'Cancer-versary'/Anniversary

It's my 21st 'cancer-versary', that day survivors consider their lives were changed forever by an unwelcome but confirmed diagnosis.

Earlier this week was supposed to be my 31st wedding anniversary, except that my husband died nine years ago. Still, remembering our civil wedding in Manila City Hall and our church wedding four years later brought me great joy. I realized even our children haven't heard the story. 

For the civil ceremony, we didn't have any photos. Neither we nor any of our 4 witnesses had a camera. The hubby said if it weren't for the signed contract, there would have been no evidence we were married. It was a weekday and after the ceremony, we and our witnesses all went back to work. The church wedding was a comedy of errors. Our neighbor offered to do the photography for free but he forgot about the date and woke up groggy from a night of carousing. All our photos ended up blurred (I actually tried to look for those photos today but I couldn't find them). Then, Philippine Airlines suffered a labor strike so the off-the-rack wedding dress my sister bought in US didn't arrive because her flight got delayed by a couple of days (I ended up borrowing a dress from my sister-in-law, who thankfully kept hers in a box as if never worn). Finally, the priest who wed us in San Antonio Parish in Antipolo (a sub-parish at that time) kept calling the groom 'Konrad' because his baptismal name was 'Norman Konrad'. We and all the guests kept laughing and wondering loudly if I was marrying Norman or Konrad. Toward the end, the priest caught on with all the chuckling and he asked why, what was funny---and he was told that Norman went by Norman and not Konrad... he smiled and corrected himself and pronounced us Norman and wife. Hilarious! We only had 12 guests (4 witnesses, our mothers and siblings, and their very young kids), we ate at home, our cake was choco mousse dedication cake from Red Ribbon, and our souvenir was a print-at-home bookmark (on cardboard) that contained a poem or some thank you note. 

Remembering my cancer-versary and my wedding anniversary (both in August) makes me ever grateful to the Lord for His graciousness and mercy. 

Every single day is a chance to experience His blessing and His love. Though there are days that bring us sadness or sometimes anger, the Lord is faithful in every way. He is there for us in our joys and sorrows--in our hearts and minds, and in the people that we meet, live with, and associate with day to day.

Venti

Venti is the size I prefer when I order drinks at Starbucks. Sometimes I even order 2 Venti drinks. 

Today I am venti, too. I celebrate 20 years since my first cancer diagnosis. And I am utterly grateful for all the favors Almighty God has, in His great mercy, granted me.

Last year, on this day, I arrived in Madrid, en route to start the 115-km walk from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela with family and friends. Today I went with two friends to the Padre Pio National Shrine in Batangas, and then to the Museo ni Miguel Malvar. 

Blessed by great weather, and a friend who agreed to drive so I could work in the car as we traveled, we were able to catch the 10 a.m. mass at the shrine, walk around the grounds and see the first class relics of Padre Pio. The Italian Capuchin bore on his hands, feet and side the stigmata, the wounds Jesus suffered on the cross. He brought many souls back to God.

We arrived at Malvar Museum at noontime and we thought it was closed. We took some pictures from outside and were about to leave when the guard, who was having lunch, ran after us to say the museum was open. We learned a good deal about our nation's history and the bravery of one of our heroes. Miguel Malvar was the last Philippine general to surrender to the American colonizers. He showed courage both in fighting (leading the remaining Philippine resistance when Emilio Aguinaldo was captured) and in surrendering (choosing to end the suffering of those tortured by the colonizers just to find him).

I thank the Lord always for these lovely, little excursions that make me look forward to more such days of learning and adventure. 

Twenty years is a long time to survive any dreaded disease. Every day, every step, every breath is a gift. When my knees swell and my back aches, I remember that so many die young (as my husband did)...aging is a gift not granted to all. 

And having gone this far, I know that death, when it comes, will also be a gift.

As I thank the Lord for venti, I look forward to venti more (or less), as the Lord wills. All glory to God!

8,000th

When I was 22, I buried my 72-year old dad. My older siblings were abroad and I had to take care of all the details—getting the death certificate, choosing the urn, and arranging the funeral, cremation and interment of the urn in a cemetery plot that my father himself owned. When I was 47, I buried my 48-year old husband. It was a replay of what I had done for my father, except I had to get a crypt in a columbarium for the inurnment. When I was 53, I buried my 90-year old mother. It was a replay of what I did for my husband, except that due to COVID pandemic protocols at the time, we could not even see my mom, nor accompany her to the crematorium.

Today, I mark my 8,000th day as a breast cancer survivor. I was first diagnosed at Stage 3C with 22 of 24 lymph nodes positive for malignancy. After going through a mastectomy, six cycles of chemotherapy and 28 days of radiotherapy, my cancer was found to have spread to my lymph nodes and bones. I underwent another six cycles of chemotherapy, which by God’s grace controlled the disease. I am forever grateful to all those who donated to my treatment fund---more than a hundred benefactors (relatives, friends, friends of friends, classmates, workmates and even acquaintances)---I would not have survived without their generosity. I do pray for them daily.

Seventeen years later, with my husband gone, I was diagnosed again with cancer on the other breast. I had another mastectomy and because it was Stage Zero, no further treatment was recommended.

I recall the loved ones I have buried on this 8,000^th day of life after my first diagnosis because I marvel at God’s mercy and graciousness toward me. I have lost two breasts, my husband, my mother, and my father—but I live…every so often in deep grief, but more frequently with immense gratitude for the blessing of each new day.

I feel no guilt when I eat chocolate cake or turtle pie, gulp down a homemade chocolate ice cream float or triple chocolate gelato, enjoy churros with thick, hot chocolate, or even a nice tub of taho with lots of syrup and sago. I relish my favorite treats knowing these can all go away in an instant. If I die, at least I shall have tasted heaven on earth. If I get an illness which will require me to give up my sweet joys, at least I shall have known such gustatory pleasures.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But recognizing each day as a miracle makes me utterly grateful for still being alive, bad grass that I am. I have practically forgotten my birthday, but I have always greeted each morning with “Thank You, Lord, for this new day.” I thank the Lord for the 8,000 chances He has given me---totally undeserved. I have received graces and blessings beyond what I could even begin to imagine. Almighty God has indeed shown me so much mercy and unconditional love.

My hope is in the Lord. May His will be done in my life. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

 

19

On this day, 19 years ago, I was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. After 7 months of treatment, it was found to have spread to my bone and lymph nodes (total of 6 sites). I used my 13th month pay at the time to buy a cemetery plot. 

What followed was another 9 months of treatment, funded by over a hundred donors who wanted to give me a fighting chance to beat the odds.

Just before my 12th year as a survivor and after almost 22 years of marriage, my beloved passed on to eternal bliss. He still saw our son graduate from college. Our daughter, though, had just entered her freshman year. 

Two years ago, at the height of the pandemic, I was diagnosed again with cancer on the remaining breast. The hospital only allowed one COVID-negative companion for each surgery patient. My daughter, by then already working after earning her bachelor's degree summa cum laude, took care of me. Five months after my surgery, she left for Spain. And I have not seen her since.

Today, as I mark my cancer-versary, I am a bullet-train ride away from her. My son and his fiancée travel with me, as well as two friends who wish to make a pilgrimage with me.

We, plus five other pilgrims, will be walking to Camino de Santiago from Sarria, full of gratitude for God's singular favors. 

I had prepared to leave this earth early on in my cancer journey, but God's mercy prevails to this day. The Good Lord wills me more opportunities to love, to serve, and to share the miracle of being in His care--in sickness/health, in sorrow/joy, in life/death...I give praise and thanks for every breath, for every step and misstep, indeed for every single day my guardian Angel wakes me... All glory to God!

Debut

I am a debutante again today. It has been 18 years since I was first diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer. Indeed it is a great blessing to be alive and kicking--or should I say, walking. I celebrated by walking this morning, even if it isn't the weekend yet (the usual days for my walks). 

I have been feeling low this whole month of August. It was the late hubby's birth anniversary and of course, I could not help but miss him all the more. When he was alive, we'd forget his birthday often, on a regular basis even. But now that he is gone, we don't forget his birthday anymore. Why is that? 

Then there was news of celebrities falling to cancer (like ICANSERVE Foundation volunteer Cherie Gil and Asia's fastest woman, Lydia de Vega Mercado), and also two friends (the wife of a former colleague and a former co-worker in media). There was just a lot of sadder news on top of already sad news. 

And I haven't even recovered from my mom's demise a few months ago, on the very first day of the Year of the Tiger... what a ferocious Tiger Year it has been so far. 

I console myself with the thought that they have already accomplished their mission, and have no unfinished business on this earth... but still I grieve... and feel empty, like my heart was stolen and don't know when it will be restored.

The guilt survivors feel for surviving can eat one up from the inside. It makes you feel sorry for living when others were not so fortunate. It makes you want to exchange places with the deceased. I have felt this way many times, over and over, in the last 18 years... as sister after sister succumbed to our shared disease... most especially when my husband passed on... and recently, with even more sisters losing the battle.

May the Lord God Almighty, who breathes His Spirit into me each moment of my life, bring me to accept realities I cannot change. I do count on His strength to power me through these days and nights. 

It is really my hope in Him that keeps me going. I hope I am doing what I am supposed to be doing according to His Will. I hope the joys I find on this earth will fill me not with guilt but with peace, acknowledging always God's great mercy. And I hope I am making good use of the time He has given me---like the last 18 years. 

Though sometimes I can't help it, I really shouldn't feel guilty. Everything, every day, every hour is a gift, truly undeserved and hence, most definitely a gift. All praise, honor and thanksgiving be to God Almighty, generous Giver of gifts, our Hope and Salvation. 

Breast-less

Today is the 17th year since I lost a breast to cancer. But then again, I was born with two. So this year, just last April, I lost the remaining one also to breast cancer. 

What is most amazing is that after this second mastectomy, no further treatment was needed because the cancer was caught early. This was the opposite of what I had to go through 17 years ago, when I was diagnosed at such an advanced stage of the disease that it required the most aggressive treatment the body could take.

Living with cancer is a journey filled with joys and sorrows. I have seen many fellow travelers succumb to cancer; and during this almost two-year old pandemic, I have seen many more fall to COVID-19. At the same time, we get to celebrate healing, favorable test results and family milestones we never thought we would reach.

I give thanks and praise to God Almighty, most merciful, most compassionate and most generous, for the gift of this journey. I know that to wake up in the morning is a miracle in itself... and I am ever grateful. 

Last month, I started walking because I joined a virtual race for which I had to log 45 kilometers. I didn't think I could make it because it just rained and rained that last week of July. I started walking with an umbrella just to finish. Then this month, I joined another one. And even after I had finished the required 40 kilometers for this month's virtual race, I have just kept on walking during the weekends. 

It's my Guardian Angel who wakes me up early enough so I could walk--sometimes three kilometers, sometimes four or even seven. I wonder now why I walk, in the same way I have often wondered why I am still alive. But I don't waste the effort, I use the time to pray, to count my blessings, to give thanks to the Lord. 

I give thanks for the new day, for the energy and strength to walk, for the good health and safety of the family, for son's promotion, for daughter's new job, for mother's baptism and confirmation (earlier this year) in the faith in which she and my late father raised their children, for family and friends and loved ones who have walked this unpredictable journey (uphill, downhill and sideways) with our little family. 

With each step I grow breathless, literally because of the exertion of walking, but more so because of the recognition of how much the Lord has shown undeserved favor on this breast-less creature still journeying the winding paths of this earth. 

 

Sweet sixteen

Today is my 16th cancer-versary. 

I missed writing a note last year because I was attending the Southeast Asia Breast Cancer Symposium in Bangkok that day I turned 15. My fellow delegates from ICANSERVE Foundation surprised me with a post-dinner celebration at one of the gazillion malls we trekked. I felt so humbled to be in the company of such strong, dedicated women, so willing to serve others with their time, talent and treasure. 

Throughout these 16 years, I have wondered what God's purpose was for waking me each morning. I've always wondered about any unfinished business. What am I forgetting (again)? Why has God not called me home? What am I missing?

I am extremely grateful for each new day. I know every breath represents God's great mercy toward me. As God's wisdom is beyond any human understanding, I can only trust that I still have things to do on this earth for His greater glory. 

A friend reminded me that it is the dream of cancer survivors to grow old. 

Sixteen may be sweet, but may not be old enough.