I write this on a Tuesday, my column deadline day. I know that tomorrow, Wednesday, will be a tough day. My doctors want me to be at the clinic by 6:30 in the morning for pre-op procedures. My surgery is scheduled at 9 a.m. on February 26.
So by the time you read this, I would have left the operating room of the Asian Breast Center with a team of excellent doctors led by my oncologist/surgeon, Dr. Norman San Agustin, that took out my left breast and did some minor surgery on my right one. Having that operation done leaves me longing for Thursday, my first official day of healing and recovery.
I have come to realize that it takes a village of medical experts to take Mr. Sneaky out of me.
Mr. Sneaky is the name I gave the malignant tumor found in my left breast. I imagine him as a tap-dancing, Fred Astaire look-alike, with a raspy voice and a cane to poke my insides with. I can’t wait to get rid of Mr. Sneaky. I can’t have him tap-dancing through my lymph nodes, into my bones and sinew. Mr. Sneaky is bad. Say the word “malignant” out loud. Doesn’t it sound malevolent? Benign sounds much better. But, I digress.
When I woke up from the surgery, my left breast was gone. When I peered down, I saw an empty parking lot next to a skyscraper. Oh, all right then, a flat land next to a mid-rise condominium. I will miss the soft, sagging mound of a left breast—the same breast that blossomed as I approached puberty, which I thought would always be with me until I die.
What has my life been like ever since I was diagnosed with breast cancer?
Having cancer made me sit up, and notice the noise and clutter that infest my life. I now choose to spend my time wisely. Nowadays, when I glance at a clock, I see the potential for joy in every passing second. Cancer has made me value relationships, especially with the handful of people that I chose to tell first.
It makes me write in the truest way, because I value my readers, and I value my life as a writer. I don’t ever want to sugarcoat. Having cancer is tough. As a person scared of needles and even the slightest twinge of physical pain, I thought, “Hey why not appendicitis instead?” You take out an appendix, and no one ever notices. You take out a breast, and, well, the void is clear.
Having a tumor does have its own upside.
It gave me an opportunity to be decisive. Should I have a single mastectomy or a double mastectomy? Will I opt for mastectomy with breast reconstruction? Should I just get the mastectomy without having an implant? My doctors laid down my treatment options so that I can make an informed choice. For a cancer patient, nothing is trivial. Long stretches of indecisiveness can cut your life short.
It also gives you an opportunity to be prayerful. OMG! Not to take Your name in vain, but Lord, have You ever heard me rattling off so many prayers each night? My spiritual antidote to the three hardest words—“You have cancer”—is a three-word personal affirmation: God will provide.
Cancer opens your heart to kindness. When my last column—“Hello, Cancer!”—became viral, I was amazed at the outpouring of support and kind messages that came my way. I learned that when you open up your heart, people are likely to do the same.
It teaches you to lean.
I lean on my only daughter, Estelle. We play pickup sticks and bingo at home, and watch Netflix together. She looks after me, and I let her, because her love is the emotional pillow that I need the most. I am fighting Mr. Sneaky because I want to grow older to see my daughter through tough and best times. I want to continue to exist because of her. This fight is for Estelle.
I lean on my partner and companion for the last 20 years, my best buddy named Fort, whose patience and humor keeps me smiling through the pain. While my dad was alive, Fort promised him that he would always look after me. That promise has yet to be broken.
I lean on my siblings, on my 91-year-old mom, on an assortment of terrific friends from all walks of life, colleagues from the Kennedy School of Government and, of course, the inspiring messages from overseas Filipino workers around the world. I also lean on my staff, especially my executive director at the Blas F. Ople Policy Center, Jerome Alcantara.
I pray, dear reader, that you are well. If you are not, then know this—God will provide. And this, too, shall pass. We shall all have our own Thursdays to look forward to.
Susan V. Ople heads the Blas F. Ople Policy Center and Training Institute, a nonprofit organization that deals with labor and migration issues. She also represents the OFW sector in the Inter-Agency Council Against Trafficking.