The word alone is enough to send chills down people’s spines. Especially mine because I had witnessed my own father bleed to death from pancreatic cancer.
So when I stared at the ghastly face of cancer shortly before Christmas last year, I turned cold and clammy, and tears welled in my eyes.
"So honestly, doctor, even at this point you think it’s more malignant rather than benign?" I asked cancer surgeon Dr. Edgardo Fernandez about the firm lump he had just palpated on my right breast.
With a serious look, Dr. Fernandez nodded, then proceeded to explain how he planned to do surgery to remove the mass, a part of which he would first send to the laboratory (for frozen section exam) to determine if it was malignant or not. "If it is," he said, "we will have to remove your right breast."
Traveling to the office afterwards, I was terrified as thoughts swirled in my mind. Although I hoped with all my heart that my mass was benign, I intuitively sensed that Dr. Fernandez was right; call it gut feeling but I just knew he was right.
How could I possibly have gotten breast cancer, I asked myself. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs. I am also one of those people who – except for my monthly severe dysmenorrhea – have never gotten seriously ill in their lives. Was it because I was exposed daily to pollution? Was it from the stress that accompanies work? Was it because of having eaten preservatives or canned goods? Or was it perhaps inevitable because apart from my father, three of my grandparents had died of various cancers? I actually got to the point where I blamed myself and wondered if I could have done something to prevent the cancer from happening to me.
But as is commonly known, cancer is a treacherous disease that respects no one, and inflicts harm with wanton abandon. Suddenly, this disease that heretofore had happened "to others" was happening to me, and I could not believe it.
For a week before the operation was scheduled, I cried everyday, especially when I beheld my body in the mirror, knowing that soon, one breast would be gone. I thought about my husband Benjie, who has had to bear with my inability to give birth after six and a half years of marriage, and wondered how he would accept this latest development in my life. Fortunately for me, he assured me that no matter what happens, he would always love me as I am.
That was the time when God seemed so far, far away, and all was dark and gloomy to me. I really felt like fate had whacked me on the knees and I was prostrate on the road of life. When I turned 40 last year I sincerely believed that my life had started afresh, that life really did begin at 40, because though not perfect, things were generally going my way and there was much to look forward to. But after seeing the grim face of breast cancer, the future suddenly seemed so hazy and I couldn’t even see beyond the next turn on the road. At the same time I worried about the financial costs the disease would entail, and I imagined all the money I had hoped to save this year flying out the window.
I couldn’t pray in the sense of praying long and hard and earnestly. Where in times past I sought solace in praying the rosary, I could not even pick one up. But I think I did not lose my faith, because in the midst of crying and being afraid, somehow I let out a whimper: "Dear God, please help me. Huwag n’yo po akong pababayaan (Please do not abandon me)."
That whimper managed to find its way to heaven somehow, and when I think about it now, it must have been because Jesus Christ had said, "Ask and you shall receive." Even if mine had only been a whimper, God indeed remained true to His word. For soon He would transform for me the ghastly face of cancer into one which would change my life.
My doctors have always been forthright and ready to answer questions, while at the same time reassuring and calming with their words and gestures of concern. It’s comforting for a patient to know that her doctors are genuinely concerned about her as a person rather than just as someone with a disease to cure. On my road to recovery, I thank the Lord for giving them to me as my custodians of health.
And then there’s been my family. I’ve taken it as a matter of fact that my Mama Rose, my second mom Ninang Meng Lucas, my siblings, and sisters-in-law love me, but I didn’t realize how much until I got cancer. I only learned about it later, but they cried even harder than I did when they learned the news, and they have since prayed and helped me in every way they can.
They have also asked so many of their friends to pray for me. My older brothers’ fellow members of the Knights of Columbus held group home prayers before Our Lord of Pardon, while our family’s priest friends have offered Masses for me. Mama Rose always says that more things are wrought in this world by prayer than the world dreams of, and if I am getting stronger and feeling better by the day, I attribute it as much to the prayers of concerned souls who have inundated heaven with their prayers for me.
Shortly before I underwent modified radical mastectomy on my right breast, I also called out to my late Papa Luis, who had been a surgeon, and asked him to please stay with me during the operation. Perhaps because of that, and those praying for me, I was calm and the fear had vanished even before I was wheeled into the Operating Room. Joanne Zapanta-Andrada’s text message to me was right: I am stronger than I think I am.
Tell me who your friends are...
But what surprised me most when I got breast cancer was the kindness not just of the Lord, my doctors, family and relatives, but that of my colleagues at work, friends and yes, even of strangers, who held out their hands to reach out and comfort me.
Aleli Vengua and Crisann Celdran, breast cancer survivors themselves who I’ve never met but who had learned about my situation, took the time to text or call to encourage me and give me tips on coping. "Heard about your case," Aleli texted. "Am a cancer survivor stage 4. Please don’t lose hope. Pray. Fight. Life is still a celebration inspite of all these!" Aleli’s 84-year-old mom and 16-year-old daughter are even praying for me, whom they’ve never even met!
Kindness has poured forth on me in many forms besides prayers – inspiring text messages, encouraging phone calls, simple pats on the back, visits to the hospital or our home, reading and audio-visual materials, fruits, food (yes, even live chickens!), sweets and pastries, or some such tokens of concern, even financial help. I treasure all those who shared them with me.
My good friend Rener Concepcion, a professor in our hometown of Nasugbu, Batangas, became a one-man prayer brigade, soliciting prayers from his students and friends.
Allure editorial assistant Jerry Donato is now praying the rosary regularly, something he says he did not do before I had cancer.
"Just tell me what ulam (viand) you want to eat," my Tita Baby Lucas would text, and sure enough, the ulam would be there for me to enjoy, sent by her and her mom, Lola Doray Limjoco.
My niece Trina Montemar, a physical therapist and now a medical student, helped me regain the full range of movements of my right arm by giving me daily physical therapy.
RJ Jacinto texted to ask me how I was doing, then told me to tune in the next day to his Sunday radio program at DZRJ-FM. I was most touched to hear him ask his listeners to pray for me.
Humor has also been such a sweet balm as well, and for this I have to thank my nieces and nephews best all for making me laugh and smile. Without a sense of humor, life can just go haywire. That’s why I appreciated this text sent by my boss Joanne Rae Ramirez: "In a woman’s life, there are many struggles, fear and sadness. But these really don’t matter at all. Our main goal remains, ‘Manatiling maganda sa kabila ng lahat’! (‘To remain beautiful despite all these’!)." Eddie Baddeo paraphrased this sentiment in a pep talk over the phone that lasted for over an hour. "Basta ang importante," he stressed, "ay kahit anong mangyari, maganda pa rin tayong lahat!" ("What’s important is that whatever happens, we all remain beautiful!")
In the three weeks that I have spent recuperating in my hometown, not a day passed that someone did not visit me or send something over. I was so surprised because I had not seen a number of them for a quite a while, and was moved to see how sincerely concerned they were.
One of them was Ate Nini Macalaguim, who is in her sixties and lives down the street from me. We see each other here and there, but we really haven’t had the chance to talk lengthily. But she came and visited me, and what she said touched me deeply: "Ikaw kasi, kahit nasaan ako, binabati mo ako (It’s because wherever you see me, you greet me)." I have since thought about the power of a smile and that of a greeting, and will never take them for granted from hereon.
STAR president Miguel Belmonte also sent word at that time that I should relax and take it easy, and return to work only if I was strong enough for it.
It’s great to be back doing the things I normally do. I am so grateful that except for gastrointestinal disturbances and hair that’s starting to fall off, I have not experienced nausea, itching, sores and the other side effects of chemotherapy.
I’ve looked at breast cancer again in the face, and even if mine is stage 3, what I see now is the face of kindness. I know that the road to recovery (five more three-day confinements for chemotherapy sessions, then daily exposures to the linear accelerator) will still take a while, but I can honestly say that what before seemed so tragic has changed the way I look at people – and life.
We often complain about how cruel and harsh our world can be, but after experiencing the goodness of God and people and the purity of their compassion, I believe I will henceforth try to spend the rest of my life seeking out and celebrating kindness and all it brings.
(E-mail the author at annmondo@yahoo.com)