MY HALF-TIME REPORT

Right now, it feels like I am in between the two halves of a basketball game. The first round of treatment through chemotherapy has just ended and I am gearing up for the second round with radiation treatment that will follow in the next week.

In the meantime, the lights are out and the cheerleaders are entertaining the crowds. I am catching my breath, making up for some lost time and making the necessary connections that will make me breeze through the next half.

I am working on my healthy lifestyle. Eating well, sleeping long enough, exercising. And maybe the most important in the whole scheme of lifestyle change, I am learning to let go of extraneous things. I am choosing to say no to responsibilities that cause me unnecessary stress. If something comes up and I get a bad feeling inside, I pass it up. If I offer to help someone and she doesn't want it, I don't feel bad anymore. I simply let it go.

I am enjoying the mundane things in life and savoring the moments I have with family and friends.

Being able to choose my priorities, my commitments, my concerns makes me feel happier, healthier, more in charge of my life. It's good for my health, it is good for my soul.

ROOTS AND WINGS

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots, the other is wings.
Jonas Salk

Yesterday, my son went off to college. Armed with his bags, his papers and my heart, he eagerly settled into the dormitory building that would be his new home. It is almost laughable because his university is only two hours away from where we live, but for me, it seems like a continent away. I know that he will be coming home most weekends, and yet, somehow, this new chapter in his life seems to be the beginning of his eventual flying away from the nest.

When I was younger, I thought that parenting was all about nurturing, caring, building up. I thought that my primary duty was to shield my children from all emotional and physical discomforts. No one told me that it would actually be a lifetime process of having to let go. I still remember the anxiety when, the first time I held him in the hospital nursery, the nurse came in to tell me that it was time to return him to his crib. From letting him go then, to watching him take those first steps knowing that he is likely to fall, to now sending him off to college, I have learned that parenting after all means letting my kids learn how to maneuver through life on their own.

There were days when his trials and heartaches seemed too big for his little shoulders, but I knew that I had to stand aside so that he will learn. I remember one night a few months ago, when we found out about my cancer, from my room I listened to Kiko cry himself to sleep. I wanted to go to him and comfort him, to promise him what he wanted to hear, but I knew he needed this time alone with God. I knew that I had to simply let go and let him find himself, and God's grace, in this adversity.

Today, he is again full of hopes and dreams, excited for the days ahead.

I would like to think that we taught him the best that we can. We gave him responsibilities at a young age. We complimented him when he did something right and disciplined him when he broke the rules. Now, the time has come to trust that we have done what we can and taught him well enough to make it on his own. I am hoping that his roots were cultivated deeply enough to keep him grounded in God's Word and His purpose. Also, that his wings were strengthened enough by the values and lessons we taught him so that they can take him as far as his dreams will go.

Gone forever are the days when he would rush to me and hug me after an afternoon in preschool. I remember savoring the “doggy” smell he inevitably took home with him everyday. In those days, I was the center of his universe. As the years went by, his world grew bigger and bigger and I knew my importance would become less and less of a need for him. It is a difficult thing to let go of the strings a little more, but it is something which I have to do.

Protecting him is no longer under my control. Forcing him to memorize his multiplication table and to eat his vegetables seem so trivial now. From now on he’ll be making all his own choices and I will continue to support him. But my dreams for him will have to take a back seat to the dreams he has for himself.

I will just have to trust that the world will be kind to him, and if not that he will be strong enough to fight for what should be his.

SOME OF THE HAPPIEST PEOPLE ON EARTH

I entered the room full of strangers, a little uncertain of what to expect but definitely sure that I wanted to be there. After filling in a form and getting my pink ribbon at the registration table, Bong and I found two empty seats on a nearby table. We settled down to observe the people who were clustered in several small groups around the room. They were all animatedly talking and many of the women glanced at me with a smile, as if they have known me for years.

When dinner was served, a tall lady approached me with a smile and took the seat beside mine. She introduced herself as Fely. I am sure she wanted to move around and talk to her friends but it seemed like she had decided to sit with me that night and make me feel welcome. We began talking and I found out that she was first diagnosed with Stage 2 Breast Cancer almost ten years ago. After a radical mastectomy, she underwent chemotherapy for four months. The years that followed saw her have another mastectomy, four surgeries, a metastasis to her bones, and another round of chemotherapy. Today, she is still taking medications and is still uncertain about her health but quite happily working as one of the regional heads of a government office serving indigent people.

After dinner the program began. There were some testimonials, an induction of officers, some speeches, a slideshow. Then, I and three other women were called to the front of the stage to give our pledge as new members of Bosom Friends, a breast cancer survivors’ support group in our city. After the swearing in, the President congratulated us and I couldn’t help but think of what Bong was likely to sardonically say: is that Congratulations for being a new member or for having breast cancer?

As I made my way back to my seat, an old lady of about seventy stood up, grabbed my hand and gave me a long hug. She held me at arms’ length and kept smiling at me for a few moments more, with tears in her eyes. Then she put her hand on my cheek. I was suddenly moved to tears as I totally understood and embraced the compassion, encouragement and affinity I am sure she wanted to express to me. I suddenly had a deep longing for my mother to hug me and all I could do was say to the sweet lady, Thank you.

About to take my seat, Fely called me aside and introduced me to Araceli, who unconsciously fixed her wig as she held out her hand to me. She told me that she just sneaked out from the hospital for a few hours, where she had already checked in for her chemo cycle the next day. She was first diagnosed with Stage 1 Breast Cancer four years ago but a few months ago she found out that the cancer has come back, this time a Stage 3.

At the end of the evening, all the Bosom Friends formed a big circle in the middle of the room, hands held together. Then they started swaying to the music as they sang, If We Hold On Together. I looked at all of them a little self-consciously while imagining Kiko and Angela rolling their eyes as if to dare me to join in the song. I did join the chorus, kids and found myself enjoying it.

After the song, we all posed for a final picture. After numerous hugs and exchanges of cell phone numbers, I started to feel like I was surrounded by some of the happiest people on earth. This bunch of women, ranging from their early forties to their late seventies, came from all walks of life…a bank employee, a dean from U.P., a housewife, a pastor, a doctor, a retired principal. Some were recovering, some were in treatment, some were terminally ill. I could not help but marvel at what they all shared in common: an infectious zest for life, a hopeful optimism, a sincere willingness to share and an attitude of thankfulness and acceptance. Never mind that each one had many more medical issues and physical challenges to surmount, along with the occasional lop-sided breast prostheses and very uncertain outcomes.

Now I am one of them.