Zahra Khan’s Cancer Journals

A Glimpse Inside Zahra Khan’s Cancer Journals

By Zahra Khan & Haniya Khalid | September 23, 2023

Trigger warning: this article contains discussions of cancer, hair loss and various medical treatments including surgery, immunotherapy, radiation therapy, and chemotherapy.

Journal entries are gray and italicized.

Zahra and I have been friends since ages 4 and 5 respectively, when we used to share bubble baths in a tub filled with lukewarm water and action figures. We lived a few houses away from each other and spent our childhood swimming, playing with Barbies, climbing trees and rollerblading. I was a disciplined child who craved adventure. She was wild and free, an endless stream of bubbling energy. As the years went on, we stayed close even as we moved around the world and away from each other.

In January 2022 – Zahra texts me, “I need to talk to you.” In all the years we’ve known each other, she’s never had to talk to me – we just talk. She tells me that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is 30 years old.

Over the next few months, we exchange gift packages – I send her rhinestone earrings which she wears to an interview discussing the importance of self-examination. I watch it on my phone — her black eyes are shining and the earrings glint as she gestures emphatically. She sends me a beautiful block-printed tablecloth. It looks and feels and smells like Pakistan, and for a second, I feel nostalgic for memories that aren’t even mine.

During video calls we talk about emotions – how convenient it would be if they functioned like a perfect lock-and-key: you feel sad when you’re supposed to feel sad, joy when you’re supposed to feel joyous and so on, but they almost never do. How easy the obscure becomes when you learn to accept instead of challenging things all the time. Lean in, I tell her, as if there’s any other way. But she is patient, and if my unoriginal advice annoys her, she doesn’t say so.

I share my tips – recipes for green juice and bone broth, but I’m irritated at my own suggestions and the lingering, pervasive presence of bone broth all over social media. I wish that everyone – including myself – would shut up about bone broth – but my mouth runs on autopilot about its immune-boosting properties. I secretly wish for a new public holiday – a Bone Broth Vipassana Day – 24 hours to allow ourselves time to process everything without talking. 24 blissful hours without anyone mentioning bone broth.

Mid-February, she starts chemotherapy.

Can I get microblading done on eyebrows? No

When can I start doing normal things like eat sushi?

When can I get my eyebrows micro-bladed AFTER chemotherapy??? 4-5 weeks

During our next video call, she is solemn and quiet. It’s the first time since her diagnosis that I’ve seen her like this. “I can handle losing my hair… but I can’t handle losing my eyebrows.” Her girlfriends rally immediately, putting an Eyebrow Coalition into immediate effect: within a few days her bedroom is piled with eyebrow pencils, tattoos, and soft, inky pens that have been mailed from all over the world. She settles on a natural-looking eyebrow pen and shares updates of drawing them in. I anticipate her daily updates on Instagram, my heart pounding as the neon green Close Friends circle lights up. I relax when I see her smiling, dimpled face.

On another video call, we discuss our evolving relationships with our bodies, and I share my rather boring realization that “they do so much more than look good, we should really respect them for that” but I am not as confident as I sound. We list all that we’ve retained as we got older. How much we’ve lost. Teeth. Nails. Hair. Appendixes.

Immunotherapy?

What is the exact name of the drug? And dosage? What will it do for me (medically explain)

How many cycles during chemo and after surgery? TOTAL? Is it a drip? How long does it take?

Side effects? Anything to keep in mind?

My father plays the Quran on his phone as I putter around the house getting ready for work. There is something about the verses playing softly while he over-butters his toast – a daily, mandated regimen – that I find incredibly soothing. In those early morning moments, the proximity to faith feels remarkably like what I would imagine undeterred faith would feel like. When my anxiety is intolerable, the proximity to faith becomes faith itself.

Can I start exercise? Which ones can I do?

I am unable to sleep at night at all. It’s really bad.

I have extremely hot flashes. Any medication or remedy to help?

Nose bleeds.

Zahra quits her corporate job to focus on her thriving cheesecake business. She makes a Karachi-famous No Nonsense Cheesecake – known for its decadent crust, soft, whipped cheese, and absolutely no toppings. No nonsense. Word spreads about this simple, satisfying treat. It’s unapologetically minimal, stripped of unnecessary embellishments. It hits the spot. Her business grows, and orders are hard to keep up with but she happily fulfills each customer, one pale, buttery cheesecake at a time.

On another call, Zahra details her treatment – Red Devil, they call it. She explains how it’s the most unbearable pain and overall feeling of sickness she’s ever felt. I have nothing to say, so I listen. I try to picture an advanced agent – a Blue Angel, if you will – a sparkling, effervescent, fourth state of matter that could enter our bodies seamlessly, without force or friction, and cleanse us of everything: diseases, surely, but also traumas and fears. After many sleepless nights, I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When exactly do I stop having Zoladex?

I fainted a day after Pegfilgrastim in the morning. Why could that be?

When should I have my last shave? When does my hair start growing back?

FINALLY, what made you do Carbotaxol first? God bless you.

Zahra sends me a smiling selfie – her hair is at the pixie stage now. She’s excited that a bob is just around the corner, but I know I am not alone in thinking that she’s pulled off every hair length with style and ease.

In July, she receives the last of her 16 chemotherapy sessions. In August, she has both of her breasts removed.

Meet plastic surgeon to discuss

Stay overnight? Stay a couple of nights?

Should I start collecting pillows, padded bras, etc.?

By September, she learns that she is cancer free. Two months later, she completes radiation and I send her a message congratulating her. She’s resting, and we talk briefly as I walk around my neighborhood. It’s drizzling, winter finally arriving at the end of a particularly arid year. “Things are going to be okay”, I tell her. “They’re already okay,” she says. The sky changes color and it pours, cool water drenching my sandalled feet.

While gathering information for this article, I go through old e-mails from Zahra, searching our exchanges for embarrassing childhood pictures. I find several e-mails from BADGALXO – an online ID that was abandoned in recent years. I can’t help but smile at the characteristic outrageousness. A memory of the two of us pops into my head: we are tiny, and have climbed onto the highest diving board of a pool we aren’t allowed to be swimming in. I am terrified. She jumps, and after a moment’s hesitation, I do, too. As I break the surface of the water, I feel a stinging sharpness all over my skin, but we emerge, laughing and triumphant.

Make no mistake, this is not a misnomer – BADGALXO, indeed.