infiniteperspective.net

Every parent waits for the time when their little one utters that first word. The day they say Mama or  Dada is a cause for celebration, and to the more sentimental of us (me included), the date, time and place gets recorded in the our sacred baby books. We make a big deal of every mimicked word, every comprehensible utterance, every understandable expression. And when our children don’t start mumbling those precious words by the time the guide books say they should, we start to fret and redouble our efforts to read, talk and teach them every word we feel they ought to know. Truly, a child’s journey into the word of speech is both an exhilarating and gripping experience for any parent.

Since my daughter was born premature under the most unsuitable of conditions (she did have to contend with radiotherapy, chemotherapy and large doses of antibiotics in the first trimester of pregnancy), I am perhaps, more anxious than most mothers regarding her growth and development. When her first set of teeth didn’t come out until she was nearly two years old, I panicked and began seriously wondering if modern science had already invented dentures for toddlers. Only when her precious whites miraculously popped up one after the other just a couple of months before her second birthday did I start to relax. Naturally, when she didn’t start to mumble intelligibly (for her age, that is) when she was about one year, I panicked and began giving her lessons which went something like this:
“Baby, look at Mommy.” (This would necessitate cupping her face to make her look at me.) I would then point to a picture in her book and say: “This is a cake. Say ‘cake’.” To which my pupil would simply reply with a defiant nod of her pretty little head and a surprisingly strong push away from me, and to whatever it is that got her attention. I got so exasperated that I would carry her back to bed, determined to sit her down until she said “cake.” My husband, perhaps alarmed at my seemingly irrational behavior, had to tell me quit it. Of course, she wouldn’t say cake or cat or apple or whatever it is that I was teaching her because she wasn’t ready.

I realized that learning can’t take place if the child isn’t prepared—mentally, physically, emotionally. Comparing the progress of one child to another does not do good to the child and to the parents. It merely pressures the child, takes the fun out of learning, limits their exploration of their environment, and gives us parents undue stress when we should be enjoying every little facet of every tiny bit of information our children absorb as they grow.   

But now, oh how she speaks! Just a year later, she can say not only cake or cat or apple, but cow and duck and fish and bird. She can command me to “dwo pish” (draw fish, that is), her dad to “dance,” and us both to tell her an impromptu (those extemporaneous speaking contests we participated in college were useful, after all) bedtime story—in which she decides who the characters are—whether it is Mr. Cow or Mrs. Duck or Mr. Fish. She tells us if she doesn’t like a movie being played, whether she wants to see the MariMar or Michael V’s dance videos, and when she wants to wash her hands or take a “showel” (shower, that is). And when it rains, she expects us to let the poor chickens inside the house when she says, “’icken showel luoy” which basically means, “poor chicken-she’s wet”. To make caring for her more convenient, she can tell us when she wants to potty and if anything hurts.

It is wonderful, this gift of toddler gab, truly what every parent awaits in the progress of their young. And it never ceases to amaze me as I listen to my little girl how someone so little could speak so much.

We make decisions everyday. Things as trivial as what to eat, drink or wear all have to be decided on. Of course the more serious ones like where to go for college, what career to pursue or when to settle down absolutely have to be thought over and eventually have to be resolved. Come to think of it, we have to keep on making decisions every single moment of our lives—unless, of course, we encounter situations or are placed in circumstances that are totally beyond our control. Accidents, for example, belong to that sphere far beyond the reach of any human power. They are unexpected, undesigned and often unfortunate occurrences which involve embarrassment at the least and death at the most. Sickness, too, when they come, especially when you’ve kept away from vices and have lived a generally healthy lifestyle before the diagnosis hit, also belongs to that realm that leaves one bereft of that capacity to make decisions. We hear of individuals who don’t smoke getting lung cancer and transfusion patients contracting infection from AIDS-contaminated blood. It’s completely out of their hands and most of the time, it’s unfair.

Yes, at that precise moment when these mishaps strike, we are left completely helpless and at the mercy of the whims of a very cruel fate. But once the shock has subsided, it is reassuring to know that the power to decide has not completely left us. We can and still have to deal with the aftermath. After all, once placed in such conditions, we have no other choice but to deal with it—and dealing with it usually involves a hefty lot of decision making. For instance, when I got sick, a lot of things had to be decided on: To proceed or not with the treatments, to go home or stay in Manila, to curse the high heavens and blame them about my plight or pray and psyche myself up to beat the cancer. The decisions that my family and I made were not easy ones. They were even quite painful. But what is life without pain anyway? John Patrick in his play The Teahouse of the August Moon wisely puts it thus: “Pain makes man think. Thinking makes man wise. Wisdom makes life endurable.” Every resolution that is of consequence in our lives involves pain as decision-making is by nature a tortuous, agonizing process. However, when we know that we’ve considered all the pros and cons, weighed all there is to reflect on and prayed about it unceasingly, then the decision, no matter how tough, can be made with peace of mind and heart.

It takes courage to make sound judgments. Sometimes, it’s even easier to not accept the reality of the situation, bewail our fate and simply just give up. But the men and women worth their salt make it their choice to be face life head-on. The decision to live a courageous life amid all of life’s battles can be a conscious choice. And how do we do that? Victoria Lincoln in The Arts of Living has an answer that we can ponder on:

“Courage begins when we can admit that there is no life without some pain, some frustration; that there is no tragic accident to which we are immune; and that beyond the normal exercise of prudence we can do nothing about it.

But courage goes on to see that the triumph of life is not in pains avoided, but in joys lived completely in the moment of their happening. Courage lies in never taking so much as a good meal or a day of health and fair weather for granted. It lies in learning to be aware of our moments of happiness as sharply as our moments of pain. We need not be afraid to weep when we have cause to weep, so long as we can really rejoice at every cause for rejoicing.”

In one of my columns, I wrote about how nothing compares to country living. I cited fresh air and the laid-back atmosphere as veritable pluses to rural life. Two months later, I’m beginning to realize that my hometown isn’t as rosy as I want it to be.

For starters, I was expecting the same kind of atmosphere I grew up in—and I mean real fresh, clean, good old country air. I love to motorcycle around the city, you see. The rush of air that greets me has a rejuvenating effect on my senses, calming and at the same time clearing my mind. Now, riding a motorcycle seems more of a bane than a boon for my health and my senses. Now, it has become a stressful breathing experience. Can you believe we actually have rush hours here? I mean there is actually bumper-to-bumper traffic at seven o’clock in the morning and five o’clock in the afternoon in almost all areas of the city. The only advantage in riding a motorbike is that you can swerve your way around the three and four – wheeled contraptions queuing one after the other, like dull metallic objects in a bizarre procession. But the disadvantage far outweigh the thrill of swerving around vehicles: Breathing toxic carbon dioxide emissions from these automobiles is simply too much for my poor convalescing lungs. You might ask why I subject myself to such torture. Well, life has to go on and I won’t allow myself to get cooped inside the house. For instance, I like going to the beach to relax and take in the scenery. But before I even get there, I’ve already ingested tons of toxins on the way! If the traffic is anything to go by, Dumaguete is getting way too urbanized for our own good. Whether you have cancer or not, breathing uncontaminated (if at all possible) air is vital for our own health and well-being.

Then there’s that simple matter we call customer service. What has that got to do with anything, you may ask. You see, when your nerves are frayed because you’re sick, the least you need is arrogance from a store, office or hospital staff. Customer service here has a long way to go. In one of the stores here in the city, for example, I politely requested that the organic soil I bought be packed separately from the Christmas decors but the salesperson adamantly refused, jamming everything in one bag. I kept on reiterating my request but he simply did not put it in another bag. My voice had grown ostensibly higher now, but there was still no response. Since I could feel my blood pressure skyrocketing, I decided to drop it. That’s simply rotten, don’t you think? I guess it would have served that person right had I made a big deal out of it and called his superior but when you’re tired, you really don’t want to sweat the small stuff. Then there’s the time at the drugstore where I was shocked to hear the pharmacy assistant (that’s the politically correct term, I suppose) lecturing/grumbling to a senior citizen who expressed his shock at how the price of a medicine he had bought just a week ago had gone up. A simple explanation would have sufficed but no, this one had to threaten the old man (in very rough Visayan terms): “Keep on doing that and I won’t serve your order!” And I thought the customer is king. You can just imagine how taxing it must have been to be treated like that when you’re buying medicines for a sick loved one. Lucky for her, the customer did not holler out: “Call your manager!” I certainly do miss the kind of customer service I get in Tokyo, Bangkok or even in Manila where basic courtesy is practiced and ultimate customer satisfaction always the main goal.

And what about the laid-back peaceful atmosphere? Well, we hear rape, vigilante shootings and robberies here and there. Years ago, I could go home way past midnight and the only thing that scared me was a wakwak sucking me lifeless. Now, there is that fear of all-too real danger from the bad elements in society.

Don’t read me wrong, though. Dumaguete will always be home to me. That’s why I’ve come back. I know it’s useless to pine for the city of my childhood to re-emerge. But certainly, there must be a way to go urban without sacrificing our physical and emotional well-being. Respecting the environment and respecting each other ought to be the cornerstones of our quest for a more progressive and healthy society.

I’ve worked for as long as I can remember. Doing part-time jobs as a radio DJ/newscaster, student assistant in the Registrar’s Office, and English tutor to Koreans where I lived, provided for my allowance from high school all through University. Needless to say, I joined the workforce right after graduation. Thus, when the Big C came knocking on my door while I was infanticipating about three years ago, there was no other choice but to take a much-needed break, devote myself to my baby and go back to my first love- writing.

My cousin, who also runs his own site at www.theonlinematrix.com, knew about my condition and my passion for writing, introduced me to the concept of blogging, and earning money from it at the same time through Payperpost. Now I’ve heard of blogs before, but I didn’t know that one could actually earn from it. I was more than interested- after all, it was hitting two birds with one stone: I could earn by doing what I love and still take care of my daughter at the same time. He offered to set up my site and with my write-ups www.infiniteperspective.net was born.

Payperpost is an online community that pays bloggers for blogging. Their advertisers are willing to compensate bloggers for their opinion on various websites, products, services and companies. Once you have registered your blog with Payperpost and then have it approved, then, you can start searching through a list of Opportunites, posting your blog about that opportunity, submitting it to them for approval, and then ultimately, getting paid.

I am still a newbie in this whole blogging business, but I’ve already learned to harness the power of the Internet, other than using it for email and research. With my blog, I do hope to reach out to more people and inspire especially those who are battling cancer, to fight the good fight. I would encourage those who have a story to tell, those who seek to inspire and uplift, or those who simply love to write, those who want to earn without leaving home, to explore this world. If Payperpost pays bloggers for writing about what they love, then that just makes blogging a whole lot better.

Adversity is a great ally. I’m not referring to it in the masochistic sort of way—after all, who would want to go through the rough road if an easier choice were given?  But it is a wonderful helper to have along especially if you need to scrutinize people without rose-colored lenses. It is when misfortune comes along that the bonds that hold family and friends together are tested. It is when times are difficult that human kindness and compassion are most genuine.

I always thought I had many friends who were always concerned for me. I also thought that I had many close relatives who would stand by me no matter what. When I got sick, I realized how wrong this perception was. It’s quite funny now that I think about it: When Big C came to visit me, people who I thought were for me, went bolting out the back door! It wasn’t my loss however, because God, with his inexhaustible supply of goodness and mercy, gave me others who truly cared about my welfare. I’d like to refer to them as God’s hands—men, women and children who extended and continue to extend God’s miracle of help and healing into my life.

Without these wonderfully supportive family and friends, my spirit would have succumbed during my twenty-six days of confinement. Let me explain. The fight against cancer or any other debilitating disease for that matter, is not merely physical. It is as much a mental and psychological battle. The mind is a very powerful tool for healing—I believe that before any therapeutic effects can be felt physically, the power to live, to survive and ultimately overcome the disease must first begin with the mind. The resolve to fight must come from within. Without them, I would have resigned myself to the thought that there was no hope at all. Their constant presence lifted my spirits when things looked exceedingly grim. And despite the initially pessimistic prognosis, they responded optimistically. In order to get all the treatments I needed, they took it upon themselves to source out funds. Their response to my sickness was not fear or surrender—it was to face it head on at whatever cost. When you have that kind of support system, summoning the resolve to get well comes easy.

Doctors are integral to any curative process and I was fortunate to have medical consultants whose hands were sanctified by God to administer the medicines that would benefit me and my baby. All of them collaborated to map out the best plan of action for me and I’ve never been more grateful that Maria Carmela and I were placed under their care. When people hear my story, the most common remark made is “You’re lucky you had very good doctors!” I don’t think it was luck—I believe God purposely employed them to do His work of healing me so I can find my way back to Him.      

Then there were my previous students and their parents who mobbed the hallways of the eleventh floor of the Medical City just to show their support. Despite the fact that I was quite a strict mentor—a “terror” teacher—they shed tears upon learning of my disease and then later on, rejoiced with me when my baby and I made it through.

From far and near, people offered hope and encouragement. My mother-in-law and sister in-law, my siblings, some aunts, uncles and cousins, old friends, colleagues, bureaucrats, even people who I have not even met from lands far away, heeded the worldwide call to be God’s hands for me—giving support in any way possible.

When a potentially fatal illness strikes, you can expect those around you to either be very concerned or very indifferent. In the early days of my continuing battle against cancer, individuals had the audacity to suggest that it would be better for the baby to be aborted because the chemotherapy might bring forth a deformed infant! Some of my closest kin have even come close to quashing all hope of my being restored to full health. Others simply kept their distance.

Indeed, adversity is a great ally. It brings out what is authentic in people. In the end, when individuals allow themselves to offer the Almighty’s wonderful gift of human compassion and tenderness to those who need it most, then are they fulfilling a most divine mission: that of being God’s hands in a world so wanting in prayer, faith, and miracles.#     

 It’s so easy to thank God when you are at the top of your career, when you are happily married to a loving husband, when the pregnancy test yielded positive results and you know that in nine months you will be blessed with your first baby. When you have all the good things, praising an ever-loving God is easy. But what if you have to stop working because you got sick? What if the possibility of a miscarriage stares at you right in the face? What if you suddenly have to face the thought of leaving your loved ones behind as dying becomes a real possibility? Will you thank God then?

 I was a 26 year old happily married teacher expecting my first baby when I was diagnosed with Stage IV Thymoma—a rare form of cancer affecting the thymus gland. (Normally, the thymus gland disappears as a person grows older. In some uncommon cases, it doesn’t. It grows and becomes malignant). Though faced with a very uncertain future, I continued to trust the goodness of God. Amazingly, the blessings came pouring in. You see, when cancer came knocking into my life, it did not bring with it demise. Rather, in one of God’s miraculous paradoxes, my cancer brought with it life.
 
By the time I was diagnosed, the mass had grown so big that I had developed all sorts of cardiac complications. As a result, my heart was having difficulty pumping blood throughout my system, making my pulse rate go up and my breathing laborious. As if that wasn’t enough, the MRI Scan also showed that the cancer had metastasized to the lungs and other nearby areas. Chemotherapy or radiotherapy had to be administered soon since lying in bed had become very difficult. I had to sit on the chair in order to get some sleep. However in this position, dizzying and vomiting spells constantly plagued me. My baby was in no better condition either as there were days when I had spotting—a sign that not everything was going well inside my womb.

Under those circumstances, radiotherapy was seen as the best possible alternative since it offered the best chance of shrinking the large mass in a short amount of time, thus affording me some relief. Taking this course of action meant the risk of losing my baby.  My little angel had to receive the treatment with me with only a thin abdominal lead shield placed over my stomach to protect her. But we resigned ourselves to the stark reality of losing our firstborn. We cried our confusion, but trusted God nonetheless—hoping against hope that our little angel would make it through. And she did. Chemotherapy followed soon after. My baby and I were given six cycles every twenty-one days. Still she continued to hang on and fight the good fight with me. 

However, when a congenital anomaly scan was about six months into the pregnancy, we were in for more bad news. Fluid had filled my baby’s heart. My doctor explained that this condition could result to fetal death. Despair set in, but we continued to pray. About a month later, a follow-up ultrasound revealed that the fluid had diminished and my baby was thriving well!
 
At eight months, I delivered Maria Carmela via Caesarian section. For a premature baby weighing only 1.55 kilograms at birth, she had a lusty cry that woke me up from my anesthesia-induced sleep. My fears of a deformed baby were put to rest when the doctors held my beautiful and complete baby girl close to me. Amid the ecstatic exultations of my doctors inside the delivery room—“She has such a wonderful cry! She’s our miracle baby! Do we have a camera?”—I knew that God’s hand was again at work.

Although a month premature, Carmela was placed in the incubator at Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of the Medical City for only twelve days. Now, a healthy baby with a ready smile, Carmela is a constant reminder to us that despite all the seemingly insurmountable odds, God is there. He is only a prayer away. With all these marvelous blessings, how can I not get down on my knees and thank Him? At this eleventh hour, when Big C came to visit, I got my faith back. #       
 
   

Filipinos love celebrations. In Dumaguete alone, we have barely gotten over the Buglasan mania and preparations for the city fiesta are already in full swing. With December just around the bend, Christmas also smells wonderfully close. Of course New Year follows, then Valentines and then …but I’m getting ahead of myself. You do get the picture, don’t you? Fiestas and celebrations are part and parcel of the Filipino (perhaps, even the human) psyche. We just love festivals!

But we don’t have to wait for fiestas or special family occasions to come around so we can party. Life is reason enough for a toast. In fact, I’ve noticed that the more I found reasons to celebrate, the more life gets placed in perspective. So what really makes life worth celebrating?

Family comes first in my list. I savor every precious moment of my daughter’s infectious laughter and my husband’s firm resolve. Of course, when it comes to family, I must not forget to mention Jewel, my “eldest daughter,” whose canine loyalty is far more precious than any material possession that I have.

The next best thing to family is food—especially Italian fare. Savoring very creamy and cheesy pizzas and pastas have become a very precious treat. And now that it’s also imperative for me to eat lots of fruits and vegetables, I’m giving my taste buds a workout with varied tastes and textures. Everyday is a fiesta with sweet lansones, chilled watermelons and would you believe, steamed okra dipped in salt and vinegar.

Then, there are pictures. With the invention of camera phones, priceless moments are captured easily and printed just as quickly. Photographs capture that once-in-a-lifetime instant when a face cannot look exactly as it did at any other time, when a first step was taken, when the triumph of a victory or the pain of loss is as genuine as the day it was felt. When I look at the photos I have of my daughter—from the time I first held her in the delivery room up to now—I always find a reason to celebrate.

I always get a kick out of people whose eyes narrow and jaws drop whenever they see me. So on my list, I always find a cause to celebrate when I see old acquaintances and yes, even relatives, who disbelieve that I’m still alive. Sometimes I even get the feeling that others wish me dead just to prove what they want to believe. So I celebrate everyday of the life that the good Lord has given me so that I can continue to proclaim how wonderful He is and how truly effective Mama Mary’s intercession is. Of course, the jaw dropping gets pretty hilarious sometimes, so a bash is always in order every time that happens.

Last but not the least, I find reason to celebrate in everything that Life throws at me. The joys, fears, uncertainties, sadness, anger and grief—all sorts of emotions and sentiments that make this existence colorful and vibrant are more than enough for a toast. Dreams fulfilled and dreams yet to be realized, the everyday struggle to either succumb or fight—all these scream for a celebration. Because despite all of life’s punches, it’s still good to be alive.

“To have faith is to be sure of the things we hope for, to be certain of the things we cannot see.”
Hebrews 11:1

My daughter is my greatest blessing. Bringing her out into the world amid all the odds was a feat that I can only attribute to God’s miraculous grace. Cancer and pregnancy don’t really go well together and undergoing both chemotherapy and radiotherapy—both mainstays in the cancer treatment program—significantly increases the risk of birth anomalies in the fetus. It could only be through God’s extraordinary blessing that our baby girl was born whole and healthy, with the Newborn Screening showing normal results. Adele Pillitteri in her book Maternal and Child Health Nursing explains: “As a rule, women can receive chemotherapy in the second and third trimesters of pregnancy without adverse fetal effects. Radiation therapy, in contrast… puts the fetus at risk throughout pregnancy if the fetus is directly exposed.”
I started receiving both treatments during the first trimester of my pregnancy. When you take that into consideration, you can understand why this case is a medical miracle. Now that I am convalescing, I know that my continued health and that of my daughter’s hinges on God’s providence alone. Human as I am however, there are times when I succumb to worries that God might not continue the miracle He started.

Yesterday was one such day. The news featured an adolescent boy with leukemia whom the news channel’s foundation was sponsoring for chemo treatments. The reporter also interviewed a physician who revealed the causes for this type of cancer. One stood out clearly in my mind: A fetus’ exposure to radiation early on in the pregnancy. My husband, who was happily playing with our child, stopped laughing and simply held our baby close. Exposure? My daughter had more than exposure! She had tons of radiation and x-rays she’s probably bionic!

Dr. O.P. Jaggi in his book Cancer: Causes, Prevention & Treatment reveals that from a scientific standpoint, studies have shown that x-rays and radioactive substances are well-recognized causes of cancer. Nineteenth century mine workers in Czechoslovakia who were exposed to radioactive substances developed lung cancer. A lot of inexperienced technicians working with x-ray machines in the past developed leukemia and skin cancers. Many Japanese who were exposed to the atomic bomb explosions likewise developed leukemia and other cancers.

Then I remember that my oncologist had given me a straightforward answer about a year ago when I asked what my daughter’s chances are of “inheriting” the illness. “If she gets it, leukemia might manifest itself in her adolescent years.” He did give the assurance that this was highly unlikely yet should it come to pass, by then medical science should already have rendered chemo obsolete and found a complete cure for the Big C.

There is nothing for us to do now but strive to give the best possible care for our precious little girl. Because we are treading a very uncertain path, we know that only God’s firm grip can see us through. We have been given a reason to pray.
When I shared this possibility with my mother, her answer was more basic: “She is God’s gift. God’s angels protected her, Mama Mary sheltered her, and Jesus blood washed away all traces of radiation that she received. God won’t allow her to get sick—now or ever.”

Such trust, such confidence. Yet such is faith. I would do well to follow her example.

“This world is not conclusion;
A sequel stands beyond,
Invisible, as music,
But positive, as sound…..”

-Emily Dickinson

Whenever November 1 comes around, I always feel a certain sense of foreboding. Perhaps it has something to do with my fear of death and the unknown. For instance, I would consciously look the other way when passing by funeral parlors and cemeteries. Horror flicks are never on my movies-to-watch list and I would feel like retching whenever I see a dead carcass of a cat or a dog on the street. Oh, I’ve gone on wakes and watched the deceased lying peacefully in their caskets, but I still find funeral atmospheres stifling, to say the least.

Fear is a good thing, I suppose, because it helps one prepare for that inevitable hour when the clock of life would have to come to a grinding halt. It’s peculiar how our time on earth now seems to be one big audition for the after-life. For Christians, the concept of heaven and hell are two motivating factors why life on earth must be of upright consequence. For others, the notion of basic human decency and impressing a fine legacy is enough.

But can we really prepare for death? After all, we know for a fact that there is no exact schedule for passing away. We could go tomorrow, next week, next year—nothing is ever fixed. The only thing that’s certain is we go. When the doctors told me that I had cancer fourteen months ago, the only question that burned inside of me was: If I die now, have I not wasted my life? My whole existence literally flashed before my eyes as I sought to answer my own query. The pain that accompanies each potential dying breath and the physical part of the demise did not scare me as much as wanting to know if I have not wasted my time on earth. In case God convenes a jury to try whether each departed soul was fit for heaven I wanted to be able to properly respond and defend myself. Up to now I’m still searching for an answer as the shadow of mortality stalks me everyday. While looking for that, I strive to know my purpose so as not to waste the second lease on life granted to me. It’s a good thing that I have my baby to care for. I now have a goal as I strive to live my life on a daily basis—that of nurturing the little miracle that has been with me from the start. Surely, loving and ensuring the welfare of God’s gift to me is purpose enough. If this isn’t the only objective of my existence, then I hope the Almighty would be lenient enough to add more sand to my hourglass.

In the end how one prepares for that final destination is a matter of individual preference. Whether preparation entails doing good deeds, heeding God’s call for the ministry, or praying five times a day, pondering on the hereafter is a personal endeavor worth taking because it sets the mood for one’s animate existence in this world. Of course, it’s always easy to go through life without giving death a thought, but every time we celebrate All Souls Day, we know that our time will come. When it does, it would be wonderful to embrace it with no reservations.

Cancer is a scary word. More and more people are getting it. Since it has been a well accepted fact that the earlier the cancer is detected, the better are the chances of survival, knowing the signs and symptoms that warrant a trip to the doctor is vital. That is why cancer awareness is very important. As I celebrate each day of victorious battle against this evil, it’s about time I share the little practical knowledge I’ve gained from living with this disease. Before going any further, however, let me clarify that what I write here is not meant to be used as a substitute for proper medical advice. All that is written comes from a survivor’s personal standpoint, supplemented by readings from various books and journals.

Elaine Marieb, in her book Essentials of Human Anatomy and Physiology, writes that neoplasms or new growths “develop when controls of the cell cycle and cell division malfunction.” Malignant cancer cells “grow relentlessly and may become killers.” They also have the capability of metastasis—breaking away from the parent mass and spreading to distant parts of the body. Environmental as well as genetic and personal factors can cause cancer. Carcinogens include exposure to radiation, tobacco, certain viral infections and chemicals.

So how do we detect cancer? Sadly, most are discovered in their late stages when the symptoms have become unbearable. Because early detection means better chances of conquering the disease, it is important to heed certain signs that merit a visit to the doctor. Dr. O.P. Jaggi, in his book Cancer: Causes, Prevention and Treatment, outlines the following symptoms “which should arouse suspicion of the disease”:

1.A lump or hard area in the breast [or anywhere in the body].
2.A change in a wart or mole.
3.A persistent change in digestive and bowel habits, for example, constipation.
4.A persistent cough or hoarseness in a smoker [or even a non-smoker].
5.Bleeding per vagina at times other than the menstrual.
6.Non-injury bleeding from the surface of the skin, mouth of any other bodily orifice.
7.Any ulcer that does not get well.
8.Unexplained loss of weight.
9.Unexplained diminished or lost appetite.
10.Unexplained low-grade fever.

Now let’s say the diagnosis is in. After all the preliminary tests, the doctor says what you don’t like to hear. What do you do then? Here are some helpful tips:
1.Be calm. Keeping your cool will allow you to think and make sound decisions. Prepare yourself mentally for the tough battle ahead.
2.Ask. Be very direct with your doctor. Knowing more about your disease will give you some degree of control. Some important questions include: How long do I have to live? What are my treatment options and their possible side-effects? How much would these cost? Make sure that you choose a very good doctor and a very good hospital.
3.Keep appointments with your physician religiously. Make sure that you stick to your chemotherapy or radiotherapy schedule. Do not easily be swayed by alternative cancer medicines. Should you decide on taking them, make sure that they have scientific bases.
4.All family members, relatives and friends must understand the situation. Cancer cannot be won without the necessary family support.
5.Pray. No matter the advances in medical oncology, all cancer patients still need a miracle. Battling the Big C is not all medical. It is as much a spiritual battle as anything else. I believe that one’s ultimate weapon is prayer.

My daughter is already ten months old. She babbles in simple monosyllables, smiles a lot, crawls with lightning speed and maneuvers her walker confidently. But as a mother, I find that nothing compares to my baby’s ability to recognize faces. When she wakes up in the morning, for example, she always looks for me or her daddy before she breaks into that wonderful smile that always puts the “good” in “Good Morning!” Nothing makes me happier than to see her hold up her arms, eyes beseeching her grandma, her daddy or me: “Please carry me.” Or the way she squeals with delight whenever I tickle and kiss her tummy. The power of an infant to mesmerize and hold one captive is something short of amazing, isn’t it? Because this power is pure and uncorrupted, it has the effect of drawing people easily to them. Think about it: Have you ever looked at a baby before and found yourself repulsed? I don’t think so. Even those born with congenital diseases do not evoke in us a feeling of revulsion. Rather, we are so much more drawn to their plight. Out of pity? Perhaps. Or is it because in a world so tainted with all things vile, we fear the loss of that one beautiful, innocent life? I would like to believe that this is so.

A child born into the world brings with him or her limitless potential. Your little bundle of joy could bring happiness in the hearts of many with her gift of laughter. Your neighbor’s month old boy could serve the cause of justice with his gift of wisdom. My darling child could find the cure for cancer, AIDS or any other debilitating disease with her gift of healing. Our little ones hold these aspirations with them. What little they can show for physical strength and energy, they make up for boundless potential, holding our minds and hearts in rapt attention as we wait and see what they would ultimately become.

With such wonderful prospects wrapped in the evocative innocence of babyhood, how could we go wrong? But we did go wide of the mark. Humanity knows of power, but one that boasts of dominance and submission. Civilization knows of stirring talent, but one that is used for malice and destruction. The world knows of life-saving devices and medicines, but also realizes that the maladies we face now are fast making these obsolete. Countries aspire for peace, but are willing to go to war over borders. Politicians rant of public service, but are ready to milk dry the public they serve. We speak of religion, but sorely lack the basic human notion of respect for those who are also sons and daughters of God. We know of love, but are eager preys to the call of pride, prejudice and hate.

How could that once innocent infant turn out to be one power-hungry maniac? How could that tiny tot turn out to be a merciless killer? How could that gurgling baby you once knew turn to dealing and peddling in the underbellies of sin?

Can someone or something be blamed for tainting such innocence? Oh, biologists will say it is one’s genetic predisposition that eventually molds an individual’s personality. Psychologists will point out that the environment is the main culprit. Adults blame their bosses or spouses, whoever they find more despicable. And teenagers blame their parents. Maybe everyone and everything else is the cause. Maybe no one and nothing.

As an afterthought, I hope my baby ultimately finds the purpose for which she was born and I dream even more, with much anticipation and optimism that she goes on to fulfill it. Yet more than this, I pray fervently that while she sets about accomplishing whatever it is that God set her to perfect, she does not lose that innocence that makes her such a power to be reckoned with.

It is a given fact that cancer is a physiological condition. After all, it is a condition that begins in the cells, our body’s basic unit of life. When certain conditions cause our cells to go haywire and mutate, they can divide uncontrollably and invade other tissues and organs. It is also a given fact that there are medicines and procedures that can treat this disease. Aside from the conventional chemotherapeutic, radiological and surgical measures, medical research is now focusing on the prevention of certain cancers, foremost of which is the Human Papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine that guards women against cervical cancer. Yet, it is also a given fact that a cure for all types of cancer—whether they be carcinomas, sarcomas, leukemias or lymphomas—has still not been found. Unless this panacea can be discovered, all cancer survivors have to be prepared for possible remissions in the future. Thus, it is also a given fact that the battle to survive cancer is not only physiological. It is also psychological.

And it is all in the mind. Wikipedia defines mental conditioning as “the process through which the mind is induced to adopt certain mental patterns, tendencies and/or mental states.” The ‘will to survive’ is a deliberate cerebral act, and from what I’ve experienced and heard from my “colleagues in the Big C business,” this often makes the difference between fighting it out and giving in. Because cancer is a sickness that carries with it much hopelessness, it makes sense to acclimatize the mind to accept the ailment so that it can prepare the body for the potentially long, sometimes painful and emotionally draining treatment process. I dare say that it is almost always a waste of time, energy and money to treat cancer patients with the latest therapies and surgeries if they have conditioned their minds to accept that death is sure to follow.

So how do we toughen our minds? These four techniques that the Mayo Clinic gives to enhance athletic performance are also quite helpful for those facing the Big C. These are: 1) relaxation, 2) imagery, 3) goal-setting and 4) positive thinking. Taking a few deep breaths and staying calm can be especially helpful before and during any chemotherapy session, when inserting needles more than once before a vein is found becomes commonplace. Forming mental picture or image of you getting well, walking and playing with your children is also important because it puts any thought of pain or death aside. I found this especially helpful when I formed a mental picture of ultimately delivering a healthy baby despite the treatments I have been receiving. The Mayo Clinic says: “Setting goals can increase your motivation, provide you with a sense of challenge and help you determine what you can and can’t control—leading to greater confidence.” If you like to beat the disease, then let that be your goal. Last but not the least, erase all negative thoughts of “not making it” because they “get in the way of concentration and confidence.” Staying positive keeps the cancerite focused on the most important thing of all: healing. I’d like to add a fifth element, though, which I have found indispensable in my personal journey with cancer: prayer. Knowing that God is with me throughout this whole ordeal certainly lightens the load. It leaves the burden of the cure up to Him.

MANILA- 2007 is now only a distinct memory. Yet for me, it certainly did not go quietly away. Like the fireworks that lit up the Manila skies from midnight to dawn of December 31, 2007 to January 1, 2008, the year that just closed was one fraught with colorful- sometimes dazzling, sometimes deadly- displays. And that’s just on my own turf. In the realm of politics, calamities and showbusiness, 2007 can certainly boast of its just share in the limelight.

As our little family watched the dark skies light up with the rainbow of colors that herald the coming of the new year, as we listened to the ear-splitting sounds of whistle bombs, triangles and baby rockets in our midst, it suddenly occurred to me that all these noise and fanfare are simply forerunners of the year ahead. Just like any other year that came and went, 2008 will certainly have its share of surprises, trials and accomplishments. Just like any other year, it will give opportunities and take them away without batting an eyelash. And just like any other year, it will have the same number of month, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds that it always has. Yet, like every time it came and went, the New Year always gives a frayed humanity what it sorely needs: hope.

Although I’ve made the New Year speak like it was some sort of pyschic offering us a glimpse of the future, the truth of the matter is that 2008 or time for that matter, doesn’t have a hand in what happens to the world, to our country or to us. It simply gives us a blank page, an empty calendar in which to work on. It allows us to close the year before with all its successes, failures and emotional baggage and gives us a fresh slate in which to work anew. Though by no means does it give us rose-colored glasses or reason to believe that things will certainly work for us this time, every New Year gives us endless possibilities. It presents prospects for improving our lives, our health and our relationships. It allows us that precious chance to make of ourselves something better, aspire for things greater than ourselves, and ultimately get down to business to do the work necessary to make all these happen.

We are already given the groundwork to pursue our hearts’ desire- all the time that the Year of the Rat holds stretches out for us like an empty highway that extends to that place we could call success, contentment or achievement. And because we are mortal, 2008 could also lead us to that eternal sleep which only God can wake us from. Yet, even with such ominous acceptance of our own mortality, the New Year confers on us the hope that in spite of it all, we could still live our lives and make our mark in this world. For in the final analysis, it is the hope of something better, be it in this life or the next, that urges us to face life head on.

I started working when I was in fourth year high school. Part-time, that is. Whatever free time I had from school, I put into my job as a DJ/newscaster in a local radio station or as a student assistant in the then Silliman Medical Center or the Registrar’s Office. It was tough. Taking hold of my time was like juggling three metal balls while maneuvering a monocycle. The comparison might be a little extreme, but I do not exaggerate. I think any working student now can put themselves in my shoes then. A regular day is not complete without the usual sprint from the Registrar’s Office, for example, to the A/S Building and then to the Main Library to take down notes for a paper due the next day. When most other students consider their day complete, mine had just begun at around eight-thirty at night as I drive my trusty old motorcycle to one of the radio stations here to go on board the 9-12 midnight shift. Remember the paper due the following day? Well, I still had to type that as soon as I got home. After college, I rushed on to work as a research assistant before finally flying to Manila to teach.

All those years were busy years. My days were spent thinking about what would happen next. There was always a deadline to beat. Everything that had to be done for the day and if humanly possible, what was assigned to be accomplished tomorrow, must be done today. My mantra then was: Seize the day! It was always a race against me and time. When I got sick, I realized one does not stand a chance of winning against time.

Time is set. We are given 60 seconds for every minute, 60 minutes for every hour, 24 hours in a day, 30 days in a month (on the average) and 12 months in a year. It’s a constant that we have to live with so that no matter how many activities one crams into a particular day, time won’t give up its hands and say: “I can’t do this anymore! You’re schedule is overloading my system.” The hands of the clock will continue to turn—tick-tock-tick-tock. Meanwhile, our fragile bodies get stressed and ache all over before finally succumbing to exhaustion. Medical studies have shown that chronic stress is now one of the causative factors of sickness and disease. In a world that considers “instant” normal, people now live like automatons—somehow forgetting the fact that we are given the eyes to see, the ears to hear and the nose to smell.

I believe that getting sick is God’s way of telling me to enjoy His creation and “behold the wonder” of all that He has made. Now that I have to rest, I’m finally able to take each day as it comes and savor the time spent with family and friends. Whether it be a motorcycle ride to cool Valencia to smell fresh air, a walk in the beach to look at the sunset, or a no holds barred Wow magic sing session of Melissa Manchester’s Looking Through the Eyes of Love (where I always get a 95, by the way), I’m finally learning what it’s like to live. But the best part of getting sick is having all the time in the world to take care of my daughter. Talking to her, hearing her laugh, giving her light massages everyday—these make life worth living. And whether I have 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 months, 5 years or 5 decades, I’m glad that I’m not fighting against time anymore. I’m smelling the roses, finally.

When I watch people doing extreme sports on TV, I can’t help but ask the question: Why do they do it? When I see the all-too-real dangers and pitfalls associated with these games such as those featured on Sports Disasters at AXN, I raise my hands in resignation, then close my fists, pound the object nearest me and yell: “Why? Why? Why?” After this initial outburst, I calm down and start waxing philosophical: While there are so many who are dying to live, why are there also those who are seemingly living to die? All sorts of games to make the latter more exciting have been invented. Skydiving, base jumping, bungee jumping, just to name a few, are some of the breathtaking stunts which, in my opinion, “flirt with death.” And for what? Is it because of the thrill? Perhaps the adrenaline rush that accompanies such a feat is too much resist. Is it because they want to test the limits of human strength and endurance? The human spirit is capable of accomplishing what seems impossible and maybe this is the best avenue for such. Is it because they want to defy nature? Perhaps this is one way of standing up to nature and claiming victory. Is it because they crave the attention? After all, such staggering exploits do give one a spot on national, sometimes even international, television. Or is it because they want just for one moment, that single, priceless moment, to cheat death? Perhaps, it would be worth the effort just to be able to proclaim that at one particular time, no matter how fleeting, you played with death and won.

It’s truly amazing how these types of sports draw their share of avid enthusiasts. Out of sheer volition, individuals spend loads of money on equipment and training just to be able to do it and experience the ultimate high. The knowledge that they might not make it out alive or at the very least, with body parts complete and bones unbroken, does not seem to stop them.

Picture the other end of the spectrum: You’re diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease and the doctor tells you that unless medical intervention is given (e.g. an operation or a series of treatments like chemotherapy for cancer, or dialysis for kidney disorders), you might snap out anytime soon. What would your response be? Not counting the initial crying episode, most would tell their doctor to go ahead and do what is best. Kindhearted souls pool together resources for that much-needed operation or therapy, with the hope that it will prolong the patient’s life. Meanwhile, the ailing individual psyches himself or herself up to fight the disease and survive, while summoning all the saints who would listen to intercede and pray to hasten his or her recovery. Rarely does one throw in the towel and “go gentle into that good night.” Suddenly, there are a lot of reasons to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Whether it be for a son or daughter, a career or the smell of fresh coffee in the morning, the myriad of motives to triumph against the disease and live becomes endless and the will to survive becomes ever more clear. When faced with the grim reality of saying hello to the Grim Reaper, one thinks of business left unfinished, of lands yet untraveled, of dreams yet unfulfilled, and immediately the primeval instinct to survive immediately comes into play.