Conversations with my God

i intended this post to be a short update, but it looks like it's going to be another novella. hope you bear with me and finish it to the end. i don't think you'll be disappointed.

these past 14 days or so, have seen me at my lowest point since i started this blog. the bad news actually started when i got my 'osseous metastasis' results from the mri. in my 'yoyo update' post (27 jun), i was flippant and seemed to view my condition without the seriousness it merited.

to some of you, i must have come off sounding either like an idiot, who had no idea what i was sick of, or a person in denial. i assure you i'm not in denial. i know i have cancer, and that's serious. as to being an idiot, well, i have to admit, i have my moments, but not when dealing with my condition.

i don't like to pity myself and i don't like people pitying me, so i make jokes about myself. but i realize there's no way i can stop people from pitying me. they look at me, and those who read this blog, see CANCER in bright, flashing lights shining above my head. 'what a pity. such a nice, entertaining, _______, and ________ (fill in the blanks with your favorite adjectives of me) fellow, and he's dying.'

i have this sneaky feeling, i'll be invited to less and less parties. people don't want to be reminded of death on their doorstep. this is totally normal and understandable. i'm cool with that.

but the way i see it, we're all dying from the moment we're born anyway. only thing is with my condition, i thought i knew, at least roughly, how long i had to live.

the monday before the report, my fbs (fasting blood sugar) count went to 141. that was the highest since i'd started my alt med treatment in june, higher even than my counts the 1st 2 weeks i was out of the hospital, while i was taking my hospital-issued medicines. i kept hitting high counts that week, and i didn't know why. i was sticking to my diet and my treatments. except that on certain days, i'd allow myself to get hungry and eat a lot of fruits. lots of fruits = sugar.

then on wednesday that previous week, another reminder of the proximity of death. i got word that chitong kabigting, our half-brother (one of my dad's 10 children from his 1st wife) had passed away. he was 64, but had been suffering from diabetes for years. i later learned from cecille, his daughter, that he had seemed to have just given up on life, refusing to see his friends, eating forbidden food, and later, refusing to take his medicines.

the following sunday, my brothers and i had already planned to meet at my place for merienda to celebrate 3 birthdays: our mom's birthday (26 jun), cris' birthday (29 jun), and my sister-in-law, arlene's birthday (1 jul). we just couldn't settle on a time. when saturday came around, we'd agreed we'd attend the last mass for chitong at loyola chapels before having dinner, instead of merienda.

sunday morning, i began to feel bad. after serving at the 7am mass and giving communion to the sick as is my regular sunday schedule, i decided to exercise a bit by just walking home with jeremiah. it was just an extra 15 mins walk, but i figured the sunshine would do me, and my complexion, some good.

but after breakfast, i started to feel nauseous and could hardly keep my breakfast down. i decided to lie down and slept until 11am, skipping my morning snack. i kept my scheduled appointments, but felt weak and slightly nauseous the whole day.

the next day, on cris' birthday, i ate my usual breakfast but developed diarrhea afterwards. the whole day, i didn't take solid food. for lunch, i had a glass of freshly made orange juice and another at 4pm; a glass of fresh pineapple juice at 530, and before going to bed. i even stopped taking all my medication.

i made about 7 trips to the toilet the whole day, and everything came out water.

despite that, cris and i went to the fiesta mass of sts peter & paul, and stayed for the fellowship dinner afterwards, but i didn't take a bite.

the next day, i felt better, so i had my usual fare for breakfast and lunch, tho in reduced quantities because i still felt nauseous. i took my medications again, except for one that was a laxative.

in the evening, i went to mass for La Virgen de la Rosa, the patroness of our parish. raul, the president of Cofradia dela Virgen de la Rosa, saw me and gave me a rose in honor of our Lady. all the roses were blessed by fr lito after the mass. since it was cris' birthday the previous day, i thought it would be a nice gift for her; a rose from the Blessed Mother to a mother.

despite feeling nauseous earlier, i actually ate a lot during dinner. i even finished up my daughter anne's pasta with putanesca sauce, which she purposely left for me.

the following day, wednesday, i ate my usual breakfast. but when i drank my medications, i immediately threw them up. i was nauseous. i went to bed, and tried to sleep, but i was very depressed.

it was the first time i vomited anything. i was weak and dizzy. i had started a new stage in my alt med treatment the previous saturday, and was warned i'd feel worse before i felt better again, but i didn't expect diarrhea, nausea, and bouts of depression.

my fbs that morning was 121. i weighed myself later and found i had lost about 7 lbs, down to 167. i had wanted to remain at 175 for the next 2 weeks.

i began to believe that my cancer was finally taking over. i was feeling all the symptoms; weakness, vomiting, nausea, weight loss. every little pain i felt, i attributed to my cancer. i even checked my hair until i remembered i wasn't doing chemotherapy.

i began to doubt my alt med treatment. what if it wasn't working after all? what if i should just have stuck to traditional western medicine? but that path also led to doubting my God. didn't He say He would be my Healer? what was He doing? was He doing anything at all for me? and i knew i was entering dangerous grounds. you can doubt what you're doing, you can doubt what your physician or alt med guide tells you, you can even doubt your wisdom and sanity, but when you doubt your faith and your God, what do you have left?

so after lunch, which i managed to hold down, i started doing some exercises. brief stretching and lifting some weights. and i decided to visit the the Blessed Sacrament that afternoon before going to mass.

despite the dizziness, i made myself take a shower and dress up. i walked to st andrew and went to the adoration chapel. i sat down after my opening prayers and asked Him to speak to me and to advice me. i immediately received 2 commands from Him. first, 'prepare yourself.' and second, 'I will come for you sooner than you think.'

my inner calm was shattered. as is my nature when things do not resolve themselves around me the way i want them to, i rebelled. how could my kind, generous God be so cold? i rejected the message.

'prepare yourself', was understandable and easy to accept. make myself ready spiritually for the Lord. go to confesssion. go to mass. receive the communion. pray.

but, 'I will come for you sooner than you think'? if i believed the statistics of patients in my condition, i had barely 5 months left. and He would come still sooner than i thought?

i refused the messages vehemently, but i also began to argue with myself. if i believed thatGod had told me that my treatment wasn't the critical factor; He was, because He was the Healer, how could i refuse to believe these subsequent messages i had received in the same adoration chapel, in the same pew? it would be illogical and inconsistent to disbelieve. would i believe only what i wanted to believe, and refuse whatever frightened me? would i ask Him to hold off, heal me first, and only then, come for me?

painfully, i forced myself to objectively consider the messages, especially the second. if that was God's will, i not only had no choice in the matter, but, to be true to my faith, would have to accept it willingly, gladly. it was very difficult, but what choice did i really have? i could rail about the injustice of it all. beat my breast and say, 'here i am surrendering myself totally up to You, and this is how You repay my faith and trust?'

i began to accept the messages slowly. sadly, with fear, but with a resolution that surprised even me. fine. i'll prepare myself. and i would see the Lord sooner than i thought. no more doubts. just acceptance.

i prayed to the Lord for strength to continue accepting His will in my life, or my death, as the case may be. i thanked Him for His messages. i tried my best to mean my gratitude, but it wasn't easy. i went to mass with His words heavy on my mind.

i went home and looked at my family, and managed not to be teary-eyed. i hugged my daughter briefly, but tightly. i made sure to kiss my younger sons goodnight. the older ones would find it strange should i try to kiss them at all. i was worried cris might notice my sudden tenderness. later, i would hold her and tell her i loved her.

i agonized whether to share the messages in this blog at all. after reveling in the goodness of God when He assured me He would be my Healer, how could i reveal Him going back on His word? after expressing gratitude over His benevolence, how could i tell everyone that He had withdrawn His support?

but i knew that i would have to. i had to remain truthful and consistent. if i had published His 'I am the Healer' message, i had to publish these messages too. whatever they meant to me, however hurt i felt with them, they were His messages to make known, not mine to withhold. still, it has taken me time to gather the courage to write this update.

the next morning, i was so depressed by the messages that i remained in bed, listless and feeling sorry for myself. but after lunch, i had to finally tell myself to cut it out. giving up is something that's acceptable neither to me nor to God. if He came for me, ok, i'd go, maybe not as willingly as i want to believe, but i wouldn't kick and fuss. i would be prepared and ready.

i lifted weights. that perked me up. then, i decided to visit the Blessed Sacrament again. after my opening prayers of adoration and thanks, i again sat down (not in the same pew as the last night, but in the opposite side. no, i'm not superstitious. someone was in my usual seat.) and asked God for guidance.

His voice was suddenly like thunder in my ears. “so, I am coming for you in 3 months? you know My thoughts now? you are privy to My timetable?”

if i was having a conversation with God, i'd be stammering. i was confused. 'but didn't You say You were coming sooner than i thought? and didn't i read that the mean average lifetime of someone in my condition is 5.67 months? so, i thought You'd come in 3 – 4 months because 2 months have passed since my cancer was discovered.'

God: 'did I say 5.67 months? are you able to read My mind?; in my own mind, i was on my knees cringing. 'I will come, when I will come!'

me: 'but i thought...that You had decided to take me already. i have cancer. i've started to feel weak. i vomited this morning. why would You extend my life? i can't believe You think i'm that worthy or deserving.'

God: 'I will send my graces to whom I choose, whatever graces I choose, and when I choose! My gifts do not depend on what you do, but on what I do.' by now, He must have started to take pity at my trembling figure, and His voice softened. 'you cannot make yourself deserving. you are deserving because I say you are.'

He continued: 'prepare yourself, not only spiritually, but also physically. strive to live. do not wait to die. always choose life.'

i don't remember the actual words He used anymore, but i think these convey the message i received that evening.

well, of course, i cried tears of relief. the burden of 'knowing' exactly when i would die was lifted. i wouldn't have to look at my family and think that could be the last time i would see them. i always thought it would be better to know when the moment of death would be. well, maybe not very exactly. mas o menos, is good enough.

i know i will die, maybe sooner or maybe later; but it is not for me to speculate about. it was not for me to anticipate. the Lord will take care of the matter for me.

today, 5 days later, i still feel a bit nauseous after meals. i'm still battling a bit of diarrhea. i'm weak and sluggish. but i've made up my mind to trust in my God and not to second guess Him. i can't anyway.

i've always held another view of death. if i really, really believe in God. why should i be afraid of death? i should be happy because the purpose of life is to be reunited with God, and death is nothing but being with God.

the question now is, am i a fool to talk with God the way i do? am i insane to think that God answers me back when i do talk to Him? or am i a mystic carrying on conversations with God?

actually, i'm just benjie, living life as benjie, talking and walking with the Lord.

The cost of health

a few days after i got out of makati med, i met berna, one of my former neighbors, on the street outside the sts. peter & paul church. she was one of the squatters along kalayaan ave, who were relocated 8 months ago to bulacan. she was back in makati because this was where she could earn a living for her mother, her nephews and nieces, and herself. she used to sell balut outside the nearby mini-stop store and earned about 50 centavos from each balut sold. she lost her job with the balut supplier because of their relocation. today, she's watching the cars of mass-goers or of those who eat in one of the restaurants nearby. she gets p2 - p10 per car; p20, if the car owner is the generous sort.

as cris and i got into the car, berna came over and asked about my condition. she said she had heard that i had an operation, and that her mother was in the charity ward of makati med at about the same time. someone told them i was on the 6th floor and she would have wanted to visit me, but she was too shy to dare (nahihiya siya). i guess when you're that poor, you figure you belong in the charity ward of the hospital, and you don't dare venture anywhere else, especially not in makati med.

i thought it was nice of them to spare me a thought when they had problems of their own. i wondered how the poor could afford their medical treatments. the makati government-issued yellow cards allowed them a free hospital bed and free consultations with the doctors or rather with the interns, but they still had to pay for medicines, medical tests, and procedures. i thought about the costs of my own ct and bone scans, and my operation. just the cost of my medicines alone would easily feed any neighbor of mine, with 5 or 6 family members, for 3 or 4 months. a ct scan of the abdomen with contrast worth about p32,000, would feed them comfortably for at least a month.

what would they do if they needed a ct scan, or an mri, or even a simple ultra-sound? what if they needed as much medication as i did? before my operation, i was able to keep the pain at bay with twice a day dosage of pain-killers. my intravenously administered antibiotics prevented infection. without them, i might not have made it to the operating table.

i suppose the poor just have to stand the pain the best they can. or take the cheaper drugs that don't have as much effect as the more expensive pain-killers. alaxan instead of dolcet? ponstan instead of morphine? how about a gram of shabu to just forget everything for half a day or so?

getting shabu isn't so far-fetched because these people live cheek-by-jowl with each other, including their friendly neighborhood drug dealers. if they need shabu or grass, they could probably get it on credit, as long as payment is forthcoming. it is a business after all.

it's bad enough to have to scrounge the garbage cans for a living, but to get sick without having the money to buy your medicines, must make you feel as if you were already in hell, suffering for sins you didn't know you committed, other than simply being born poor.

i remember jaime, one of my neighbors. he was a sepulturero, a gravedigger, in the nearby public cemetery. he made money only when someone had to be buried, or when nov 1 was nearing, and people would pay him to clean the tombs of their family members. no burial or cleaning job, no earnings. no earnings, no food.

jaime and his wife had 5 children, 2 of whom they raised on their own; 3 were effectively adopted by his in-laws. they all lived in a shanty on the sidewalk of our street, scarcely 2m x 3m, made of scavenged cardboard boxes, GI sheets, and tarpaulin. how did they fit in at night to sleep? well, definitely, not all at once. some would have to sleep outside, and the rest huddled together inside like sardines in a small can. on rainy nights, those outside would have to look for shelter elsewhere, and hope they would be able to get some sleep, for they had to work hard again the next day.

jaime's wife, about 15 years younger than he was, had suffered a stroke in her childhood that left her speech-impaired, and unable to completely control her limbs. yet, if you looked beyond her condition of poverty and ill health, you could see that she would have been pretty in her youth. her name is ellen, but because her head shakes from the effort of having to speak, she is called 'iling', a pilipino word that roughly translates to 'head shaker'.

iling augmented the family income by pushing a wooden cart and scrounging for paper, cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, and that prize find of scavengers, pieces of metal. she would start out every morning at about 3 or 4 in the morning, and be back home after 3 or 4 hours, usually travelling 15 – 20 blocks. when she got home, she and her children, starting when they were 4 years old; her husband, if he didn't have a job that day; and her mother and father (who was also a sepulturero), would sort out their loot, to be sold in various junk yards.

there are the used paper buyers, the iron and metal junk shops, and the plastic and soda pop bottle purchasers. their take would feed them for that day. if they got lucky enough to find enough iron pieces, they might even have some meat to go with their rice, instead of the usual vegetables, and bagoong, or tuyo.

one day, iling's husband suddenly fell ill. with his yellow card, he was admitted to ospital ng makati, which was then still situated along jupiter st. the first time i visited him. he was thin and he looked bedraggled, but then that was the way he always looked; 6 feet tall, dark, made darker from working under the sun, reed-thin, with lank, stringy, shoulder-length hair. he looked scary, like a drug addict desperately in need of a fix. if you saw him on the street, you'd stay well clear of him.

he smiled broadly when he saw me, pleased that i would deign visit him in the hospital. iling said that jaime had been suffering from severe stomach pains for the past few days. it wasn't hunger, he'd been eating well. appendicitis was ruled out by the interns or doctors, tho they really couldn't say what the problem was. the pain was getting worse, and jaime was getting weaker and noticeably thinner everyday. i tried speaking to the doctors, but they couldn't tell me anything other than what i heard from iling.

i visited a second time. this time, jaime's smile wasn't as broad nor as brave-looking as he would have wanted it to be. he was still in pain; the doctors still couldn't tell what was wrong with him. they couldn't seem to do anything other than give him ineffective pain-killers.

the last time i went to see jaime, i brought him a priest for the anointing with oil. he was basically unconscious. this time, even iling wasn't smiling her usual bright and ready smile. she was visibly subdued and sad. i myself could only manage a weak smile and a consoling hand on her shoulder. the next day, late in the afternoon, iling's mother told me jaime had passed away.

now, thinking back, i wonder if, having access to the proper tests and procedures – ultrasound, ct scan, mri, whatever – would the doctors have been able to identify what he was really sick of? if he had access to better educated, more experienced doctors, would he have lived awhile longer?

i would believe so, because knowing what you're sick of, opens venues to getting well. but these high-tech machine-dependent examinations are expensive, way beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.

beyond the cost of the examinations and consultations with medical specialists, are the costly treatments and medications. even if a person gets properly diagnosed, how would he be able to afford the treatments and the medications? would it be better after all if they remained ignorant of their health problems, and totally unaware that treatments exist, just beyond their reach?

i wonder what percentage of deaths among the marginalized members of our society is due to undiagnosed illnesses? 'marginalized' is truly an appropriate word for them. marginalized from safe shelter at birth. marginalized from proper nutrition in their infancy. marginalized from good education in their youth. marginalized from adequate-paying jobs as adults. marginalized from enjoying the benefits of modern society and technology because of sheer ignorance of their rights and privileges.

one would think there is a way we can all work together using God's benevolent gifts and resources, to lessen the marginalization of the poor especially in healthcare, without unduly reducing the good fortune of the rest.