In the Loop

If you've been here a while, you'd know that I found out I had breast cancer twelve years, five months and ten days ago. (yes, keeping count) If you're pretty up-to-date on this part of our cyberworld you'd also know that I finally told the boys I was once diagnosed.  I hesitated for a while but felt like a load had come off as soon as I came right out and said it.

Mak, first-born twin, wanted to know the details.  Tato, born three minutes later, listened intently then decided  "we would not talk about it ever again".  I totally respect and get it.   The subject hasn't ever really come up again.  I'm armed and ready with answers just in case. 

Yesterday we were at a birthday party.  All the other little girls hounded the glitter tattoo table to get their arms all shimmery with fairy and princess designs.  The boys were next and many went for the lightning bolts and dragons.  Mak and Tato took their turns but they rushed off to the bouncy castle before I got a chance to see their temporary tats. 

When the boys finally emerged from every party's black hole - the bouncy house,  I saw a bright pink tat on Tato's arm.

Tato:  Look! I got a breast cancer ribbon.  It's for you, Mama. 

Aww. Sniff. Sniff. 

Silver Lining

There.  I said it.  Monkey off my back. I finally got up the nerve to tell my boys that once upon a time, in a galaxy not far, far away,  their mother had breast cancer.  

It was easier than I had imagined.  We were all curled up in my bed all set for lights out because thats what we do on weekends.  MacDaddy was still in his dinner  and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to come clean.

Remember I told you I'm going to Davao next week?  And that I'm going because I will  meet hundreds and hundreds of sick people that might need help? I'm doing that because a long time ago Mama was sick just like them.  I had breast cancer also.  I was scared and didn't know anything about it.  And now that I'm okay I want those girls to know that they can get better also.

If you've been reading this blog for some time or actually spent more than five minutes with the boys you would know how different they are.  Night and day.  Day and night. And I mean it all in a good way.  Mak will sit through the scariest, most frightening scenes in a movie.  He will ask you every gory detail.  I once left him with MacDaddy and he sat through the entire Trainspotting flick.  I hear he didn't flinch once. Yes, even that scene with the vomit and the child demon on the ceiling. I know, I know.  Censor censor.  Whole other post for that one.  Tato, on the other hand,  needs to know the ending before a movie even begins before he agrees to sit through it.  He looks away and even runs away completely when a movie is sad or scary or springs a surprise.


If I made a bet  and guessed how each boy would  react,  I would have won big.    I had played the possible scenario in my head over and over again weeks before this and I was spot on.  Ha! I do know my boys.  

Mak:  You were sick before? What else?  What did you do?

Me: I did everything I could  to get better.  I listened to my doctor and followed him.  I even took this medicine that was so strong like a superhero fighting the bad guys that  my hair fell out.

Mak:  Wow! You looked like Papa with no hair?  Wow!

Tato: Forget about it.  Don't talk about Best Caster again.

Me: Its Breast Cancer.  Did someone tell you it was scary?  

Tato:  No I just know it.  Don't say it ever again. 

Me:  Okay deal.  But if you ever want to ask me anything about it, just ask okay? 

Bedtime prayers.  Bedtime hugs and kisses. End of story. End of discussion.  Lights out.

Days later,  all set and ready  to head to the airport to attend Silver Linings, our foundation's cancer conference and homecoming for over a thousand women diagnosed all over the country, Tato stood beside me and the bag I was packing and spoke in a whisper looking around making sure his brother wasn't around to hear it.  His pride gets the better of him lots of times. 

Tato:  Mama, what if you catch cancer from the girls where you're going?

Me: Cancer isn't like a cold or a cough, Tato.  And I'm not sick anymore.  I'm well.  

He gave me the biggest  kiss on the cheek and  we each went our way.  

My own little silver lining. 

Getting Ahead of Google

In a Breast Cancer conference I attended in Orlando early this year, I joined a session called: The ABC's of Talking To Your Child about Breast Cancer.  The rest of the conference had us all generally upbeat with yoga classes, chit chat sessions,  and good news  on the breakthroughs and  trends in cancer. This session had us passing around the Kleenex box quite a bit.  It is true.  Tough as we are and  as mighty as we think we can be when we brave these storms, we all turn weak in the knees and marshmallowy-soft when it comes to our children. 

Our speaker was a top-notch surgeon who, after years of dealing with her own patients who in turn deal with their own children, discovered she had  cancer.  With roles reversed all of a sudden she was forced to talk to her own children about  her cancer diagnosis. She has since gone on to write several children's books for children that help them understand and cope with the issues that come part and parcel with being a child of a survivor. At the end of the lecture, when it was time for the usual Q&A I asked something I had not thought about initially and then suddenly been thinking about for sometime.

MY QUESTION:

"I am a twelve-year breast cancer survivor.  I have five-year old twins.  Apart from  my real job I work with other breast cancer survivors  so my boys are exposed to this, to other survivors  and know all about what we do as a foundation.  Should I tell them at all I have had cancer myself and if  I should when is the right time to do it?"

HER ANSWER:

"To your five year olds? NOW.  Now is the time.  How would you present it to them? You would say, you know what these women have gone through because you have gone through it yourself. What are you telling your children? Something bad has happened to you but you made something good out of it.  Now. "

Now.  To think that was seven months ago and I never got around to it. Blame it on real life getting in the way again or conveniently  just forgetting  or me just being  plain old chicken. So  why  - apart from the fact that the -BER months remind me that breast cancer awareness month is just around the corner  and that I need to make that appointment for my annual mammmogram - is this suddenly back into my stream of consciousness? 

Because the boys have discovered the wonderful world of GOOGLE. 

Tato: Mama, I am only in Google. It's the list with my finishing time when we joined the race. I am not in Google Images. I want to be in Google Images.

It seems they have also discovered the dangerously spectacular world of Vanity Googling.  

Ahh.. Vanity Googling.  Verb:  Searching for one's own name on a search engine to check out  what the world wide web has on you.  Synonym: egosurfing, egogoogling

And since it seems to be a trend in our own home, I decided to egosurf myself.  No humiliating high school photos, thank god.  Equally thankful Facebook and Twitter weren't around then to record the bad breakups and the equally bad hair dos.  I did discover quite a number  of articles and interviews I have done over the years about my own cancer journey.  

Tick tock.  I better get to it before Google beats me to the punch. And yet,  just like vowing you will never ever  sit through another excruciating episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians  the next time you chance upon it, some things are easier said than done.

ICanTri

Here are some photos of LilBro and I. That's MammaMia with us in the first shot too. Yes.. grainy photos. I am dating myself.

I've already written about how I only wanted a sister and didn't exactly welcome LilBro with open arms when he popped up into our lives. But I learned brothers were cool in their own way and turned extremely proud sis recently watching him realize his dream of being an Ironman.

We were usually up to no good way back when and probably responsible for most of the grey hair and wrinkles on the folks. But we're older, wiser, more mature now. More importantly, we're finally up to some good. And we'd love if you can help us out here. In LilBro's words:

Thank you!

Three Words

Somewhere tonight two young boys lost their mother. A man lost his wife. I lost a friend. And easily the strongest, most courageous person I have ever known gained her angel wings.

I hope this link from a facebook page works. Three Words is a three-minute video by Kelly Day. The message is simple but powerful. Because sometimes three words is all you ever really need. There's a little cameo over at the 00:15 mark.

As for you, I have three for you too: You are amazing. I will miss you.

The Warriors

I'm back from the Breast Cancer conference in Orlando. Do you see me?

Considering many like me didn't know a single soul before we walked through those doors, the bonding was instant. And insanely beautiful. We were soldiers who fought - and continue to fight - the same war. And you just can't beat that.

We did yoga in the morning. We listened to doctors telling us the strides they are making to getting closer to a cure. We had pizza by the poolside. I attended a wonderful workshop on how to talk to your children about cancer. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. Why is it we all seem to turn to mush when it comes to our kids? I learned about mind-body connections. I learned how to breathe.

A lady stood on a podium and did her own version of a "cancer auction". I hear one year, one year. Do I hear one year?, she called out. And the one-year survivors stood up. Do I hear two? Two years? Many more stood. She went through every year. My knees were wobbly when I stood at twelve years. Sometimes I forget I've come such a long way. As each stood, the hope in the room grew. We were clapping and tearing when the last woman stood. A survivor of twenty six whole years. When we grow up we want to be just like her.

On our second night a lovely company called Pure Romance threw us a pajama party. You see when most women undergo treatment, being beautiful is the last thing we feel. Our self esteem hits rock bottom. Add losing key body parts, your hair and energy to that equation. Pure Romance offers a whole bunch of stuff to help in that department. Go google them if you want to see what I mean. You kids reading this, check with Mommy first. Let's just say these toys will never be found on the shelves of Toys R Us. We were squealing and laughing like kids in a bingo game as they called out numbers to raffle off everything on their catalogue. Our loot bags had all these tubes and gadgets, and yup, batteries included. Pasalubong, anyone?

We told our stories. We listened to other stories. We sang our hearts out in a nearby club. We danced. Yes. I danced for hours. Save for my brief obsession with Lorenzo Llamas and that 1984 Body Rock flick , I do not dance very much. But I danced for those who aren't around to dance anymore. And I danced because I am grateful I can.

Flying Solo

Hello from Orlando. Just me on this trip this time. Tomorrow I meet nine hundred or so other women courtesy of the Young Survival Coalition and their wonderful advocacy of bringing survivors from all over the world together. We may all be in varying stages of our own cancer journeys but with one thing in common: we were all diagnosed with breast cancer before age 40.

Although I must admit I missed Tato and his slow-mo walk to the plane. (He says it's the best part of a trip) I missed Mak wondering what the airplane food will be and if they'll be serving those red juicy hotdogs i still refuse to serve at home. Or MacDaddy all set to conquer every single site like a tourist on crystal meth. So yup, i did kind of miss all of that but must admit I cherished my newfound peace and quiet. Only to find out minutes into the flight that I was stuck next to the world's worst bickering couple. Only this time I couldnt scream: One more fight and nobody gets a bike!

Keeping Abreast

Can you believe it's been a year already? Time for me to nag again. It's Breast Cancer Awareness Month after all. Get informed. Get squeezed. ( Psst...if you're over forty, I'm talking to you...go get a mammogram. If you aren't, a breast self- exam will suffice. And don't say you don't have the time. Both take mere minutes.) This can save your life. Trust me.

After getting prodded and squeezed you may want to hop over to Rockwell Power Plant Mall to check out my foundation's booth. We'll be there on October 22-24 and October 29-31. You'll find us on P1 Level right across Rustan's supermarket and Bread Talk. It will be hard to miss all that pink. There are a ton of awareness bands, bags, cards and shirts for sale. All our proceeds help cancer patients on treatment.

See you there!

Of Lying and Dying

How do you find that middle ground between sending your children out into the world no holds barred on one hand and protecting them from the big, bad world and all the facts of life that come with it on the other? Take the subject of dying, for example.

(Sometime right after Michael Jackson's death)

Mak: Mama, are you going to sleep forever?

Me: Yes. We all will.

Tato: When? Tomorrow?

Me: No. When I'm 100 years old.

Mak: Everyone dies when they're 100? That's old!

Me: Yes.

Cut me some slack. The boy caught me flat-footed. And I was still grieving for the King of Pop. Part of me wanted to tell them how death is all part of the beautiful cycle of life. How we all witnessed Original Nana take her last breath comforted by the thought that she would be back in the arms of dear Abuelo and an opportune time for her to down drink after drink (with alcohol, of course!) Up There with her brothers, friends and the grandchild she adored so much. Another part couldn't bear to even begin to tell them about those that die so young. Those that die senselessly. And those that cancer took away.

And so I told a white lie. But lying comes back and bites you on your behind always.

(Last Tuesday, after school)

Tato: Mama, you said everyone sleeps forever when they're 100. You were joking us.

Me: What makes you say that?

Tato: Marley's grandma died yesterday. And she was 90. That's not 100, Mama.

Me: Oh.

Flat-footed. Again. And all I could say was Oh. And I'm still kicking myself for not knowing what to say or how to answer four-year olds curious about living and dying. I'm going to have to work on a better answer. I better.

Somewhere in the stacks and stacks of books in that treasure trove of a place Nona took me, I found the book BRODIE. I thought the cover looked interesting ( and yes, i do judge some of them by that way) so I bought it. And read it right away. I have yet to read it to the boys.

Brodie is that very cool, very lovable classmate we'd all love to have. The joker, the talented artist, the dreamer who talked about being a pilot and obsessed about choppers and planes.

Except he was very ill. And when he was too sick to come to school the class sent him get-well cards to the hospital. Until the day their teacher, Mrs. Patawai gave them the sad news:

"Brodie died last night. You know he's been ill for a very long time."

For some tears came like rain, a little at first, and then a lot... It seemed I wasn't crying for Brodie but for myself, because I hurt so much inside.

Mrs. Patawai passed around the box of tissues. "We feel sad because we loved Brodie. I know we made Brodie cards and gave him presents, but I think the best thing we gave him was our love." She blew her nose. "Love was the gift he took with him."

And the questions persisted: Why? Where did he go?

Days went by, and the hurt didn't go away. It did get smaller though, so we could talk about Brodie without crying. Sometimes we laughed at his tricks. Remember when Brodie said this? Remember when Brodie did that? But we still missed him like anything. Mrs. Patawai said that, in a funny way, the hurt was good because it meant that Brodie was still alive in our hearts and in our minds.

This is author Joy Cowley's answer to a not-too-simple request by teachers to help children come to terms with the death of classmates. The illustrations are gorgeous but the message is even more beautiful. And when mommies like this can only say Oh or are in dire need of answers for our own sake as well, these pages embrace us with comforting thoughts. I'm glad I picked out this book. Thank you, Ms. Cowley. In Brodie's own words: "Stupendously awesome".

This is for my sister K who makes it all a wee-bit more bearable. You are Mrs. Patawai personified. Thank you.


Edited to add: I just found out that an aunt that spoils the boys and all her nieces and nephews rotten and makes the world's best banana bread just passed away. All so suddenly. Tato was texting her a few days ago while she wasn't feeling well. 'Be better', he texted her. 'I also have an owee'. I don't have the heart to tell them she is gone. Death is never easy.

Sorority Sisters

For as far back as I can recall, I have always wanted a sister. And when MammaMia was all set to add to the brood when I was five years old, I just knew my wish had come true. Mom did come home from the hospital months later with a bouncing baby... boy. He was adorable and everything you would hope for.. except he was a HE. I called him "my sister" for months. I figured saying it often enough would transform him into a she. It never happened. It wasn't meant to be.

Me and LilBro, circa 1980

Shortly after my cancer diagnosis ten years ago, three other survivors and I sat down and got down to business. Together we made one vow: that we would not let the next woman go through breast cancer in shame or alone.

And ever so slowly I began to understand. The sisters came in due time. I asked for one, but today I have a little under a hundred of the most beautiful, most courageous sisters. I never stopped praying. Someone Up There never stopped listening.

Meet my other family. My sisters:

And now...for the shameless plug. A little project I've been working on: The Gift that Gives Back.

Help a breast cancer patient live through another Christmas. Give your loved ones the ICanServe Christmas Calendar Donation Card and you gift a family with their cherished mother, daughter, sister or friend come the holiday season.

Inside text explains that instead of a gift, you, the giver, have made a donation in their name. With your purchase of each card, you are sharing your commitment with the foundation and help subsidize cancer patients on treatment.

A minimum donation of P150 per card is requested. For orders call ICS office at 632.6365578 or email us at icanserve.shop@gmail.com. For more information on ICanServe Foundation, click right here.

Thank you for listening.

Pink October

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I wasn't going to let this month go by without saying a word. Or two. Not with one being diagnosed every three minutes. Or one in every seven being diagnosed in a lifetime.

Not out to alarm. Just a friendly reminder to set that alarm. Once a month to conduct a breast self-exam AND once a year for a mammogram if you happen to be over 40.

Now repeat after me... Early detection saves lives.

Spongebob Pink Pants

So.. maybe some moms aren't too hot about the world's most famous sea sponge, SpongeBob. But when he ditches those yellow square bottoms for pink pants in support of Breast Cancer Awareness this month, I'm digging him already.

For the entire month of October, Nickelodeon Philippines is selling an exclusive range of limited edition SpongeBob Pink Pants merchandise for the li'l ones. Shirts, pillows, totes, awareness bands and a really cool multiway headwear are available for purchase at the kiddie section in all SM Department Stores.

And what do you know? Proceeds from the sale of these items will benefit my very own ICanServe Foundation . I am loving this Bob already.

At the launch. Mak and Nona's Bear hamming it up. Thank you,Tato for taking the photo.

The boys smitten by the sponge

Tato cozying up to SpongeBob

Oh, and we did bring Chicha along. Just no photos on me as she was too busy at the display booth and at the cashier tickled pink with all the new pink gear.