Exactly 10 years ago I was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma - a highly malignant type of bone cancer.
It threatened to take away everything from me; from rudimentary movements
like rotating my wrist or shooting free throws to something more
valuable - like my life.
I was a very athletic
kid and basketball was my life. Around that time I was also deep into
boxing and jiujitsu, and between all that I dabbled in kart racing. I took all those seriously, like a religion. I was 14 then.
I
can't really recall the exact moment of trauma but
somewhere in between my car crash during a routine practice and a
hairline fracture I suffered from a spar, my wrist got busted so bad
that it developed a lump. I was big on self-medicating my injuries so I
thought the growth was just my bone repairing itself. Oh sure, it did
heal on its own... But the thing is, no one told it to stop. It never
worried me one bit though. I always believed I was invincible.
It
was irritating at first; just a nagging sting whenever I threw a hook. A
few weeks later, it was starting to be a burden. It grew and grew until
something as simple as bending my wrist made me cry out in agony. I stopped boxing soon after that. A week later I turned my back on jiujitsu. Kart Racing quickly followed in the list of things I had to give up. I never suited up again. I was
left with basketball, but when I realized I could no longer lift the ball
above my chest for a simple jumper, I had to give that up too.
My
parents knew that my threshold for pain was uncanny. After years
of seeing their boy banged up from basketball, mixed martial arts, football, and
every sport in between, they'd grown accustomed to me brushing off
injuries. It was not until that summer that I saw genuine fear in them.
Their son had a freakish growth on his arm, and could barely sleep because
of the pain.
I
assumed putting the injury in a cast would solve everything. It was a
small price to pay. But when the doctors saw the x-ray, a cast was the
last thing on their mind. It was not even an option. I went through a
series of tests culminating with a bone biopsy. I still believe to this
very day that it is the single most painful thing a human being can
endure without losing his wits. I shit you not. What
they did was they punched a steel syringe as thick as a juice-box straw
into my skin, drilled it by hand through my bone, then extracted a good
chunk of bone sample from the suspected area.
We
got word on a hot and sunny afternoon; it was April 15, 2002. I was the
last one in my family who fully understood the gravity of the
situation. My mother cried immediately, my father tried to talk to our
doctors and negotiate us out of it as if cancer was just a bad business
venture. The doctors told me I had cancer. They told me it had enough evil in
it to kill me at any moment. The once indestructible kid was now
terminally ill. I was 16.
I
never did question God on the matter. I guess I was already empty. I already surrendered myself to Him. I can barely recall the ride home. The voice of my doctor echoed endlessly
in my head. I had to go thru chemotherapy. Fine, I said to myself, I
can deal with chemo... But what brought my world down was the impending
scenario of an amputation. It was the best possible option to save what
remained of me, the doctors said.
There
is nothing more frightening than losing something you have always just taken for granted. Doing a crossover, opening a
bottle of beer, holding your girl, cradling your baby brother... Those
simple pleasures that I never really bothered to appreciate were suddenly in danger of
becoming just a memory.
A
few days later, I found myself in good spirits. I had a good talk with
my folks, I gave them my word that I would never give up nor give in no
matter how painful things got.
Chemotherapy
is not cool. It's the ultimate mental and physical torture. It purifies
your body with pain. It will punish the evil inside you with no regard
to your comfort nor well-being. A battery of hell-like sessions went on
for three days straight, every three weeks. Six 5-inch needles were
inserted on my right hand, intravenously feeding my body with a thick
syrupy substance three times a day. They said it was my medication. For
me it was death in liquid form.
In
between sessions, I attended school. De La Salle Zobel was kind enough
to extend every possible comfort that a student with my condition might
need; special exams, free passes, study-from-home, on-call medical attention... But I was
having none of that. I told them, no way I am letting cancer
run my life. I would go to school like a regular student, do the same
work that all my classmates were supposed to do. No special treatment.
No perks. I hated being sick, and even more so letting people know that I was.
My
parents and my team of doctors gave stern instructions for me to wear a
mask at all times, in any given situation. Stubborn me. I would drive myself to
school with the mask on but once inside the campus I would take it off. My
game plan was to trick my body into thinking that it was healthy.
People who
know me, as some of you do, recognize that I am an intense competitor.
Cancer messed with the wrong kid. I was bound to kill my killer.
I
had to deal with minor adjustments in my life - a bald head, wearing my
watch on my right arm, not lifting heavy loads with my bum hand... But
nothing was more painful than quitting sports. I was not allowed to
play, let alone try out for any varsity team. Even when I was deep into
my college years, I was not allowed to hoop or box. I went to try outs
secretly against my family's strict instructions. There are just some
things that I can't live without. My not being allowed to play ball is a fate worse
than cancer.
The
inevitable came. An operation was set to extract my tumor. I was
hopeful for the best, yet I'd accepted my fate as a potential one-armed
bandit. I guess it's pretty obvious how that went. By the mercy of God I
still got both hands. The brilliance of my doctors made the miracle possible. Lead by one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the
Philippines Dr. Rafael Claudio and equally brilliant oncologist Dr.
Agnes Gorospe, the medical teams of St. Luke's Medical Center and Philippine Orthopedic Center gave me a new lease on life. I am eternally
grateful for their genius and love. My tumor was only the third
recorded case of Osteosarcoma on the distal ulna in the history of
Philippine medicine. Top orthopedic surgeons were quick to get involved in my
case. In retrospect, I was lucky to have a rare type of cancer.
A
year later I got accepted to UST's esteemed College of Architecture. My
dream school. I wanted to be an architect so bad... A profession that
clearly needed two able hands to practice. I couldn't help but feel that God
truly had a big plan for me.
I went on to accomplish my school work even though I was high on chemo drugs. I
had extra-curricular gigs, I got good grades, and graduated high school
on time! People saw me as an inspiration... But all I did was
dedicate myself to what was necessary, to what was right.
I know there is no medical proof to this, but I believe that
the human body has the capability to heal itself... no matter what the ailment.
The trick is to start the healing from within oneself; spiritually, then
mentally. One should have a mindset that is relentlessly positive, coupled with
a tenacious will for victory. The feeling will go well beyond hope; more like a
really strong force - more like faith.
Sheesh... I think I've said too much already.
I
guess what I am trying to say here is that life, as the cliche goes, is
short. But that does not mean you should go YOLO. You should live life
with purpose, with passion, and with integrity. Life is already short as
it is, don't spend it flirting with stupidity. Make life better for
yourself and others. I am not saying you should not make mistakes, that
is straight up impossible. Matter of fact, I encourage you to get into trouble... but make sure you learn from it.
Like
the supposedly unsinkable Titanic, never assume you are strong,
unfuckwithable, and invincible. I thought I was, till life showed me
what's up.
Don't
just make love... Make love last. Always give what is right, and not
what is left. Never let a day pass without showing people that they are
loved. Invest yourself in everything that is important in life - because
when life finally blows its buzzer on you, these things will remind
people of how great you were.
On
the other hand, if you know anyone waging war against this crippling
disease, make it a point to give them your support and let them know you
got their back. Pray for them constantly. You have no idea how powerful
love is against insurmountable odds. It has the power to turn the tide
of the direst of situations.
I
wrote this on the exact day I was expected to leave life. In a couple
of hours, I will play basketball with my friends. In a few minutes, I will hear mass and
I will wrap my arms around my family.
Ten years ago, around this time, I
was wishing for those things... Now here I am, telling you I'm about to do
them.
God is good, even to people like me. Especially to people like
me.
Ten years later, by the grace of God, I am still here. Best believe I will make it count.
With strength and honor.
