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.

Misadventures on a quite curious weekend

The weekend was ushered by a very lucky Friday, the 13th. It was payday

and that’s always lucky for the employed. Alas, the ATM in our building
manages to go offline on paydays, and it was no different. I was saved by
my daughter who had change from her enrollment money, having enrolled
only 15 units, instead of the usual 18. So we had cash for the weekend. At
least, our househelp would get paid.

On Saturday morn, I brought our very pregnant cat to the vet, she had a
cold the previous week and had been on antibiotics for a week. She still
had a cold and was given more antibiotics and Vitamin C in what turned
out to be a prenatal exam (she gave birth the next day).

On Saturday afternoon as we prepared to go to anticipated mass, I receive
a call on my cellphone from a certain Brando Pimentel looking for someone
with my first name, maiden name and last name. Finding out it was I, he
said not to be shocked but someone hired him to kill me and he had sent
four henchmen from Mindanao to my place. But he changed his mind
because the one who hired him wanted them to kill my entire family. He
said he would give me the cellphone as evidence of the messages of the
one who contracted him but I had to pay 45,000 pesos to send back his
men to Mindanao because they were already nearby. I said I didn’t have
that kind of money on hand. He said he just needed to send his men, who
are armed and dangerous, back to Mindanao and if I had 20,000 pesos,
that would do for now and we can discuss the rest later. I said 20,000 is
too much but if he waited for Monday, maybe I could borrow some money.
He asked how much I had on me and I said I had 3,000 in my wallet. He
said that was too little but that was fine for the moment. I had to deposit it
right away at Cebuana Lhuillier or Palawan Pawnshop. He would text me
the name and cellphone number of the one who will receive the money. 

So I proceeded with my afternoon, bathed and when I got out of the
bathroom, I had missed 6 of his calls and the text messages. One text
message was giving the name Laila E. Gomez, cellphone 0956 173 5711.
I was supposed to send the money to her. The next message was I had to
send money now so his men could leave my area. And the next one said
if I didn’t send the money, I couldn’t blame him anymore for whatever
happens to me.

So I replied to him (by text) first, “May the Lord forgive you.” Then I said I
was going out to deposit the money but my husband stopped me and told
me that we should not live in fear nor revenge (all in Tagalog), that if it was
our time, we should not avoid it. Rather, we should accept God’s gift of
peace. I also told him that my cellphone actually belonged to the office so
if anything did happen, somebody will know what happened. Finally, I said
I would not fight nor go to the police and that we accept his decision with
pleasure (ng malugod). He replied that he felt fear of God with my
message, and that I should not worry because he would help me even
without anything in return (pangako daw). After that I blocked his number
(0956 154 8361) and reported the incident to my friend who knows a few in
NBI. Just so there would be a record in case something does happen. 

The next day, Sunday, we had a very nice lunch with our badminton group
as four members jointly celebrated their birthdays--all January-born. It was
a fun and filling afternoon with lots of stories and camaraderie. And then
people left a couple at a time. But before we ourselves left, the host’s dog
bit my hand. It bled and I washed it with soap and running water, then
compressed to stop the bleeding, iced to stop the swelling, and took
Paracetamol. The dog just had his anti-rabies shot in November so we all
felt I’d be fine.

When I got home, around five hours after I was bit, my hand started feeling
numb and then my arm, and then the tip of and right side of my tongue. So
I told my children, I don’t think I will last until morning, we have to go to the
hospital, which praise God, was also an Animal Bite Center. The doctor told
me even if the dog had his shot, they still advise the full anti-rabies protocol
because the effectiveness of the anti-rabies shot if not done annually is just
70% so there is a fair (30%) chance I would be infected. So the dog is under
observation and if he survives, then I will only get 4 appointments instead
of 5. But on my first appointment, I had 6 needle pricks: one was a skin test
to make sure I was not allergic to the ERIG (equine rabies immunoglobulin).
The others were injections of full doses for anti-tetanus (ATS or anti-tetanus
serum and tetanus toxoid), anti-rabies (PVRV or purified vero cell rabies),
and 2 ERIG. They call this the post-exposure prophylaxis for rabies. “Strict
adherence to the WHO-recommended guidelines for optimal post-exposure
rabies prophylaxis virtually guarantees protection from the disease.”

Anyways, as I lay in the emergency room reeling from shots on my arm,
thighs and buttocks, I was saying thanks be to God: I thank the Lord that
it was I who was bit, and not any of my children. It was not enough that I
had Stage 4 cancer (2004 and 2005), had a 10-wheeler truck crash head-on
to my car (2013), and just last year, lost my gall bladder and then my
husband...I still had to suffer a dog bite. I was the first person ever bitten by
that dog, so now the owners know that he bites. We’ve known that dog for
years and we thought he was all bark and no bite. It had to be me... because
I have a high threshold for pain, I suffer with good humor (not that I am a
masochist, but I can chill even in adversity, which is kinda loony, but I can’t
help it, I was born that way), I don’t often get angry, I will never fight nor sue
(unless it involves my children), and I have medical coverage from our office
HMO (therefore, I can get treated at no cost to the dog’s owners). Entonces,
among all the guests last Sunday, who else would the dog choose? I was
the best choice of the lot---aside from being the plumpiest.

I document my very curious weekend for any lessons people may learn from
my rather painful misadventures. Always I lift to God my soul, that benefits
immensely from my practice with the pain and misfortune this life has to
offer. My husband (bless his soul) would not be the saint that he is today if
not for the purification of 22 years of marriage (and other forms of mortal
combat, as he himself would say). I look forward to more joys (I did spend
Christmas with my kids in Japan) and greater delights from Him who
befriends, directs and gives most generously to unprofitable servants like
myself.

To God be the glory.

Standstill

I was diagnosed with breast cancer on this day (August 30) 12 years ago.

Since then, family life had been about moving forward: completing treatments, finishing school (MBA), seeing the kids graduate (pre-school, elementary, high school, on to college), visiting friends and relatives (alive or dead), going to places we've never been, returning to places we love, undergoing annual laboratory tests, taking the cats to the vet, paying off debts (and incurring new ones), et cetera.

Five months ago, my world stood still. The hubby passed away after 18 days in the hospital (12 of them in intensive care). I am still trying to come to grips with this fact. Moving forward can only be done in slow motion---very slow motion.

Surviving a spouse is obviously very different from surviving a disease. I am grateful that God has willed for me to carry on, but all the more I feel unworthy. My husband watched his diet, exercised regularly and slept like a baby. He even taught the cats to eat only chicken and fish (no pork, and definitely no fat). My balanced diet is chocolate cake on one hand and hot chocolate on the other. Only recently (May 2016) have I been getting some exercise because of a Fitbit that my son gave me.

I have always accepted the wisdom of an old friend: "In the end it is just you and God." With my husband gone, it certainly feels like the end to me---yep, it's just me and God now: to look after the kids, feed the cats, fix the house, drive to work, shop, travel and dine.

Everything is a chore now. Done out of necessity, when it shouldn't be.

How do I move forward without love? Not the love of my late spouse with whom I shared 22 years of this life. Not the love of God to whom I am grateful for His great mercy. Not the love of my children who pardon and make up for their mother's failings. Not the love of relatives and friends who reach out and let me know daily that I am not alone.

I believe I have lost the love inside me that I used to give freely, for no reason.

Until I find it, I am all out... of hope, of joy, of peace.

Love is given freely

On our recent anniversary, my husband posted this statement on his Facebook page: “For some reason, my wife chose to love me.”

Frankly, there is no reason. I just choose to love my husband every day. It is perhaps my way of imitating Almighty God, who loves me…for no reason. I am surely unworthy of His favor, but He wakes me up every morning, and fills my day with miracles of kindness and opportunity and friendship.  For this grace, and many more, I have learned to love as I have been loved: having no conscious reason for doing so, but choosing to love my husband, my children, my community, my country—as freely as God loved me.

Love is a gift. We love without expecting anything in return. We just want the objects of our affection to be happy. They don’t have to gift us with chocolates, high grades or praise. They don’t even have to love us back. That, I believe, is love given freely—for no reason.

Today, my 11th year anniversary as a cancer survivor, I celebrate the love I have received from over a hundred benefactors, family and friends, who came to my aid at my time of need. They helped without expecting anything in return. They helped and showed their love—for no reason—except perhaps to follow the example of Jesus. Surely, I will never be able to pay them back. I rejoice in their favor all the more, for I am unworthy, but they gave of themselves that I may complete my treatments and live.

By God’s mercy, I survived more than a year of treatment—from August 30, 2004 to November 30, 2005—for Stage 4 breast cancer (it had spread to my bone and lymph nodes). The kids, then aged 9 and 5, are now in college (one in 5th year and one in 1st year). We have since traveled together as a family, seeing sights and even visiting relatives thousands of miles away. We have had our share of challenges, among them bouts with flu, dengue and diabetes (for the hubby), and the occasional vehicular accidents that shock us and remind us what life on earth is all about.

It has been 11 years, and we continue to pray together for perfect health and constant safety. We trust that God Almighty, who chooses to love our family, despite there being no justifiable reason to do so, will continue to have mercy on us, and grant us as much time as we need to learn how to love as He does—freely—without reason, expectation, or fanfare.