Whenever I am asked to share my experiences and insights about cancer, my memory brings me back to my childhood. And I remember my Lola Fidela, a gracious and gentle lady after whom I was named Fedilis. She died of cancer – cancer of the breast, to be specific – when I was only six years old. She was eighty three years old then. So in my youthful mind, the word cancer was in indelibly associated with suffering, death and old age. It never occurred to me that the Big C could hit anyone in the prime of her life. But such was the case with me. I was only twenty five years old when the Big C hit me. It was unbelievable, not only to me but to also to all who knew me and most especially to those who love me. Unbelievable yet unbelievably true.

Early one morning, while taking a bath, I accidentally felt a lump on my left breast. I thought there was nothing serious about it, however, I told my boyfriend and cousin about it. They advised me to see a doctor. I was really hesitant but my boyfriend practically dragged me to the doctor. The first surgeon I went to, told me to come back after three months if the lump grows. I was not satisfied, so I went to another - Dr. Rogelio Kangleon. He advised me to submit a series of lab test. The result of my mammogram and breast ultrasound were both negative. The lump was hard, so I was subjected to a fine needle biopsy. When I read the result, it was “Ductal Carcinoma”.

The word carcinoma is just another term for cancer, so I presumed I already had it, even if my surgeon had seen my result yet. I was sad and hopeless. I was worried because I know how expensive the medication of cancer is. Where will I get the needed funds? I know my salary is not enough to sustain my medication. I looked up and said “Lord, help me!”. After that I tried to cheer myself up and said “Life must go on”. I broke the news to my boyfriend. I was thankful to God for his reaction. He told that we will face the big C challenge together and said “I will be here on your side”. Oh, I was touched by his loving concern, then my tears started to flow because I didn’t expect that reaction. Right then and there, my heart was filled with joy and praises to God.

The next day, I gave the result to my surgeon. He could not believe what he saw because it was a rare case. He said that there could be a possible error in the biopsy considering the result of my mammogram, my breast ultrasound, and my age. So he told me that I had to undergo operation to remove the mass. If the mass was benign, he would merely remove the mass but if I had cancer cells, then he would have to do a mastectomy. I agreed to whatever he considered best for me. Before my operation, I prayed hard that the mass would be benign.

On the post anesthesia room, I tried touching my left breast. Surprisingly, I it was still there. So I said “Thank you, Lord. It’s not cancer”. I thought God answered my prayer. However, well I was still there, I overheard the nurses talking “Luoya anang usa uy. Bataa pa niya nag ka cancer” (I pity her. She is too young to have cancer) I was taken aback. I was really sure that they were referring to me. Even if my doctor had not told me the result of my frozen section biopsy, I already knew that I had cancer.

I never questioned God why I am stricken with cancer this early in my life, instead I prayed that I will be able to go through this and my mother will have the strength to accept the fact that I have cancer. When I was in my room, I was half awake but I could hear what they were talking about. The news spread like wild fire because my cousin had an OR nurse friend who assisted my operation. I could hear my mother crying.

On the next day, my doctor came and confirmed that it was really cancer and referred me to an oncologist – Dr. Ellie Mae Villegas. I noticed my mother became weak. After I was discharged from the hospital, we went to another doctor for my mother’s condition. My mother was diagnosed and it was discovered that she had renal failure. I felt that the world crashing on me. Now, I was worried about our treatment and my younger brother’s studies. Where will I get the money? Again, I looked up and said “Lord, help…..”. The story of Job came into my mind. I prayed “Lord, if it is Your will that we will still live, please show us how to support our treatment and my brother’s studies”.

A few days after my operation, I visited my oncologist. She discussed my condition. My cancer stage was Stage 2B. Although my nodes were negative, my mass was big. My treatment would entail six cycles of chemotherapy and 35 days of radiation therapy. My Onco gave me TAC, the strongest medication, because my cancer cells were invasive and I am young.

All the while, I was worrying about how to raise funds for my therapy because my HMO insurance was exhausted during my operation. It was then that I personally witnessed how God really provides and how HE works through people. When my relatives in Bohol knew that I had cancer and my mother had renal failure, my cousin immediately agreed to buy our Riceland. Then, my officemate approached me and informed me that the PCSO could help my chemo. My officemates even chipped-in money to help our family. It was a humbling experience because “morag nanglimos sila” (they seem to be giving alms to the poor), thought I never asked them to do so. I never expected that my aunt would sponsor one cycle of chemo and somebody sponsored my radiation. Gosh, it was really an overwhelming blessing from God.

Now, may I tell you about the brighter side of my life.

After my operation and final diagnosis, my boyfriend proposed marriage to me. I mentioned to him that possibility of my not being able to bear children for him but he said that it did not matter to him at all, as long as we will be together for the rest of our lives. Isn’t that sweet? Honestly my friends, that to me, was the sweetest thing I heard.

So we planned that our wedding would be after all my therapies. I could still remember that during my radiation, I surfed at Sister’s Best Café at the Perpetual Soccour Hospital for designs of gowns, invitations, songs, barong, and other items for the wedding while waiting for my turn for radiation. On my wedding day, I was wearing a wig. I was unbelievably glowing with joy and love! I know I was a radiantly beautiful bride. I wonder if the people who saw me walk down the aisle would believe I was hit by the Big C.

Now, may I share with you the insights I got from my journey with cancer:

1) Cancer is not a death sentence. It is called a big C which means a Big Chance in life. Some would say that cancer is a lifestyle disease. It is time for us to change our lifestyle like our food intake, too much worries and pollution.

2) Life is a gift. We have only one life to live. Enjoy life and make a difference. What is important is not how long you live but how well you live. I believe that each one of us has a mission to fulfill. I often wonder why I am always invited to share my story to others when I am not good at facing a big crowd. Neither am I good at making speeches. Maybe this is a challenge I have to take.

3) Leave everything to God, and everything else will follow. As Tita Me’anne Alcordo-Solomon would always say “faith begins when worries end”.

4) Let love be your inspiration. If not for the love of my family and my husband, maybe I would not have chosen to live. When my husband told me, “we will face this challenge together”, it gave me hope to live. More so, when I think of my mother who is also sick and brother who still needs my support, I told myself – “I MUST LIVE”.

5) Have a positive attitude. What your mind can conceive, your body can achieve. When I joined a support group, I saw happy people there. I asked them how long they have been battling with cancer? Some said 8 years, 5 years, 2 years etc….I said to myself “Wow! I can be like them too.”

6) Health is wealth. Take care of your body. If you notice something strange in your body, see your doctor immediately before its too late. Remember, early detection saves life and saves money too.

7) Knowledge is power. Immediately after I was diagnosed, I surfed the net about cancer. I even borrowed surgical books because knowledge lessens fear of the unknown. I wanted to know the Do’s and Don’ts in order to cope with the disease.

8) Laughter is still the best medicine. Even doctors would say that. My friends, with God’s grace, life can better after Cancer. I praise and thank the LORD for LIFE and LOVE! God bless us all! Thank you…

*Delivered at plenary session, Stories of Hope, Silver Linings 2008, September 6, Cebu City

Cancer is such a frightening word.

In the presence of my cousin Timmy or classmate Julie, who was afflicted with it, I recall being squeamish just even hearing about it. I remember my constant silent prayers to the Lord, "Please don't give me cancer. I don't think I can cope." But in the second week of July 2005 when I woke up from the recovery room with just a breast, I realized, and had to accept, I had cancer.

My surgeon, Dr. Mario de Villa, told me if the mass in my breast was benign, he would merely remove the mass, but if it had cancer cells, then he would have to do a mastectomy. I remember crying to my Mom, enveloped in such heart sinking self-pity, when I arrived at my hospital room as she welcomed me back in after the operation.

"It's only a breast," she tried to reassure me.

Then, I stopped myself, switching emotions upon realizing, it's done. I can't cry all my life.

Chest bandaged with two long rubber tubes attached, which had grenade-shaped plastic containers at the ends to hold drained liquid, I wondered why God let me have cancer — the one sickness I had often begged him not to inflict on me.

I closed my eyes and decided to count my blessings.

"Focus on the good things," I psyched myself. Suddenly I felt happier. The blessings I assessed were abundant.

Because my operation had to be delayed for a week since my cardiologist wanted me to complete all the necessary tests, I had in those seven days before my mastectomy been at the receiving end of so much compassionate love.

First, I was deeply grateful I still had Mom to cradle me through. She is a beautiful 70-year-old who walks with a cane due to her arthritis. Her constant, comforting presence through all my pre-tests especially when I am pricked for my blood or sugar tests really made me feel so lucky. Her incessant, soothing words of comfort, her singing to me, "Come my Lord Jesus I love you...," as the nurse extracted blood from me, my face smeared with tears, my heart wrenched at my ordeal, helped me so much.

And, because of the technological wonder of the cell phone and email, I was also the recipient of barrage of long and short distance telephone calls, text messages and emails from classmates and batchmates from the six sections of Assumption High School Class '77, family and friends from all over the world. I was overwhelmed with their powerful love messages of prayers and encouragement.

I felt cheerful and blessed also because I was "suffering" in comfort. I was recuperating in a big hospital room perfumed by a mini garden of flower arrangements from friends as far as Australia. Even the softdrinks I was serving my hospital guests came from college classmate Tere Albano, who is based in Los Angeles!

There was also the colorful paper hearts drawn by six-year-old Joshua and four-year-old Hannah, children of classmate Vicky Veloso-Barrera, hanging just beside the crucifix across my hospital bed. They had told their Mom to tell me that they drew me hearts so wherever I looked there was love.

"You're okay, you look so cheerful as if you just had a haircut," classmates Tony Yulo Loyzaga and Tina Cuyugan teased as we shared a Japanese dinner in my narrow hospital table.

I tried to maintain a happy disposition during my recuperation. I kept trying to shift my attitude to positivism, to appreciate all that was around me, what I had and can still have, pushing or even erasing the thought that I had only one breast left.

I forced myself not to dwell on what I had lost — a breast, or what I can no longer have.

Perhaps God let me have cancer because he knew I could take it and even make fun of it, like texting everyone after my mastectomy that I was a gay or bakla already.

When I went home from the hospital, the pain in my armpit was so intense I sometimes thought an animal lived there and tortured me.

I resorted to drinking Holy Water from the big bottle which my Senate friend, Sen. Jinggoy Estrada's staff Myrna de los Reyes, hand-carried all the way from Lourdes, France. I would take pain killers only if I truly couldn't stand the pain.

"Heal me, heal me," I would chant to the Lord.

Then, I would think of who I wanted to offer up my pains, those in more difficult conditions, so that I could turn my pain into grace.

I refused to allow any feelings of self-persecution. I didn't want to waste a moment of my life to be sad. Life, they say, is made up of millions of moments — it's up to you how many of those moments you want happy or sad.

So I reinforced myself by visualizing that God had taken my right breast to save a place for me in heaven and that I must spend the rest of my life surrendering to His will, so that I can reunite with that right breast someday.

I'd like to think that in that same hand that God brought my right breast to heaven, He filled it with much love from family, friends and strangers.

Cancer had made me become a 'spoiled brat'.

Everyone is just so nice. I always receive love gifts — more flowers, cookies, fruits, rosaries, holy water, prayer books, wigs — not only from friends in Manila, but also from those abroad like my favorite special, sugar-free, seedless sampaloc packs and dried baby pusit from Babette Resurreccion from Bangkok.

Right after the monster pain in my armpit decided to die a natural death, faithful classmates Jackie Dayrit Boncan, Vicky Veloso-Barrera, who are always at my hospital bedside praying for me before every major operation of mine, hosted a thanksgiving turkey dinner for me with Sony Celdran de la Calzada, their husbands, Lulet Alibudbud and Pastor Kenny Mills.

Sen. Loren Legarda, another Assumption high school classmate who, aside from gifting me with a year's supply of sugar-free ampalaya tea, also hosted a healing mass at her home for all the girls who were not able to visit me in the hospital, inviting Father Nico Bautista. Sen. Loren's mom passed away because of breast cancer. Her Bessie Legarda Foundation has been sharing anti-cancer medicines to thousands of breast cancer patients all over the country.

What really touched me most during the healing mass was that despite the dark, gloomy, rainy weather, classmates came all the way from Ayala Alabang and Quezon City that night, bringing healthy food for me and stretching out their hands in prayer, asking the Lord to heal me.

Nowadays, my usual remark is, "God is so good. He gave me everything. He gave me cancer, but he gave me good doctors, a family supporting and loving me, friends praying for me and inspiring me, including money to afford treatment and medicines."

Another old, old Senate friend, Baby Ritualo, who I met with one night for a chat long overdue, not only treated me for dinner but insisted on paying for my week's medicine.

I can't help but liken the latest development in my life to that come-on touristy Hong Kong slogan, "Where wonders never cease." Being afflicted with cancer seems to be that.

One of my newest and greatest blessings is being embraced by fellow breast cancer survivors who have banded themselves into the ICanServe group, having been invited by email by Malaya columnist Ellen Tordesillas.

What a joy it was to receive emails from breast cancer survivors, complete strangers to me who called themselves artista names like Maui Taylor while having chemo sessions together at St. Luke's hospital.

"Don't be afraid of the needle of the swero, kaya mo ‘yan," another wrote.

Being single, I was especially touched by those emails from married women who had to be emotionally strong not only for themselves as they battled with cancer, but for their young children as well while having to cope with their wifely duties to their husbands.

These phenomenal women I truly admired and was so grateful to for going out of their way to console me as I was about to start my first chemo session.

I was so thrilled when Bibeth Orteza emailed me, recommending her acupuncturist to whom she goes to help ease the pain of chemo.

"Jesus is healing me!" is what I was chanting as the doctor inserted the needle that would start the input of one tray of chemo medicines, some red, some yellow-colored, into my body. Close friend Peachy Urquiola was holding my right hand tightly, my mom was sitting behind me, her hand on my shoulder, praying with me.

I cried from deep, deep within, thinking with such great disappointment that I would have to go through this five more times to prevent the recurrence of cancer cells in my body.

Thankfully, I heard Peachy finally say, "It's in na, stop crying."

Miraculously, because of the prayers of so many who cared, I was so thirsty during the chemo session, I kept drinking water and urinating the unwanted or unabsorbed medicines out of my body.

If my head and eye hurt that night, it was because I cried so many times the whole day before the actual chemo and during the insertion of the needle and some parts during bouts of self-pity and depression while the chemo was going on.

I was so afraid to sleep because I was frightened that pumped with so much medicine intravenously, I might not wake up the next day.

The morning after, my heart leapt with joy because I was feeling so good. I immediately dressed and had my Yaya Lumeng pack our things so that by the time my oncologist Dr. Antonio Villalon came to check on me I was looking and feeling cheerful, bejeweled in my trinkets with makeup on, ready to go home.

I felt so triumphant that I successfully got over my much feared first chemo session.

Cancer had taught me that God really makes all things beautiful "In His Time."

"You're so lucky, sis, God even gave you a support group, others go through their chemo alone," my sister Ulla commented a few days after my first chemo when she picked me up after my first meeting with my new friends — the ICanServe sisters who were organizing the Silver Linings breast cancer awareness activity, which was first held on September 25, 2005 at the EDSA Shangri-La Hotel.

I happily told Ulla I felt so fortunate and privileged to be among women who, despite their being afflicted with cancer, are cheerfully raising money to buy Tamoxifen, a medicine breast cancer survivors are required to take for five years after being diagnosed, for women who can't afford to buy it.

Pretty, perky, talented Kara Magsanoc Alikpala started the miracle of organizing, mobilizing and rousing fellow breast cancer survivors to help women recognize the signs, to help women who cannot afford treatment, and to help them to emotionally and spiritually cope with the disease.

Having worked for politicians for the last 17 years and attending numerous political rallies and conventions, I was taken aback by the new experience that was Silver Linings.

Assigned to the walk – at the reception table, my morning started listening to whining breast cancer survivors who complained they were being stressed out waiting for registration to start. This was when I started to compare my old and new life. Previously, at political or even out of town Senate hearings related to work, our attendees were local leaders, civic groups, educators, the religious, in short — the electorate.

In my regular life, during political rallies, the video presentation would be about the candidates, but that morning at the Ballroom of EDSA Shangri-La Hotel, a video presentation of the ICanServe sisters was shown. It made me cry.

When I met them, they had hair already and the video showed them bald yet cheerfully mouthing inspiring lessons they have learned because of their cancer — Cancer is my best friend, Cancer changed my life, etc.

What moved me is they are all alright now, hair growing, glowing and in such happy spirits and disposition.

I want to be like them, I told myself.

What was heartbreaking and made me drop more tears was one's testimonial at her hospital bed, holding her newborn baby after having recovered from her breast cancer.

As we, the ICanServe sisters in our black t-shirts, pink pashmina shawls and pink IDs waiting for Kara to call us and be introduced to the crowd of 500 brave women from all over the country, I saw a sister get a chair for the one who had her cute, chubby Chinese baby girl in her arms. It was the same girl in the video who was interviewed at her hospital bed.

She calmly lifted her shirt to breastfeed her baby.

I couldn't help asking my ICanServe sister beside me, Lani, "Is she breastfeeding with one breast?" To which Lani replied, "What do you think?"

Amazing! I learned we had a sister who even gave birth to twins after her breast cancer treatment!

I attended the nutrition lecture and makeup demo session in the two function rooms the rest of the morning with some breast cancer survivors receiving medical care through the generosity of Avon Philippines at the Philippine General Hospital.

Pain management, healing, consultations with oncologists were what was going on in the other function rooms, all with standing room only participants because all walk-ins were accommodated.

Another surprise for me was in my usual life, as a Public Relations Officer tasked to organize parties, the raffle prizes I usually have available are appliances or gift certificates. That lunch, the breast cancer survivors excitedly looked under their chairs in case they had won any of the 50 free mammograms at PGH at stake.

Tiangges are very much a part of the Filipino culture. Even our conventions can't help but have a few tables selling native products. Wigs, hats, breast cushions and bras were up for sale along with books and t-shirts that day.

The afternoon session was very emotional as the family of the late Rio Diaz and Geny Lopez were there to talk about their last few days together.

At just past 5 p.m., Kara was gathering us all, "Come on, let's be together, we are about to end!" as she invited us who were manning the ICanServe registration table.

Rocker Bituin Escalante was electrifying everyone with her "Ain’t No Mountain High Enough" as the sisters wove themselves all over the ballroom to converge near the stage.

By the time our pink group was together, Bituan and ICanServe Sister Bangge had the entire ballroom dancing and rocking to "I Will Survive!"

Who would have thought one day I would enjoy dancing to the song with other breast cancer survivors?

"Life is like a box of chocolates, you'll never know what you'll get," the film character Forrest Gump said. And that's exactly how I felt: God gifted me with the many changes that went on in my life that day as shiny pink and silver confetti rained on all of us.

Everyone went home with a present from the sponsors — bath gels, lotions, hand santizers, magazines and goodie bags which were handed on the way out.

As if prepping me, my hair started to fall the next day. It was all over my pillow, my bedroom floor and the bathroom floor when I bathed. Thank God, I was emotionally ready to accept this because the last days had been gloriously happy.

Just before she flew back to Singapore where she is based, my youngest sister Anna texted me "Ate, please don't shave your head first, I might not be able to take it seeing you bald and you might not be ready for it." I broke down and cried. I felt what my married ICanServe sisters felt as they also had to answer questions like "Mom, are you dying?" from their kids who see them bald, dizzy and vomiting.

As I type this, I will be braving four more chemo sessions. My silver lining is that everyone tells me I look better in my wig that in my regular hairdo. I guess I owe that to God, too, he did give me EVERYTHING!

**NOTE: Pamsy Tioseco successfully completed her treatments in 2005 and now volunteers for the Information and Media Committee of ICanServe Foundation.

Hi, my name is Alice Orleans, married to Audie Orleans, a GCF (Greenhills Christian Fellowship) elder. I am a breast cancer survivor twice over and/ very recent tests showed possibility of cancer cells in my bones. But that is going ahead of my story.

In 1993, I was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer. I had a modified radical mastectomy of the right breast. At that time I prayed that despair, discouragement and negative attitudes will not get to me. And God answered my prayers. My biggest concern though was for my kids, who were 7 and 3 years old, then. I thought of girlfriends whom my husband can marry, (and) care for my kids when I’m gone. That upset my husband who said He did not need a yaya! Philippians 4:7 states, “Be anxious for nothing but in everything by prayer and supplication, let your request be made known to God and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding shall guard your heart and your mind through Christ Jesus . God’s un-explainable peace and joy carried me through my first cancer experience. You see, many years before cancer, I already surrendered my life to Jesus. He died on the cross for my sins to get me to heaven. I realized if He can take care of me for all eternity, surely He will take care of my children .

The Purpose
Nothing ever happens by accident. I knew that in God’s perfect time He would reveal why. I’ve always led a healthy lifestyle. I work out, I eat healthy, I didn’t smoke nor drink, I breastfed both my kids. I have no family history of breast cancer. You can say I am the most unlikely person to have breast cancer. Four months after my surgery, Avon, where I worked, launched a breast cancer program called Bigay Alam ay Bigay Buhay. In 1993, people did not talk about breast cancer the way we do now. Very few women would publicly admit to having breast cancer /much less talk about losing a breast. I became the face of the campaign. I shared my experience and in the process my faith in Jesus Christ.

Fast forward to 2005
Twelve years after, I noticed changes in my one remaining breast in the nipple area. Yet after a mammogram, an ultrasound and a breast MRI (magnetic resonance imaging), the results were negative. Because of my cancer history, my very persistent doctor did a needle biopsy and that turned out positive. In April 2005, I had a mastectomy on the left side, diagnosed stage 2B and had 6 cycles of chemotherapy.

Going through chemo was the most uncomfortable experience in my whole life. I was unable to eat nor sleep. I was nauseous all the time. I felt tired and weak and yes, I lost my hair. Looking back though, those were the best times I had with my God. I was surrounded by a very supportive, loving family … but at night, when everyone was asleep, I was wide awake … ‘twas just me and my God. In Jesus, I found refuge, comfort and rest. In the midst of pain, my Father held me. What a great and awesome God!

At this point, I just want to pay tribute to the father of my children Miguel, now 22 years old and Jessica, now 19. To publicly declare my love and appreciation to my husband, Audie who has been very sensitive to my needs. Audie never made me feel any less of a woman and continues to make me feel like the sexiest woman in the world – even without boobs!

And yes, God once again revealed His purpose for the cancer sequel. The return of cancer signaled the exit from a high pressured corporate life. I retired nine months later, which meant spending more time with family and being more involved in the cause for breast cancer. My chemo experience gave me added boost as an active volunteer of ICanServe Foundation, an information advocacy group providing hope and help to women with breast cancer, and promoting early breast cancer detection. By age 20, a woman should make self breast examination a monthly habit; by age 30, a woman should get herself screened by a doctor annually; and by age 40, a woman should get a yearly mammogram or at 35, if you have a family history of breast cancer.

Episode 3
Last April, during a routine medical exam/ my bone scan results showed “abnormal radioactivity in the sternum and skull, indicating possible bone metastasis or spread. However, my brain MRI and chest CT scan indicate non-specific findings. My first instinct was no more treatment until my husband said, let’s take this one step at a time. And that’s how it has been so far. We have been consulting with various oncologists. After all, this is episode 3. I am now on new medication, supposedly more potent than what I took. By end-July, I will go through tests again to see whether the medication worked or not.

I am convinced I am God’s favorite, after all how many people get cancer? How many get it twice? And possibly, a third time?

God is a wise God. He knows what is best for me and my family. He can choose to heal … or not. My life has been so blest I can only imagine life in eternity, with my God a million times better! My family’s prayer though, is more time with them, since God will have me for eternity, anyway.

To you, my GCF family, thank for your prayers.

I believe God is at work again in this third episode as I walk with Him one step at a time. Like Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:9, And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly therefore I will rather boast about my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may dwell in me.

Thank you.

Seeing me come home from hospital, chest bandaged and without my left breast, my children were filled with pity. I told them it was alright because had I kept the breast, I’d be sick. But without it, I’d be well. After all, I loved them not with my breast, but with my heart.

I observed that in the beginning, the older one, Gino, was more affected. At nine, he could understand the meaning of sickness and the permanence of death. He worried about what would happen if I did die, about me not receiving my ‘allowance’ if I didn’t go to work, and about the risk of making me sicker if he brought in germs from school.

Dana, at five, just cried whenever her Kuya cried. She said it made her feel sad to see her Kuya in tears.

Yet, it was Gino who adjusted quickly to the rigors of treatment. He’d ask questions whenever he felt worried, or heard something that bothered him. More important, he was open to us not knowing all the answers, but was satisfied that his parents were trying their best to cope just as he was. He understood that the ‘abnormality’ of treatment—having me stay at home, not driving-always sleeping, being bald—was necessary so we could get back to our old routines in due time.

It was Dana who found it difficult adjusting to the constant discussion about hospitals, doctors, cancer, and death. She didn’t like it when I stayed overnight in the hospital for my treatments.

In November 2004, in the middle of six chemotherapy cycles which would be completed in December, she was afraid she herself would die.

“I don’t want to die, Mama. Because that would mean I can’t be with you anymore…You know, when you sleep in the hospital, I’m always afraid you won’t be coming home anymore. And I cry because I want to be near you and you can’t be here because you’re in the hospital.”

Over a few months, she had begun understanding the severity of cancer and the possibility of death. In her yearbook entry for Kinder 2, she said the magical power she wanted was “to heal all sickness so I can cure my mother of her cancer.”

I completed 28 days of radiotherapy in March 2005. It was a happy time for us. We had hoped to put breast cancer behind us. I attended Dana’s Kinder 2 culminating activity sans wig or bandanna. She and her Kuya had their birthdays in March and January, respectively, and both felt more mature after successfully waging the cancer battle with me.

Imagine our shock when in July 2005, doctors found that my breast cancer had spread to six other parts of my body, including the hip and the left rib. The condition is called Stage 4 or metastatic breast cancer, and patients only had a 16% chance of surviving to their fifth year. Gino, now 10 and in fifth grade, was terribly disappointed. “Di ba Ma, magaling ka na? Di ba nagamot ka na?” (Aren’t you well already, Ma? Didn’t you get treated already?)

Dana, now six and in first grade, was more direct. “Mama, mamamatay ka na ba?” (Mama, will you die already?)

It was a new storm we had to weather and I submitted once again to another six cycles of chemotherapy, which lasted all the way to November 2005.

At one time during the course of my new treatment, I was powdering my face using compact pressed powder when Dana asked that she too use the powder. I told her, the powder was for older ladies and that she will get to use one when she reaches high school or even sixth grade. Then she blurted out, “E patay ka na nu’n” (“But you’ll be dead by then”). I felt a knife stab my chest. When I probed, she started to cry saying she was just afraid I would die.

Gino was furious at his little sister saying she was worrying too much, because Mama would not die yet.

We were all learning our own lessons, coping in our own ways. It was a trying time that haunts us every so often. Each time we see or read something sad, it would bring us back to when we ourselves were sad and afraid.

In December 2006 or a full year post-treatment, seven-year old Dana was reading a condensed version of "The Northern Lights: The Soccer Trails" by Michael Arvaarluk Kusugak. It is the story of a little girl, Kataujaq, growing up in the Arctic. Kataujaq (Inuit for rainbow) lost her mom, who died when the "big disease" swept their village. Kataujaq was very lonely and was reminiscing about the few days she remembers spending with her mom as a really young girl. She asked me, "Paano na kaya kung ikaw na (ang mamatay), Mama?" (How would it be, Mama, if it is already you who will die?)

I told her that like Kataujaq, the memories we make of our time together will keep her company even after I'm gone. It was another opportunity to clarify, educate, and assure.

The following month, in January 2007, Gino wrote four sentences as the biography of his mother for his sixth grade English class, as follows: My mother is a generous loving mother. Her life is just like a steep rocky mountain. Reaching her goals, finishing her studies, trying to get a promotion is just hard. She had breast cancer but survived it.

He made me realize that the cancer experience is but a tiny portion of the lives we are all trying to live well.

I have required no further medical treatment since 2005. Dana is in fifth grade and Gino is in third year high school. With their dad, we continue our journey, surviving both cancer and life, in the loving, consoling company of one another.