Interrupted

Cancer. It is a sickness generally considered as afflicting only old or middle-aged people. Of course, this is not true; a lot of cancer patients are children, adolescents, and young adults. As for myself, I knew that cancer can strike anyone at any age, but I never gave a thought to it ever happening to me. That’s why when it came in the middle of my march toward the future, my initial response was of utmost disbelief.

It all started with an unusual feeling of fatigue that was more than I ever felt before. Climbing four flights of stairs, which used to be routine, became difficult for me. I was too often beset by fever. When it became intolerable, I consulted a doctor. He initially suspected typhoid fever or dengue, but he noted my pale visage and ordered a blood test. When I got the results the next day, another physician took a look. I remember that moment: She looked, summoned the senior physician at the ambulatory care section of the emergency room, and together they discussed my results behind a curtain for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. By that time I was feeling dread. The typhoid-fever test had turned out negative. If this is dengue, I thought, what’s taking them so long to tell me?

When the two physicians came back, they told me and my brother, who had accompanied me, in the softest possible terms, that there was a suspicion I had leukemia. They told me that I could have other blood diseases as well, but that only a hematologist could truly tell.

I hoped and prayed that the blood test was flawed, that I had another, easily curable, disease, and not leukemia. Yet an ingot of doubt formed in the back of my mind. Even with all the hope that I willed forward, that it was not what I feared it to be, a part of me was starting to believe that I indeed had leukemia. And when I consulted the hematologist, she took one look at the blood-test results and immediately scribbled an admission order to the Philippine General Hospital, confirming my fears. She told me to get in touch with my family and try to get admitted as soon as possible in order to start my treatment.

I walked out of the clinic stunned, unbelieving of what I had heard yet knowing that there is no turning back, that it was the truth. I walked through the PGH parking lot toward the chapel, tears streaming from my eyes. I had no answer to the fact that this disease had descended on me. At that instant, I felt resentment and anger.

I had already planned my future and had just been accepted at my current job, which was to be a considerable improvement from the previous. I had worked hard to support my younger brothers in their education. I acquired a master’s degree the year earlier, after two and a half years of hardship. Everything was supposed to get better, and now this. Why me?

I felt despair and sorrow. My family was not financially endowed. I was the breadwinner, and I did not know where to get the money for the scheduled treatment.

I had no choice in the matter. After praying in the chapel, I began to accept my condition. I thought to myself that God must have planned this for me, that this had to happen. Regretfully, I took a leave from my teaching work barely two months after I started. It was painful for me because this job was something I had looked forward to. I informed my family, with much crying and praying, in Cebu.

The next few months were a flurry not only of activity but also of pain and discomfort as leukemia began to ravage me. There were more pain and discomfort as chemotherapy produced innumerable side effects.

My disease and subsequent hospitalization opened my eyes to the goodness of the human spirit. My friends and relatives rushed to visit me, lifting my spirits. Even my high school classmates, some of whom are now parents, provided help and support. All of them encouraged me to fight on, to pray for healing, and offered their own prayers. My students even organized a blood drive to provide blood for my numerous blood transfusions. It was overwhelming, and showed me that even in this state, God provides.

With all the goodwill bestowed on me despite my sickness, I resolved to get better. My father pushed a number of supplements on me, which I took enthusiastically. My diet changed, for the better. No more canned goods, no more pork, no more fast food, no more  inihaw  (roasts). More vegetables, more fish, and some chicken and beef.

My leukemia was a wake-up call for me to improve my lifestyle. For the past years that I have been living in Metro Manila, my meals consisted of whatever I could buy nearby. I favored  carinderia  food, canned food, fast food, and junk food that were probably laced with all sorts of chemical flavorings and processing byproducts. Although I was relatively fit, I did not exercise regularly. Combine all that with the polluted fumes permeating Metro Manila, and there you have it—an unhealthy lifestyle.

Reflecting upon my condition, I realized that it was probably better that leukemia struck me at my age, instead of at the later part of my life. I began to see my condition as a forced vacation, given that I had rarely taken an extended break ever since I graduated from college five years ago. At least starting now, I would take better care of my body and be more aware of what I eat. My disease has also been a stark reminder of my mortality. I have once been near the reaper’s scythe—when I nearly got run over by a car—but this was different; this was closer. It was a reminder of how fragile life can be.

I have now completed three cycles of chemotherapy, after three hospital confinements. I have lost all my hair and more than 20 pounds. I still feel some resentment whenever I get reminded of my life being interrupted. But I have accepted my fate. It may be that I needed a vacation, that I needed to take a break; it may be that I needed a reminder to get healthy. My ailment may have been caused by my unhealthy lifestyle, by genetics, or by a random mutation that just happened to occur.

Whatever it is, I have accepted it and can only move forward. I feel it’s the time to rest, recuperate, and reflect. Let us not count what we have lost, but only what we still have.

Joshua Suico, 26, was an assistant professor at the Department of Physical Sciences and Mathematics of the University of the Philippines Manila before he was forced to go on sick leave.