Home from Chemo 2

“Don’t think of it as losing hair, sweetheart. Think of it as gaining face.” =)

Words of wisdom from my husband Norman, resident entertainer and comedian.

On my waking from a four-hour morning ‘nap’, he asks me how I feel. 

To describe my feeling of weakness, I say, “My legs are like jello, my arms like pudding.” 

He dismisses my similes as plain hunger, “You ought to have some lunch.” =)

And but of course, the standard introductory line, “This is Carla, my eldest child. As you can see, she still hasn’t grown her hair.” =)

How the Good Lord multiplies His great blessings daily! 

Email and text messages from friends express genuine concern for my well-being. Phone calls are real embraces, pulling me from the depths of despair and bringing me into a circle of social affection, a life on the fringes of disease and disability, a life I am part of no matter how cloistered I seem to be nowadays.

My neighbors in Antipolo are a wellspring of goodwill. They welcome us in their homes and visit us in ours. They have shown such love and caring, such nurturing and support for my family. I am ever so grateful.

My body’s reaction to Chemo 2 seems better than to Chemo 1. The doctor made adjustments in my medicines and other regimen. I can stay home for the subcutaneous vial injections to push up my white blood cell count because the good Dr. Joyce Moncupa of Taytay is responding to home calls if only for me. 

I still sleep 15-16 hours a day. My lucid moments add up to about three hours a day. If I am not sleeping, I am dizzy or in pain. The pain is sometimes a splitting headache. Like a chisel being driven with a hammer from the top of my head, through where my right eye is, down to the base of my head, where my throat is. At night, it’s like a heart attack. A dull pain as if someone was gripping my heart and moving it slightly to my left side, where my breast used to be. There is a feeling of heaviness and I can’t breathe. The ache radiates to my left side, all the way to my arm which feels a stinging pain, which I am told is common post-surgery. It’s supposed to be the nerves returning to sensation from weeks of numbness.

At times like these I imagine the hand of Jesus on my heart, telling me to love, love, love. Love completely, love unconditionally. And most important: Learn to be loved. I used to rage in the depths of me that I had to get cancer to learn this lesson. Why had I needed to bother 75+ people for my financial requirements to learn this lesson on love—giving and receiving? But kindness comforts the most insecure among us. 75+ people have chosen to give that I may live, and love, and be with my family just a little while longer. And rage is replaced by utmost gratitude. 

Gino cried once hearing me struggle with the pain. He and Dana are the most charitable kids I know, telling me a bald head suits me fine. And I believe them. Their opinion is all that matters to me now. 

They expect me to help them with homework while I’m home. And to go back to work next week. I just love them so much. Each morning we thank the Good Lord for another day together as a family. Oh, to live for just another day--what a wonderful miracle! I still live now for my children and my husband, as it was before we knew cancer. But now, life has slowed enough to live the hours and the days, rather than weeks and months at a time.

My high school classmates (ICAM Batch ‘85) organized a badminton benefit to raise funds for my treatment. I could not go to the event (Sunday after Chemo 2) but I hope to see them soon. 

So far, I have spent P114,672.25 for two chemo cycles. That’s P59,187.25 for Chemo 1 and P55,485 for Chemo 2. The lower Chemo 2 bill is for staying one night less in the hospital, and in a smaller room. The doctor says he was just breaking me into the chemo drugs and he will increase the dosage (and hence, the expenses) in the next cycle (Chemo 3). But worries are out the door. Life with my children is just so beautiful I shall happily take all the drugs and side effects for just one more hour or day with them. =)

I continue to thank my donors, all 75+ of you. I pray for you all daily. As a beneficiary of your kinship and humanity, I owe my life to you. I owe each precious moment I have with my children to you. I shall praise God for your work in me all the days of my life. I offer all my hours—waking or sleeping—for the conversion of souls and the brotherhood of men. 

May God, in His infinite mercy, bless you all greatly just as you have chosen to bless me daily with your kindness and love.