A LESSON LEARNED

Yesterday, my son Patrick was interviewed on local tv. He was asked to sing some of the songs he personally composed. I was surprised to find out that one of the songs I really like was actually written with me in mind. Naturally, one of the questions that followed was: What is the greatest lesson you learned from your mom?

During the pause, my mind started running.

Surely, Kiko would have to say courage. He knows how I have risen from the shadows of being an unwanted child to become a person of relative success. I have been quite open with them about my struggle with rejection, poor self-esteem, self-flagellation when I was young, to become a more confident, focused and altruistic adult.

Maybe, he would say creativity because he has watched me paint and write and do creative things. I would like to think he takes after me in that.

At least, he can probably say forgiveness because he has witnessed how I have chosen to forgive people who many would think are unforgivable.

If not, then hopefully he would remember love for reading…compassion...worshipful heart towards God...wisdom...resourcefulness... being hard working. Yes, I'd like to think I have all of these things.

If nothing else, then maybe survivor, for obvious reasons.

After a few moments of grappling for words to say, Kiko finally blurts out:

You know what my mom has taught me? Don’t take crap from anyone.

Oh gosh, what a poetic way to sum up sixteen years of motherhood in five words. I could die laughing.

But having thought about it, I am glad he learned that from me.

LOW FAT DIET AND BREAST CANCER

Having been diagnosed with Invasive Lobular Carcinoma and with Estrogen and Progesterone Receptor Negative Status, it has been an challenge to find anything about treatment beyond chemotherapy and radiation. Because we comprise only 8 to 12 % of all those with Breast Cancer, it seems that studies have not yet conclusively found any treatment after chemotherapy. ER-PR Positive Breast Cancer Survivors, however, have such alternatives as Tamoxifen. Even exercise apparently benefits them more.

But today, I found the article below which is about something that finally benefits those who are ER-PR Negative.

The good news is that there appears to be a relationship between former breast cancer patients eating low fat diets and prevention of the disease's return.

The not-so-good news is that the benefit appears to be confined to women whose breast cancer tumor growth was not hormone (e.g. estrogen) related.

The research was presented this weekend at the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium and will be published this coming week in the Journal of the National Cancer Institute.

According to the Associated Press, the U.S. government-sponsored study's results were somewhat surprising. Scientists had expected a low fat diet to have some benefit for most breast cancer survivors. But that wasn't the case.

"Maybe it raises as many issues as it answers," the A.P. quotes John Milner, chief of nutrition science research for the National Cancer Institute, as saying. The research team was led by Dr. Rowan Chlebowski of the University of California at Los Angeles, and it found that there was no significant statistical difference in breast cancer's return among women who were on a low fat diet and whose cancer was hormone-induced.

But that figure changed dramatically when it measured women whose breast cancer wasn't associated with hormones. According to the A.P., just 6 percent of these patients on low-fat diets died compared with 17 percent of the others, a 66 percent lower risk of death.

Now at least, there is something I can work on, to be actively involved in fighting any possible recurrence. I could not imagine myself just sitting back after my treatment ends in July, fearfully waiting for it to come back.

COMPANY I KEEP

I just found out today that reknowned Filipino film director Marilou Diaz Abaya was diagnosed with Breast Cancer at around the same time as I was. I am adding her to the list of women whose company I "keep", those who have been diagnosed and are or working towards being survivors.

• 
  Betty Ford - former US First Lady
  Carly Simon - musician
  Cynthia Nixon - stage and tv actress
  Dede Robertson - wife of evangelist Pat Robertson
  Diahann Carroll - singer
  Elizabeth Anania Edwards - lawyer and wife of Senator John Edwards
  Gloria Steinem - activist
  Greta Garbo - actress
  Jacklyn Smith - actress
  Joan Kennedy - former wife of Senator Edward Kennedy
  Kate Jackson - actress
  Kay Warren - wife of Rick Warren
  Kylie Minogue - pop star
  Lynn Redgrave - actress
  Melissa Etheridge - singer
  Nancy Reagan – former US First Lady
  Olivia Newton John - singer
  Peggy Fleming - muitli-awarded skater
  Sandra Day O’Connor - first female US Supreme Court Justice
  Sheryl Crow- rocker
  Shirley Temple Black - actress
  Bibeth Oteza - Filipina actress and activist
  Marilou Diaz Abaya - Filipina Director
  

RAIN ON A SUMMER DAY

Yesterday it rained for a few minutes. The smell of rain on the hot pavement, the soft patter of the raindrops on the roof, the cool air blowing through the windows. They were all such a delightful respite from the seemingly endless summer heat.

This has been one long and hard summer. To add to the challenges of my chemotherapy, it has been unusually hot and, of all times, the power outages have become more frequent. They were just saying in the month of May, things will even get worse. Hearing that, I felt weighed down with the prospect of having to go through the second half of my treatment and enduring all the discomforts.

Therefore, when Bong came home with a smile from ear to ear, I wasn’t really interested in what he had to say. No amount of cheering up could pull me out of the rut.

Well, he sure proved me wrong.

Apparently, my oncologist had been readjusting my treatment based on my responses to the infusions and medications. Because I was responding quite well, some doses were elevated which means I will have only two more cycles left instead of three! This also means my chemotherapy will end in May instead of June. And the best development of all, I will just have foul taste buds two more times and not three.

Rain on a summer day. Good news on bad days. God’s loving faithfulness in tough times.

Thank You, Lord.

THE CANCER PERSONALITY

I was just reading this article about cancer and though I was skeptical, I was not surprised to see that the writer, W. Douglas Brodie, MD. seemed to be talking about me. Read on...

In dealing with many thousands of cancer patients over the past 28 years, it has been my observation that there are certain personality traits which are rather consistently present in the cancer-susceptible individual. These characteristics are as follows:

• 
  *Being highly conscientious, dutiful, responsible, caring, hard-working, and usually of above average intelligence.
  
  *Exhibiting a strong tendency toward carrying other people's burdens and toward taking on extra obligations, often "worrying for others."
  
  *Having a deep-seated need to make others happy, tending to be ""people pleasers."" Having a great need for approval.
  
  *Often having a history of lack of closeness with one or both parents, sometimes, later in life, resulting in lack of closeness with spouse or others who would normally be close.
  
  *Harboring long-suppressed toxic emotions, such as anger, resentment and/or hostility. Typically the cancer-susceptible individual internalizes such emotions and has great difficulty expressing them.
  
  *Reacting adversely to stress, often becoming unable to cope adequately with such stress. Usually experiencing an especially damaging event about 2 years before the onset of detectable cancer. The patient is unable to cope with this traumatic event or series of events, which comes as a ""last straw"" on top of years of suppressed reactions to stress.
  
  *Showing an inability to resolve deep-seated emotional problems and conflicts, usually arising in childhood, often even being unaware of their presence.

Typical of the cancer-susceptible personality, as noted above, is the long-standing tendency to suppress ""toxic emotions,"" particularly anger. Usually starting in childhood, this individual has held in his/her hostility and other unacceptable emotions. More often than not, this feature of the affected personality has its origins in feelings of rejection by one or both parents. Whether these feelings or rejection are justified or not, it is the perception of rejection that matters, and this results in a lack of closeness with the ""rejecting"" parent or parents, followed later in life by a similar lack of closeness with spouses and others with whom close relationships would normally develop. Those at higher risk for cancer tend to develop feelings of loneliness as a result of their having been deprived of affection and acceptance earlier in life, even if this is merely their own perception. These people have a tremendous need for approval and acceptance, developing a very high sensitivity to the needs of others while suppressing their own emotional needs.

These good folks become the ""caretakers"" of the world, showing great compassion and caring for others, and going out of their way to look after the needs of others. They are very reluctant to accept help from others, fearing that it may jeopardize their role as caretakers or that they might appear to have too much self-concern. Throughout their childhood they have typically been taught ""not to be selfish,"" and they take this to heart as a major lifetime objective. All of this benevolence is highly commendable, of course, in our culture, but must be somehow modified in the case of the cancer patient. A distinction needs to be made here between the ""care-giving"" and the ""care-taking"" personality. There is nothing wrong with care-giving, of course, but the problem arises when the susceptible individual derives his/her entire worth, value and identity from his/her role as ""caretaker."" If this shift cannot be made, the patient is stuck in this role, and the susceptibility to cancer greatly increases.

As noted above, a consistent feature of those who are susceptible to cancer appears to be that they ""suffer in silence,"" and bear their burdens without complaint. Burdens of their own as well as the burdens of others weigh heavily, often subconsciously as well as consciously, upon these people because they, through a lifetime of suppression, internalize their problems, cares and conflicts. The carefree extrovert, on the other hand, seems to be far less vulnerable to cancer than the caring introvert described above.

How one reacts to stress appears to be a major factor in the development of cancer. Most cancer patients have experienced a highly stressful event, usually about 2 years prior to the onset of detectable disease. This traumatic event is often beyond the patient's control, such as the loss of a loved one, loss of a business, job, home, or some other major disaster. The typical cancer victim has lost the ability to cope with these extreme events, because his/her coping mechanism lies in his/her ability to control the environment. When this control is lost, the patient has no other way to cope.

Major stress, as we have seen, causes suppression of the immune system, and does so more overwhelmingly in the cancer-susceptible individual than in others. Thus personal tragedies and excessive levels of stress appear to combine with the underlying personality described above to bring on the immune deficiency which allows cancer to thrive.

BLACK AND BLUE

This is my bruised hand after a hospital staff struggled to find a good vein. It's now difficult to find a good vein to infuse the chemo drugs into. They could not use my right arm because I had my lymph nodes removed from there.

NO WAY BACK

It must have been the long and hot Holy Week and everyone was in a somber mood. Or it could have been the news article I read about John Edward's wife and her incurable condition. It might even be our upcoming 19th wedding anniversary. Or it must also be that I checked on the internet regarding estrogen and progesterone negative breast cancers and I found out that these have a high recurrence rate and survival beyond five years is statistically low.

I don't exactly know what set it off, but the past few days have been my lowest emotionally. It just suddenly dawned on me that this treatment might not work and I will have a recurrence. I kept trying to brush it off but the thought kept coming back. I tried telling some friends about it but one of them said that Satan is just getting a hold of me, and so I have stopped trying to find consolation through them.

I just realized that even when my treatment is over, when my bone scan comes back clear or when my oncologist says I am in remission, there is just no way I can ever go back to those carefree days of old. At some point down the road, the thought will always come back, the fear will always lurk behind the peaceful days, the knowledge will always be there that cancer does come back and that it actually never really goes away.

Now the challenge is trying to live productively through it.

TOGAS, SHOTS AND DREAMS-COME-TRUE

Last Tuesday, the nurse was supposed to come to the house at noon time to give me my shots. The results of my white blood cell count had just come in and it was normal, but my chemotherapy protocol requires that I have follow up shots on the fifth and sixth day of the cycle, to pull up my blood cell counts. By two in the afternoon, I was all dressed to go to Angela's graduation and the nurse had not yet come. Angela had already gone ahead to the Graduation Program and she wasn't expecting me at all. The teacher was already calling us that the parents were becoming restless and were starting to complain about the delay. At this point I was still debating over whether to go or not to go. At the spur of the moment, I decided to leave for the venue and ask the nurse to follow me there.

And so on our school's commencement exercises this year, and my daughter's graduation, I was sitting in a backstage corner hidden from everyone but quite happy to make it. Unknown to most that I was there, I watched the kids sing their farewell songs, receive their medals and pay tribute to their parents. I was in tears most of the time, proud of them all and just a little bit sorry for myself. Although my body was in pain, and my mask was constricting my breathing, I totally enjoyed the wide spectrum of emotions displayed and the bloopers behind the scenes. More than skills and knowledge, I realized that what Bong and I do is that we teach these six hundred or so children how to find their dreams and fulfill it. In the years to come, hopefully the number will become thousands. Isn't that such a privelege?

The nurse finally came in between the farewell speeches and I was able to get my shots in the dressing room. She asked me why I chose to be there when I should for once be selfish and sleep the afternoon off. I told her that of course I wanted Angela to know that discomfort will not keep me from being with her on her special day. And other than that, I wanted to see our graduating students, some hundred of them, and let them know by my presence that I have such strong faith in who they are and what they will be someday.

The shots might have boosted my blood cell count for this cycle, but the happy faces boosted everything else that mattered for my recovery.

When I finally came out of the shadows to pose for some photos, the kids one by one came to give me a wary smile or a quick hug. One little girl asked if I was already well because she prayed for me every night. The parents were teary-eyed and busy taking photos.

I may not have delivered any speech this year but hopefully my being there spoke to everyone as much about how I believe in them and how committed I am to see everyone succeed.

HOME AGAIN

Two cycles down, four more to go. As usual, I am feeling fine physically and the adrenalin is high.

This week though will be tough. The challenge I face this next seven days, however, won't be the after effects of my chemotherapy. Rather, on Friday my niece will be having her grand debut, one I was looking forward to for years. Her dad, my brother and her mom separated years ago and she now lives with her maternal aunt here in Iloilo. I have been the closest kin to her from our side all those years and I have watched this girl blossom into one fine young lady. I was really looking forward to this one. On Tuesday, Angela graduates from elementary. Then a few days after that Kiko graduates from high school at Pisay. Just the thought of missing these three momentous occasions is a hard pill to swallow.

But the way things have been going so well for me, only God knows how He will beautifully see me through.

OVER THE HUMP

The last three days were pretty bad ones. My nails suddenly turned blue and the ones on my thumbs felt like they were about to fall off. My hair started coming off in clumps, my scalp feeling as if I had just been through a week-long catfight. My tongue felt like a bottle of glue that even a glass of water tasted like rubber. It seemed like all the muscles of my body were constantly aching but I was explicitly told to keep away from Ibuprofen. Last but not least, we had to pay off our first hundred thousand installment for my treatment.

My oncologist had to come to the house twice to give me shots to pull up my white blood cell count. Poor Bong had to camp out on a folding bed just outside our bedroom door after running around the whole day and studying the whole night for Sunday’s service.

But today…after using up buckets of ice cubes and a whole bottle of liniment oil, I am up and about, feeling so much better. I just ate scrambled eggs and the taste of the tomatoes was euphoric on my tongue as well as my spirits. Now I begin gearing up for the next chemo cycle which will be in two weeks.

LET THE CHEMO BEGIN

My brother-in-law, Lyndon, texted me a short message today: No fear. It totally inspired me to get a really short haircut and face this chemotherapy head on. I decided that I will not wait in fear that my hair will fall off. Nor wait in fear of any discomfort. I will fight this with all I've got and give the cancer a steep challenge. After the trip to the parlor, we proceded to the hospital for admission.

My oncologist came early and proceeded to give me my first two medicines. She was just telling me how toxic they were and dangerous when handled. After the second medication, she decided to flush out the residue with dextrose and went to another patient. After two hours, she came back to tell me that she cannot proceed to administer the third one because she just got my white blood cell count and it is apparently too high. She told me that she normally never takes a pause and had she gone on to do it, the results would have been catastrophic. I will have to wait another ten days for my treatment to resume.

In the meantime, I continue to contend with so many busybodies who all seem to have an opinion of what I am going through. What I find the most annoying are those people who tend to trivialize the whole thing by saying, that's nothing, or I had a friend who had it worse, or some foolish comment like that. I want to smile sweetly at them and say, I wish cancer on you then and let me hear you say that again.

I was just on the phone with my mother-in-law the other day. She had just gotten into an argument with my husband again, this time about me. Apparently, she just discovered this new alternative medicine that has volcano ash or something of the sort as its product base, and was insisting that I take it in lieu of chemotherapy. I guess Bong laughed at her and she felt insulted. Somebody else was just telling me about coffee enema but I could not for the life of me figure out why I need to shove those beans through down there in order to get healed from cancer.

All I know is that, unlike many of them, I only have one game to play. I have thought about all of these as logically as I could after much research and consultations. I am pretty confident that the chemotherapy, coupled with a positive attitude, a change in lifestyle and faith in God will be get me through.

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.