CANCER: A BOUNDLESS WAGE WAR

Five years ago, I was in a middle of a war: a war wherein prayer was my only chance of victory.

September of 2007, my father was diagnosed with colo-rectal cancer, terminal stage. I was a graduating nursing student back then. At first, I thought it was only a misdiagnosis by the doctor because for years, my father had not complained of anything. Though, lately, I noticed that his built changed and obviously he lost his appetite and a noticeable irregular bowel movement. When the bad news came to my knowledge, I never uttered a single word nor cried a single tear. I was in total shock at that time. It did not reach my senses the first time it was brought to my attention. Literally, I felt numb. I sat down and looked at the results of the diagnostic examinations. I only had limited knowledge about Cancer at those times but I tried to understand every single word written on that short- sized bond paper. I looked at my father and still I did not know how to react. Then after a while, I found myself staring on a blank wall. I knew that stage four cancer means inevitable death. I could hardly sleep that night. My heart seemed to have some unusual pounding and skip beats. I prayed hard and bargained with God to give my father more years of life. I was in a desperate situation and I knew all I could do was pray and pray. That night seemed the longest night in my life. My eyes were shut by my mind traveled in a distant memory about my father. I never had a chance to have a close relationship with my father because I was not really that affectionate to him and neither he was.

In the morning, we decided to take him to the hospital because he was really having tremendous discomfort and tenderness over his abdominal area. He was never really a fan of doctors. I could perhaps say that all throughout his lifetime, I could just count in my fingers the times he visited a doctor. But, that morning, he himself decided to go to the hospital. After the doctor had seen him, we were advised that he needed to operate him. Well, doctors knew best so he did went on operation. After the operation, he stayed in the ICU. For several days, he was there lying like a seasoned tree dying in silent pain. I went to see him everyday; would hold his hand and fix his bed. It was my first time to do those things for him in my last 20 years of being a son. Years ago, I saw him as a tough and a firm person. He was a strict father that no one was allowed to question his decisions. But that day in the ICU, I saw a different father. He was very weak and almost unable to recognize me on several occasions. We were communicating through a pen and a paper. My heart looked as if it was to explode with grief seeing him suffer that way. I did not cry nor showed any pain while he was lying in his bed. I tried to compose myself and pretended to be strong for my family especially for my mother. My mother almost ran out of tears. They had been together for so long that such event made her so vulnerable. I could see my mother’s suffering from her eyes. Every corner of her eyes was filled with tears and I knew that her heart was weakened.

After a short week of stay in the ICU, he lost the fight with Cancer. For the first time in several weeks, I cried. I suddenly felt emptiness in my life. Loosing a parent was probably the least thing I had thought about. For years, I avoided to think about death because just the thought of it always made me emotional. That day marked a new chapter of our lives. I never had questioned God for taking away my father. In fact, on the last days of his life, I prayed to God to just take him with HIM because I could no longer contain seeing him bear such misery. I just thought of this simple fact, if I was not allowed to question my father’s decisions, how much more that of God’s?

On the first day after his interment, I sat on his favorite spot: his rocking chair. There, I remembered all the good memories we had. The feeling of solitude began to conquer my soul at that moment. As dusk approached, I could feel something eating me up from inside. I could not describe how it felt like being in that situation. But only one thing was clear, I did not want to be in that same scenario ever again.

After several months, I could feel that I was beginning to recapture what was lost in my being, but not all of it. Somehow, there’s still that feeling of emptiness once in a while. But nevertheless, I was able to start a new life. I was so excited with our upcoming graduation. After four years of hard work and sleepless nights, the time had come to finally practice what I was built for. My mother was so keyed up as well. I just wished my father were there to see me finished what he wanted me to become. He might had been so proud of me.

After graduation, I thought everything was going to be all right. Months after I found out that my mother was diagnosed with stage three cervical cancer. I couldn’t help but wonder why of all people my parents were the ones chosen to suffer from such malady. The feeling I had just a year ago, all went back to my system crushing the happiness I had patched up piece by piece since my father’s death. That particular time, I did not have the courage to impede the profound emotion I had. Tears just poured down and my heart hammered my chest so hard that I could almost hear the throbbing. I literally was in two shakes been out of myself. Before I knew it, I was staring at my mother’s blunt facial expression. She was neither worried nor shocked. It puzzled me. It was as if she knew that it would happen to her. I cried the whole night. When I woke up, she was seated in a chair by the window. I seated next to her brushing her hair with my fingers. There was a long moment of silence before she said these unforgettable lines, “Ayaw ko magpadoctor. Gusto ko alternative medicine lang. Ayaw ko magaya sa daddy mo na hindi na nakalabas ng ICU.” That statement struck me. I did not know how to react. Maybe I was thinking of a different solution that time. Alternative medicine was just not part of my options back then.

In the process, I would always try to inject the idea of considering medical intervention but she would insist not to. So then, she continued her alternative medicine treatment. We went as far as Tarlac to seek for alternative cure. We also went as far Bulacan and Quezon Province to attend healing masses. I instantly became religious. Our battle with cancer that time was harder compared with my father’s. Here, I had to decline several job offers just to be there for my mother. I had to forget my social life because I had to be there when she needed me. I had not seen my friends for a while because I had to do all the things that she could not do at the moment. For the first time in my life, I felt how to become a real son to my mother. I realized that time was really essential. I learned how to pray with sincerity. I learned how to give up my own happiness to be with my mother. I understood that being with my parent was the most precious time that my life could ever have.

Seeing my mother endure every bout of those stinging pain made me a stronger person. I could feel the aches that she was experiencing. There were real pricking pain in my heart once in a while. I could sometimes feel that heavy feeling over my chest, which I could not understand where it was coming from.

It was December 2008 when I noticed that she was already losing her appetite and weight. My mother was a small built woman and if you could just imagine her losing some more pounds week after week.

January of 2009, I insisted that she should seek the advise of a doctor. I was glad that she listened for the first time. I did not know what came into her that made her decide to. When an OB-Oncologist from FEU hospital saw her condition he was saddened. He said that if only she consulted him months ago, maybe he could have done something to prevent the cancer from spreading. Later, we found out that her cancer has already metastasized over her liver. Upon knowing, I still tried to cling onto that tiny thread separating my courage and weak point.

Her doctor showed me on one instance how the tumor in her delicate organ had grown to its full circumference covering almost the whole area. When I saw it I nearly lost all the oxygen in my head. Even a urinary catheter couldn’t be inserted easily due to the considerably huge size of the tumor.

The doctor gave her two months to live.

My heart suddenly felt that familiar heaviness. I could not remember the exact feeling but I surely could remember the exact scenario. One by one I tried to put the pieces together. Then every second in that room felt like I was breathing the same air I was breathing when my father’s doctor declared his terminal stage cancer a year ago.

As we went out of that clinic, I saw my mother holding her rosary as if she was holding on to her faith. She was weak. She was on her wheel chair because walking seemed like a punishment to her condition. When we were home she said, “Masahiin mo naman ang mga paa ko sobrang nangangalay kasi”. While massaging her feet my tears began to stream down. I knew that anytime soon, she would be leaving me. That idea went back and forth in my somewhat congested mind. Without noticing, she fell asleep. Watching her sleep reminded me of how lively she was before and now there she was trap in a flimsy body.

For months, I had to do all the things that she could not do. I had to bathe her, wash her clothes, brush her teeth, and accompany her to the bathroom to urinate or defecate. I did not use any gloves while doing all those because her skin was so delicate that a touch of a rubber in her skin would hurt her. She was also on a soft diet since her swallowing abilities was not that good as well.

It was February of 2009 when her condition worsened. It appeared that smiling was no longer part her routine. All I could see were pains and aches. It was also that month when the result of my board examination went out. Fortunately, I passed. When I told her that I passed, she just smiled. That was the first time I saw her smile for weeks. That same night while I was beside her, she complained of having abdominal spasms. She cried and said, “Don ayaw ko ko na. Pagod na pagod na ako. Hinintay ko lang na makapasa ka kasi ‘yun lang naman gusto naming ni daddy mo.”

I cried while I wrapped her around my arms. I told her, “Hindi mo na ba kaya Ma kahit hanggang birthday mo man lang? Kung di mo na kaya sige na, ayoko rin na nahihirapan ka ng ganito.”

She answered, “Parang di na siguro ako aabot kasi nararamdaman ko na. Namimis na siguro ako ni daddy mo.”

My tears flooded. That conversation broke my heart. It really did. All I could hear that night was the sobbing of my soul and a deathly lullaby. My mother’s moan went louder. She was like trying to escape an awful nightmare. Hours passed and she was still on exchange blows with her pain. It was I think three in the morning when she finally fell into a deep sleep. As I watched her sleep, I could still see the suffering in her face. I noticed a familiar grimace even in her sleep. I could not help but commiserate with her condition. I wished I had control over things to alter whatever was happening to her that time. As I seek for answers as to why she had been chosen to experience such ailment, and one answer became apparent; she was a strong woman.

Days went by and I witnessed more tormenting episodes of her fight against her disease. She had gone weaker each day and the pain appeared to be sterner. Even her attempt to gasp for air was a perilous warfare.

It was end of February when she requested to be brought to the hospital. It was quite unusual considering that like my father, she was also not a fan of doctors. While at the hospital, she was just quiet. She had many visitors everyday. I could see in her eyes the joy beyond her agony. She was fighting fairly with her disease even though she knew that survival was near impossible. On the second day of her confinement, she was awake the whole night. I was beside her bed holding her hand because I told her that if she wanted anything, all she needed to do was squeeze my hand. However, that night she did not wake me up. Maybe she knew that I also needed some sleep. Until that time I could still feel her being a mother to me in her simple ways.

The morning of March 3, 2009 was a bit different. She was talking to her visitors. If someone would ask her how she was feeling, she would just say, “Ok lang, medyo magaan ng kaunti ang pakiramdam ko.” I brought her favorite pizza and fruit that day because she requested. She also finished her glass of milk that day which actually was the first time.

I asked her what she wanted for her upcoming birthday. She just said, “Ikaw na ang bahala.”       

           

Her face was at peace that day. She went to sleep after lunch. It was around four o’clock when she woke up. Then she had some short conversation with her visitors and her doctor. That night she went to sleep early after her vital signs were taken by the nurses but woke me up at midnight to ask for a glass of milk because she was hungry. After finishing her milk, she again went into a deep sleep.

Around 6:30 am of March 4, 2009, I woke up and saw her still asleep. The whole day she just laid and I had to turn her every once in a while so that bedsores would not develop. In many instances that day, I saw her staring at her hands with several contraptions. I thought maybe she was just wondering why she ended up like that. The once jolly and outgoing woman had now been imprisoned by her ailment in that four- sided bed. While I looked at her helpless eyes, I was begging for a miracle.

The couch where I was lying was adjacent to her bed. There I could see the beautiful sunset. Its beauty had drawn out a sudden sadness in my heart. Memories of my childhood with my mother came in so vivid. Tears, for the nth time, surged with immeasurable despondency. I wept in silence that even my deadened heart could not hear.       

After dinner, I seated next to my mother. I wiped her face and combed her hair. I told her that she already needed a haircut. She just looked at me fondly and smiled. She closed her eyes again and rested her palms on top of my hands. Two hours passed, I was still seated right next to her. She awakened and told me in shaky voice, “Nahihirapan ako huminga Don, naninikip ang dibdib ko. Ang init ng pakiramdam ko tawagin mo ang doctor.”

I pressed the call light and in no time the nurses and doctors arrived as if they were anticipating such event.

In a soft voice she whispered to me, “Parang gusto ko sumuka.”

I instantly went to the washroom and grabbed a small basin. She threw up a significantly large volume of dark colored liquid. The nurses were just looking at us. At the back of my mind I was like, “Hey! I need some help here!”

She vomited some more after which. Then I guess just a few minutes after, she closed her eyes. I was yelling, “Ma! Ma! Ano nangyari sayo!” She did not respond. Finally the nurses and the doctor went to check on her. Her pupils were still reactive but her pulse and heartbeat were like hanging by a thread. She was breathing heavily and her skin went clammy. I went to the washroom and there I cried my heart out. I wanted to get away from that heartrending situation but it appeared that I was destined to become a familiar spectator to such events.

By the time I went out of the washroom, the doctor told me that my mother’s condition eventually deteriorated. I thought I was ready to accept it but I never thought that it would be that hard. For the last time, I whispered to her how much I loved her. I knew that she could still hear me at that time. I did not favor the attempt of the doctor to intubate her because I did not want to prolong her agony.

At around 4:18 in the morning of March 5, 2009, after over a year of battle, ten days before her birthday, my beloved mother died of cervical cancer.

I knew that my father and my mother were just one of those people whose lives were changed because of CANCER.

My life has changed a lot because of this experience. I pray that a time will come that cancer will totally be eradicated so that no one will have to endure such pain and suffering.

The meaning of life is not found in the dictionary. It may be found on the manuscript written on our life experiences. Our lives may conclude tragically or peacefully. However, it will not matter as long as we finished our mission: the mission to learn and the task to teach.

My parents have learned that suffering is just a normal part of life. They never questioned God nor failed to call Him in their most intricate circumstance.

In the same sense, I have learned that life is feeble. But, if the soul is reinforced with faith and belief in God, salvation is guaranteed.

Seize every moment that you have with your parents and loved ones because life is unquestionably short. The twenty years that has given to me to be with my parents seem not enough.

I hope with my life experience, I was able to deliver the message.

Let’s all fight Cancer!

With early detection and right treatment, CANCER IS A PIECE OF CAKE!