A DATE WITH AN ONCOLOGIST

Yesterday, I saw an oncologist for the treatment of my breast cancer. She did an evaluation of my records and asked me to proceed to the examining area where she did a physical examination. Upon feeling over the remaining one, what she told me was, you have a very good breast. I didn’t know if I should laugh out loud or burst into mourning for the lost one.

She told me that because of my results and my age, and that there are 12 out of 14 nodes that are involved, she will have to give me the full dose chemotherapy. That would mean more cost and more side effects, according to her. This would also mean that after February 7, my target date for the first cycle, I will have to stay at home for four months. I suddenly realized that I won’t be able to attend Kiko’s and Angela’s graduation ceremonies, something I had been looking forward to all their lives. I guess this was the hardest to take because I had always wanted to be a parent that is always there as a cheering squad for the kids.

She went on to tell me the dangers and risks I will be taking and the probable glitches down the road. I got a quotation of how much everything would cost and how long it would all take. She gave me the worst case scenario and the things I have to prepare for the duration of the treatment.

Finally, before we left, I asked her, “Doc, instinctively, by my records and how you assess me, do you think I will make it?” After a pause ( a little longer than what would have been a comfortable pause), she said with a sigh, “Yes, I think you will.”

I told her with a smile, “That’s good, Doc. Because let me tell you, I will.”

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

To be or not to be, that is the question.

Now on my the seventh day after my mastectomy and prognosis of breast cancer, likely a stage 3, I find myself pleasantly surprised by one thing. I did not feel much pain, physically nor emotionally. I could not precisely remember when it happened, but when I started assuming a perspective of thankfulness, this episode in my life became easier to handle. Going into the operating room, I was a little optimistic that the tumor would again be benign. When I woke up seven hours after, the first thing Bong told me was that they had to take out my right breast as the tumor was malignant.

Turning forty on a hospital bed and in a daze, having just recently buried my mother who died by someone else’s mistake, myself a victim of some circumstances, there was never a moment to blame anyone or question God.

To be or not to be grateful, that is the question I never asked.

After all, my list of things to be thankful for just never seems to end.

First of all, I have been given a chance to assess my life, my values and my relationships, a chance that is naturally brought about by the prospect of death. Consequently, it has allowed me the time to change what I need to change and pursue what I need to. Many others who died through an accident never had that chance.

Of course there are the wonderful people who have unselfishly given everything they could to help me. I had five doctors who were with me during the surgery who gave their services for free. For someone who is rarely in the receiving end, it was heartwarming to know that these people really wanted me to make it. I also received so many calls and messages from people all over the world from people who, at some point in my life I had been associated with, to encourage me and pray for me.

This experience elevated my relationships with some people to a new level. Tita Maggie Hofilena, herself a cancer survivor, has become like a second mother to me. Emil and Tutti Salcedo have become my new personal heroes. Raquel and Rj are no longer just administrative assistants but my great friends. Joseph Idemne and Manny Gruenberg are now family.

It would seem like my battle has just begun. Chemotherapy, radiation treatment and many other procedures are now lined up for the next months. But, my mind is no longer there. I am now looking forward to beating this thing and allowing God to use me in whatever He has planned.

Meanwhile, I have asked Tita Maggie to already sign me up in their survivor group. I will be the youngest member, something to be thankful for, because I am hardly youngest of anything these days.

EMPOWERED IN KNOWING

A six centimeter tumor was removed from me three days ago. The specimen was immediately rushed to the pathologist and thirty minutes later, they called my surgeons in the operating room. It's malignant.

After receiving the results, my surgeons proceeded to remove fourteen lymph nodes from my right axilla. Subsequently, twelve of the fourteen nodes tested positive for malignancy.

Today, I am safely home. It's my daughter's birthday and we are all trying to find normalcy in the day. I am a little uncomfortable because of the drain that is still attached to me, but overall I am strangely feeling empowered.

Looking back to D-day...

I can still distinctly remember falling asleep in the operating room to the sound of my anesthesiologist singing to herself. Just moments before that, my cousin and internist came in to take my picture with her cellular phone. After what seemed to be only a few moments, I woke up again to the voice of my anesthesiologist saying that it's all over. In reality it was after eight hours. I was groggy but could feel a slight pain in my throat, probably after the breathing tube was pulled out from me.

The next moment I remember was waking up again, this time in the recovery room. My husband was telling me, They had to take it all out, it's cancer. Our son is here beside me. I then turned to look for my boy and saw that he was crying.

I remember reaching out to him and saying, It's okay son, don't worry. We'll be okay.

Now that I know I have cancer, at least I know what I am contending with. It feels much, much better than not knowing what I am up against.

PREPARING FOR SURGERY

Tonight, I am trying to relax here in the hospital, getting ready for my surgery and frozen biopsy tomorrow. They will be taking out my lump and rushing it to a pathologist and hopefully we will get the results in thirty minutes. I already gave instructions to my surgeon that if the results state that the lump is malignant, then he should proceed with a mastectomy without having to wake me up for consent. I just talked to the anesthesiologist a few minutes ago and she briefed me on what to expect and prepare for. Apparently she will have control over my breathing, and that has made me nervous the most.

I will have three surgeons tomorrow: Lufie Dabao, my very good friend; Doc Emil Salcedo, not just a doctor but our adviser in business, carpentry and everything else; and Doc Demy Reyes, a specialist from our church in Alabang who came all the way here to be with me and with Bong, too. There will be two anesthesiologists, including Dr. Nestor Para and an internist, my cousin, Julie as well. All of them are good friends who want to be at hand for my biopsy and possible subsequent surgery. So far, they all remain optimistic that it will be benign because the tumor is well defined and movable. It has grown quite big though. Maybe as big as an orange.

I suppose I am as ready as can be. In a while they will give me a sedative so that I can relax and fall asleep.

PRAISE YOU IN THE STORM

Getting ready to check into the hospital.

STILL

For the last four months, while we struggled for my mother’s health, all I could look forward to was the time when I could again devote myself for the children. When Nanay passed away, I uttered a prayer of thanks to God that in the midst of our crisis, He taught me so many things. I was certain that in everything that happened God had a purpose and a cosmic plan to fulfill. I said to myself, surely the most painful time of my life was over. Finally I could give time to the kids and watch them grow.

After the interment, Bong and the kids decided to go to Boracay for a break with their Tito Joey. I chose to stay at home for a few blissful days of solitude, in order to gather my faculties and prepare to go back to work. Piles of things had to be done and I needed to change paces quickly. On the last day of their short trip, I got a call from Bong late in the morning. After a little small talk, he told me that while on the ferryboat ride back to the mainland, Angela had fallen into the sea.

Having heard that, a deluge of thoughts started flashing through my mind. I was imagining her trying to grasp the air for support, struggling in the water for a breath of air, fearing the unknown creatures beneath. I was thinking of how terrified she must have been and how much I so wanted to be there to comfort her. My knees trembled as I tried to get a hold of myself. Dealing with the loss of my mother was difficult. But just the prospect of losing a daughter is an entirely different thing.

Gladly, when I talked to her, she was more worried about her cell phone that got wet. Relieved as I was I promptly promised to buy her another one.

Well then, that is that, and I was pretty sure nothing worse would happen now.

Last Monday I went to the hospital for a postponed check up. To be truthful, I was even hesitant to go. But my ood friend, Lufie Dabao was very persistent in reminding me to go for a mammogram and so I dutifully went. At the end of the session I was told that the tumor I had, the one that last year tested benign, had apparently grown to twice the size and signs show a spreading on other parts of my body as well. I now have several lumps on my axilla which is an indication of malignancy. In utter disbelief, Bong and I went home. All I could think about was Kiko asking me the night before to promise that I would be around for his wedding. And Angela floating in the dark . sea, alone without me beside her. Of Joko and Shane who had just lost their lola and who I have had to fight for to stay with me. Of Bong who would be overwhelmed by all the things he had to do.

For days, I could not stop the tears every time I would think of them, and how they would have to cope without me. I was inconsolable as I thought of each one them, feeling as if there was a hole in my heart that could never be filled.

In the months that I tried to find God in Nanay’s tragedy, I eventually realized that God was asking me to lay down my identity and focus on staying still in His presence. Having had to always do the right thing to win my mother’s favor, I realized that it was not what ultimately mattered in our relationship when she was in a coma and unable to show me her approval. What mattered more was that I knew her well and that even when she could not speak, I sensed what she wanted to say to me. Much like Martha who always served, I was now being told to be like Mary who chose to simply love him.

Now I know this is what God is asking of me. He is asking me to lay my husband and children, my family, my most precious things, at His feet and walk in full trust that they are even more precious to Him. As I surrender them to God, I will then able to focus on his goodness and grace as I fight what might very well be my greatest battle yet.

With much heartache and fear, yet total trust in who God is and how He loves me, I chose to say, “Yes Lord.”

RETROSPECTION AND THE F WORD

The other day I was sitting pensive in the hospital room, waiting for that euphoric feeling of weightlessness to wash over me, as sleep slowly crept in. Recently, I started to look forward to these long and quiet afternoon hours of staying by Nanay’s bedside, alone and away from the bustle of work. Needless to say, it has been a guilt-free way of escaping the frequent power outages in the city these days.

There I was, dozing off and thinking of what must have been comfort food or some delightful thing of that sort. Banana split with pineapple bits, nuts and whipped cream…fields of green grass and dandelions with puffy white clouds overhead…my hair blowing in the wind while listening to the voice of Elton John in the background…Fly, pigeon fly...towards the dreams you left so very far behind..

I was just thinking of how old that song was and how old Elton John must now be when suddenly it dawned on me. If that song was old, and if he was old, then…I must be getting old, too. Carefully counting with my fingers so as not to make a mistake...one, two, three…in ten weeks I will be inevitably, unstoppably turning forty.

I really hadn’t given it much thought before that, but maybe due to the stress of recent days, the thought of being forty made me overwhelmingly sad. My stomach was caving in and I was actually feeling desolate. I realized that arguably half of my life had already passed me by. I wondered when it would be that I would start looking at the years ahead as the few remaining ones I had. When would I start to count down my high school classmates one by one as we all slowly passed away? It it going to be downhill from here?

Compulsively, I sat up and started to try to remember all that had transpired in my life so far, in an attempt to hold back time and to slow things down. I was trying to shake the sense of foreboding. I wanted to dig up as much memories as I could.

At six, I went to my first day of school in St. Paul’s Pasig. When my mother brought me to my classroom, all could worry about was where she would sit down so I told her she can go home…At ten, I stole some brandy from my father’s wine cart because my classmate had told me that brandy can help stop menstrual flow forever. The bleeding didn’t stop and all I had the day after was a whopping hangover…At fourteen, I become totally obsessed with John Lennon, his songs and his life to the point that I started thinking I was Yoko Ono…In college I joined the street rallies and overnight vigils. Walking down the streets of Colon with a shower of yellow confetti over my head, I felt that the world was mine to conquer. Going towards seventeen, I found myself one Sunday morning in what was called a church service, surrounded by crazy people who kept shouting Hallelujah and Praise God while lifting their hands in the air. The public display of emotion was just too much for me. That night, alone in my room I recalled the faces of those same people as they prayed. I decided I wanted the same thing and gave my life to God. When I was twenty, I sat in my regular chair one Sunday morning, waiting for the service to start. A dashing and lean young man in white shirt and a tie flew past by me as he led some thirty children to the stage for a special number. He's like the Pied Piper, I said, and my boyfriend who sat beside me told me, that guy was the Sunday school teacher and his name was Bong.

Now, twenty years later, I am happily married to that Sunday school teacher and we have four teen-agers, two who are ours by birth and two who are ours by circumstance. They are turning out to be people of character and tenacity despite all the odds and I am proud of them. Somewhere in between, I became a painter, a homebody, a teacher, a counselor for troubled youth and some sort of a showbiz insider. My husband and I have a school and a church to run, doing what we love to do best. Our staff are dedicated, loyal and hardworking. We have three Labradors who love us and countless friends and family who have touched our lives. And the list goes on.

Yes, I guess the first forty years had been quite good ones after all. The next forty ones should be even better.

Feeling much better, my thoughts naturally went back to banana split and Elton John.

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

My mother is in the hospital again for the fourth time in recent months. Five days after the amputation, we gladly went home, filled with plans for the next few months. I thought that Nanay's most tragic episode was finally over. On the second morning after we got home, we tried to wake her up for breakfast but she was dead to the world. After several calls to the doctor, we found out that the nurse had made a mistake in the prescription given to us upon discharge from the hospital. Instead of the prescribed 14 units of insulin, the nurse wrote 34 units which we religiously followed.

Now, Nanay is in a coma, has been for the past eight days. Day by day, I sit by her bedside hoping against hope that she would wake up. I hold her hand as I battle with endless questions, endless regrets. The other day I let Gian come home for a couple of days and after staring at his lola for a long while he asked me, "Lola is a good person, why is this happening to her?" Sadly, I could not answer his question.

MY MOTHER, MYSELF

It is true what they say, that scenes in our lives are like passing towns as we speed down a highway.

I am about four years old and in a bus with my mother. We are on our way to Pasig for an errand. I fall asleep on her lap as we bounce through the dusty road. The bus stops and we get ready to disembark. My mother gets down first and before she could turn around to carry me down, the bus moves away. She runs after the bus shouting at the driver to stop. As soon as I get down and grab her hand, I feel secure.

That was some thirty-five years ago.

Almost all my life I felt that my mission was to take care of my mother, to make sure that she would not have a difficult time. Most times she did not even notice my help and it became an endless cycle of conflict and guilt. I would often wonder why I even bothered to watch her back and to gain her favor. We just could not get along, and yet I could not help myself from worrying about her.

Four nights ago Nanay had to undergo surgery, to amputate her left leg below the knee. She now suffers from Diabetes and Alzheimer’s Disease. I stayed with her in the recovery room right after the operation because the nurses could not hold her down. She was trashing about, her eyes glassy as she stared at me, crying in pain as I held her hand. I could not help but be overwhelmed with sadness over a life that has not been so rosy. She was orphaned at four and was raised by a grandmother along with her brother and sister. She found herself in an unhappy, at times violent marriage that lasted for some thirty years. She had to forego retirement as she cared for two young grandsons left to her by an erring daughter. And now in her twilight years, a woman who always took pains to look beautiful and enjoy life loses a limb as she also loses her memory.

Today I sit by her hospital bedside, as I watch my daughter Angela meticulously make her lola’s face up with an eyebrow pencil and lipstick. She is groggy but smiling at herself in the compact mirror as she holds a Patrick Starfish toy in her other hand.

Hopefully, later in the day she will remember who we are. I am glad I am here to wait. In the meantime, I have not yet gotten a surgery to remove my lump. As soon as this is all over, that is what I need to take care of next.

Exodus 20:12:
Honor your father and mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.

GOOD NEWS

Thankfully, the results of my biopsy has come. My tumor is benign and what a relief. The doctor said I have about a year to take it out and so I will have to do that. I am still in Manila setting up the new place for Gian to stay in while he pursues his showbiz career. At least, Starstruck is now over and we can all go back to our normal lives.

A NEW JOURNEY

A week or so ago, I accompanied my nephew on Starstruck 3 's nationwide tour. I was taking a quick shower at around 4:00 a.m. in some hotel in Davao when I accidentally felt a lump on my breast. Fear immediately came over me and my knees started to buckle. It was an effort to get past the shock and finish the many things I was yet to do. Of all times, I was practically alone, away from my husband and kids, and I had to muster all courage to get through the days until I could go home to them.

As soon as I got back to Iloilo a few days ago, Bong and I went to a surgeon for a check up. After a physical exam, the doctor asked us to sit down and she started telling us about possibilities and chances until the most dreaded word came up...cancer. It felt as if I died a thousand deaths, watching her lips move and yet not really wanting to understand all the things she said. It was as if I was watching a movie scene. Never in a million things did I ever think that, watching all those melodramatic movies, hearing the stories of many friends, listening to the news about this or that celebrity, this terrible monster would come knocking at my door.

On the way home from the doctor's clinic, I could not stop the tears from flowing as a million thoughts ran through my mind. Will I see Angela walk down the aisle? Will I ever get to see Kiko become the great influencer that everyone says he will be? Will I be able to also launch Shane into his own showbiz career? Who will remind Gian that girls will always be there, but opportunity is golden? Who will tease Bong, defend him, nag him and budget his money for him, comfort him and encourage him when the going gets tough? As soon as we got home, Bong gathered Kiko and Angela and told them what the doctor said. All I could do was hold the three of them tightly as we all cried in fear.

In a while, I an off to the hospital for an incision biopsy to see if the tumor is benign. Meanwhile, God has been a faithful comforter and friend. I know that God is the one who delivers us. He is the one who determines our steps. He is our loving Father who will give us all He could, even if we don’t deserve it. All we need to do is ask. Just as Gian reached his dreams not because of his looks, personality or talent but because he earnestly asked God for it and walked in faith and obedience to His Word, I now claim God’s healing.

Yes, God's promises are true. I stand on His Word that I am healed.