All for love

Seven years ago, I lost one breast to late stage cancer.

What followed has been a miraculous journey in which whole families, relatives (including in-laws), friends and amazingly, friends of friends pitched in to extend what they kindly deemed to be a life worth saving.

Through www.ourownlittleway.org, enough funds were raised to cover chemotherapy (total of 12 cycles), radiotherapy (28 days) and acupuncture (weekly) over 16 months of treatment. I have not needed any further treatment since November 2005, when I completed my last cycle of chemotherapy after the cancer was found to have spread to my bone and lymph nodes.

I have seen my children grow much and well in seven years. My then 4^th grader is now in 1^st year college. My then pre-schooler is now in 1^st year high school.

It is indeed a great blessing to be loved and to know so. I am forever grateful to all those who donated to my treatment fund, for generously giving of themselves to allow me to spend the last seven years together with my little family. I pray for all my donors daily, that the Lord abundantly bless them as they continue to help those who like me, trust solely in God’s providence to prevail against overwhelming challenges.

If not for the love my donors have shown, my children will be growing up motherless, and very likely apart. I pray I will be a good parent, to teach them by example the values of kindness, generosity, and love. Most of all, to have faith in the Almighty who has given us blessing upon blessing—because He loves us so.

I have seen death claim so many among those diagnosed at the same time as or even later than I was. And I am not afraid to follow suit…sooner or later we all have to leave this earth. But while the Lord continues to wake me every morning, I pray to live as He did when He walked this earth: All for love.

Celebrations

In January of this year, our first-born turned 16 and later in the month sought permission to court a girl he met in school. A graduating high school senior, the hubby and I thought it was okay and saw our son pursue his beloved. He had to court her friends, then her parents, and finally, she who said yes. Celebrate!

In March, our second-born sent me an email, just before she turned 12, saying how anxious she was about her coming graduation from elementary school. With her Kuya going to college, she would be all alone now in school, in the school bus, in the tricycle, going to Kumon. I replied to her email, expressing full confidence that she would be able to make it on her own, simply because circumstances require it. But if she ever felt scared or uncertain, she still had her parents for back-up (in the absence of her Kuya). She felt much better after the assurance she received from us. Celebrate!

This week, I had my annual PET-CT scan to check for recurrence of my metastatic (Stage 4) breast cancer. It took them three attempts to find a good, patent vein for the test. This is quite usual for me, even for simple blood tests. For the first time, I had a reaction to the dye used for CT scan contrast. There was no reaction to the initial test dose. But after the full dose was given, my face felt so itchy and I was told my face was really red. I could imagine rashes covering my face, but there was no mirror for me to see. The doctor immediately ordered an injection of one vial of antihistamine. That shot was painful going into the intravenous line. I was in tears but I knew the doc was saving me from more trouble. The antihistamine would prevent the allergic reaction from progressing into more serious symptoms such as difficulty breathing (should my throat swell), cramping or a drop in blood pressure.

In any case, the diagnostic test was completed and the results were most favorable: “No definite evidence of intensely hypermetabolic disease to suspect recurrence.” Celebrate!

Next week, we look forward to more celebrating as the kids graduate on the same day, one from high school and one from elementary. With these parenting milestones we are marking, we give thanks to our most generous and merciful God, who has showered upon us such grace. Since I was diagnosed in 2004, God has given our family 2,931 days together—each one as precious a miracle as the next. We are always mindful of these ‘extensions’ on our time together, and do not take anything for granted. We know only too well how any one of us can be ‘recalled’ at any time. So we try to live and love each day as if it were our last. Celebrate!

Just before March ends, my mom will turn 80 years old. I don’t have to imagine how I’d look at age 80, I already look like her right now. Growing up, my mom was rather hands-off. She didn’t cook for us, she didn’t bathe us, she never carried us for very long for fear she’d drop us. She just let us be. So I became much closer to my dad. But after he died, I realized I only had one parent left. I learned to appreciate my mom better, and understood the qualities I inherited from her: academic intelligence, pride in our work, obesity, and clumsiness, among others. Papa was 72 when he died. Mama looks like she’ll make it to 102…and more. Celebrate!

In all these celebrations, we give thanks and praise to God Almighty, who in this life is our strength and our end.

Register now (until March 31) for New Balance Raising Hope on April 9

On April 9, 2011, run to raise hope for cancer patients and cancer awareness in Dasmarinas Village, Makati City.

New Balance has again chosen ICanServe Foundation among its beneficiaries for the New Balance Raising Hope run. Co-beneficiaries of ICanServe Foundation are The Carewell Community (The Cancer Resource and Wellness Community) and NGF (Natasha Goulbourn Foundation).

Register until March 31 for the 3k-fun run (P400), the 5k-run (P600) and the 10k-run (P600). Runners for 5k and 10k will receive singlets (unisex, free size).

To help ICanServe Foundation, please register with Daphne Ramos in Ortigas Center (landline 636 5578 or mobile 0916 445 8580).

To help The Carewell Community, contact Jane Beate in Makati (landline 815 1294); and to help NGF, contact Margie Laciste in Makati (landline 897 2217).

Claim stub given upon registration must be used to claim the singlets (for 5k and 10k only), which will be available beginning March 25 from the same organization/foundation with which you registered.

We almost made it to Malacanang

On February 25, 1986, my siblings and I and a family friend (Nic) made our way to Malacanang. We had spent the previous evenings on EDSA, among the millions who camped out between Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame to protect the defectors Ramos and Enrile.

On the evening of the 22nd, we heard Cardinal Sin call on the faithful on Radio Veritas. He asked the people to protect 'our friends' (the defectors). Butz Aquino was quick to organize the instant rally. All those who opposed the Marcos dictatorship were to gather outside the gates of the camps, both located in Cubao, Quezon City. We lived less than four kilometers away in Project 4. We could walk to EDSA (but Nic provided transpo).

I was in first year college in UP Manila and campaigned vigorously for Cory Aquino during the just-concluded snap elections. My greatest regret was not being able to vote for her myself, having just turned 17 that school year.

My Ate (older sister) was accounting manager in a Makati firm, my Kuya (brother) was a technician in a Mandaluyong company, and our youngest was in fifth grade in St. Joseph's College in Quezon City. Raised constantly aware of current events, we had all supported opposition to the Marcos government since the assassination of Ninoy Aquino in 1983.

In high school, a friend and I missed class once to attend a protest rally against the Marcos dictatorship, which had just hosed down rallyists in a violent dispersal. My friend had a doctor-uncle who would write her a medical-sounding excuse slip. I had to bring my Ate to school because regulation only accepted either a doctor's certificate or a parent/guardian appearing in person to consider a student excused from an absence. My Ate was very cooperative.

On the night of the 25th, we found EDSA to be so peaceful (so boring) because most of the military had already joined Ramos and Enrile, and then heard on the radio that they needed more people in the vicinity of Malacanang. We all agreed that was where we should be. Storm the palace!!!

In less than half an hour, we were on J.P. Laurel Street marching with a crowd toward Malacanang. Mr. Marcos, here we come. I was probably walking too fast because my Ate and Kuya lost track of me and all I had was Nic a little behind me. Kapit-bisig (arm in arm) with strangers we went, totally unprepared for the rush of Marcos loyalists going in the opposite direction. They were defending their beloved president and were throwing sticks and stones at us.

Although Nic and I were in the middle of the crowd, the wave of loyalists throwing rocks and debris caught everyone by surprise and the reformists ahead of us spread to the sidewalks like the parting Red Sea, putting us in the line of fire. We naturally ran to the sidewalks too, taking cover behind newstands, street signs, makeshift stores or whatever shelter we could find.

I instantly started praying the Our Father, the Hail Mary and the Glory Be over and over. As we stood on the side facing a wall and trying to be invisible, I saw blood dripping on my shirt, I looked up to check whose it was and was told, "Natamaan ka." (You got hit.) Really? I didn't even feel it.

And then the loyalists dragged us to the middle of the street and I could hear men from the reformists saying, "Pare, huwag na ito, babae, duguan." (Man, not this one, she's a woman and bloodied.)

And I could hear the loyalists saying, "Hindi, ang tatapang niyo sumugod sa Malacanang." (No, you're too bold, advancing to Malacanang.)

They were carrying me with them and I thought I was lost. But the reformists in those short minutes had re-grouped and came attacking with rocks and what-not. I ran as fast as I could to the reformist end of the street as the loyalists retreated toward Malacanang. My Ate and Kuya and Nic finally found me and brought me to a first aid station where the female doctor couldn't find a blade to cut my hair and ended up braiding them in thin strands to expose the wound. It was small but gushing blood. They surmised that the rock that hit me must have bounced off some rooftop before finding my head in that wide, wide sea of people. Otherwise, my injury would have been much worse, possibly a fractured skull. The doc said I should go to a hospital for stitching.

My siblings brought me to UST Hospital and there in the emergency room, as I was getting my two dainty stitches, we heard on the radio that Marcos had fled Malacanang and the reformists had successfully entered the palace, celebrating some and looting some.

My siblings were so furious at me for getting hit by that rock. They blamed me for our family not making it all the way to Malacanang. We weren't able to take any souvenirs like the looters did.

To this day, 25 years later, I am ribbed for the incident. "Sa dinami-dami ng tao doon, bakit ulo mo pa natagpuan ng batong iyon?" (Among all the many people there, why is it that it was your head that was found by that rock?)

What can I say? Some things are just not meant to be.