amuma ko

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

2009-12-31T23:03:00.003+08:00

A few minutes from now, 2009 will give way to 2010. It has been a rather challenging year. We have survived so much. From the accidents to natural calamities to political intrigues. All these have rocked the nation in just a year. Through it all, we are still here, standing proud--one nation, one people.

This year, I am hoping and praying for a better one. I won't dare wish to spare us accidents or any forms of ordeal. I would just wish for unity, vigilance, compassion. It's not so much to ask, is it?

I also pray that this will be a happier year. Not only for the sick, but for everyone.

Another Relapse

2009-09-26T10:41:00.002+08:00

September 21, 2009. Another day I'd rather forget but can not.

Mama went to her doctor for her regular check-up. My sister accompanied her. They usually took only an hour for the examination, but that day, they came home late. I was hoping they were just eating out, or going shopping, since Mama only seldom goes out.
When they came home, I met my sister who, without any preamble, told me the bad news: at least three small lumps were felt on the upper part of her left chest--near the area where her lump was last removed.

She was advised by her doctor to have another surgery or cobalt therapy. Mama wouldn't have either. I understood. But it got me scared, too. Of course, that was my reaction when I got the news of her lumps on her chest those first two times. I could not imagine how Mama was feeling. She is, after all, the very victim here.

We looked for other means. We considered alternative medicines. We are willing to try anything no matter what the cost. This is another big problem. We are looking at costly alternatives. Any way we looked, we saw peso in bold signs.

Anyway, my sister attended this seminar on a US-made product, which was also recommended to my mother by her doctor. And because it is made abroad, it is very costly.
We are willing to try anything, so does my mother. We do not know where we would get the budget in the future, but we are placing it in God's hands. Fatalistic? Not so much. After all, I still believe in the promise, "Do your best, for God will do the rest."
So, here we are, trying to DO our BEST, knowing the HE will DO the REST.

Amuma, Vicita Iglesias

2009-04-11T20:24:00.001+08:00

I was depressed, impressed, enlightened, and pleased in a one of a kind journey. Maundy Thursday it was when I did it with people whom I have something in common—an experience with the struggle against cancer, whose group is aptly called Amuma.

Every Lent, this group goes on a pilgrimage around the city, visiting cancer warriors and survivors. Vicita Iglesias cum Station of the Cross. We visit at least fourteen houses—Iglesias—where we do the rites of each of the fourteen stations of the Cross.

It has been one of the most meaningful Lenten activities I’ve undergone.

Depressing was the sight of cancer patients who seem to be stuck in bed courtesy of this disease called cancer, and the pain their loved ones obviously felt. Yet inspiring was the spark in their eyes when they saw that some people know, experience and care about their plight. Impressive was the strength both patients and caregivers demonstrate as they battle the menace. And, enlightening was their advice on the diet, lifestyle, and attitude to avoid and fight the affliction.

We visited seventeen houses, and as many cancer survivors or warriors. They were of different ages—ranging from eight to seventy-three. They were of different occupations—student, retiree, single parent, pastor, teacher. They were of different religion—Catholic, non-Catholic Christian, Seventh Day Adventist. They were of different situations—there were those who had every treatment available, those who have limited resources, and those who were not able to avail of any treatment at all because of financial restrictions.

Such differences, however, barely meant anything, because we were linked by one bond—cancer. We fight the same battle. We are in the same ring.

This journey—my second in a row—made me see cancer struggle in a new light. It made me realize this affliction is not all bad. One good I saw: I have found new friends—ones who understand my and my family’s struggles, ones who could be ears when I need someone to listen to my griping and whining, ones with whom I could laugh at some petty things, little achievements and progress we have made in our struggle. We are not alone in this journey. There are quite a number of us. Not that I am grateful that many have been afflicted by the disease. It is that there are people I know I could count on whenever I need them. And it is always good to know somebody’s got your back.

More than that, it made me see pain in another angle. That it is a sharing of Jesus’ cross—just like Simon of Cyrene. And to cling to God alone, for after all, it is hope that would make all this lighter.

Remembering Francis

2009-03-07T23:00:00.000+08:00

Francis is dead!

I learned about it only last night, and it kinda surprised me to have felt this affected. I mean he didn’t know me and I didn’t know him. He’s just an actor I used to see every noon at Eat Bulaga. I saw him in Bagets. I knew his “Mga Kababayan by heart even after 19 years. While the tv revealed his death, a Francis doing a running man played in my mind. I was an admirer. I still am. But I also admired Marky Cielo and Fernando Poe Jr. but the news about each of these celebrities’ death did not bother me as much as Francis’ death did.

I was not a fan. But I have always admired Francis Magalona. He’s a really good musician. I love his compositions—always deep in meaning: touching on the core of humanity, prompting one to get up and act and be proud of being a Filipino.

I watched Eat Bulaga’s tribute to the Master Rapper. I saw how Francis touched these kids. Even Humanap ka ng Pangit Rapper was trying to lighten and liven the mood, something which, I felt Francis would have appreciated; the general atmosphere was that of a trying-to-be-happy party.

And then I saw and listened to Ricky Lo’s interview with Pia and the kids. And Ricky Lo was asking a question whether Pia saw it coming. And her answer was kind of familiar. And she said something like, “The first time, akala ko, iyun na. Baka hindi na kami makakalabas. The second time, akala ko, ito na. After that, nasanay na kami na ganun, hindi ko na inisip na baka nga yun na. So talagang mapagbiro yong panahon.”

It was Katkat’s experience all over again. Pia was describing exactly our experiences with Katkat, who had a kiddie version of Francis’ AML. I guess that’s why I was so affected by the rapper’s passing. His family and ours are bound by the same experience of struggle, loss, and moving on.

Besides, losing a beloved is something everyone of us share in common. I know, in time, his family will be healed. For after all, all this will pass. Though how long it would take to heal, no one can tell. Somehow, I still have to heal from my loss.

Again, I pray this for Francis M. and his family:

Oh, Jesus, bless them, help them, heal them.

Amen.

NUTRITION AND CANCER

2009-02-21T22:22:00.005+08:00

NUTRITION AND CANCER

Today, we had a speaker at the Amuma. She is a pediatrician at the Fe del Mundo Medical Center.

Her story is really amazing that kept us, her audience oohing and aahing. Hers has been the most astonishing cancer story I’ve heard. I’ll just give a super short gist of it.

She lost both of her parents to cancer. And then, out of nine siblings, six of them (including herself) got cancer.
In the mid-90’s, a mass as big as a head of a new-born baby was detected in her cervix. Added to that, she also had breast cancer. Having witnessed patients in chemotherapy, she refused to undergo one herself.

Until she had a blessed encounter with another doctor from the U.S., who was also a cancer survivor, and who shared with her about nutrition as a weapon against cancer. Now, our good doctor is already twelve years cancer-free. And she has made it her advocacy to share her experiences to the people especially to the ones afflicted with diseases. And I am lucky to have been one of those who are able to listen and learn from her.

The doctor just confirmed what I have already research about cancer—that it can be prevented and reversed. And at the risk of stepping on some capitalists’ toes, and even those of her colleagues, she candidly talked about the prescription drugs and other cancer treatments’ adverse effects to some other parts of one’s body while treating one part. So, she shared to us the 10 natural steps to fighting diseases including cancer.

10 Essentials of Health

1. Nutrition

She recommended the genesis diet, citing when Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, they were vegetarian, and they were in perfect health. She recommended eliminating in the diet the following: red meat because they come from animals fed with artificial food; dairy milk since they come from animals fed with chemicals to produce more milk she recommends soy milk instead; white sugar because it feeds cancer cells although mascovado sugar and honey are ok because they are natural; processed food because they undergo chemical processes and they are added with foreign substances to lengthen their shelf life; and food with heated oil which are trans-fat, or, as she called it—plastic fat because they clog the organs thereby disrupting the natural flow of the body’s system. But she suggested virgin oils and add them only after the food is cooked. Therefore, frying and sautéing are strongly discouraged.

2. Exercise

The Doctor suggested at least four hours a week will weaken the tumor cells.

3. Water

We have already heard of this before. At least 8 glasses of water is recommended per day. The speaker, however, suggested 3 – 4 liters of water a day.

4. Sunlight

Again, this is nothing new—we have known about this since grade school. We get vitamins—particularly vitamin D from sunlight—something, which, lately has been found out to have a very significant effect on cancer. The doctor recommends go out and greet Mr. Sunshine before 9 o’clock in the morning and after 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

5. Temperance

Lately, a lot of studies have shown that stress, worries, negative emotions and negative environment shortens a person’s life. And with cancer patients, those who have sunny disposition, and are optimistic, have more chances of longer life and even surviving the disease. So, the Doctor suggested avoiding anything negative: pessimistic people, upsetting movies and shows, depressing news. Instead, be a patron of everything positive.

6. Clean Air

If you live in the city where there is so much pollution, you need to get out of this kind of environment at least once a week or better yet, live somewhere in the rural areas with less impure atmosphere.

7. Rest

Our bodies, like anything that works, need rest. Dr. Catibog strongly suggests setting your body clock to sleep at 9 o’clock at night to give our body ample time to cleanse and repair itself. She further said (and I just knew this from her) that the body's most active release of “repairing chemicals” or healing hormones is at 12 o’clock at night. So if you slept at twelve, your body won’t have enough time to fix itself.

8. Trust in God

It is said that stress can kill. It can also cause cancer. But worse than stress is despair: it can lead to self destruction. Therefore, turn to Someone who loves you unconditionally, put your trust, confidence and hope in Him. Leave everything to Him so you won’t worry about anything. Always lean on His love.

9. Gratefulness

Count the good things that you have and be grateful for them. For a grateful heart is a cheerful heart. And “A cheerful heart is good medicine.”

10. Benevolence

Once you are aware of and grateful for the things around you, you will recognize that you have so much to give. Then you can afford to be generous. Share God’s love.

If we just have a balance of all ten of these, then, Dr. Marylou Catibog assured, we can have a great disease-free life.

A Christmas Mourning

2008-12-30T17:02:00.001+08:00

There she was again, standing still in her own small compartment. Looking at me with those blue unusually big eyes crowned with thick eyelashes. I always wondered how a cute little face could hold such huge eyes. Her rosy cheeks pulling up to emphasize the permanent smile plastered in her red lips that were curiously smaller than the bottom of a pen. Her right hand suspended in the air in that stationary wave.
It was a look that would engage every child; captivate every kid.
She was Mimi, a life-sized doll—every little girl’s dream. But it was not that smile I wanted to see; not those eyes I longed to look; not that hand I wanted waving at me. To me, that countenance only haunted.
It never failed: a glimpse of her sent shivers down my spine. Not the kind of shiver one might feel watching a horror film. But one that accompanied anxiety, regret, the sense of loss.
In another time, that portrait could have delighted a child. A child who might not have been able to resist those eyes. The child would have run to her and hugged her close never meaning to let go. The child would have played with this inanimate being as if it were a sister.
Christmas was looming. Soon it would be here again. And with it would come the pain--of remembering, of losing.
It had been five years now since I had Mimi Doll.
Two weeks before Christmas, five years ago, I saw Mimi on a shelf at a toyshop. I took one glance at her and I knew she would be perfect. Little Kat would love her. Kat had been longing for a little sibling to play with. She was excited when Derrick came. Except that she couldn’t play with Derrick yet. Not the way she wanted to. Derrick could not yet talk properly, let alone walk. He was, after all, only a-year-and-a-half old. Yes, Mimi would fit the scene perfectly.
I had bought the huge doll but hid it from Kat. I wanted to give it to her on Christmas. I wanted to surprise her. To see the childlike glee in her face and the spark in her eyes. To hear the joyful shriek in her voice as she hugged her new playmate. On Christmas morning. If I had only known better…
Mimi would be an ideal playmate for Kat. This huge Blondie might not be able to talk back to Kat, but at least, our little girl could talk to it and do whatever she wished to do with it without fear of hurting it or being hurt by it. And with Kat’s special condition, she should never be hurt in any way.
Kat had been diagnosed of ALL—Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. It is a kind of cancer in the bone marrow that commonly hits children. She had been undergoing chemotherapy for six months.
We were so excited since she was supposed to be given her last shot in December. But two days before that long awaited date, Kat complained of much pain in her stomach. It got so painful; her mother rushed her to the hospital despite the rain. We thought it would be just like her usual visits to the hospital. But we were wrong.
When Kat’s mother told us the news that the doctors would perform a surgical operation on Kat, we were all shocked. We wanted the doctors to tell us there were still some other ways—ones that wouldn’t put our little angel in more pain than she had already been suffering.
But there seemed to be no better option. And we were afraid of what might have happened if the surgery wouldn’t be performed.
For hours we waited for the operation to finish. Outside the operating room, we chatted freely, trying to pacify the tension within. As if doing so would make us forget… would bring Kat back to us in her usual bubbly self. We wore a calm façade, trying to foil the turmoil deep down inside, pushing away the nagging thought that the worst might happen.
And when the operation did end, although the doctors had warned us about it, nothing could prepare us for what we saw: the Kat we had never seen before. Her limp body lay in bed, a large tube inserted in her mouth, and some other smaller ones pinned to her limbs. Her eyes closed. We listened intently as the doctor spoke. Hanging on to every word, we waited for that one phrase of assurance that never came. Not one in the family spoke.
But no word was necessary. No tear could express what was inside. We all felt the pain, the fear. But among us, one person bore it all—Kat’s Mommy. She felt the most pain. And then the sob…and the uncertainty. “My daughter will be fine, won’t she? She will be home for Christmas, right?” Her voice and sobs echoed through the thick walls of the hospital. Oh, I would never forget that look in her eyes.
Still we clung on. Hoped. Never gave ourselves chance to think of the worst. Never once did any of us thought all would come to this. Even when the doctors had said it was Leukemia, we all had thought this would come to pass.
It was four days before Christmas—Kat’s favorite time of the year. We thought…hoped Kat would be home by then. I could imagine the look in her eyes when she would see Daisy Doll. And she would see Mimi Doll. She should.
But it was not meant to be. On Christmas Eve, while the city buzzed with the spirit of the season, the house was deafeningly silent. For the sake of the other children who were anticipating merriment, the family celebrated the holy day as normally as possible. But even the children could pick up the tension, the anxiety. Even they knew something was missing—someone was not there with us. Kat’s absence was too tangible to be ignored.
And while the rest of the family was in the house, celebrating Christmas, at the hospital, Kat’s mother didn’t sleep. Her heart doing somersaults, not with excitement but with anxiety and fear. While the rest of the city went bustling for last minute holiday shopping, or simply merrymaking, Kat’s father hustled around the city for available blood to be transfused into his only daughter. On Christmas morning, the children gathered round the tree, excited to gather the gifts that bore their name. After the gift giving, there was a pile of gifts that were unopened. It was too much of a reminder that someone was not there.
Thus, Christmas came to pass. We hoped the New Year would fare better. We hoped we all would be together the way we had always been during such a time.
But again, it was not meant to be. December 30, over ten days since Kat was first brought to the hospital: after seeing how bruised Kat’s little body had been, we finally let her go. The doctors had tried to revive her, pumping life into her small body until Kat’s Mommy could stand it no longer, and screamed for them to stop hurting her little baby.
Thus, Kat left. It was surreal. Could it have been possible that the first to go in this family was only a six-year-old girl? Mommy’s ‘bestest’ friend, gone? Who would receive the gifts under the tree? The gifts with the tag “For Kat”? Who would embrace Mimi now?
New Year: a time when families should be together. The whole family was together, but not as we had hoped. We were all at the funeral parlor, with Kat among us--lying in a metal box.
That had been five years ago. Now, Kat’s no longer with us, but her memory remains.
It’s time to let her go. Kat’s already happy with her Maker. And it is time for us here to move on. And it’s time to let go of Daisy, too. And the prospect saddens me.
Somewhere, someone will smile at the sight of Mimi Doll. Even if it won’t be our Kathleen, she will have the smile that we will no longer be able to see from our one dear girl who once was. The twinkle in her eyes wouldn’t be that of our Kat-kat’s. But it will be a twinkle of anticipated joy.
The girl will be happy. And Kathleen will be, too.
Goodbye, Mimi.
So long, Kathleen.

My Uncle Manong

2008-12-05T12:10:00.000+08:00

I can’t remember anymore the first time I met him. But my memory of him consists of huge smile, loud voice, and big bills.

Mama called him, ‘Manong’ so I would call him, Uncle Manong. At first, I really didn’t know what his real name was. I just took it for granted that his name was Manong. It wasn’t until high school that I realized his name was really Cresencio. But by then, I got used to him as Uncle Manong. Besides, Cresencio was a mouthful.

When he’s in the house, nobody could fail to notice him. He was usually loud—talked out loud, laughed out loud, even his whispers were like stage whispers. Even in sleep—his snores are loud. But there was never a dull moment when he was around.

We would be excited and always looked forward to his visits. And why not, he would never leave without giving us an orange (P20) or pink (P50) bill in our hands. Our parents never gave us any amount more than one peso coin. To us, he was like Santa Claus.

When I was growing up, he struck me as a very active healthy individual. I never saw him grimace in pain or heard him complain sick.

When I became a teacher, I would bump into him in some conferences and athletic meets—at age 60 at that. Beyond that age, he would be present during special occasions of any clan gathering that he would be informed about—funerals, weddings and reunions. Even when he started being forgetful, he was still his old active self.

Oh, he was very energetic that kept us younger generation wondering if we would ever be as active as he when we reach that age, or if we would ever reach that age.

Then, in the middle of this year, he came stayed with us while seeing a doctor about a lump in his nose that interfered with his breathing. He even demonstrated, “O, lain na ako tingog tungod aning naa’y gabara sa ako ilong.” Indeed, his voice was different.

A series of tests confirmed he had an advanced stage of cancer that had possibly spread to some parts of his body. He had one session of chemo and we thought he was actually going to get better. But then, one night he had a fever and we took him to the hospital where he stayed for a month.

After a month or so of being poked by needles and tubes my Uncle finally cried enough! He complained he was tired, and insisted he go home to Mangagoy. His children and his wife couldn’t do otherwise but obey his wishes.

He was then taken home and cared for by his children. After a month, his children bade him good bye.

It was both a sad and joyful moment. Joyful because he would no longer be suffering. And sad, because we are surely going to miss this loud jolly energetic Santa Claus. Why do you think it took me over a month after his passing to write about him?

In the line of cancer

2008-10-03T09:16:00.002+08:00

There are only three of them left now. The other three passed on. One because of sickness--diabetes and all its complications; the other two, because of sickness--of people who think they are not worthy to be kept alive.

While my mother is trying to keep herself cancer-free, my uncle is in our house trying to recuperate from his own cancer. He has just had his first chemotherapy session with my mother's doctor. Just then, my cousin got in touch with me telling me the sad news--her mother, my Ma's sister, who had just undergone a surgery on her thyroid, was found with a lump on her neck. After the biopsy, it turned out to be cancerous. Her doctor advised radiation. It was a sad news amidst something good that is happening to my cousin. She was due to go to Canada in the middle of September. But then, the doctor just gave my Aunt some medicine first and scheduled her radiation in November yet. My cousin left as scheduled, though with a heavy heart, for leaving her mother in such state.

So now, the three remaining siblings fight the same battle, although in different degrees, and different ways. The upside is that they each have a family who love them and support them in the middle of all this.

Parallel episode

2008-07-29T19:06:00.002+08:00

“Aguy! Kasakit sa akong tiyan.”
My head snapped up to the owner of the pained voice. Time seemed to stop. My heart beat wildly; my breathing was nonexistent. I went cold.

“Maó man siguro ni ako kamatyan.”

That was my Uncle who has just been diagnosed of nasal cancer. He’s 72, and until now, was leading a very active, very healthy lifestyle. After having been diagnosed of cancer, he was prescribed a lot of medicines including prednisone.

Hearing those pained words, I was transported back in time when the same words (well, almost, since it had been said in Tagalog) were uttered by a girl of six with fragile body who had also been diagnosed of cancer—acute lymphoblastic leukemia—and was also given a lot of medication including prednisone.

“Mommy, ang sakit-sakit ng t’yan ko,” she used to cry to her worried and helpless mother.

She used to have stomachache all the time. It occurred to me that if a 72-year-old strong and able man could not stand the pain, how much worse could it have been to a little girl in such a delicate shape?

I still remember that fateful afternoon. It was raining hard. Her Mommy hailed a taxi to take her to the hospital. I expected her to be there for a day, then she would be home for Christmas. But that was not meant to be. The doctors decided to do a surgery on her stomach to see what was bothering her. My sister, trusting the doctors, and thinking of nothing but only the best for her only daughter, consented. My sister brought her crying child to the operating room, waited outside for what seemed like an eternity, only to see later her only daughter come out of the room with tubes all over her. Her daughter was not able to talk to her again. Ten days after, we lost her totally. Her frail little body couldn’t take the assault of the knife.

It was practically the stomachache that actually took my niece from us.

Now, hearing those same words, witnessing the same reaction from another person—an adult—left me cold. It occurred to me that the pain must have been caused by the medicines introduced into her very young body. My mind raced, and just when I thought I had forgotten and forgiven, all the pain of losing someone I love came back. And then, the anger.

It is a pity, really. I am not a mother, but I am so much affected. Every time I remember my young niece in that state, I still cry even after five years. I can’t imagine what it is like with her mother who was also her best friend.

If there is one thing this experience has taught me, it was never to give my full trust to a doctor: certainly, never to rely too much on him. Even if he is the most expensive doctor in the most expensive hospital in the city.

One has to be equipped with all the details. Exhaust all the alternatives, study possibilities, research about the possible consequences of a process, listen to the patient. After all, she or he is the owner of that body. The doctors want an immediate result, for a lot of different reasons--from showing the care givers that they are doing something, shutting off the insistent parents, getting big amount (which they get regardless of the result of their operation), to maybe sincerely wanting to help.

What I feel was wrong with the system at the time my niece had her ailment was that doctors didn’t exhaust all other alternatives. And a worried Mommy couldn’t think clearly when in distress. That is why the people around them should be doubly alert. If possible, be a devil’s advocate. Sometimes a villain is necessary in a scene so that other possibilities can be explored, and probable consequences examined.

It’s no use crying over spilt milk, so they say. What has been done can never be undone. The dead couldn’t be brought back to life. But then, there are still many who are experiencing what we have experienced before. And I just hope they could come up with what they feel the best decision—and one that they won’t regret later on.

And for this family, I hope we can finally find it in our hearts to forgive and forget and move on with the rest of the living.

Her Passing

2008-07-25T21:29:00.002+08:00

Before we even have the time to absorb the news about my Uncle having cancer, we have received news that my Auntie, who has just finished her chemotherapy for breast cancer, passed away this morning.

I contacted my cousin to find out the truth, deep down hoping this was all just false alarm. Maybe some gossip that is misunderstood and not properly relayed. But then, all my hopes fly out the windows when my cousin confirmed it. She said it was all so sudden. Her Mama just had difficulty breathing, and then she passed. My cousin said her Mama did not seem to suffer much. She just lay there, and went to eternal peace.

I am hesitant to tell my Mama about her. Auntie came to my Mama after the former had had her mastectomy to ask who Mama's doctor was. She had known Mama had breast cancer and had finished her chemotherapy. So she went to the same doctor that treated my Mama. They had the same treatment (at least, I think they did). But she had to travel hundreds of kilometers from Agusan to Davao City to have her chemo.

One time she traveled alone, and she felt nauseous in the bus. She panicked. She didn’t know anybody in the bus. It was a blessing that one of her former students was also a passenger. After that, she didn’t dare go to Davao all by herself.

She finished all her six sessions of chemo despite some delays. Her doctor prescribed tamoxifen. The last time I saw her, she was up and about, talking about her plans of traveling and other stuff. And that was almost five months ago. So I was utterly stunned when my sister told me this morning that Auntie has passed away. Of course, I was afraid, too. She had the same disease as my Mama, she had the same doctor, the same treatment, and now she’s gone.

I’m really going to miss her. She was very accommodating, very thoughtful, always smiling. Every time I got stranded in San Francisco, Agusan, it was with her that I would stay. With her gone now, there’s this big empty space she is leaving behind. I could say maybe this is best for her. But there will always be emptiness. I can just imagine how her children might be feeling.

So to her family, my prayers of peace and healing.

And to Auntie, rest in God’s eternal bliss.

And Then There’s Another

2008-07-25T21:12:00.002+08:00

First, it was my cousin’s cervix, then, my niece’s bone marrow, then, my Mama’s breast, my Mama’s cousin’s breast, and finally, (or so I thought), my Papa’s brother’s colon. And just when we thought the shopping was over, my Mother’s brother’s nose came next.

Blast it! My uncle has got cancer—and one that is rare—nasal cancer. And he is 72 years old, for goodness’ sakes! Grabe na jud ni!

He had difficulty breathing. He could not eat properly, because swallowing the food was an effort. So, together with his wife and his daughter, he traveled all the way from their place to Davao to see his doctor. There was a mass in his nasal cavity, and the doctor performed a biopsy. The result: tumor. Malignant. His doctor advised surgery and then cobalt. They start clearing him for the surgery. He’ll be observed for a week to find out if his lungs and heart are up to it. And in a week’s time, they will dig.

I had always seen my Uncle as strong, agile even restless. At 70, he was still actively involved in the school he used to manage. He still taught, and was a member of the Board of Directors, and an insurance agent on the side, not to mention his activities in the church. He still traveled for business or pleasure or both. He was very healthy. Until now, that is.

I could say maybe it was old age. But then some live to be 90 and they don’t have cancer. Well, I guess, we all have our own way of dealing with old age. Or is it the old age has its own way of dealing with us? But then, their environment back in their place is also a suspect. When I think of their place, I think POLLUTION. Everywhere you go in that place, you smell no fresh air just fresh factory smell. At any time of the day. It is a pity really since that place is considered the most “progressive” in the province. When I go there, I could not prepare my respiratory system enough for the onslaught. So I would have to do quickly with whatever business I might have and then go.

On the other hand, they say cancer has no known cure yet, and there is no certainty as to its real cause.

I just hope my Uncle can deal with this ordeal the way he has faced all the other trials he had to face before.

And God bless him and his family.

Shingle bells!

2008-07-12T21:34:00.002+08:00

My mama has shingles! She has cancer, a cough that doesn’t seem to want to part with her, and now she has shingles!

Three days ago, Mama complained about some rashes she felt on her back. I thought it was some insect bite, or an allergic reaction to something—she has been having so much allergies lately—although I hadn’t encountered such kind of rashes before. She said it was bothering her and it ached, especially when it was hot--and it was always humid. I told her not to scratch the spot so she won't cut her skin, and she said she did not. So I rubbed some ointment to alleviate the burning sensation.

The next day, however, there was another set of the same rashes on her chest, and the ones on her back ‘grew’ and became lesions with fluid in them. They looked like chicken pox, but they were confined in specific parts of her body—on the right part of her back, and on her chest. Although at that time, the ones on her chest were still red rashes. I was afraid it might complicate things for her since she has cancer and she’s taking some medicines. So I told her to see a doctor. She said she planned to see a dermatologist the next day. But I feared the skin disorder might be a reaction to femara she has been taking, so I looked it up on the internet. And there, I saw, it was shingles. At least all the symptoms fit. So I sent message to her oncologist describing to him Mama’s condition, just to verify. He confirmed it, and told me to have Mama see him for further check-up and prescription.

The next day, off my Mama with my sister went to her oncologist, and she was given acyclovir tablet and acyclovir ointment. Immediately, she started with her medication. This morning, though, I caught her preparing for bed. I thought she had fever but she said was just sleepy. The previous night, she hadn’t been able to sleep. Her shingles bothered her. She couldn’t find the right sleeping position. Her lesions would become painful when they touch anything, let alone be crushed as she lay down. I had told her to sleep on the waterbed, thinking the coolness of the bed would help her sleep. Obviously, it didn’t. Even as she was about to lie down, she changed her mind, saying, she still wouldn’t be able to sleep. So I took a washcloth, wet it with cold water and pressed it into her lesions. It relieved her a bit.

Now that night is here again, all I can do is hope Mama can sleep soundly.

Confusing treatments

2008-07-05T21:45:00.002+08:00

Bad mystery movies can be quite distressing. It gets you on edge one moment but keeps you in the dark, and in the end, it proves to be nothing but a disappointment.

This business of searching for a cure for cancer can be like that. Not having known any answer, you get a bit excited when you stumble on something that appears to lead you to the truth, only to find yourself more confused than ever.

Maybe the situation would be different if you were a doctor. At least, you get to look at the actual condition of the patients, and you get to see the “physical evidence”—that is, the cancer cells and everything else that might be useful.

But if you were just a lay person like me, who relies only on the “findings” of those who studied the disease, you have one heck of a hard time studying all the studies, analyses, and findings of the “experts”. You know why? Because these “experts” have different ways of looking at things. They have different approaches, different beliefs, different practices. So it is no wonder then, that they come up with different answers. It would have been okay if their findings are on the same direction—well, they’re not. Some conclusions even contradict one another, to the point that these experts attack one another’s theories and claim that his theory is the right one.

Take mammogram and biopsy, for instance. I’ve read in some literatures that these are the basic steps in diagnosing cancer. But then, other literatures would say mammogram may lead to breast cancer, and biopsy may spread cancer. Which should I trust, then?

Once I browsed the Net for some recipes for my cancer warrior Mama. I stumbled upon some recipes that have soy and milk and yogurt. Well, I had read some days back that these ingredients are not suitable for cancer patients.

Whew! This is really a test of my wits.

Sometimes, in my frustration, I would feel better I was better off not having read any of these stuff. I might not have gotten my brains all tied in different knots. On the other hand, there really are things that I have found useful in my search.

Well, I guess you just have to keep your power of discretion intact and use it whenever necessary. For after all, nothing is guaranteed in this life. You just have to make the most of what you learn and pray for the best.

In Search for the Cure

2008-06-30T16:04:00.001+08:00

I am obsessed by cancer. Ever since it came into our lives, I am pretty much preoccupied by it.

I would buy every book about cancer—particularly breast cancer—that I see. Every time I open the internet, I would surf sites about cancer, even though I originally intended to research on some other topics. I have exhausted our printer of its toner printing information about the darned disease. I would glue my eyes on the tv for some shows that tackle the illness. Anything, in the hopes of uncovering its mystery, and discovering the possible cure.

And then, I would lecture my findings to my sisters and mother and whomever I happen to talk to—boring them stiff.

Well, cancer has taken one of my own, and I guess, maybe I just don’t want anyone else be taken away. Sometimes, though, I wonder, if I am just overreacting. Or shall I say, “over-worrying” on something that is not really a big deal. Or, spiritual-wise, maybe my faith in my God is not strong enough to entrust to Him the fate of my cancer-stricken mother.

But then again, I have heard it said “Do your best for God will do the rest.”

cancer in my family

2008-06-22T19:12:00.002+08:00

I’ve heard about cancer before. It seemed so scary to have such a disease. Just the thought of having the doctor tell me that I have one would be enough to make my skin crawl. That’s why at the school theatre before, we used to be told by our acting workshop facilitator to imagine that we had cancer if he wanted some intense emotion out of us.

Yes, that’s what cancer used to be to me: a motivation to get some emotion; a situation set by some authors of romantic, sentimental novels; an issue in soap operas and movies to generate heart-wrenching scenes. It is something real—painful, a death sentence. But it is one that happens only to other people: not to me, not to any of my family.

Until one day, I heard news about my first cousin having an ovarian cancer. Our Aunt told us the doctor gave her only six months to live. We were shocked! It was so near—cancer was in our own blood! We were so scared, and it hit us: cancer is real—really!

But then, my cousin delivered us all from such “unnecessary” fear. She proved her doctors wrong. She underwent chemotherapy, and the six-month limit became six years, even sixteen, and more. Now, she is in Switzerland—happy and very much alive!

And so we thought, cancer is not that scary, after all. And the incident was forgotten in the most remote recesses of our minds.

And then a little over five years ago, my sister’s five-year-old daughter complained sore in the different parts of her body—her mouth, then, her arms, and then her legs, her head. We thought she was just making ‘lambing’ trying to get her Mommy’s and Daddy’s attention. So her Mommy took her to the hospital. And from there, she called us and told us the news—her little girl had ALL—Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Our world stopped. But after the initial shock, we went on with our lives trying to live the normal life we were used to, although deep inside was the fear of losing a dear angel, and the pain of seeing a little girl hurting. But since we had a cousin who survived the disease, we were hopeful and lived like nothing was wrong. After all, cancer was curable, and she was only 6 years old! Nobody dies at six! But then, our hopes shattered when after six months, we lost our little angel. Her frail body was no match for the persistent crazy cell slowly sapping out her strength. Our worlds fell apart.

Two years later, my cousin, a daughter of my father’s brother, called to tell us that one of my uncles has prostate cancer.

We again felt the pain that had barely healed, and prayed he survive the ordeal.

Barely a month after, we again felt the familiar pang of fear. My mother felt a lump on her left breast. We prayed so hard it wouldn’t be cancer. But a week after, when the results of the biopsy came out, our hopes died down when the doctor confirmed what we had feared: Mama had a breast cancer—stage 2 B.

Memories of our young angel came back rushing. And this time, since we had precedence, our fear doubled. We should be ‘knowledgeable’ already about this disease, but we were again clueless. We didn’t know what would happen next, and it was this uncertainty of the unknown that was terrifying.

Her doctor was so confident and assuring, but knowing that nothing is certain in this world, especially at Mama’s age at 69, we struggled with dread everyday.

She had her mastectomy—successfully so. And it was followed by six sessions of chemotherapy, which she was able to complete on schedule. We were able to breathe more smoothly after that. Her doctor then put her under hormone therapy and gave her tamoxifen. And then we celebrated her 70th birthday with a bang!

Almost two years through tamoxifen, her doctor discovered a lump at the upper part of her operation. The proceeding biopsy reported “suspicious invasive ductile carcinoma.’ The phrase was disturbingly familiar. The doctor once again advised another operation to take the lump out for further biopsy to know for certain what it was. Another operation later, the doctor, for the second time confirmed: the lump was malignant—her cancer had recurred.

We were given options: a more intensive round of chemotherapy; or a stronger hormone therapy. Considering her frail body, and after confiding with her family, Mama opted for the latter.

Now, she is under femara, and is taking some food supplement including transfer factor plus.

We keep praying for her healing. After all, nothing is impossible with God in our midst.

Cancer and Family

2008-06-18T21:29:00.000+08:00

Breast Cancer, Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, Colon Cancer, Cervical Cancer. They crept into our lives uninvited, unwelcome, unwanted. But they were there, just the same, so we just have to learn to deal with them.
Having such a disease is a suffering, but seeing somebody close to you experiencing the woes of such disease is no picnic either. It is no fun watching your mother or uncle, niece throw up after struggling with the food they once couldn’t resist. Or listening to their moans of pain and not knowing how to help them. Or being at the receiving end of their erratic temper and stretching your patience knowing it was their disease acting and not the real person that they are.
But all this would be doubly tough on either the patient or the caregiver if each were alone in the struggle. And this is where a family’s support is most needed. And it is during this difficult time when one usually finds out one’s real family—ones that are bound with you by blood and those that are linked with you through the same experiences, going through the same path that fate has designed.