A Reflection

Anonymous

I was at an airport coffee shop waiting for my flight, eyes glued to my book, “Hillside landscaping” a soft voice said, “Nice book, my husband had that too.” "Had?", I asked. "Yes, he is gone, was not able to finish his project", she said. I sensed loneliness in her voice as she tried to finish her sentence. "I am sorry to hear that…". "No, don’t be, he was happy even at his last moment. He was 67 when he passed away, a year ago." I looked at her, she could not be more than 40, size 7, 110 about 5’4” in flat shoes and very regal looking. Sporting a blue blazer and khaki pants, "You shop at Talbot", I said. "Must be your wife’s shop too", she said with a smile. She was looking at my finger where my college ring is instead of my wedding ring. "Oh, yes, she is at home recuperating", I said. She looked at the clock, "Oh! Gotta go, I am heading to Chicago. Good luck and take care of your wife." She grabbed my hand and handed her calling card as she walked away. I couldn’t help but follow her with my eyes as she faded among the crowd. A devilish thought crossed my mind, but instead of keeping the card, I tossed it away.

It was a two-day business trip. I couldn’t wait to get home. For two days, I reflected on my life and what lies ahead of me. My boys are gone, both on their own – all the promises I made to my wife had been accomplished. My spare time is consumed by the landscaping in progress and my penchant for carpentry. As I entered the house, my wife greeted me with a kiss. I looked at her and couldn’t tell whether she is in pain as she never complained. This is her second bout with cancer and just a week ago she was in the hospital. She underwent a mastectomy and still with drainage attached to her body. A year ago, she was confined in a hospital for broken femur and took couple of months to recover. Ten years ago, she had the same procedure, right mastectomy, and she had fully recovered.

That evening I cooked bitter melon with shrimps, her favorite. As we were eating, I asked her if she wanted to go to California for a trip with me. It will be a mini-vacation except for three full conference days. I gave her a set of Mikimoto pearl earrings and necklace, something that she had been eyeing. She looked at me and laughed, you are up to something, she said. No, it just looks good on you with your black outfit, I said. She did not finish the glass of Peju Liana, a late harvest wine, and I poured it with mine not wasting it.

After dinner, I excused myself to light a cigar – a reward to myself. She joined me at the porch and we talked of the days when we just started, a multi-colored car, under the constant surveillance of a tow truck, a studio apartment where you can view the whole living quarters including the kitchen. She held my hand and said, if I don’t make it, I want you to get married again. I know you will not have a problem looking for one, she said with a smile. She complained of the cigar smell, I hope you will quit those cigars, she said, as she left to retire for the night.

I have known her for 37 years now, including the four years of dating prior to marriage. She was petite, beautiful in a frail 97 lbs. She was the only woman I introduced to the family. In those 37 years of knowing her, I never heard her speak ill of anyone. Soft spoken, never heard her curse and never nagged. There are two cardinal rules my boys and I follow at home. Be careful with her orchids, and be ready for Sunday church. No excuses, if you are at home, you will be going to church on Sundays except when you are sick. So even when I catch the red eye flight and come home on a Sunday morning, I am ready for church by 11:00 am, and be wide awake. She wins the argument by not arguing - the silent treatment she gave us sufficiently scares the living daylights out of us. If I have to secure obedience from my boys, all I have to say is "you will break your mother’s heart".

As I sipped my wine, I realized that I draw my strength from her. I remember twenty years ago, as we were having our Sunday breakfast, the phone rang, I answered and calmly said wrong number. The phone rang for the second time, wrong number, I responded again. The third time it rang, she said she will answer it. I froze, she listened patiently and at the end she said, “If he is at your apartment this afternoon, you will never hear from me; if he is not, I hope you will have the decency of not bothering this household again,” then she calmly hang up the phone. She finished her breakfast..., tears running down her cheek. There was an eerie silence.

After breakfast, I apologized. I said there was no justification for what happened, and I couldn't retrace my step back for resurrection. I asked her to look at her contribution to this, but I totally accepted the blame. If she wanted me out, all she had to do was pack my bag and I would leave. I would give sufficient family support and would give her whatever she asked. If she wanted to work it out, to pack for an instant vacation – we would figure out our destination along the way. My youngest was just a month old and my oldest was three. We packed our luggage and into the Colt Station Wagon. We drove along I-95 into I-64 along the Eastern Sea Board. For ten hours, stopping only for rest and food, we drove without direction. She never mentioned what happened – we ended up somewhere in North Carolina.

For the past few weeks, I never lost sight of her. I asked her if she enjoyed our California trip, she said, immensely. I know that we are both in the autumn of our years and are now enjoying each others' company. With her pending chemotherapy, rough road is ahead of us. We were looking at the different headgear for her – and I assured her that she will look pretty in them. She said I always have wandering eyes – I told her that I see with my heart, and I see the important things in my life. She smiled – she is reminded of that bookmark she gave me. "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye." (Antoine de St. Exupery).

A Challenged Life - a survivor's story

I’ve only been married for two years and had a one-year old daughter at the time. I was young, naïve, careless, and I thought I was indestructible. When an oncologist said I had stage two breast cancer, I was floored to say the least.

My husband found the lump and even after feeling it myself, I still refused to believe that it was anything to worry about. I felt fine, I insisted, so when I finally got around to seeing my doctor, it had escalated to the next stage. I wasn’t really given any option for treatment then. I was told that my age group had the highest mortality rate, that it was invasive, and that I needed to go on chemotherapy right away.

I received six treatments in twelve weeks’ time. I braced myself for the worst. It took a couple of treatments before I got a handle on the side effects. During my bad weeks, I’d stay indoors, sometimes not even bothering to get out of bed. But I also had a one-year old who cried with me whenever she saw me crying and a husband who was as utterly lost and helpless as I was. I learned fast when and how to cry without anyone noticing. Motherhood also kicked in at full speed and I promised myself that my daughter was not going to be motherless at such a young age.

When I had no energy to even open the drapes, I’d sit in the dark and listen to music: jazz, rock, classic, whatever station managed to drown out the pain and nausea. When I could eat, I ate. There was a never-ending supply of home cooked meals from family, friends, neighbors, and even strangers from a support group. When I couldn’t eat, I drank plenty of liquid. And since everything tasted sweet, there was no need for salt or sugar. The times I spent kneeling on the bathroom floor, I used every trick to visualize my daughter and my husband living a happy life with me in three years' time, in five years' time, in ten, and so forth. I hung their pictures in every room, on every wall to remind me of what’s at stake. I also wrote like crazy. I was angry more than anything, and there was no stopping my outrage on paper! But on those bad weeks, I also had the good weeks to look forward to.

Good weeks were celebrated with trips out of town, dusks in the park, sunsets by the bay, or reading soppy romance novels. I also made a point of returning phone calls and writing to friends and relatives. I opened the door to visitors, and most importantly, I opened the drapes to let life in. I spoiled my daughter during the day and spoiled my husband at night.

It happened after my third treatment. I had just finished writing a check for my groceries when I went to slide a pen I was using behind my ear. As I pulled it back out, a handful of hair went with it. The cashier let out a loud gasp while I was too stunned to react. I knew it was going to happen. I was waiting for it to happen. I just didn’t expect it to be so dramatic when it actually happened. It took everything I had to shove the pen lost in a ball of hair back inside my purse before grabbing my groceries and went running to my car.

Borne out of sheer vanity, I made a fashion statement with my bald head and all those head gears I outrageously spent money on. My husband insisted that bald was sexy, my daughter was delighted by how the stubbles would tickle her stomach, my family found old scars ill gotten as a little tomboy, and my friends just simply found it “sinead-o'-cool”. Strangers, however, were awkward as they look-but-not-quite-look at the same time. I had a ready-made smile to tell the world they shouldn’t be feeling sorry for me. Most often than not, the world would reciprocate with a genuine smile.

Within weeks after my last treatment, I was scheduled for a partial mastectomy. The cancerous tissue was removed and with it my ideals of what makes a woman also disappeared,... or so I thought. It was hard dealing with a loss of such a vital part of one’s femininity. How could I ever feel sexy again? How could I ever let my husband touch me again? I was so young and not quite ready to live a butchered life. I chose to have reconstructive surgeries to give me back what was savagely destroyed.

I wasn’t given a free pass home. I was told that it could come back. Not a chance, I fought back. I read every book out there that had anything to do with cancer. Within months, I was a walking encyclopedia on the subject. I graduated top of my class and was damned if I was going to let this monster get the better of me. I was going to outsmart this disease no matter what. I had a plan. But no sooner had I implemented this plan that another tumor was found wrapped around my mandibular ramus, in my salivary glands. My scars on my breast have barely healed when I found myself under the knife again.

The tumor was benign, but to my despair, the surgery left me with paralysis from my neck upward. This one took me by surprise and shook my very existence worst than cancer ever did.

Paralysis bulldozed through what cancer left of my spirits, my values, and my self. It left me with pieces of my life unimaginable in every way and unacceptable by any measure. There was nothing left to do but give up. And give-up, I did..., almost! It took my father’s grief-stricken words, my mother's pained look, my husband’s fury at my weakness, and God’s forgiveness to pull me back to join the living, and in the end, I won the greatest battle life had thrown at me … and it’s not cancer.

BIRHEN MILAGROSA NA MANAOAG

OS

Sakey ak ya madeboto ed Apo Baket na Manaoag tan agkoya nalingwanan so inpanpayawar nen Apo Baket ed siak .

December 19, 2004 - Akimisak ak tan amay kaanakan ko tan amay asawa to na alas onse yan asumpal na alas dose, kasumpal na misa inbakik imay asawa na kaanakan ko ya ipa-bless iramay sinaliw min kandila tan arom iran religious article diman ed gilig na kalsada- amay lugar ya pan-bless an daray luluganan.

Diad pan-alagar mi, inyorong min dua imay kaanakan ko diman ed lugar ya panseselselan na kandila ya aka-arap ak diman ed garden. Kabekta walay inmirong ya akolaw ya akapandong na amputi ya say kawes to et amputi tan walay awit ton karaanan ya basket. Say itsura mi ed irongan so nan-dikingan kami ed samay semento ya irongan, amay kaanakan ko et walad benegan min dua. Kairong to say kuanto ed siak “katon inmirong ak dia ed abay mo ta antak ya makatalos ka” kuanto. Kabekta in-kuanto ed siak “amayamay lay anak ko ya makakalingwan tan inmalis lara ed abong ko” balet wala met ira so pinmapawil la” inkuanto.

Siak balet say antak ayan akolaw et iistoryaen tod siak so anak to ed pamilya to. Kabekta say kuanto ed siak “ tulungan mo ak ya mandasal ed sarayan anak ko” Nen imbaga to lamet so “ARAYAN ANAK” ko et tinakiling ko so lupa to balet agko nanengneng ta amay pandong ton belo et akasakob ed lupa to, insan apansin ko ya kada onleksab imay belo to et itatagey ton tampol, insan say pankelawan ko ta asumpal lay misa tan wala met la ed paway AKIN ET AKA-BELO nin sinsya?

Nen ibabaga to imay kerew ton dasal et inkuanko ya “ON BAI ANGGANO AGKO KABAT ET IDADASAL KORAN AMIN LALO LA NA INTIRON MUNDO LALO LA ED ARAMAY MANGI-GIYERA. Kabekta nanbalikas lamet ya say kuanto “antam amayamay so onlesa ya saki-sakit” tan amayamay so ompatey gawa na “high blood pressure” tan sakit ed puso. Kasumpal to yan imbaga et angaot ak na 100 pesos ed bulsak tan inkuanko “ BAI PIALA YO YA SO 100 PESOS MAONG LABAT YA NAISALIW YO NA MERYENDA YO TANI PASADO ALAS DOSE LA ET SIGURO NARASAN KILA” Say kuanto “ ay Apo agak man-papayabol” balet inpilit ko, inala to tan inyan to ed samay kartamoneda to ya akakarga ed samay basket et diman ko anengneng ya say karga to et aramay karaanan ya libron dasalan (remember the old prayer books?) tan anggapoy karga ton kuwarta. Kabekta say kuanto “ anggapoy naiter kod sika no agsayay “holy water” ya akakarga ed absolute ya botelya, inkuanto ya no gabay mo yan danum so laka labat ED DIMAN ED RECTORY-k ya opisina ta wadman iray papari ya mangiter ed sika.

Anggad natan ayan absolute ya botelya et awit-awit ko diya ed kolaan ko. Kasumpal to ya inter imay holy water et intagey toy lima ton kawanan et dia lanti ya antak ya akolaw lara, say antak et nakaokolan da na tolong ya onalagey katon inkuanko ed samay kaanakan ko ya tolongan toy Bai ya onalagey, ‘ANDI APO inkuanto SARAG koni onalagey” nen akaalagey la , inyawat toy lima to ed siak tan samay kaanakan ko BALET SAY PANKELAWAN KO AKIN TA AKOLAW YA METMELANTING ET SAY DAKLAP NA LIMA TO ET SINGA DAKLAP NA BALEG YA LAKI. Anggano abenbenan ko so lima nen Bai et sinsya ya agko atakiling so lupa to ta asakuban na amay amputi ya belo. Kasumpal ton inderew so lima to et inkuanto ed siak GALA TA ONLA TA DIMAN ED ARAP NA ACACIA YA KAABAY TO IMAY SILEWAN NA KANDILA TA ABAYAG TO KALAN AALAGAREN, ayan bekta nen linma kami nen Bai diman ( FOR SO LONG THAT I’VE BEEN GOING TO MANAOAG SHRINE, I DIDN’T NOTICED THAT ON TOP OF THE ACACIA TREE, THERE’S A SCULPTURED IMAGE OF OUR LADY OF MANAOAG) insan nanbalikas ed siak ya inkuanto “ sarag mon mangala na arayay kandila ya napepelag dia insan sarag mon osaren no walay mankaokolay dasal na aray walay sakit balet ipatanir tan ikerew mo ed si Apo Baket ya natambal ira.

Ayan bekta et tinmangay ak tan nandasalak ed samay sculptured ya imahem nen Apo Baket et nen kaosdong ko ANGGAPO MET LA SI BAI, lapod pasado alas dose la katon daiset la so totoo ta asompal lay misa KATON NABANTAG MO ANGGAD GATE NO MANAAKAR NI
BAI, NAANDIPAT YA TAMPOL. Kabekta sinmabi imay asawa to imay kaanakan ko et tinepet ko no walay anenengneng ton akolaw ya akapandong na amputi ya pinmaway ANGGAPO AUNTIE kuanto.

Ayan manifestation ya na-encounter ko et inkunok ed samay classmate ko ya pari et inkuanto “ I believe that you just encountered one of APO BAKET’s many miracles in disguise of the old lady dressed in white”.

My encounter with APO BAKET happened on the 19th of December 2004, a week later TSUNAMI HAD STRUCK SEVERAL NATIONS THAT INCLUDEED THAILAND claiming million of lives. Natan ko amotektek imay kerew nen Bai ya tolongan kon mandasal para ed saray ANAK TO ya inaatey ed sayan TSUNAMI.

SO we or each and everyone of us ya madeboto ed si APO BAKET so idasal tayon lanang irayan inaatey nen TSUNAMI.