The Big C

When my tita was diagnosed with cancer, I undertook a campaign to bolster her spirit. She is 55, single, never married, never had a family of her own apart from us. We are only her support group.

Cancer of the endometrium, the doctors said. I was told the endometruim is apart of the uterus. I gathered that this kind of cancer attacks older women whose reproductive spare parts are never used: those unmarried or those who never got pregnant. This may serve as a warning to those women who took upon themselves a vow of lifetime chastity.

The cancer has reached stage four, meaning the cancer cells has spread out and affected other organs. In my aunts case, it affected her intestines. She had to undergo operation to remove the infected part.

She has to undergo radiation for six weeks. So we invited her to to stay in our apartment for that duration. My cousins who were working took turns to act as her part-time care giver, nurse, cook, and yaya. She was still frail after the operation, she needed to be escorted to the CR.

Since I moved out temporarily for my bar review, I took a day off for her: I cook her food and and I also acted as a motivational speaker. I encouraged her to engage in other activities like owning a pet, cross stitching, or engage in outdoor sports etc. which lay on deaf ears. Although she spent most of the time reading the bible or listening to a radio station hosted and owned my Brother Mike Velarde of El Shaddai, a catholic charismatic group, which is good sign.

Every Monday I accompany her to the hospital for her daily radiation.

The radiation area has a lobby were patients converge while waiting for their turn. On the left is a room called Pain Management Room, while the at the right is the radiation room where the patient is placed behind a machine that looked like a big vintage telephone with its hand set rotating, which i assume has beams to strike out the cancer cells.

The radiation proper only takes 10 minutes, but we had to wait for an hour or so because there is only one machine and there are many patients waiting in line: some were in wheel chairs, others were hairless concealed by bandanna, and majority were in their late sixties. For some reason, while in the lobby, I tried to look for the characters in Nicholas Sparks novels or Meryll Streep in the movie One True Thing : those characters who spontaneously spout profound life changing lines. I tried to look at their faces the way Meryll Streep conveyed her inner turmoil and exquisite torment just through her facial expression but these people are generally happy. None of them engaged in self-indulgent have-pity-on-me look or life-is-so-cruel look. I admire their fortitude.

One patient approached me and introduced himself:

"I have colon cancer, and recently I was diagnosed with brain cancer. The doctor said I have three months to live. What you've got?

Probably because I was sporting a medyo kalbo look, and was quite groggy after three hours sleep last night that he probably mistook me as cancer patient. I told him that I could not compete with his misery because I am in perfect health and then pointed my aunt and told him that my aunt has cancer of the endometrium.

Another patient butted in and said that she too has breast cancer.

"In fact my right breast was removed already" she said it so casually as if she just had a root canal.

Maybe they tried to lift my aunt's spirit being a newbie cancer patient: that she is not alone, that it can be cured, that she should move on despite the cancer. But it did not help her. Instead, she excused herself and threw up in the CR.

My tita through the years has demonstrated herself as a very strong person. With her disease, I could sense her bitterness and torment. I wish that she could fight the battle. I wish that this time she will not chicken out. That, indeed there is still dignity in living despite the cancer.