Amixed bag of blessings and pain
‘When I felt that warm and bulky colostomy bag attached to my side, I knew that although my doctor had advised me to live, move, and be as normal as before, life would be different from hereon’
Everything went black, and I suddenly felt disconnected to everything else. The last image I remember was the digital clock in the operating room that indicated it was 11:47 p.m. of Dec. 9, 2015. The last words I heard were those of a nurse at the operating table, “Ma’am, just relax...”
I woke up at the recovery room at almost 7 the following morning, and as I was being moved to a regular hospital bed, I noticed something different: something foreign was attached to my body. It felt bulky and warm. I peeked through my hospital gown and saw a cut on my right side measuring about 12 to 15 inches. And then I saw it: a colostomy bag, a plastic bag attached to the left side of my stomach.
I knew then that I had just survived a very serious medical condition. I cried, I smiled, and laughed. The laughter and tears came with the acceptance of the blessing that I received that day: the gift of life. Hello world, I amstill alive!
Despite my doctor’s earnest advice for me to live as normally as before, I knew things would be different from hereon.
Being confined in hospital was the last thing I’d imagine for myself. I only went there for childbirth—twice—and that was that. But there, in that operating room, in a tug of war between life and death, you have no recourse but to submit and surrender to your Creator.
Sudden pain
What exactly happened to me?
A year ago, I felt a sudden pain in my stomach, such as I had never experienced in my entire life. I had felt sporadic pain building up through the years, but did not pay attention to it. I was too busy, too stubborn, to listen to what my body was trying to tell me.
The unbearable pain began on the night of Nov. 20 when I was in the Netherlands with my team shooting scenes for the movie “Tibak,” the story of Communist Party of the Philippines founder Jose Maria Sison and the activist group Kabataang Makabayan. It was the day before my flight back home so I mustered all the strength I could to endure the pain.
How I survived the flight without collapsing was a miracle in itself. I was crying in pain and rushed to a hospital upon arriving at the airport. But the doctor at the emergency room of this private hospital in Quezon City barely examined me and did not even give me medicine for the pain. The prescription for the painkiller I took was written by another doctor, Dr. Joy Alcantara, who was with me for the Netherlands trip.
I should have rested the following day but I woke up at 4 in the morning for my anchoring job at Radyo Inquirer’s Banner Story with Jake Maderazo. Being away for 20 days meant a hectic schedule waiting for me. But the pain was excruciating. Inside a very cold anchor’s booth, I was all sweaty and grimacing in pain. I managed to go on air for the program’s first hour, but by 7 a.m., I could no longer deny the pain. I was rushed to the nearest hospital.
After a series of tests—Xray, ECG, blood test, urine test, the works—I was told I had “functional constipation.” As soon as I could fart easily, the doctor said, I’d be OK. After being given a prescription, I was discharged.
Medical emergency
But the pain came and went in the next few days, and with endless chores that go with my new job as News Director of Radyo Inquirer, I found ways of ignoring and tolerating it.
Still, on the night of Dec. 8, the pain reduced me to tears. I threw up, the bile bitter on my tongue and burning on my throat. On a scale of 1 to 10, the pain was an 11, even a 20! The following morning, I woke my two daughters, Katrina Greta and Dominique, and drove to the nearest hospital, the FEUNicanor Reyes Medical Foundation in Fairview, Quezon City. I should have come here the day I arrived from abroad, I realized, given the immediate attention showered on me.
Which, it turned out, was also a clear indication that my case was a medical emergency. A resident surgeon confirmed this when she said that the Xray showed something that needed to be confirmed with a CT scan.
There was an obstruction and my large intestine had swollen by about eight inches. It could rapture anytime, and surgery was the only option, I was told. The obstruction causing the severe pain had to be removed.
When I was wheeled to my room where my daughters were waiting, I cried. Gen, my line producer, was there as well, and they were all smiles and in tears when I entered the room. It was then that I felt the colostomy bag. Ten days later, after being discharged, Dr. Wil- fredo Tayag explained the results of the two lab tests done on me. I had colon cancer, Stage 3. Knowing through experience that the obstruction was malignant and already in a malignant stage, he excised it. The tumor may have developed some 10 years ago or more, he added.
Thinking back, I recalled experiencing irregularity in my bowel movement as early as 2002. I was a hostage of the bandit group Abu Sayyaf for 98 days in Sulu that year, and there were many instances during that captivity when I thought I would die or be killed.
I remember telling my sister Candie, when I was given a chance to talk to her on the cellphone, that I could die of something else, such as blood poisoning.
“I have been constipated for about 10 days now,” I told her.
More frightening
But discovering my cancer at Stage 3 spared me the fear and depression that I would have had, had I known about it at Stage 1 or 2.
It could have been a stage far more difficult than what I had gone through while I was held hostage for more than three months. Knowing about my cancer early would have left me weak and depressed and unable to do what was expected of me as both mom and dad to my daughters. And that would have been far, far more frightening and scary.
Of all the advice Dr. Tayag told me about living with the discomfort of having a plastic bag attached to my body, I remember most these words: “Do normal things.
Be a normal person. Move as you did before. Exercise when you can, as much as you can. Your body will learn to adjust.” I did as he said and lived like nothing unusual had happened to my body.
How was it? How did I manage? With a lot of humor, for sure. A friend once asked me: “How do you sleep? ” I responded: “I close my eyes like everyone else!”
I clean and empty the plastic bag as often as necessary within the day. I credit the patience, dedication and commitment of my youngest, Dominique, in accomplishing that task at least twice a week.
She and her sister were taught how to do it, but her Ate Greta had to leave for college, and she was left alone to do it for me. I wanted to get someone else to do the task, but Nica had insisted, “Ma, anak mo ako. Ako ang gagawa (I’m your daughter. Let me do it).”
I resumed my usual responsibilities at Radyo Inquirer and Inquirer 990 Television which were related to the coverage of the 2016 elections, including hosting at least four Meet the Inquirer Multimedia Forum before the elections and doing what could be the last media interview of former Sen. Miriam Defensor Santiago.
On weekdays in April, I com- pleted the principal photography of my fourth full-feature film, “Pusit,” which refers to people found positive for HIV or AIDS. Everyone on the set, including the actors, knew that I had a colostomy bag attached to my body. I ran, leapt, demonstrated how scenes should be done or executed, and did all the things that I needed to do on the set and on location.
Running joke
There was however, one very strict caveat to everyone, a running joke on the set if you will: “Huwag ninyong babang
gain si Direk, may sasabog! (Don’t crash into Direk; something will explode!)”
Nica and I went malling, took road trips, went groceryshopping, cooked and did my most favorite household chore of all time: the laundry. Dr. Tayag was right, you just have to live with it and your body will adjust.
From Dec. 10, 2015 to May 18, 2016, I had a colostomy bag attached to my body, but lived my life as if nothing was different. After a series of tests, including one that measured the level of cancer cells in my body, the bag was taken down on May 18 by Dr. Pewee Alva at the Quezon City General Hospital. Another cut was done, smaller this time, but one that involved a different procedure and approach to cleaning and healing. This time, it was my eldest Katrina who did the cleaning. In two weeks, the cut closed on its own and formed a scar.
Lovelier
But after all that, I did not go back to my old life. The truth is, everything changed for the better. I sleep longer, fart with glee (yes!), have regular bowel movement, laugh harder and louder. Life is truly lovelier this time around.
People often say that when you survive a harrowing experience, it must be because you still have a mission in life. I think it’s not about what one still needs to do in life, because there is one purpose in life—and that is to worship, thank, and honor the One who gives life.
A recent unfortunate incident on the movie set of my latest film, “Bubog,” had people in show biz issuing a strong statement that warned actors about working with me—without investigating the facts first. I have forgiven them and quickly moved on, just as I always do. Experiences in life have taught me that victory in every battle, big or small, lies in the heart of the warrior.
If you insist that my life’s mission isn’t done, then I’d say yes, there are still things I need to do, among them attending to that vegetable garden, building a reading nook and writing corner in my yard, another corner for painting, and a bigger kitchen where I can cook for the people I love—Kat, Nica, Ivan and my beloved Arlan—all in God’s perfect time.
I was held hostage by the bandit group Abu Sayyaf for 98 days in Sulu in 2002, and there were many instances during that captivity when I thought I would die or be killed. Could it be of blood poisoning? I was constipated for about 10 days, I told my sister