Fay­ola K J Fras­er

Nadra Su­per­sad is an artist, an avid cook, and a lover of a good lime. At 51 years old, Su­per­sad, who re­sides in Cara­pichaima with her fam­i­ly, re­fus­es to be de­fined by her can­cer di­ag­no­sis, and in fact is a liv­ing con­tra­dic­tion to the gen­er­al ex­pec­ta­tions of can­cer pa­tients.

With a sparkle in her eye and an un­matched zest for life, Su­per­sad has spent the last 14 years not sim­ply sur­viv­ing with can­cer but liv­ing her life to the fullest. Di­ag­nosed orig­i­nal­ly with Stage 3 breast can­cer in 2010, which lat­er metas­ta­sised to her brain, lungs, and spine, at present, Su­per­sad has Stage 4 brain can­cer, but con­tin­ues to de­fy the odds, led by her faith in God and armed with her shield of pos­i­tiv­i­ty.

Su­per­sad de­scribes her­self in her ear­li­er life as a fun-lov­ing per­son. “I loved to par­ty–51 De­grees, Pa­pri­ka, pan, I was in every fete.”

In Sep­tem­ber 2010, at 35 years old, af­ter strug­gling for five days with a fever, she went to the doc­tor and did a full med­ical, which in­clud­ed a mam­mo­gram and ul­tra­sound, where a five cm tu­mour was dis­cov­ered in her left breast.

Con­se­quent­ly, a lumpec­to­my was done, and Su­per­sad dis­cov­ered that she had Stage 3 breast can­cer. “I was alone when I re­ceived my di­ag­no­sis,” she re­calls, “and I cried, but I knew in that mo­ment that what­ev­er the so­lu­tion was, I had to do it.”

A mas­tec­to­my was done in De­cem­ber 2010 to re­move the left breast, and while op­er­at­ing, the doc­tors found three oth­er tu­mours which were al­so re­moved.

By Jan­u­ary 2011, she be­gan a treat­ment sched­ule that in­clud­ed chemother­a­py and ra­di­a­tion, a rou­tine that would stretch on and off for over a decade. In 2013, she was able to do re­con­struc­tive surgery, us­ing the tis­sue from her stom­ach to re­con­struct the left breast, which was an in­ten­sive process that took Su­per­sad months to heal from.

She lat­er faced the col­lapse of the low­er lobe of her right lung, which led to surgery in 2018 to re­move a tu­mour. In the years that fol­lowed, can­cer was al­so dis­cov­ered in her spine and hips. Af­ter un­der­go­ing ag­gres­sive treat­ment, she ex­pe­ri­enced a brief pe­ri­od of re­mis­sion in 2022. How­ev­er, in 2023, a 5.56 cm brain tu­mour was de­tect­ed.

In the next years, her health strug­gles in­clud­ed high-risk heart surgery to drain flu­ids around her swollen heart and con­tin­u­ing chemother­a­py to treat le­sions in the spine and hip.

Su­per­sad’s breath­ing at present is sup­port­ed by a tra­cheosto­my de­vice, and al­though it can be dif­fi­cult to speak for long pe­ri­ods, her strength of char­ac­ter and un­crush­able spir­it shine through.

De­scrib­ing her­self as “ex­tro­vert­ed and sprite­ly”, she says, “I still go to par­ties and dance and lime.”

She keeps ac­tive each day—wak­ing up to cook, get­ting dressed, and head­ing to the mall or su­per­mar­ket. Even on clin­ic days, she makes a point of dress­ing up. She laughs that the doc­tors and oth­er pa­tients of­ten don’t be­lieve she’s a pa­tient her­self, be­cause she nei­ther looks nor acts like a typ­i­cal can­cer pa­tient.

For sur­vivors—es­pe­cial­ly those who feel iso­lat­ed or ashamed—Su­per­sad’s zest for life serves as a pow­er­ful source of hope. Many grap­ple with vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty due to the stig­ma sur­round­ing ill­ness. “It’s not easy to talk about what you’re go­ing through,” she says, “but my ad­vice is to get up every day, not think­ing about the can­cer, but con­sid­er your­self nor­mal.”

Her mes­sage is sim­ple yet pro­found: you are not your ill­ness, and you are not alone. Her sto­ry has be­come a life­line for oth­ers in the com­mu­ni­ty fac­ing their own qui­et bat­tles.

Su­per­sad is not on­ly an in­spi­ra­tion for sur­vivors but a fierce ad­vo­cate for ear­ly de­tec­tion. “Don’t wait un­til you’re sick to take care of your­self. Get screened. Val­ue your­self enough to check ear­ly.”

She re­calls feel­ing de­pressed and down­trod­den im­me­di­ate­ly af­ter her di­ag­no­sis but made a con­scious de­ci­sion not to car­ry those emo­tions with her. It was her prompt ac­tion—start­ing treat­ment al­most im­me­di­ate­ly—that like­ly ex­tend­ed her life for many years to come.

“I’ve lived a full life,” she says, de­spite two mis­car­riages, a mar­riage and di­vorce, and liv­ing with a per­ma­nent tra­cheosto­my.

She has lived—and con­tin­ues to live—on her own terms, al­ways find­ing new pur­suits to en­rich her life. Dur­ing COVID, she be­gan cook­ing her favourite meals—cur­ry with dosti, dhalpouri, or paratha—to sell along­side her moth­er, Shan­ti.

Al­though she no longer dri­ves due to the risk of seizures from brain le­sions, she still gets to the gro­cery, at­tends limes, and makes hos­pi­tal vis­its with the same de­ter­mined spir­it she’s al­ways had—not be­cause it’s easy, but be­cause, for Su­per­sad, life is worth show­ing up for every sin­gle day.

For 14 years, Nadra Su­per­sad has been fight­ing—not just for her life, but for a deep­er un­der­stand­ing of what it means to tru­ly live. Her sto­ry isn’t de­fined by ill­ness; it’s one of de­fi­ance, dig­ni­ty, and em­brac­ing life ful­ly, even in the face of hard­ship.

To any­one feel­ing afraid or ashamed of their jour­ney, Su­per­sad says, “You’re al­lowed to cry, but don’t stay there.” It’s a re­minder that while pain is part of the process, re­silience is a choice we make each day.

“God gives me strength,” she says, quot­ing Ex­o­dus 14:14: “The Lord will fight for you; you need on­ly to be still.” It’s a verse that con­tin­ues to an­chor her through every chal­lenge.

Her faith, her fam­i­ly, and her in­domitable spir­it have been her pil­lars as she con­tin­ues to forge for­ward through her jour­ney bat­tling can­cer.