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.

Struggle

Every year on this day, I write a note in remembrance of my cancer diagnosis. Every year on this day, I relive those agonizing moments when I woke up from surgery missing a breast, wondering what the future would be like, or if I had one to look forward to.

For all my forgetfulness, every year on this day, everything seems so clear to me--as if everything just happened yesterday: maxing out my health card budget for the year; friends visiting and proposing to help; donations pouring in for my treatment; going bald (from chemotherapy), getting burned (from radiotherapy), and getting a second diagnosis (cancer had spread); going back to school while preparing for what were supposed to be my last days; eventually living through the first year and completing treatment (oral chemotherapy) after 15 months; making it through the second year, then finishing graduate studies; surviving the third year, then the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, 10th, 11th, and then my husband passing away before I reached the 12th; trudging along the 13th, and then somehow getting to where I am now, the 14th.

Throughout these 14 years, I never felt bitter, nor angry, nor sad about having cancer. Rather, I felt surprised, awed and overjoyed with the miracle of each new day. I was grateful for each new chance be with family and friends, and happy to praise and worship God Almighty in word and deed.

Of course, things changed when the hubby went to heaven... I have been less grateful, less happy, less generous overall. I honestly have not been thinking straight. I'm like a car running on a quarter-tank of gasoline---still cruising, but not really sure if there'll be enough fuel to reach the nearest gas station.

The person I want to spend the rest of my life with is gone. Why do I still want to live? Or do I?

(pause for mass)

Every day the Lord speaks to me. Even when I don't hear mass, He speaks to me.

The gospel (Mt. 24:42-51) today says, "Stay awake! For you do not know on which day your Lord will come." I remember how the hubby's demise shocked just about everybody... but he was ready. He asked for a priest---and for a specific priest, too: a friend from of old. And he returned to the faith of his birth, his wife's answered prayer.

Today's priest (Fr. Ed) said in his homily, the Lord interjects (Himself) in our lives. He lives among us. For 22 years, my husband was the Lord at home. Every day he'd prepare my breakfast and lunch to go, cook my dinner, and give me a foot bath or massage before we turned in. He meant the world to me, so I worked doggedly for our present, and dreamed of our future together.

Every day has been a struggle without him. But today as I 'celebrate' 14 years as a cancer survivor, I honor my late hubby with a new resolve to be a "faithful and prudent servant whom the master  has put in charge of his household". I still don't cook nor wash nor sew---nor do any of those domestic duties he so very kindly attended to while he was alive. But I will "stay awake" by serving those Jesus put in my charge with love and humility.

Indeed, while I feel quite miserable, I recognize the Lord's great mercy upon me---giving me every chance to be ready, as my husband was when came his time. I should not ask why I want to live, or if I still want to live. For every day is a gift from heaven, undeserved but received with gladness (if we but be grateful).

I must learn to accept: In all things may the most holy, the most just, and the most lovable will of God be done, praised, and exalted above all for ever. Your will be done, O Lord, your will be done. The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord now and always.

And I also must repeat today's psalm: I will praise your name for ever, Lord.

Grateful

Today I am a teenager again, marking 13 years since being diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer. If my husband were alive, we’d be going to our neighborhood sari-sari for a Coke date. I would again be hearing him boast about his tactile abilities, having been the one who discovered my lump. He would again joke about volunteering to do clinical breast examinations at my doctor’s clinic, and then remember my doctor saying he could charge him with illegal practice of medicine.

It has been a difficult year and a half without the hubby, but my habits have saved me. Doing things just because I am so used to doing them has kept me going. I do not care why or wherefore, but I have kept doing them—often distracted (prayer), sometimes with errors (work), but never giving up (sleep). I have been told that what I am experiencing is natural for those who encounter loss, that it would take time, and that I still have a mission in this world while that of my husband was already accomplished.

In his first encyclical, Deus caritas est (God is Love), Benedict XVI wrote: “Hope is practiced through the virtue of patience, which continues to do good even in the face of apparent failure, and through the virtue of humility, which accepts God’s mystery and trusts him even at times of darkness.”  

Whenever I feel low, I count my blessings: Mama is doing well, fully recovered from her hospitalization and surgical procedure last month; son has work and is enjoying the advantages of earning his own keep, among them saving up for toys (for big boys); daughter is in third year, swamped by major subjects and almost drowning in an ocean of reading and writing assignments (she did save on matriculation this semester, thanks to the law mandating free tertiary education); bosses, colleagues and friends remain as supportive as ever.

Suddenly, I feel so unworthy… but at the same time, grateful.  

I thank God Almighty for so many blessings, especially for all the prayers and well wishes of family and friends.

And because of all these blessings, I can be patient, and humble.

Even as I grieve, I can hope.  

Maybe the lost soul can still be found.