to borrow money from a neighbor to cover the treatment costs. He carried me on his back, got on his bicycle, and sped along a roadless path to the hospital. I don't know what my illness was at the time. Because a large amount of smegma had accumulated on my head, the doctor performed surgery immediately. After the operation, the doctor reportedly told my grandfather, "It was almost too late!" Even now, when I touch my head, the scar, more than five centimeters long, is still vivid. No matter how long my hair grows, I can never hide that scar. The words my mother sometimes spoke of when reminiscing—"You're so lucky!"—will never fade from my heart.
Chapter 3: Is War Wrong?
I have absolutely no memory of my parents' lives. My father's workplace at the time (Asahi Kasei Rayon Division) still exists today, albeit with different products. I never once heard my mother talk about the days she spent with my father. Furthermore, my mother never spoke about it, not until I was 64 years old. One day, my mother (86 years old, completely blind) lost her balance and fell while trying to answer the phone, fracturing her left wrist. Ten days later, my aunt (my mother's sister) informed me of the situation, and I drove five hours to rush to her side. I was relieved to find her surprisingly well. That night, my mother's confession? was beyond imagination. I would like to elaborate on this matter below. My father, whom I have no memory of, and his youth, which no one ever told me about? My mother spoke calmly. I don't know why my mother decided to talk about the actions of my father, who is no longer with us. However, judging from my mother's current state of mind, there was no doubt that her confession was made up of lies. Before I speak of my father, my only memory of him is of him standing at the front door in his military uniform, with a bushy beard, in the year the war ended. I have no memories of him before that. My mother's confession begins in Nobeoka City, the place where she got married. Her encounter with my father was shocking. My mother was raped by my father! And then I was born. The situation after their marriage was a life that my mother could not bear the humiliation of. Her husband's behavior towards a loveless family inevitably extended to other women. He had multiple mistresses. He didn't contribute financially to the household. It was a typical pattern of a womanizer. That oppressed life continued for many years. Then Japan entered the Pacific War, and my father changed jobs from Asahi Kasei to become a police officer and went to North Korea. My mother never told me anything about my father's work as a police officer, who had gone to North Korea alone. All I heard were stories of his endless womanizing. Looking back now, who could have told their beloved son, "This is the kind of person your father is"? My mother's youth was dark, empty, and hopeless. But my mother continued to live resiliently, for the sake of the child of a husband she could never love. The money my father was given locally was a special, generous amount. Almost all of it was spent on foreign women. It was never sent back to Japan. According to my mother, he went to North Korea about three times. For me, a five-year-old, my only memory of Pyongyang is of the stone walls of the alleys. My father's violence towards his wife and children was constant during this period. Every time I see my mother, she tells me this story: "In my despair, I thought so many times about jumping into the sea from the ship on the way back, from the dock, and ending our lives together." But even then, my mother endured. Her mind and body were already exhausted, and she was forced to go blind. My mother recalls that she could not possibly take my life as I, a five-year-old, held her hand as we went on and off the ship. It is unbearable for me that I was never told about my father's past until I was over 60 years old. Later, my parents had two children (my younger brother) who were the spitting image of me. My real name is Kenichi, and his younger brother's is Koji, so together we are Kenichi-Ni. Despite my attempts to persuade him, my younger brother, unable to bear the situation any longer, hanged himself in a mental hospital at the young age of 25. Kengo, the third son, was placed in a relief facility due to financial hardship, despite his mother's pleas. Later, he grew up, started a family, and married a disabled woman. However, his wife's life was short. They passed away without having any children. I don't remember when my parents divorced. My father took me with him and returned to his family home in Miyazaki. My life in Miyazaki was consumed by the sadness of being separated from my mother. I still vividly remember my mother and aunt (my mother's sister) who, once or twice a year, would sneak away from my father's parents, siblings, and travel by train to visit me at elementary school. And the deliciousness of the apples and expensive bananas we ate in the fields near the school—were they a gift from God? My attachment to my mother is a natural emotion for a child. My mother generously shared expensive bananas with me. I have visited my hometown several times with my mother and aunt without informing my father's family. At this time, my mother was on the verge of blindness. My father's sisters would come to take her back. I can never forget how this cycle continued for some time. I believe it was around this time that my father's violence and abuse towards me escalated. His violence towards me was far from discipline; it was the act of a madman, driven by pure hatred. If someone called my name in the house and I didn't respond with a loud "Yes!", my father would suddenly use his strength to strip off my clothes, drag me to the well, and pour cold water over my head—in the bitter cold of winter. Crying was useless. Also, there was an iron fire tong stuck in the hearth in the living room, and he would hit me on the head with it with all his might. Each time, bright red blood would splatter everywhere. This kind of life was repeated every day. It was like hell. If I had known how to end my own life during this childhood, I would not be who I am today. Almost every night, I would unconsciously slip out of bed in the middle of the night and urinate wherever I pleased. One night, I suddenly found myself in the garden. I had no idea why I was outside. It was a complete sleepwalking episode. Perhaps it was a result of the abuse I suffered day and night from my father. This kind of life continued even after I entered junior high school. I remember that my father's violence stopped around the time I entered high school. Looking back now, he violated his wife with violence, a wife he didn't love, and showed not a shred of kindness to the child he fathered with her. Many times during the winter, I would run away from home and spend time in the wheat fields. And all I could think about was dying. But perhaps my suicidal tendencies weren't that strong. It's also true that I had no concept of hope for living. For me, there was only my father's one-sided violence and abuse; there was no binding force that would drive me to suicide. I would occasionally meet secretly with my younger brother, Koji, and we would whisper to each other in bed, "Let's die together!" But I simply couldn't bring myself to do it, and later, I ended up causing my younger brother's death. He now rests in a cemetery on a sunny hill surrounded by the beautiful mountains of our hometown. What could have caused us so much suffering? God is so cruel!
Chapter 4: Dragonfly Catching
I was good at catching dragonflies. The stream that used to flow in front of my house, which no longer exists, was a treasure trove of crucian carp and dragonflies. In early spring, I often caught crucian carp. And in early summer, dragonfly catching would begin. Fishing was safe because I could fish from the bank of the stream with a homemade rod without getting wet, but dragonfly catching was extremely dangerous. I would hold a bamboo broom in both hands, shield my head, and enter the river. The river had shallow and deep parts, and I had to rely on my sense of direction. The shallower the area, the more agile the dragonflies were, which led to catching a large number of them. One time, as happened every year, I was so engrossed in chasing dragonflies that I got my feet caught in a deep section. My head was submerged. I struggled desperately. I couldn't swim. I swallowed and spat out muddy water, flailing my arms and legs, and finally managed to escape from the deep section. I was aware of my pale face. There was no one by the river. Why did I repeat this dangerous act every year? Because it was fun. I never imagined I would die. Perhaps I didn't have any fear of death. In those days, children's play was not monitored as thoroughly as it is today, nor were there any protective measures. Also, parents didn't pay much attention to their children's play. Therefore, there was a great chance that a child could die, regardless of time or place. If you were unlucky, it was the end. But I didn't die. Perhaps I had stronger bad luck than anyone else. There's no other way to put it. There were quite a few classmates who lost their lives catching dragonflies. The female dragonflies I caught (the official name of the dragonfly is *Aeshna juncea*) were used to catch males. One female could yield dozens of males. The fun of that is something that people who haven't experienced it could never understand. Catching males is very simple. To avoid damaging the female's wings, the base of her wings is wrapped three times with cotton thread and tied, and this thread is then tied to the end of a 50cm long bamboo stick. With this, everything is ready. All that remains is to go down to the riverbank and wait for the males to arrive. The males never come in groups. They come one by one, at intervals of time. Once a male has arrived, you grasp the lower part of the bamboo stick to which the female is attached and begin to slowly rotate it in a clockwise circle above your head. When the male sees the female, he dives down, catches her, and mates. He hooks the tip of his V-shaped tail behind the female's head. You can feel this by the weight of the bamboo stick you were rotating. Gradually, you lower the bamboo stick to the ground and capture the male. The male, once attached to the female, does not try to separate from her; in fact, he cannot separate. Therefore, the success rate of capturing males is, unless something extraordinary happens, perfect. That's why it's so interesting. A quintessential summer scene, symbolized by children catching dragonflies.
Chapter 5: Carp Fishing
My love of fishing is nothing new. I think it started when I was in elementary school. It was a bright, sunny spring afternoon. It was the height of the Pacific War, a time when sirens announcing enemy attacks blared almost daily. I asked a fishing friend about a place where I could catch a big carp. My heart leaped with excitement, and I dug around the puddle flowing from the kitchen with a trowel, collected some striped earthworms, put them in a wooden box, and, carrying three fishing rods that I had prepared in advance for any occasion, hurried alone to the stream. It was about a 30-minute run to the stream. Both sides of the stream were overgrown with bamboo sheaths and abundant aquatic plants, creating an atmosphere that seemed perfect for catching a big fish. I had been to this place several times before. After arriving at the spot and deciding on a location, I quickly attached bait and lowered the lines of three rods. After waiting for five or six minutes, one of the rods got a bite. The float bobbed up and down three times and then was pulled strongly into the water. It was big! Judging from the bite, I was sure it was a carp. The line became taut. The fish was moving violently and I couldn't easily reel it in. About five minutes passed, and the fish suddenly slowed down. Yes, I'll get it! Just as I thought that, the sound of a siren blared. Five blasts at intervals. It was an air raid warning! The warning continued to blare from a loudspeaker mounted nearby. What should I do! Soon, the carp would definitely be mine. But at that moment, the sense of danger announced by the siren took precedence. I threw everything aside and ran. I ran. Towards my house. I finally reached the sumac tree planted by the roadside in front of my house. At that moment, a formation of more than ten fighter planes, each bearing the Japanese flag, flew in at extremely low altitude. I was so moved that I raised both hands above my head and shouted loudly, "Banzai! Banzai!" However, the fighter planes suddenly began firing their machine guns. Startled, I ran around looking for a place to take shelter. Instinctively, I ran into my kitchen to hide as quickly as possible. The moment I opened the kitchen door and jumped inside, the wooden wall ripped open with a loud bang! Then, sunlight suddenly poured in through the hole in the wall. One of the bullets had hit my kitchen. I didn't know if it was fired at me or not. Fortunately, the bullet missed me. After a while, it became quiet. It was as if the ground had never been shaking from the enemy fighter planes' attack. Later, we learned that the bullet that had hit me had lodged in the bamboo grove behind the wall. After that, my family had left the entrance door half-open, and I ran into the air-raid shelter. The events of the following day were unforgettable for me. Even now, I believe it was a truly symbolic event, illustrating the incredible luck of me, or rather, our family.
Chapter 6: A Crossroads of Fate
I was seven years old at the time. An air-raid siren sounded, and the enemy bombing continued in waves, one, two, three, for several hours. During that time, the air-raid shelter was a series of violent earthquakes. Finally, it became quiet. After a while, we could faintly hear the air raid siren. It was over! A sense of relief spread across the faces of my family, who had become completely accustomed to the bombing. But then, someone in my family shouted loudly, "It smells of oil!" The moment we opened the entrance door, a strong smell of burning oil hit us all. The smell of oil was coming from the city of Miyazaki, several kilometers away. Everyone in the family rushed out of the air-raid shelter and looked towards the city, only to see a huge column of fire rising across the landscape. The smell of oil was from incendiary bombs dropped by enemy planes. I remember it was around evening. The main house, located right next to the shelter, was undamaged. The tea plantations around the shelter were smoldering in places. My uncle, who had been looking around the shelter, suddenly screamed, "Don't come! Run!" The rest of the family had no idea what was happening. On the opposite side of the shelter's entrance, a strange, black, metallic mass was stuck in the ground. Later, we learned it was a large bomb. And it turned out to be a dud. "God, please protect us!" we all prayed desperately. Later, a military disposal team took care of the unexploded bomb. At the time, no one knew the true power of the bombs. However, after the war ended and the seasons changed many times, seeing the landscape of large swamps, each 20 or 30 meters in radius, scattered across the vast rice fields before me, I could truly understand the power of the bombs that had been dropped. I believe that the shocking events of that day will never fade from the hearts of my family. And that the choice between life and death was beyond our control. My good fortune continued afterward.
Chapter 7: Clam Gathering
Even now, amidst the continuing heatwave, many beaches across the Japanese archipelago still serve grilled clams to their customers in the traditional way. Unlike today's age of abundance, post-war Japan suffered from extreme food shortages, and it was difficult for any household to secure food for each day. My family was no exception. We had a small plot of farmland, less than one tan (approximately 0.1 hectare), next to our house, but it was bombed by the enemy day and night, leaving no time for the crops to grow. My parents would go to town almost every day in search of food. Naturally, there were days when they could find food and days when they couldn't. Black markets were rampant in town. Conflicts broke out everywhere. These were phenomena that symbolized the food shortage. It is true that this was the background to when I started clam digging. It was something like the beginning of what we now call self-sufficiency. In fact, it cannot be denied that my family benefited from my help in securing food. The harvest of more than 3 kilograms of river shrimp, more than 10 small birds (turban shells), and especially the clams I will describe now, were a great support to my family. This story takes place when I was in the third or fourth grade of elementary school. I went to the nearby Hitotsuba Beach with a few friends. I usually act alone, but on this day two friends were with me. The tide was low, and the sand on the seabed was visible up to 40 or 50 meters from the waterline. Our clam-gathering method involved no tools; we searched by feel, using our feet to locate the area. It was essentially a test of our sense of touch. The coastline was littered with pebbles of all sizes. Therefore, finding clams required considerable skill. I'm not boasting, but despite my short stature, my feet are unusually large, and even now I'm still self-conscious about it. But this time, however, I felt differently. As we ventured to where the waves were crashing, I felt a strong tug on the soles of my feet. "Yes!" I immediately shouted to my friend. "I found one!" My friend, who had been searching for clams behind me, rushed over. "Dig here, dig here!" We both worked hard to dig with our hands in water about 20 centimeters deep. There they were! There they were! They were all beautifully shaped clams. They were large. I wasn't just touching two or three clams with my feet. There were so many that it resembled a clam nest. Each time I caught a clam by hand, it squirted water. I was so happy that I almost fainted. It was the first time I had ever found so many clams in one place. I stuffed the clams I had collected into a tomai bag (a burlap sack used to hold harvested rice) that I had brought from home. The bag quickly swelled up, filling it to about half its capacity. Suddenly, I noticed that the tide on the beach had risen to my ankles. I was a little worried, but I continued digging for clams. I could find more, I could find more. Panting, I stuffed the bag with clams. At this moment, a feeling of unease crossed my mind. I wondered if I could really carry all of these home. At this point, the bag was almost 70% full of clams. Its weight may have exceeded 30 kilograms. That anxiety vanished in the next moment. The tide, which I had been worried about, was now reaching up to my stomach. "No, let's stop!" my friend shouted. "The tide's coming!" My friend rushed towards the newly changed shoreline, wading through the water. I yelled, "Hey! Let's carry this!" The bag of tomai I was holding was a little lighter after being soaked in seawater, but it was still impossible for me to carry it alone. "Wait!" I yelled, but it was no use. My friend had already made it to land. I desperately tried to carry it home by myself. However, the tide was rising more and more. It was now reaching up to my chest. No, this is dangerous! I'll drown! The usual bad feeling crossed my mind. I finally let go of the end of the bag that I was holding. At this point, my feet could no longer touch the bottom. I was completely submerged in seawater. Fortunately, I was able to swim at this moment. Perhaps my usual lifestyle of being familiar with water allowed me to do so. Giving up on the clams, I started swimming towards land. But something was wrong! The land I had seen before was gone! All I could see was the horizon! I was being swept away! That was my immediate conclusion. I looked behind me. Land! I swam desperately towards land, but it didn't seem to get any closer. Something was wrong! Then I realized. It was dashi! I was being swept away by dashi! With that thought, I threw myself into the tide that was flowing towards the open sea.
Chapter 8: The Painter
In 1956, I graduated from high school. Through a school referral, I got a job at a local pharmaceutical company. My job involved making ampoules for injections and delivering medicine to pharmacies and drugstores throughout the prefecture. For deliveries, each person was assigned a bicycle, loaded with the required orders, and set out. There were half-day and full-day routes, the latter being a four-hour journey each way. I received my first paycheck after joining the company. It was a monthly salary, and I was promised 6,000 yen. However, when I opened my pay envelope, it was less than 5,000 yen. Something was wrong. The school referral had promised 6,000 yen. My friend who joined at the same time as me received the same amount. "Hey, that's not what we agreed on, let's quit!" we all said, and in the end, we all quit the pharmaceutical company that the school had referred us to. Next, I got a job at a painting company. One day, I told my father I wanted to paint signs, and he contacted a well-known local calligrapher and arranged for me to become his apprentice. However, I refused, and that plan fell through. In the end, I joined this company through an introduction from a friend from junior high school (who now runs a sign shop). Under the strict guidance of my seniors, I somehow managed to get my signs installed on utility poles and in front of shops. However, when the sign orders dried up, I was forced to take a break from painting and was transferred to the painting department of the same company. At that time, the painting department was thriving. They handled painting work in all kinds of fields, including newly built houses, steel frames and structural materials for construction, movie theaters, bars, cabarets, and cafes. The wages were good, and the overtime pay was more than expected. The theme of this eighth episode is an unexpected, life-threatening incident that occurred at this company. I would like to talk about that. The largest bid I handled in the painting department was to paint the inside of a tunnel at a hydroelectric power plant. There wasn't enough skilled workers, so we, the sign-making staff, were mobilized. Of course, it was a long business trip involving overnight stays. I think it was early summer. When we arrived at the site with our equipment, the area was surrounded by thickets and giant trees—truly the heart of nature. My first impression was, "Wow, we've come to quite a place!" Looking up, I saw two massive tunnels stretching down the slope of the mountain. The length of the tunnels was impossible to estimate because the view was obstructed by vegetation. The work procedure began with removing the rusted parts from the inside of the alloy tunnels. Using various tools, we battled the red rust for several days. When I looked in the mirror after a day's work, it was as if I wasn't myself. The rust had penetrated deep into my skin and couldn't be easily removed even with soap. A highly irritating lacquer thinner was used. It was truly unfortunate for those who were sensitive to it. That said, after using it many times, you eventually get used to it, but this is probably the original form of paint thinner play. The rust removal is finished. Next, it's time to start the rust-preventive painting. The reddish-brown paint is applied by the craftsman with a brush. The painting is done from the top of the tunnel downwards. The slope of the tunnel does not require ropes or anything to paint it. Hold the paint can in your left hand and the brush in your right. Brace yourself with both feet to keep your center of gravity stable. If you lose this balance, you will slide down to the bottom of the tunnel. It is an extremely dangerous job. Moreover, the inside of the tunnel is dimly lit, and a misjudgment can be disastrous. This work continues for several days. Two people stand side by side, decide on the area to paint, and work efficiently downwards, coordinating their movements with each other. And the day's work was completed as planned. The undercoat took two or three days to dry, and then it was time for the topcoat. Unlike the undercoat, the topcoat was applied from the bottom of the tunnel upwards. The section connected to the turbine was sealed. Therefore, the access point for the work was an opening several meters above. I carried the materials through the opening, which was just large enough for one person to enter and exit, and started painting upwards. At this time, I was working alone. I applied gray lacquer, thinned with lacquer thinner, using a brush in my right hand. It was a simple action, but I had to paint carefully to avoid missing any spots. The strong smell of lacquer thinner hit my nose. My hand holding the brush had to keep moving constantly without rest. Gradually, fatigue began to set in. My whole body was covered in sweat. I took a short break and then repeated the same action. After taking several breaks, I wondered how much time had passed since I started painting again. Suddenly, I woke up. I realized that there was no one beside me. My head feels foggy and achy. What's wrong? I was painting with lacquer, so why am I here? Looking closely, I realize I'm below the opening I entered when I started working! Lying on my back. Why? An empty pen can was lying at my feet. It didn't take long for me to understand the situation. I had lost consciousness while painting with lacquer. The direct cause was inhaling a large amount of lacquer thinner. As a result, I lost consciousness and slid down to the bottom. Then, I regained consciousness by breathing in the air being rapidly drawn up the tunnel from the opening. What would have happened to me if the lid of the opening had been closed when I fell? Would I have been able to regain consciousness? Inhaling a large amount of strong lacquer thinner causes a kind of acute alcohol poisoning. The thought that this condition could be fatal if it persisted for a long time sends chills down my spine. This incident never became public, and it remains a personal experience that lives on in my memory.
Chapter 9 : The Carp on the Cutting Board
In 1957, I was dispatched to the Nyutabaru Air Base of the Japan Air Self-Defense Force in Miyazaki Prefecture to produce a sign. The work involved writing letters on the hangars where aircraft were stored and drawing compass directions at the end of the runway. At that time, no aircraft had yet been deployed. I had no way of knowing what types of aircraft would be stationed there or what kind of units would be assigned to it. However, when I first saw the hangars and long runway stretching out before me, my heart leaped with excitement. "Okay, I'll join the Self-Defense Forces!" With that decision made, I consulted my father that same day and received his permission to enlist. Six months after receiving notification of passing the entrance exam, I joined the Japan Air Self-Defense Force Training Unit (Hofu, Yamaguchi Prefecture). The training was rigorous day and night, and many soldiers were discharged within a month of joining. After completing training at the training unit, I went through the English training unit and the communications training unit, and my first assignment was a radar base in Nemuro, Hokkaido. At that time, the base was on the verge of being transferred from the US Air Force to the Japan Self-Defense Forces. Many US soldiers were operating the unit, and Self-Defense Force members were incorporated into the crew for joint missions. The harsh cold of Nemuro was unbearable for me, a native of a warmer climate, and I spent my free time outside of work drinking whiskey. The result was surgery for a prolapsed rectum. Something that should not have been removed was removed at the local municipal hospital. This gives a glimpse into the low level of medical care at the time. Every time I had to defecate, I felt miserable, and my life has continued ever since. Even now, I cannot go without regular treatment under the guise of a chronic illness. My time in the Self-Defense Forces began in Nemuro, and after being transferred to various locations, I was assigned to a radar base in Chiba Prefecture around 1960. Two years later, in 1962, it was a truly unforgettable time for me. It was there that I once again experienced a near-death experience. I would like to talk about that. Radar bases, where shift work (hourly rotations) is the principle, carry out air defense duties 24 hours a day without interruption. At the time, my crew was on the night shift. Our working hours were from 4 p.m. to 12 a.m. The operations center was built underground, and its interior was designed to allow for efficient coordination between departments. In the front row of the interior, there was a huge transparent track display board, and two track display operators were stationed there permanently. These operators received track information detected by the radar from the console operator and displayed it on the board. The interior of the operation room was dark, with only the flight path indicator board lit up. Flight path information was marked with a grease pen. This information included the flight path number, identification, number of aircraft, flight speed, flight altitude, and heading indicated by an arrow. That day, operations were being carried out in the usual pattern. The indicator board showed the flight paths of several dozen aircraft. These were civilian aircraft flying along air routes. These aircraft had been identified as friendly aircraft by identification personnel who had compared them with flight plans obtained in advance. The face of the US Air Force Senior Commander, positioned in the center of the top row, was calm, and there was no particular tension. My duties mainly involved being an air traffic control technician, keeping track of aircraft on standby for scramble, transmitting scramble orders, and reporting the situation to higher units. I was positioned to the right of the Senior Commander. The track display operator, with a somewhat tense expression, marked the initial track information received from the console operator far away from the airway on the track display board. The speed was measured from the detected position one minute later. The aircraft was traveling at 400 knots, and its altitude could not be measured due to the great distance. The bearing was 100 degrees magnetic bearing. At that moment, the identification officer shouted, "Unknown!" It was an unidentified aircraft. Tension spread throughout the operation. The display operator changed the marking from white to orange grease pen. Soon, the aircraft was rapidly approaching. If it continued flying like this, it would undoubtedly violate our airspace. I checked the status of the aircraft scheduled for emergency scramble. Interceptor pilots are always on standby in the alert hangar. Everything was ready. Soon, as expected, the aircraft crossed the designated zone and violated our airspace. Immediately, the senior commander shouted in a low, clear voice. "Scramble!" It was an emergency order to launch. I immediately picked up the receiver of the red telephone used for hot scrambles and, following the procedure, transmitted the order. "Hot scramble! Heading: 280 degrees, altitude 25,000, communication site: ○○○○ channel ○○!" It was all transmitted in English. A reply came back from the pilots waiting in the alert hangar: "Roger!" A few minutes later, the silhouettes of two interceptors were detected on radar. The intercept commander was already in position. The launched interceptors were controlled by the commander and guided toward the unidentified aircraft. The interceptors, under the commander's control, entered identification mode toward the unidentified aircraft. It was approaching from behind. The distance was 20 miles. Soon, a report came in from the pilot. "○○○○ confirmed!" It was a reconnaissance heavy bomber from a certain country. It was what was known as the "Tokyo Express," which flew in to gather intelligence at that time. The pilot followed procedure and issued a warning that the aircraft was violating airspace. He also took photographs. Soon after, the aircraft left the area. The interceptor completed its mission and returned home. The tension and excitement subsided, and calm returned to the operation. Such countermeasures against airspace violations are still carried out regularly. I, too, had just finished my actions to counter the airspace violation and was finally relieved from the extreme tension, feeling a sense of relief, but... I felt something strange happening to my body. I hadn't noticed it before while dealing with the unidentified aircraft, but my right side was a little painful. The pain wasn't on the surface of my body, but coming from deep inside. That's strange! It was a pain I had never experienced before. Had the extreme tension caused a seizure? I thought so. But that wasn't it. The pain gradually spread from my side. Would I be able to bear it? Would I be able to endure this pain until I finished my shift? I was very anxious. I looked at the clock in front of me. I had at least an hour until my shift ended. I looked at the senior commander beside me. He still hadn't noticed anything was wrong with me. I had just dealt with an important task. I had to endure, endure, and not even hint at weakness! Japanese pride!
Episode 10: The Cancer Diagnosis
Many people in my family have died from cancer. On my father's side, my father had stomach cancer, my aunt had lung cancer, and my other aunt had leukemia. On my mother's side, my uncle had liver cancer, and so on—almost all of them had cancer. Many people say that cancer isn't a disease, but a phenomenon of cellular aging, and I agree. Since cancer isn't caused by pathogens like bacteria that invade from the outside, this might be true. In my case, given my family history, the probability of dying from cancer is very high, so I've always thought it necessary to be aware of and prepared for cancer. One evening three years ago, I experienced symptoms typical of a cold: a stuffy nose, cough, sneezing, and stiff shoulders. My temperature was over 3 degrees Celsius, so I took some cold medicine and went to bed early. That night, my temperature rose to 37 degrees Celsius, but I didn't feel the medicine working, and I was restless and couldn't fall asleep until dawn. The next day, I coughed up phlegm incessantly, and my symptoms worsened. I had no appetite at all and drank several bottles of energy drinks. The next day, and the day after that, my symptoms remained unchanged and showed no signs of improvement. I usually caught a severe cold once a year, but I never stayed in bed for more than three days. At most, I would get out of bed after about two days. But this time was different. I simply thought that maybe it was because I was getting old and it was dragging on a little longer. Therefore, the idea of going to the hospital for an examination never even crossed my mind. I firmly believed that I would get better in a little while. And then, five days passed, and then six days passed. My symptoms had become serious, with blood mixed in my phlegm. I had no appetite, my conversations with my wife were weak, and I realized that my physical strength had declined considerably. It was on the seventh day that I decided to go to the hospital. I was used to going to the hospital, so I didn't particularly dislike doctors, but I believed that my cold would eventually get better, so the thought of having to go to a hospital not far from home was very daunting. However, my condition wasn't improving at all. After much thought, and with my wife's consent, I decided to see a doctor. I arrived at the hospital, filled out the required questionnaire with my symptoms, and was guided to the waiting room. After waiting for a while, a nurse called my name. In the examination room, they confirmed the symptoms I had written earlier. Soon after, an announcement was made that I would be entering the examination room. The internist examined me, took a sputum sample and an X-ray, and diagnosed me with "suspected pneumonia." "You need to be admitted to the hospital now," I was told. I had expected that I might be admitted immediately given my current symptoms, so I wasn't particularly surprised, but I hadn't brought anything necessary for hospitalization, so the hassle of transporting it from home by car was a great burden for me in my weakened state at the time. After being led to my room, the IV drip began a short while later. For me, who hadn't been able to eat properly for a long time, the IV drip felt like a godsend. Just watching the nutrients being injected regularly, drop by drop, through the long tube, made me feel energized. It must have taken about two hours. Just when I thought it was finally over, the nurse said, "We'll start the second IV drip," and unplugged the rubber tube that had been left connected and plugged it into the second IV bag. Would this take another two hours? Even I was speechless at this. "Is the IV drip finished now?" I asked, unable to contain my frustration any longer. The nurse calmly replied, "No, we'll continue tonight and tomorrow as well." Hearing that, even I was completely disappointed and speechless. At 9 pm, bedtime, the other patients in the same room quickly turned off their bedside lamps and began to breathe softly in their sleep. My IV drip was still going on. I wanted to lie down for a bit, but I couldn't put any strength into my lower back. I had been lying on my back the whole time, and I had lost feeling in my back and buttocks. Soon, I felt the urge to urinate. This was only natural, considering I was receiving multiple IV drips. When I was younger, my drinking buddies used to tell me, "No matter how much beer you drink, you never need to go to the toilet." I prided myself on having an exceptionally large bladder, but... it seemed that wouldn't be the case this time. Reluctantly, while still receiving the IV drip, I pushed my stand and headed to the toilet. That night, I went to the toilet four times, every two hours. The following afternoon, the test results came back. According to the doctor's explanation in the examination room, the sputum test results fell into "Category 2." For reference, "Category 5" is cancer. In my case, it was only a "caution required" level, and in some cases, it could develop into progressive cancer. Furthermore, my lungs showed shadows over a wide area, with some areas having quite dark shadows. It was determined that further tests were needed to determine whether the cause was related to the current illness or something that had happened before. Thanks to the IV drip, my cold symptoms gradually subsided, and I was able to eat all of the dinner that was served. The next day, a chest CT scan was performed. It was my first encounter with a CT scan. I was given a sedative injection and led into a strange-looking container. The scan was over in about 20 minutes. I thought that the doctor had decided to use a CT scan because the X-rays couldn't provide enough detail. After the morning outpatient consultations were finished, in the early afternoon, a nurse told me to go to examination room number ○, as the doctor would be explaining the test results. I entered the examination room and sat down. The doctor took several CT scan films out of a paper bag, held them up to the light, and looked at them for a while before saying, "The cause of the phlegm may be your bronchi. They are a little narrowed, so we suspect bronchiectasis." Then he added, "There's also a suspicion of pneumonia." At this point, I was skeptical of the doctor's diagnosis. The result of a thorough examination using the latest medical equipment, a CT scan, was a "suspicion of XX." I was somewhat dissatisfied, but all I could say was, "Is that so?" Then the doctor said, "There is still a shadow on the lungs overall," and then, pointing to a spot on another film with a ballpoint pen, he said abruptly, "This part looks like... it might be... cancer." He further added, "I can't say for sure, but let's try antibiotics and see how it goes for a while. For more details, please see a radiologist." The doctor's words were a shock to me because I hadn't expected them at all. The doctor's direct statement, "It might be cancer," was unexpected by any reasonable standard, and to me, it was nothing less than a "disclosure." I had always thought that cancer diagnoses were usually announced to family members such as the spouse first, so I couldn't understand the doctor's intentions. I knew beforehand that the doctor was an internal medicine specialist, but at that time, I thought I should see a respiratory specialist, so I left the room without saying anything. I returned to my hospital room and lay down on the bed. The exchange with the doctor in the examination room came back to me with a newfound sense of reality. The doctor had said, "It might be cancer." At the time, I didn't take it very seriously, but now, thinking about it quietly, I'm acutely aware of the gravity of the situation, and my heart is gradually breaking. Cancer! If that's actually the case, what will happen? How long will I live? When did the doctor say I had several months left? I kept asking myself these questions as I turned my face towards the ceiling light, but my gaze was vacant, and my mind was elsewhere. Dinner was brought in. The other patient in the room carried their meal to their bed and began to eat. I wasn't lacking in appetite, so I shook off the lingering unease in my heart and quickly finished my meal. That night, I didn't sleep a wink. I completely lost track of time, thinking about my children, my grandchildren, my wife, and what would happen after my death. My thoughts flashed before my eyes like a kaleidoscope, my life from childhood to the present, one image after another. I didn't feel any guilt about not being able to sleep. In the silent hospital room, I could hear the soft breathing of sleeping patients from all directions. It must have been past midnight. A patient's bell rang from a nearby room. After a while, I heard the sound of a nurse's shoes pattering. What's wrong? I could faintly hear the nurse's voice. It seemed that the patient's IV tube had come loose. I sensed the nurse quietly leaving after finishing the procedure. My thoughts continued, showing no signs of stopping. What about the cemetery? How should I write my will? What about the funeral? My life flashes before my eyes. What time is it? I hear the sound of a nurse's footsteps again. This is the fourth time. Nurses must have a tough job, I think, and again I wonder what will happen to me after I'm gone. I quietly get up and head to the toilet. As I pass the nurses' station, three nurses are sitting around a table, discussing something. I give a slight nod and pass by, use the toilet, and return to my room. Nurses must have a tough job, I think again. I go back to my bed and lie down. That thought still bothers me. How much time has passed since I got back to bed? I hadn't noticed because I was lost in thought, but it was getting lighter outside the window. My watch already shows 5:30. My thoughts turn to the many times I've narrowly escaped death. Why was I saved back then? It didn't look like I was going to survive. And it wasn't just once or twice. Roughly counting, it's more than ten times. Yet, here I am, still alive. Will my God help me this time too? My history of narrowly escaping death is nothing new. Since childhood, I've come to believe that some great force is protecting my life. So, it seemed natural to think that there is a right time for everything. God has kept me alive this long. In reality, He should have called me long ago, according to His will. And so, I finally began to think that I should entrust myself to God. In other words, to put it in harsh terms, it's a kind of defiance. But for me, this was a valuable, long period of time that led to enlightenment. The tears that used to flow by my pillow are gone now. All that remains is gratitude towards God. Needless to say, I was able to sleep soundly until the nurse came to take my temperature.
Chapter 11: Colonoscopy
Every year, it had become a habit for my husband and me to go to the city's health consultation center for a stool sample test for colon cancer. We took the test six months ago this year as well. Until then, no abnormalities had been found in either of us, but this year, I was the only one who received a letter. It meant that an abnormality had been found in the stool sample, and I needed to undergo further examination. For that stool sample test, I had been experiencing slight bleeding during bowel movements for several days prior to the sample collection, possibly due to hemorrhoids. Therefore, the bleeding continued on the day of the sample collection. When collecting the stool sample, I used the collection swab to collect the prescribed amount from the part without blood and placed it in the container. I was well aware that, since this was a stool test for colon cancer, the logical method would be to collect stool with blood on it, as it was to check for "occult blood." However, I deliberately took a sample from a part that did not have any blood on it. This was because I firmly believed that the bleeding during bowel movements was caused by hemorrhoids, probably because the internal hemorrhoids had been damaged by hard stool. The notification letter stated that I should undergo a detailed examination as soon as possible. Two days later, I was scheduled to leave for Osaka to care for my grandchild who was undergoing an ENT surgery, but after much thought, I had no choice but to postpone my own detailed examination.
Chapter 12: Is it unavoidable because cancer runs in my family?
My uncle and aunt both passed away from cancer. Therefore, I never forget the threat of cancer. This episode's theme is something I experienced firsthand. In early August of 2019, I began to notice a small amount of blood and pain with each bowel movement. After discussing it with my wife, I quickly found a proctology clinic in the city online, arranged for a friend to accompany me, and went for a checkup. Having suffered from hemorrhoids requiring surgery during my younger years living in cold Hokkaido, I had a bad feeling when I went for the checkup. The CT and MRI scans revealed I had early-stage colon cancer. I was relieved to hear that the surgery would be performed laparoscopically by three doctors. The head nurse explained that the operation would not involve making a large incision in my abdomen, but rather two small incisions of just a few centimeters each. I was told that the anesthesia would take a long time, but not to worry and just sleep through it, so I confidently entrusted myself to them as I would be the sixth patient to undergo this advanced surgery since the hospital opened. One month after being admitted to the hospital, the surgery was performed as planned. Three doctors and nurses performed the operation under general anesthesia. Lying on the operating table for a full six hours, I experienced a world of unconsciousness and numbness. The thought that I would probably never experience that again brought tears to my eyes, and I deeply felt the gratitude of being alive. After the surgery, I want to live strongly, without being constrained by the handicap of having a stoma for the rest of my life. My goal is to live to 100 years old. I am currently 87, so I want to dedicate myself to healthcare day and night for the next 13 years to achieve that goal. Thank you, God.
Chapter 13: Being Passed Around Regarding My Palatine Tonsils
The story began on February 6th, 2019 (Heisei 31). I had a swollen throat and a hoarse voice, so I went to Ishikawa ENT Clinic in Kanoya City, Kagoshima Prefecture. It was my first visit. The doctor began the standard examination. After a while, the doctor asked my age. I immediately replied, "82 years old." After a short pause, he said, "...This is the first time I've seen an elderly person with such enlarged palatine tonsils." Then, he said, "I'm sorry, but I'll write you a referral letter, so please go see a doctor at this hospital." I left the hospital overwhelmed with an indescribable sense of despair. A few days later, I visited the ENT department of a large general hospital in the same city, to which I had been referred. After completing the registration at the reception desk, I arrived at the ENT ward on the second floor, only to find that there wasn't a single patient in the waiting room. A bad feeling crept in, so I opened the small window in the reception room and shouted loudly, "Please!" A nurse appeared. She told me to wait a moment, and after five or six minutes, I was finally led into the examination room. The examination followed the same routine as last time. It seemed they examined every corner of my throat with what looked like an endoscope, and it felt the same as last time. After a while, the doctor said the same thing as the previous doctor, ending with words that lacked any confidence. "Your palatine tonsils are abnormally enlarged, and I don't know what to prescribe." So I said, "Well, I'll wait and see for a while, and if there's no change, I'll come back," and left the hospital with heavy steps. A few days later, my symptoms seemed to have worsened, so I opened my mouth and looked into the back of my throat with a hand mirror, and saw towering lumps of flesh on either side of what seemed to be the airway. I suspected these were enlarged tonsils, and took a picture with the camera I had prepared beforehand. And the changes in my mouth seemed to be getting worse, and I kept asking myself if it was really getting easier to eat. It took a long time to finish my meal. I judged that my symptoms were clearly getting worse. My mind started moving towards the next battle. "That's right! There's one more place!" That was the clinic where my wife's mother, who had already passed away, had been treated for oral cancer. "That's my last resort!" I immediately took action, and the female doctor with whom I had enjoyed ballroom dancing, and her trustworthy husband, also a doctor, warmly welcomed me. During the examination, I kept quiet about my previous visits to other places and described my symptoms, and the examination proceeded without any tests. The doctor's final opinion was, "I will write you a referral letter, so please go to the national hospital in XX city." I had never been so shocked as I was at that moment. My mind went blank. My last hope was gone. A few days later, my wife and I reluctantly drove for an hour to the national hospital. I will never forget that lonely and anxious visit to the doctor in an unfamiliar place, so different from anything I had experienced before. The examination was brief, routine, and completely devoid of any expectations. "Let's do some tests," the doctor said! Suddenly, the diagnosis from the previous hospital, where I was told that surgery was the only option, flashed through my mind, and I blurted out, "Please perform surgery!" The doctor calmly replied, "If we perform surgery, you will die!" At that moment, I was so shaken that I cannot put it into words, and my mind went blank! I quickly decided that the tests would be meaningless, so I calmly and politely declined, saying, "I understand. I don't need the tests," paid the necessary fees, and quickly left the national hospital. Even after this incident, the condition of my throat remained unchanged, and fortunately, the symptoms seemed to have stabilized, and progressed without any major changes. I thought about how to cure this throat that was so resistant to medical treatment, and after much thought, I decided to continue with moxibustion using the same procedure as before. It worked, and the treatment was finished. The result was exactly the same as last time, and I was overjoyed and grateful that my condition improved. Then, on a certain day in November of the 6th year of the Reiwa era, I was 87 years old. I felt something strange in my throat! This time, the symptoms were different from the previous year. Up until then, it had been enlarged palatine tonsils that I could easily check myself, but this time it was not that. I was worried whether there was an ENT clinic in this town I had just moved to, so I looked it up online and found one very close by. I immediately called and described my symptoms, and went in for a diagnosis, but the result was that there was no prescription, and I was referred to a large general hospital in the neighboring city. Since I had nearly two weeks until the designated appointment, I used my trump card! This time, instead of direct flame moxa, I used Sen-nen-kyu moxibustion. I looked up acupoints in a specialist book and spread the moxibustion over a wide area. As planned, I diligently performed moxibustion treatments for a week, praying for an improvement in the results. So, I visited the ENT clinic at the designated time. After various tests and a CT scan, my daughter, who accompanied me, was told that the possibility of cancer metastasis was low, and a referral letter was handed to me. The examination ended. Another disappointment! I was indignant and couldn't contain my anger. Finally, at the hematology and oncology department of the general hospital I was referred to, a thorough examination took nearly half a day, and the results would be available next week. I eagerly await the results, wondering whether they will be a positive or negative outcome!
Postscript
Death comes suddenly, regardless of age. And what can be said is that people either face death with awareness, or they face death without having time to be aware of it. Everyone chooses one of these two paths before leaving this world. Why do people die? Because they were born. Simply put, that is certainly true. If so, is it a natural and fulfilling death to leave this world unconsciously, just as one was born? Except for deaths by suicide or accidents, humans cannot control their own lives. People accept this as fate and readily embrace death. My life so far has clearly felt like a series of "narrow escapes from death." Lives that seemed hopeless were unexpectedly saved. Through these events, I have come to feel that some immeasurable force is at work within me, controlling my life. Human lifespans vary, but even if short, if one can live a joyful and happy life, that is all that matters. I constantly recognize that my life is short and live each day to the fullest. And to live to the fullest, I must not neglect the necessary efforts to live. Perhaps this is the way of life. I always recognize that the rest of my life is an "extra life." And I want to be fully prepared, both physically and mentally, so that I am ready whenever death comes.
(Reference) Summary by Copilot: The following is a summary of the main points of an autobiographical essay collection in which the author recounts his experiences of overcoming numerous life-threatening situations, as summarized by Copilot. 1. Overall Theme: The author's life-or-death experiences are depicted in a series, evoking feelings of "divine intervention" and "crossroads of destiny." It is a record of surviving harsh circumstances such as war, poverty, domestic violence, illness, and accidents. It is imbued with the preciousness of life and gratitude for miraculous survival. 2. Summary of Each Episode: He is swept away in a river while his mother is doing laundry, but miraculously survives. He undergoes surgery for a head tumor amidst poverty, saving his life. Family tragedies include his father's violence, memories of war, and his brother's suicide. He nearly drowns while playing in a dangerous river, but manages to escape on his own. He is strafed while fishing during an air raid warning, but survives. An unexploded bomb falls near his house, but it doesn't explode, saving him. He is swept away by a current, but survives thanks to his local knowledge. He loses consciousness from paint thinner poisoning while painting a tunnel, but recovers. He undergoes emergency surgery for severe abdominal pain while serving in the Self-Defense Forces, and his life is saved. The internal struggle of being told "it might be cancer" after being diagnosed with pneumonia. An abnormality is found during a colon cancer examination, but the results are fine. He visits multiple hospitals for a tonsil abnormality, but is finally stable. 3. Message: The story questions the meaning of life, making the reader feel the weight of life. It depicts a positive attitude of maintaining hope even in the face of hardship. It makes one realize how important family and social support are.
Thank you for reading.
First Edition: April 1, 2004 (Heisei 16)
Addendum: December 7, 2024 (Reiwa 6)
Author: Keisuke Mizushima
(Reference) Summary by Copilot: The following is a summary of the main points of an autobiographical essay collection in which the author recounts his experiences of overcoming numerous life-threatening situations, as summarized by Copilot. 1. Overall Theme: The author's life-or-death experiences are depicted in a series, evoking feelings of "divine intervention" and "crossroads of destiny." It is a record of surviving harsh circumstances such as war, poverty, domestic violence, illness, and accidents. It is imbued with the preciousness of life and gratitude for miraculous survival. 2. Summary of Each Episode: He is swept away in a river while his mother is doing laundry, but miraculously survives. He undergoes surgery for a head tumor amidst poverty, saving his life. Family tragedies include his father's violence, memories of war, and his brother's suicide. He nearly drowns while playing in a dangerous river, but manages to escape on his own. He is strafed while fishing during an air raid warning, but survives. An unexploded bomb falls near his house, but it doesn't explode, saving him. He is swept away by a current, but survives thanks to his local knowledge. He loses consciousness from paint thinner poisoning while painting a tunnel, but recovers. He undergoes emergency surgery for severe abdominal pain while serving in the Self-Defense Forces, and his life is saved. The internal struggle of being told "it might be cancer" after being diagnosed with pneumonia. An abnormality is found during a colon cancer examination, but the results are fine. He visits multiple hospitals for a tonsil abnormality, but is finally stable. 3. Message: The story questions the meaning of life, making the reader feel the weight of life. It depicts a positive attitude of maintaining hope even in the face of hardship. It makes one realize how important family and social support are.
Thank you for reading.
