Results have just come in from the pathologist for my third biopsy.
Cyst status: BENIGN
September 25, 2007
September 22, 2007
HAPPINESS IN ILLNESS
There is a storm raging outside and finding this interesting article that was published last August 14, 2007 in the New York Times, is like a refreshing drink of hot coffee:
THRIVING AFTER LIFE'S BUM RAP
By JANE E. BRODY
Can getting cancer make you happy? For Betty Rollin, survivor of two breast cancers, there’s no question about it. In her newest book, “Here’s the Bright Side,” Ms. Rollin recounts:
“I woke up one morning and realized I was happy. This struck me as weird. Not that I didn’t have all kinds of things to be happy about — love, work, good health, enough money, the usual happy-making stuff. The weird part is, I realized that the source of my happiness was, of all things, cancer — that cancer had everything to do with how good the good parts of my life were.”
Her realization is hardly unique. I have met and read about countless people who, having faced life-threatening illness, end up happier, better able to appreciate the good things and people in their lives, more willing to take the time to smell the roses.
As Ms. Rollin put it: “It turns out there is often — it seems very often — an astonishingly bright side within darkness. People more than survive bum raps: they often thrive on them; they wind up stronger, livelier, happier; they wake up to new insights and new people and do better with the people around them who are not new. In short, they often wind up ahead.”
This is not to suggest that battling cancer is pleasurable. Frustration, anger and grief are natural reactions. Cancer forces people to put their lives on hold. It can cause considerable physical and emotional pain and lasting disfigurement. It may even end in death.
But for many people who make it through, and even for some who do not, the experience gives them a new perspective on life and the people in it. It is as if their antennas become more finely tuned by having faced a mortal threat.
As a woman with incurable ovarian cancer recounted this spring in The New York Times: “I treat every day as an adventure, and I refuse to let anything make me sad, angry or worried. I live for the day, which is something I never did before. Believe it or not, I’m happier now than I was before I was diagnosed.”
Sometimes such changes happen to those who live through the cancer experiences of others. My mother died at age 49 of ovarian cancer, and I went off to college thinking that every moment was precious, to be used productively both for personal betterment and for what I could offer to the world. At 18 I wrote a speech on preparing one’s own epitaph — about being able to say that however long your life, you lived it fully and made it count for something meaningful.
Now, 48 years later, as people I know succumb to intractable illness or sudden death, I am even more attuned to the need to savor every moment and do whatever I can to make the world a better place and nurture relationships with friends and family.
Michael Feuerstein, a clinical psychologist and author with Patricia Findley of “The Cancer Survivor’s Guide,” was 52 when he was told he had an inoperable brain tumor and was given a year to live. But Dr. Feuerstein didn’t die — he survived extensive debilitating treatment and gained a new outlook.
He wrote: “I now realize that I am fortunate. Now, after the cancer, I find I can more easily put life in perspective. I re-evaluated my workload, opting to spend more time at home. I take more time for what matters to me most: my wife and my children and grandchild. I also allocate time to better understand cancer survivorship from a scientific point of view, so I can help others in my situation translate this work into useful answers to the question, ‘now what?’ I am optimistic about the future and excited to leave my unique mark on the world.”
By JANE E. BRODY
Can getting cancer make you happy? For Betty Rollin, survivor of two breast cancers, there’s no question about it. In her newest book, “Here’s the Bright Side,” Ms. Rollin recounts:“I woke up one morning and realized I was happy. This struck me as weird. Not that I didn’t have all kinds of things to be happy about — love, work, good health, enough money, the usual happy-making stuff. The weird part is, I realized that the source of my happiness was, of all things, cancer — that cancer had everything to do with how good the good parts of my life were.”
Her realization is hardly unique. I have met and read about countless people who, having faced life-threatening illness, end up happier, better able to appreciate the good things and people in their lives, more willing to take the time to smell the roses.
As Ms. Rollin put it: “It turns out there is often — it seems very often — an astonishingly bright side within darkness. People more than survive bum raps: they often thrive on them; they wind up stronger, livelier, happier; they wake up to new insights and new people and do better with the people around them who are not new. In short, they often wind up ahead.”
This is not to suggest that battling cancer is pleasurable. Frustration, anger and grief are natural reactions. Cancer forces people to put their lives on hold. It can cause considerable physical and emotional pain and lasting disfigurement. It may even end in death.
But for many people who make it through, and even for some who do not, the experience gives them a new perspective on life and the people in it. It is as if their antennas become more finely tuned by having faced a mortal threat.
As a woman with incurable ovarian cancer recounted this spring in The New York Times: “I treat every day as an adventure, and I refuse to let anything make me sad, angry or worried. I live for the day, which is something I never did before. Believe it or not, I’m happier now than I was before I was diagnosed.”
Sometimes such changes happen to those who live through the cancer experiences of others. My mother died at age 49 of ovarian cancer, and I went off to college thinking that every moment was precious, to be used productively both for personal betterment and for what I could offer to the world. At 18 I wrote a speech on preparing one’s own epitaph — about being able to say that however long your life, you lived it fully and made it count for something meaningful.
Now, 48 years later, as people I know succumb to intractable illness or sudden death, I am even more attuned to the need to savor every moment and do whatever I can to make the world a better place and nurture relationships with friends and family.
Michael Feuerstein, a clinical psychologist and author with Patricia Findley of “The Cancer Survivor’s Guide,” was 52 when he was told he had an inoperable brain tumor and was given a year to live. But Dr. Feuerstein didn’t die — he survived extensive debilitating treatment and gained a new outlook.
He wrote: “I now realize that I am fortunate. Now, after the cancer, I find I can more easily put life in perspective. I re-evaluated my workload, opting to spend more time at home. I take more time for what matters to me most: my wife and my children and grandchild. I also allocate time to better understand cancer survivorship from a scientific point of view, so I can help others in my situation translate this work into useful answers to the question, ‘now what?’ I am optimistic about the future and excited to leave my unique mark on the world.”
A SECOND LIFE
When it comes to leaving a mark on the world, Lance Armstrong takes first prize. After surviving treatment for testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs and brain, Mr. Armstrong went on to win the Tour de France a record seven consecutive times.
“There are two Lance Armstrongs, precancer and post,” he recounted in his 2001 memoir, “It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back To Life.” “In a way, the old me did die, and I was given a second life.” He created a foundation to inspire and empower people affected by cancer, helping them live life on their own terms.
“Cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “I don’t know why I got the illness, but it did wonders for me, and I wouldn’t want to walk away from it.”
Likewise, Fran Lenzo wrote in the magazine Coping: “Breast cancer has given me a new life. Breast cancer was something I needed to experience to open my eyes to the joy of living. I now see more of the world than I was choosing to see before I had cancer. The things that once seemed so important, like keeping a clean home, are less important. My priorities now are to enjoy everything around me to the utmost. Breast cancer leaves me no time for personality conflicts, arguments, debates or controversy. Breast cancer has taught me to love in the purest sense.”
FINDING HAPPINESS
There’s no question that cancer, whether curable or ultimately fatal, changes lives. It forces some people to give up careers and may jeopardize their ability to earn a living. It leaves some people disabled and unable to pursue athletic or other ambitions requiring physical prowess. It leaves some people unable to bear or father children. Yet, time after time, even people who have lost so much find new and often better sources of fulfillment.
When it comes to leaving a mark on the world, Lance Armstrong takes first prize. After surviving treatment for testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs and brain, Mr. Armstrong went on to win the Tour de France a record seven consecutive times.
“There are two Lance Armstrongs, precancer and post,” he recounted in his 2001 memoir, “It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back To Life.” “In a way, the old me did die, and I was given a second life.” He created a foundation to inspire and empower people affected by cancer, helping them live life on their own terms.“Cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “I don’t know why I got the illness, but it did wonders for me, and I wouldn’t want to walk away from it.”
Likewise, Fran Lenzo wrote in the magazine Coping: “Breast cancer has given me a new life. Breast cancer was something I needed to experience to open my eyes to the joy of living. I now see more of the world than I was choosing to see before I had cancer. The things that once seemed so important, like keeping a clean home, are less important. My priorities now are to enjoy everything around me to the utmost. Breast cancer leaves me no time for personality conflicts, arguments, debates or controversy. Breast cancer has taught me to love in the purest sense.”
FINDING HAPPINESS
There’s no question that cancer, whether curable or ultimately fatal, changes lives. It forces some people to give up careers and may jeopardize their ability to earn a living. It leaves some people disabled and unable to pursue athletic or other ambitions requiring physical prowess. It leaves some people unable to bear or father children. Yet, time after time, even people who have lost so much find new and often better sources of fulfillment.
Recurring cancer and the extensive treatment it required forced Dr. Wendy Schlessel Harpham of Dallas to give up her beloved medical practice. So she turned her sights to writing, producing book after book that can help people with cancer achieve the best that medicine and life can offer them.
Dr. Harpham is a 16-year survivor of recurrent chronic lymphoma. In her latest book, “Happiness in a Storm: Facing Illness and Embracing Life as a Healthy Survivor,” she states: “Without a doubt, illness is bad, yet survivorship — from the time of diagnosis and for the balance of life — can include times of great joy among the hardships. You can find happiness. Chances are the opportunities for happiness are right in front of you.”
She suggests creating a “personal happiness list” to help you remember favorite pastimes and reintroduce former delights into your life. Or perhaps you might want to explore activities that in your precancer life, you thought you had no time for, like studying a foreign language, traveling for pleasure or spending more time with friends.
“You might need to explore different ways of seeing yourself and the world around you,” Dr. Harpham writes. “In doing so, you discover new types of happiness waiting to be tapped, such as the happiness of sharing invigorating ideas and nascent hopes with new friends, or the happiness of knowing love in a whole new way.
“Happiness in a storm,” she concludes, “is never about enjoying your illness but embracing your life within the limits of your illness, and figuring out how to feel happy whenever possible.”
Dr. Harpham is a 16-year survivor of recurrent chronic lymphoma. In her latest book, “Happiness in a Storm: Facing Illness and Embracing Life as a Healthy Survivor,” she states: “Without a doubt, illness is bad, yet survivorship — from the time of diagnosis and for the balance of life — can include times of great joy among the hardships. You can find happiness. Chances are the opportunities for happiness are right in front of you.”
She suggests creating a “personal happiness list” to help you remember favorite pastimes and reintroduce former delights into your life. Or perhaps you might want to explore activities that in your precancer life, you thought you had no time for, like studying a foreign language, traveling for pleasure or spending more time with friends.“You might need to explore different ways of seeing yourself and the world around you,” Dr. Harpham writes. “In doing so, you discover new types of happiness waiting to be tapped, such as the happiness of sharing invigorating ideas and nascent hopes with new friends, or the happiness of knowing love in a whole new way.
“Happiness in a storm,” she concludes, “is never about enjoying your illness but embracing your life within the limits of your illness, and figuring out how to feel happy whenever possible.”
September 20, 2007
FLOODS, RAIN AND SURGERY
Amidst the constant rains and flooding in our city, I had my minor surgery on Wednesday, to remove the new lump that I just discovered on my remaining breast just this last Monday. The whole procedure took about two hours. I just had it done in my doctor's clinic, with local anesthesia. This was a personal request from me as I have grown quite tired of the usual hospital protocol of having to go through the Emergency Room and about a dozen inquiring residents who all have the same set of questions to ask.The interrogation alone can be trying, to say the least.
My surgeon, Dr. Emil Salcedo just talked me through the operation, with a myriad of topics from mountain bikes, to siopao, to church politics. I was trying not to laugh too hard at his usual and somewhat satirical take on such things. I tried my best not to look at the incision he was working on, just a few inches below my chin, but the lure of the grotesque was just too much. I would sneak a look once in a while, but not too long as I always turn queasy at the sight of blood.Every time I would hear the snip of the scissors, I would recite the Panatang Makabayan in my head, to distract myself from the morbidity of its implications.
By the time I knew it, Emil was stitching me up. I went my way to the mall with my daughter who needed a new pair of shoes. After that we proceeded to the prayer meeting to kick off our church anniversary this year.
A half-centimeter lump was removed, with another half-centimeter of surrounding tissue all around, which I immediately submitted to the pathologist for biopsy. I will get the results next week.
September 18, 2007
ONE DAY AT A TIME
Once there was a man who would go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."
"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.
To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"
At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."
...
Today, I had another visit with my good doctor. I had just gone through a series of laboratory tests last week and all of them came up clear except for one. My breast ultrasound showed that I have a new lump on my other breast.
I was just trying to explain to a dear friend my sense of humor amidst this apparently daunting task of conquering cancer. Because she always knew me as one who was fretful and a perfectionist, the carefree attitude and positive outlook that I display these days are, for her, out of character. Having just dealt with the other lump I found a few weeks ago, she could not help but wonder if this would ever end…the searching, the finding, the removing of every little lump that grows in my body. How could I find happiness amidst all these, she asked.
I remember once, when Oprah Winfrey was asked how she runs five miles a day, she said, "I recommit to it every day of my life."
I
think happiness is like that.Every day we have to renew our commitment to assertively pursue happiness. It won’t just come to us. We have to make it happen, regardless of whether one is certain of a long life ahead or not. It is a choice we make to see the beauty of the things around us or focus on the little missing details, to run after the grandoise dreams or be happy with each moment with our loved ones.
It's a decision we need to make every single day.
Ironically, I can say that in between my doctor's visits and treatments, I have found my true pleasures. Now, everyday that comes is a new day to worship God..lavish love on my family...show kindness to whom I meet...find comfort in my husband's warm hand...play with the little kids from Nursery class...laugh at my friends' funny stories...savor that banana que I bought from the corner...spend that hard-earned peso shopping with Angela in SM City.
I have learned to find joy and own it as mine.
Tomorrow morning, I will go to the hospital for about an hour to undergo another surgery. But after that I will have the rest of the day to embrace laughter and hope again.
Much like the starfish thrower, I am doing it one at a time and that is how I think life should be lived, after all. One day at a time.
Until the days turn to weeks, the weeks to months, the months to many years.
September 16, 2007
DISTRESS AND SURVIVAL
Below is an article that I found on emotional wellness and cancer. It has offered me empowerment as I proceed with my journey.
MedWire News: Breast cancer patients with low levels of distress survive longer and have lower levels of disease recurrence than those with high levels of distress, study findings show.
Mogens Groenvold (The Department of Palliative Medicine, Bispebjerg Hospital, Copenhagen, Denmark) and colleagues report that emotional function and fatigue are significant independent predictors of recurrence free and overall survival, after accounting for biological variables such as menopausal status, estrogen receptor status, tumor biology, lymph node status, and adjuvant therapy use.
The researchers analyzed data from 1588 breast cancer patients who filled out the EORTC (European Organisation for Research and Treatment of Cancer) QLQ-C30 quality of life questionnaire 2 months after their primary operation.
They measured psychological distress using the emotional functioning and fatigue items, with severity rated on a score of 0-100, where 100 shows highest level of functioning.
Information on clinical and pathological variables including time to recurrence and survival time was obtained from the Danish Breast Cancer Cooperative Group register. Patients were followed-up until March 2005, with a median follow-up time of 12.9 years.
An emotional function score of 83-100 was associated with a relative risk of 0.80 for recurrence-free survival and 0.81 for overall survival, compared with an emotional function score of 0-75. Meanwhile, a fatigue score of 33-100 was associated with a relative risk of 1.32 for recurrence-free survival and 1.23 for overall survival, compared with a fatigue score of 0-22.
Groenvold and colleagues comment in the journal Breast Cancer Research and Treatment: "The finding that both fatigue and psychological distress were associated with the risk of breast cancer recurrence and death is intriguing and raises conceptual and methodological questions."
The researchers propose two possible interpretations. Firstly, patients who do not experience psychological distress maintain a strong immune system that subsequently leads to better cancer resistance, they suggest. This they refer to as the "mind-body model." Alternatively, a lack of psychological distress may reflect mental as well as physical robustness. This they refer to as the "robustness model."
Irrespective of the mechanism underlying the negative effect of distress on breast cancer outcome, the researchers state that effective interventions against psychological distress and/or fatigue should be "available for all breast cancer patients to improve their quality of life as an end in itself."
SOURCE: www.breastcancersource.com
September 2, 2007
BOUNCING BACK
After a series of consultations with my doctors, we have all agreed that I will wait a little longer and observe the lump I recently found on my mastectomy site. It is too soon after radiation treatment to go under the knife. The risk of the wound not healing well is too great. Thus, I have no choice but to wait out the recommended four more weeks and just observe the little nuisance closely.
In the meantime, I just came across an article about resilience. It defines people with resilience as those who harness inner strengths and rebound more quickly from a setback or challenge. These are the people who have the ability to say to themselves, "OK, this bad thing happened, and I can either dwell on it or I can learn from it."
I have decided that this setback will not hinder me from believing that I am already healed. It will not keep me from declaring God’s goodness in my life. It will not hold me back from celebrating life with zeal and hope.
If I overcame a lump before, I can overcome another one again.
In the meantime, I just came across an article about resilience. It defines people with resilience as those who harness inner strengths and rebound more quickly from a setback or challenge. These are the people who have the ability to say to themselves, "OK, this bad thing happened, and I can either dwell on it or I can learn from it."I have decided that this setback will not hinder me from believing that I am already healed. It will not keep me from declaring God’s goodness in my life. It will not hold me back from celebrating life with zeal and hope.
If I overcame a lump before, I can overcome another one again.
August 27, 2007
HERE WE GO AGAIN
Here we go again on this rollercoaster ride.A few days ago I found a new lump where I had my previous one. The feel of it sent shivers down my spine and weakened my knees with fear. For a moment there, my vision darkened and it felt like my heart fell to my toes. I was trying hard to remember all the encouragements I received, all the brave words I uttered but they almost eluded me.
The doctor has advised me to observe the new lump for two more weeks. He seems somewhat hopeful that it is just an effect of the radiation. In the meantime, I choose to focus on God's promises.
Thankfully, it is just a ride and I know it. It's a momentary play of emotions and sensations but I know that below me is solid ground where I can firmly plant my feet on.
August 19, 2007
RECLAIMING LIFE
My chemotherapy is done and so is my radiation therapy.
I am getting ready to go to church with my family, just as I have been doing for many Sundays of my life. Today, it has sweeter meaning because I have a better understanding of what family is, what love is, what Christianity is, what life is all about.
It is so ironic that it was when I was at the lowest point in my life that I understood all of these things and embraced them passionately.
I know the road ahead is tough. I never meant to trivialize cancer and what it has done to me and my family, to other people's families. I am sure there will be days of doubt and uncertainty.
Days of pain.
Days of wondering why.
Thankfully, I now have a deeper knowledge of God’s grace and His pleasure to bless me. I am home with my family. I am surrounded with relatives and friends who care for me and want to see that I get well. I have learned to value myself more.
I have all I need to reclaim my life.
I am getting ready to go to church with my family, just as I have been doing for many Sundays of my life. Today, it has sweeter meaning because I have a better understanding of what family is, what love is, what Christianity is, what life is all about.
It is so ironic that it was when I was at the lowest point in my life that I understood all of these things and embraced them passionately.
I know the road ahead is tough. I never meant to trivialize cancer and what it has done to me and my family, to other people's families. I am sure there will be days of doubt and uncertainty.
Days of pain.
Days of wondering why.
Thankfully, I now have a deeper knowledge of God’s grace and His pleasure to bless me. I am home with my family. I am surrounded with relatives and friends who care for me and want to see that I get well. I have learned to value myself more.
I have all I need to reclaim my life.
August 11, 2007
THE CANCER SHOW
Today I was interviewed for The Cancer Show. It's a documentary about cancer survivors in Cebu that was put together by a dear old friend, Bien Fernandez. I was interviewed by Meanne Alcordo Solomon, herself a survivor.
My segment was supposed to be an insight into the life of a survivor who is currently undergoing treatment. I came in with my usual hat and scarf and was asked to remove them towards the end of the show, to show my spanking new hair growth.
In the second half of the segment, the directors asked to interview my husband on his perspective as the spouse of a cancer patient. Bong was very candid and I could not help but notice some of the audience wipe some tears from their eyes.
My segment was supposed to be an insight into the life of a survivor who is currently undergoing treatment. I came in with my usual hat and scarf and was asked to remove them towards the end of the show, to show my spanking new hair growth.
In the second half of the segment, the directors asked to interview my husband on his perspective as the spouse of a cancer patient. Bong was very candid and I could not help but notice some of the audience wipe some tears from their eyes.
THE CANCER BLOG AND MY 15 SECONDS OF FAME
It’s safe to say that I have had three therapies for the treatment of my cancer: chemotherapy, radiation therapy and "blog therapy." Among the three, the last one has provided me with the most satisfying relief while coping with this rollercoaster ride I’m now in.
In the beginning, this blog was meant to be nothing more than a personal journal for my children and future grandchildren to read. However, weeks into my treatment, friends would send me text messages asking how I was, and so this blog became my way of updating them about what I was going through.
Eventually, as post came after post, and as days turned into months, friends, relatives and strangers alike started telling me how they were touched by the stories that I had to tell. At this point, blogging had evolved from being my way of venting out feelings into sharing anecdotes and insights with hopes that someone else other than me would find healing and hope through my daily encounters, struggles and triumphs. My cancer journey had become not just my own, but everyone else’s who cared to share the walk with me.
Today, my other blog, Canvas and Manuscript and I are featured at www.thecancerblog.com in an item entitled Cancer Survivor Blogs Life as a Canvas. I don’t know where this will take me and the stories that I have told here, but if its my way of sharing “to the ends of the earth,” then so be it. I am more than grateful that I have been given this opportunity of telling the world that, among other things, God is good and life can be beautiful and meaningful during, and after cancer.
In the beginning, this blog was meant to be nothing more than a personal journal for my children and future grandchildren to read. However, weeks into my treatment, friends would send me text messages asking how I was, and so this blog became my way of updating them about what I was going through.Eventually, as post came after post, and as days turned into months, friends, relatives and strangers alike started telling me how they were touched by the stories that I had to tell. At this point, blogging had evolved from being my way of venting out feelings into sharing anecdotes and insights with hopes that someone else other than me would find healing and hope through my daily encounters, struggles and triumphs. My cancer journey had become not just my own, but everyone else’s who cared to share the walk with me.
Today, my other blog, Canvas and Manuscript and I are featured at www.thecancerblog.com in an item entitled Cancer Survivor Blogs Life as a Canvas. I don’t know where this will take me and the stories that I have told here, but if its my way of sharing “to the ends of the earth,” then so be it. I am more than grateful that I have been given this opportunity of telling the world that, among other things, God is good and life can be beautiful and meaningful during, and after cancer.August 8, 2007
A DOSE OF RADIATION
As I am nearing my thirtieth and last dose of radiation, I decided to take a video of the whole seven-minute-or-so process. The session normally begins with the nurse retracing the markers on my chest and axilla. When the lines have been redrawn, the nurses spend some two to three minutes to make sure that the red tracer lights are perfectly aligned with the lines on my chest. After that, they all leave the room and the shots of radiation are administered from two separate angles.
Next week, on my last week of radiation treatment, the radiotherapist will give me direct radiation shots on my mastectomy site for five days. I heard somewhere that this new practice of administering a concentrated dosage of radiation on the last week of treatment actually reduces the possibility of a recurrence even more.
August 3, 2007
CANCER STORIES AND HAPPY ENDINGS
For so long as I can remember I have always loved reading books.
Books have always been a major part of my life. They have brought me to unknown places, introduced me to some of the most interesting people that I would otherwise never meet. I have always been thrilled by how words would plunge me into images of formidable stone castles, alien territories and of course, the anticipated happy endings. Love stories, ghost stories, espionage, history…I love them all.
These days though, I am reading "books" of a different kind.
At the Cebu Cancer Institute, every morning for the past twenty days, as I patiently wait for my turn at the radiation room I have been "reading" people.
Occasionally, I "read" about the young wife who is brought in by ambulance every morning from the Seaman’s Hospital, and her husband who has taken a leave from his work to be with her. In the first few days of my treatment, she would be brought in on a wheelchair with a smile for everyone. Lately, however, she has been wheeled in on a hospital bed with an increasingly dazed look on her face. Her husband who is always clad in a baseball cap and shorts, is equally dazed as he holds up the bag of blood attached to his wife. I have heard the whispers that her cancer was too advanced when it was discovered and that they are now taking desperate moves. I can just imagine him endlessly mulling over the irony that he spent long months away from her so that they can build a happy future together. Only to come home to her now this way.
On other days, I "read" about a doctor’s wife whose breast cancer has just recurred, this time on her bones. She is a little older than me and everyday she comes in with her mother. I "read" about the mom who is a nutritionist and has much advice to give us. After all, not only is she a dietician but also a doctor’s wife. She could spend hours and hours talking to all of us about the wonders of broccoli and the wisdom of going to a surgical oncologist and not just a surgeon. What touches me though is that every so often, when no one seems to be looking, she would stare lengthily in space with a blank look and tears in her eyes, slowly shaking her head in what must be regret that she didn’t know enough to prevent her daughter’s recurrence.
Some days, I "read" about the middle-aged school principal who has come from Iloilo for treatment for advanced Lung Cancer. Her husband has been a smoker all these years and the secondhand smoke is what must have brought this upon her. I "read" about the absence of any sort of blame that she might hold on her husband, understanding how deep her love for him must be.
Most recently, I have been "reading" about the new patient from Iloilo, who is a nurse. She first had breast cancer four years ago but, optimistic person that she is, she was sure it would not return. Just this summer though, she found another growth on her left breast. Before she could complete chemotherapy for the second cancer, she found another recurrence on the first site. She told me the other day that someone told her that she has the gift of healing and she attributes her cancer to a failure to complete a session on Pranic Healing that she once conducted. Or something to that effect.
I "read" about how cancer has changed these people’s lives. I "read" their words, their thoughts, their silent prayers. I "read" their trials, their disappointments, their dreams. I try to catch the underlying fears behind the brave fronts…the unspoken mother’s love for a sick daughter…the young husband’s silent resolve to give his wife the best possible care, never mind that he doesn’t know where the next thousand pesos will come from…the stories behind the empty looks that cross everyone’s face, every once in a while.
As I read these stories, I watch for every opportunity I get to hopefully change as many endings as I could. I tell these people about God’s faithful provision in my life. I tell them about the father heart of God and how it is not in His character to inflict pain on His children. I tell them about the true gift of healing that is God’s pleasure to give. I tell them that it’s okay to put ourselves first this time, and that our families and concerns will take care of themselves. I tell them to go ahead and receive openly the love and support that other people give. I tell them that a positive attitude can make so uch difference. I am hoping that as they change their outlooks and seek God as their healer, they will find their own healing. After all, I always loved happy endings.
Everyday, so much stories unfold before me. Everyday, I leave that place a little more enriched by what I have learned. Everyday, I thank God a little more for my ever-growing assurance that He is in control of my life.
Books have always been a major part of my life. They have brought me to unknown places, introduced me to some of the most interesting people that I would otherwise never meet. I have always been thrilled by how words would plunge me into images of formidable stone castles, alien territories and of course, the anticipated happy endings. Love stories, ghost stories, espionage, history…I love them all.These days though, I am reading "books" of a different kind.
At the Cebu Cancer Institute, every morning for the past twenty days, as I patiently wait for my turn at the radiation room I have been "reading" people.
Occasionally, I "read" about the young wife who is brought in by ambulance every morning from the Seaman’s Hospital, and her husband who has taken a leave from his work to be with her. In the first few days of my treatment, she would be brought in on a wheelchair with a smile for everyone. Lately, however, she has been wheeled in on a hospital bed with an increasingly dazed look on her face. Her husband who is always clad in a baseball cap and shorts, is equally dazed as he holds up the bag of blood attached to his wife. I have heard the whispers that her cancer was too advanced when it was discovered and that they are now taking desperate moves. I can just imagine him endlessly mulling over the irony that he spent long months away from her so that they can build a happy future together. Only to come home to her now this way.
On other days, I "read" about a doctor’s wife whose breast cancer has just recurred, this time on her bones. She is a little older than me and everyday she comes in with her mother. I "read" about the mom who is a nutritionist and has much advice to give us. After all, not only is she a dietician but also a doctor’s wife. She could spend hours and hours talking to all of us about the wonders of broccoli and the wisdom of going to a surgical oncologist and not just a surgeon. What touches me though is that every so often, when no one seems to be looking, she would stare lengthily in space with a blank look and tears in her eyes, slowly shaking her head in what must be regret that she didn’t know enough to prevent her daughter’s recurrence.
Some days, I "read" about the middle-aged school principal who has come from Iloilo for treatment for advanced Lung Cancer. Her husband has been a smoker all these years and the secondhand smoke is what must have brought this upon her. I "read" about the absence of any sort of blame that she might hold on her husband, understanding how deep her love for him must be.Most recently, I have been "reading" about the new patient from Iloilo, who is a nurse. She first had breast cancer four years ago but, optimistic person that she is, she was sure it would not return. Just this summer though, she found another growth on her left breast. Before she could complete chemotherapy for the second cancer, she found another recurrence on the first site. She told me the other day that someone told her that she has the gift of healing and she attributes her cancer to a failure to complete a session on Pranic Healing that she once conducted. Or something to that effect.
I "read" about how cancer has changed these people’s lives. I "read" their words, their thoughts, their silent prayers. I "read" their trials, their disappointments, their dreams. I try to catch the underlying fears behind the brave fronts…the unspoken mother’s love for a sick daughter…the young husband’s silent resolve to give his wife the best possible care, never mind that he doesn’t know where the next thousand pesos will come from…the stories behind the empty looks that cross everyone’s face, every once in a while.
As I read these stories, I watch for every opportunity I get to hopefully change as many endings as I could. I tell these people about God’s faithful provision in my life. I tell them about the father heart of God and how it is not in His character to inflict pain on His children. I tell them about the true gift of healing that is God’s pleasure to give. I tell them that it’s okay to put ourselves first this time, and that our families and concerns will take care of themselves. I tell them to go ahead and receive openly the love and support that other people give. I tell them that a positive attitude can make so uch difference. I am hoping that as they change their outlooks and seek God as their healer, they will find their own healing. After all, I always loved happy endings.Everyday, so much stories unfold before me. Everyday, I leave that place a little more enriched by what I have learned. Everyday, I thank God a little more for my ever-growing assurance that He is in control of my life.
Ten more days of radiation therapy, and reading lives, to go.
July 3, 2007
CELEBRATING LIFE
For many months before today, I would turn the thought over and over in my head, of how I would break the happy news of a clear bonescan to everyone. I was eagerly looking forward to it because somehow, I had that confidence that all things would turn out well. I was excited with the thought that everyone would be a part of my answered prayer.
Today, as I finally held the scan results in my hand, the words floated before me: No scintigraph evidence of bone metastasis. These were the very words I had been eagerly looking forward to breaking to everyone. However, the passing of my father-in-law earlier in the day seems to have clouded over the thought, and much more so the joy of it.
I fell to wondering, how is it that I could not find the joy that I was so looking forward to share, upon knowing that my cancer had not spread? Could it not be possible that I mourn the family's loss while at the same time celebrate my gain? As my kids could not help but ask, is God giving all the bad days in a downpour so that we can have only good days after? If we have another loss immediately after, does that make us destined to be like the family of Job?
I pondered upon all of these things as I walked into the Cebu Cancer Institute for my radiation treatment this afternoon. I was pretty much lost in thought when I rounded the corner at the end of the hall where two little girls accidentally bumped into me. About three or four years old, their head gears gave them away. Their colorful scarves were edged with synthetic curly hair and they had no eyebrows, just like me.
I took a seat on one of the corridor benches and continued watching them. They were giggling as they badgered each other, while being spoonfed with instant noodles by their mothers. Apparently they were waiting for their turn in the chemo room. I was amazed that these two innocent beings could find amusement and joy in such a place. Even in a place of pain and discomfort, they could find a reason to laugh and play. While many of the older patients there with me dragged their feet around and were often lost in their thoughts, these two thin, bald, wonderful little girls were having a blast! I felt so much compassion and admiration for them. At the same time, I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude that my children are all well and they need not go through what these two little girls have to. I realized I still have so much to be thankful for and laugh about.
Holding this thought while holding the tears down, I then felt a different kind of joy. I began to understand in a meaningful way how joy is not always borne out of laughter and happy circumstances. True joy is instead borne out of a deep understanding that even if days are not sunny, even if things don't go the way I plan, it does not change the fact that God had proven Himself faithful to me, and that I am blessed. Joy is not a feeling after all, but a lifestyle of gratitude and hope.
In the midst of death and loss, I choose to rejoice that God gave me a new lease on life.
Today, as I finally held the scan results in my hand, the words floated before me: No scintigraph evidence of bone metastasis. These were the very words I had been eagerly looking forward to breaking to everyone. However, the passing of my father-in-law earlier in the day seems to have clouded over the thought, and much more so the joy of it.
I fell to wondering, how is it that I could not find the joy that I was so looking forward to share, upon knowing that my cancer had not spread? Could it not be possible that I mourn the family's loss while at the same time celebrate my gain? As my kids could not help but ask, is God giving all the bad days in a downpour so that we can have only good days after? If we have another loss immediately after, does that make us destined to be like the family of Job?
I pondered upon all of these things as I walked into the Cebu Cancer Institute for my radiation treatment this afternoon. I was pretty much lost in thought when I rounded the corner at the end of the hall where two little girls accidentally bumped into me. About three or four years old, their head gears gave them away. Their colorful scarves were edged with synthetic curly hair and they had no eyebrows, just like me.I took a seat on one of the corridor benches and continued watching them. They were giggling as they badgered each other, while being spoonfed with instant noodles by their mothers. Apparently they were waiting for their turn in the chemo room. I was amazed that these two innocent beings could find amusement and joy in such a place. Even in a place of pain and discomfort, they could find a reason to laugh and play. While many of the older patients there with me dragged their feet around and were often lost in their thoughts, these two thin, bald, wonderful little girls were having a blast! I felt so much compassion and admiration for them. At the same time, I was immediately overwhelmed with gratitude that my children are all well and they need not go through what these two little girls have to. I realized I still have so much to be thankful for and laugh about.
Holding this thought while holding the tears down, I then felt a different kind of joy. I began to understand in a meaningful way how joy is not always borne out of laughter and happy circumstances. True joy is instead borne out of a deep understanding that even if days are not sunny, even if things don't go the way I plan, it does not change the fact that God had proven Himself faithful to me, and that I am blessed. Joy is not a feeling after all, but a lifestyle of gratitude and hope.
In the midst of death and loss, I choose to rejoice that God gave me a new lease on life.
June 24, 2007
June 14, 2007
ROOTS AND WINGS
There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots, the other is wings.
Jonas Salk
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.
June 8, 2007
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.
May 28, 2007
CANCER MOVIES TO WATCH
My Life Without Me: This is about a young working mother named Ann with two daughters and a husband. She lives with her family in a tiny trailer in her mother's backyard. After she collapses one day she goes to the doctor who gives her grave news. She tells no one. Ann's emotional journey leads her to unexpected places and gives her life new meaning: the tender moments, the volatile emotions she must keep inside, the recognition that she has the power to understand, examine and fully live her own life.
Sweet November: Each month free-spirited Sara starts a new relationship. Her task is to take a month to make one man become a better person, and then she moves on. While November rolls around and Sara targets a busy Tycoon, she does not plan on falling in love. But they do, and as a result, Nelson learns the painful secret behind the brevity of Sara's romances. 
The Family Stone: A comedy with heart. This story is about an annual holiday gathering of an unconventional New England family. Before the holidays are done, relationships will unravel while new ones are formed, secrets will be revealed and the Stone family will come together though its extraordinary capacity for love. 
The Doctor: Jack is a doctor who has it all. He is then diagnosed with throat cancer. Now that he has seen medicine, hospitals, and doctors from the patient's perspective, he realizes there is more to being a doctor than surgery and prescriptions. 
Fine Things: Bernie Fine, a is a home loving New Yorker. One day, while walking the floors he meets Jane, a little girl who has lost her mother. When they find her mother, Liz, Bernie is enchanted with her and they become involved and eventually marry. Liz becomes pregnant, but their joy is short lived as after their son, Alexander, is born Liz is diagnosed with Leukemia. 
Wit: This is a story about a woman who isreceiving treatment for ovarian cancer. She is in the hospital bed showing what life is like for a cancer patient, most likely going to die from her disease, to hold on to her wit.
Stepmom: Jackie and Isabel have nothing in common--one is the ideal mother, the other is struggling to be any kind of mother--until circumstances force them to share a family and put aside their mutual hostility for the sake of the children. They discover how precious life, love and the ties that bind them really are in this tale about the intricate circumstances surrounding what happens when a man's new wife learns from his former wife that she is terminally ill with cancer.May 18, 2007
A FEW FLOWERS AND CANCER
Today I walked back through my life again, retracing my steps for the thousandth time since the day I knew I had breast cancer. It has become some sort of a right of passage for me, as I decisively move on to wellness. It is not because I am running out of time, but because now I could appreciate and use time in a new way, and I want to empower myself for personal growth, fulfillment and balance ...whether long or short the future may be.
Ten years ago today, I know exactly what I was doing. I was painting. I had a one-woman-show scheduled for the end of that year, and I was frantically working towards coming up with thirty artworks to display. I was trying to enjoy the process of making paintings that bore my soul while feeling the pressure of the critics’ write ups that would come the day after the show opened.
It seems like a lifetime away now, my days as a painter. In the succeeding years of teaching, ministering, raising my kids, growing our school, it seemed like the most logical thing to do was to give up on painting. After all, being an artist required too much of me. In creating art, I had to be true to myself and yet be brave enough to receive what my audience had to say. It was like setting myself up on a platter for all the world to scrutinize and cut up. And so, because I was not sure of myself, the joy of filling up a canvas with colors, of watching the pigments come together to create magic, slowly faded into a memory.
Thankfully, one of the great blessings of cancer in my life is that all these months of introspection has taught me to love myself in a way that I never did. Instead of letting this illness destroy me, it has taught me that I do have redeemable qualities, skills and wisdom to share.
Ten years ago today, I know exactly what I was doing. I was painting. I had a one-woman-show scheduled for the end of that year, and I was frantically working towards coming up with thirty artworks to display. I was trying to enjoy the process of making paintings that bore my soul while feeling the pressure of the critics’ write ups that would come the day after the show opened.
It seems like a lifetime away now, my days as a painter. In the succeeding years of teaching, ministering, raising my kids, growing our school, it seemed like the most logical thing to do was to give up on painting. After all, being an artist required too much of me. In creating art, I had to be true to myself and yet be brave enough to receive what my audience had to say. It was like setting myself up on a platter for all the world to scrutinize and cut up. And so, because I was not sure of myself, the joy of filling up a canvas with colors, of watching the pigments come together to create magic, slowly faded into a memory.
Thankfully, one of the great blessings of cancer in my life is that all these months of introspection has taught me to love myself in a way that I never did. Instead of letting this illness destroy me, it has taught me that I do have redeemable qualities, skills and wisdom to share.
This morning, I dug up old photos of my “masterpieces”. I no longer feel emptiness nor uncertainty now while looking at them. I reacquaint myself with each artwork, and even if they are no longer mine, I am no longer wary but proud that they will always be an extension of who I am.
I wonder how they are now still touching lives in different offices or homes all over the world, and this makes me more eager to paint again.
May 17, 2007
DAY 122 A.D.
Today is the 122nd day since my life was so drastically split into two: BC (before cancer) and AD (after diagnosis). It's my 122nd day as a cancer survivor.
I have a new mantra:
My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead. My cancer is dead.
Long live me!
May 15, 2007
HEAD OUT OF THE SAND
I had my last shot yesterday to pull up my white blood cell count and so the protocol for my fifth chemo cycle is officially now over. I have one cycle more to go but ironically I am starting to feel scared. Pretty soon, all treatment will be over and then I begin my journey as a cancer survivor on my own. There will no longer be doctors and nurses to check me up every few days. There will no longer be meds to boost my immune system. I will have to deal with the state of counting my days in terms of survival rates and statistics. I will have to deal with the wondering why this ever happened to me and why I did not do what I needed to do way back when I knew something was wrong. I will have to deal with the asymmetrical image I see in the mirror everyday. I will have to be vigilant and fight off the fears on my own.
I need to pull my head out of the sand quick.
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