Lola. It means grandmother in Tagalog – which is the official language of the Philippines. (I’m half Filipino)
But to me, “Lola” was so much more than just my grandmother. She was my idol, my hero, and the best role model of the wife, mother, friend, and human being I could ever want to be.
On January 4th, Lola celebrated her 94th birthday. In a picture my family had posted of her, she looked happy and healthy. She radiated simplistic beauty at her ripe age, and it was hard to believe she was just 6 years shy of an entire century living.
Six days later on January 10th, everything changed.
The C Word
I will never forget that morning: January 10th.
I was lying in bed and trying to fall back asleep when my phone rang, over and over and over again. It was mother, and I assumed she was just calling to remind me of small details that I could give my attention to later.
She kept calling, and calling again. After consistent calls and texts, I figured it was important, so I answered when she called again not much later. Through the line, I could hear her almost crying. With uneven breathing, and a wavering voice, she said:
“Jen. Lola’s sick. It’s cancer. The doctor is only giving her 6 months to live, maybe.”
Instantly, the world around me instantly froze, then started to crumble. My tears slid furiously down my face like waterfalls.
Cancer had always been something I heard other people talking about. For the first time in my entire life, cancer became a ‘real thing’.
I was scared.
The Unfair Fight
Realistically, I knew that cancer was probably going to win this battle.
Cancer was first discovered as early as the 19th century, but it doesn’t seem to grow weaker with age like humans do. Lola was a strong woman from the inside out, but cancer always has this overwhelming power to suffocate it’s victims. Deep inside, I knew that Lola didn’t really stand much of a chance.
Within weeks of hearing about Lola, I booked a flight and landed in Manila. Just days after my arrival, Lola’s health went from bad to worse and she was admitted to the hospital.
There were moments when that familiar and sparkling personality of hers shined through. But with every day that passed, the exhaustion of her disease became more apparent, and her sparkle started to lose it’s shine.
Eventually, it became difficult to see Lola beyond her illness. My heart shattered at every sight of her helpless body hooked up to IV’s and oxygen tubes. Her hands, which I’ve always remembered as being petite and delicate, were swollen beyond recognition. The perfect hue of her freckled, cinnamon skin was stained with dark bruises and bloated, purple veins.
Day and night for two weeks, I sat by Lola’s side to watch her fade in and out of consciousness. She was uncomfortable, restless, incoherent and confused. Her ability to communicate and interact with us was fading fast.
In tears, I watched medical staff feed her liquid diet through tubes that passed through her nostrils and down her throat. Every time she winced in pain from sores and infections all over her body, my heart broke. When we had to strap her hands to the rails of her bed, because the toxicity inside her was causing her arms to flail uncontrollably, I so badly wished I could trade places with her.
I knew that all the medicine in the world couldn’t make the worst parts of this disease disappear. Not this time; not for Lola.
It wasn’t fair, having to watch her suffer like that. It wasn’t fair, that she had to suffer. All of it, wasn’t fair for any of us – especially Lola.
Cancer, just isn’t fair.
The C Word, the B Word
Lola passed away just a week after I flew back home. 5 months later, I still think about her every day, miss her more than I did the day before, and cry. Heck, I’m trying to see through the puddles welling up in my eyes while I type this.
Cancer is a despicable bitch.
Cruel and relentless, cancer tortured my grandmother in vicious ways. I was forced to witness the woman I (and my entire family) admired in high graces, being slowly destroyed from the inside out.
I know that there are many other diseases and disorders that can cause the same exhausting pain that cancer bestows upon the world. I know there are many people who have bravely fought and conquered cancer repeatedly, with every ounce of strength they have inside them. I know I’m not the only one who’s had to endure watching someone you love, fight the wrath of cancer.
My heart feels for everyone who’s experienced any of this agony, and who’s struggled with how unfair it is. My heart is full of admiration for anyone who’s battled this once, or twice, or still fights the hard fight today.
For 27 years, my life was essentially cancer free. It was something I only read about, heard of, or tried to help cure and prevent through monetary donations. And just one month before my 27th birthday, the one person I loved the very most in this world was diagnosed with cancer and it changed my life.
Cancer, you bitch.
You steal spirits, you poison souls, and you take away the most lovable, wonderful, and important human beings.
One day, I hope you go away, for good.
You are the absolute worst thing I’ve ever had to experience. Ever.
F*CK you, Cancer. F*ck you.