Quince de Mayo

“It is the link from the present to the past that gives us a spirit to address the future.”

(Midge Costanza 1928- )

I know, I know – the Mexican holiday is Cinco de Mayo, celebrating their victory over some foreign aggressors. This is not it. Nor is this an oblique reference to a Quincianera, a traditional Mexican coming-of-age celebration when a girl reaches fifteen years of age.

May the fifteenth was my late father’s birthday. This is a special day which brings back memories of my childhood, and my father.

First, this is the one day in a year that Tatay (Father) went to church. Nope, he did not go to church on Easter or Lent, not on Christmas. The new year may come and go but the change did not compel him to set foot on any church. He seemed to believe that the blessings he received on May 15 is enough to cover him for the whole year.

Second, my father, Isidro, attended mass only at the Catholic church in the next town which celebrates the feast of its patron saint, San Isidro Labrador, the patron saint of farmers. No other church was acceptable.

This Catholic town celebrates with a fiesta on this day, always starting with mass, and ending with revelry in the evening, usually a ball/dance for the public. The celebration always starts a couple of days before with all kinds of events, but the climax was always held on May 15^th. The town plaza would be filled with all kinds of stalls: food, religious souvenirs, clothes, toys, bingo stalls, fun games.

We were always looking forward to this day. Father would hire a jeepney so his children will not have to fight for seats on the local transportation which were always overflowing on this day. There were myself the eldest, then Pepe, Otay, Cena and Alma. We are all approximately 2 years apart, so you can imagine how much fun we had, and how much work was required to get us ready and presentable throughout the day. We will be washed, cleaned, and ready in our Sunday best early in the morning, sometimes as early as 5:30 in the morning. Nanay (Mother) did not come to any of these outings, as I recall. She probably relished her time to be without little children afoot even for just one day in a year.

I cannot remember the 20 km trip, nor the mass, but I have good memories of breakfast. Right after the mass, we would find a food stall that serves breakfast. Tatay would order food for us, and we all will have sunny-side-ups and rice. We were fascinated by how the cook cracked and dropped the eggs onto a sizzling pan, sprinkled salt on them, and kept the yolk golden and in the center. This was a special treat for us who always have kalo-kalo (fried rice from leftovers) and pinamalhan (fish) for breakfast every day.

After breakfast, father would let us wander around the other stalls. Only the food stalls and the those that sell religious souvenirs were open early, but we were happy just to see so many people in one place. We would each get some souvenirs, usually little bookmarks or stamps from the religious stalls.

Later, father would take us to his favorite cousin’s house, where preparation for a feast is being held. The smell of meat and sweat, and the smiles and nods of our relatives are what I remember most. After the introductions and updates (“This is Ana, the eldest, and currently in fourth grade,”…) we would amuse ourselves with our relatives’ special treasures: a caged snake, bird pets, a conch we took turns blowing.

We had second degree cousins our age, but seeing them only once a year does not help much. My two youngest sisters, Cena and Alma, remembered that they met some ‘rude’ girls on the road to our uncle’s house. They exchanged words, and almost got into hand to hand combat with them, only to find out later that they were relatives.

As we grew older, Tatay’s faithfulness to San Isidro Labrador became inconsistent. He probably had fallout with his cousins, or with his patron saint, who knows. When we had families of our own, we decided to have family reunions every May 15 in honor of my father’s birthday, and kept it quite festive.

I have few memories together with my father, he seemed to keep his distance from us as we grew older. Perhaps he did not know how to express his love, he was quite reticent and did not talk much. However, I have never once doubted that my father loved me very much.

What has this to do with multiple myeloma, you ask? Just that the idea of dying makes me dig deep into my memories, so that when I am gone, my family and friends will have my memory of Quince de Mayo in their hands.

Happy Father’s Day 2008 to you all. To those whose fathers are still around, I hope that you will make special memories together this day.

“The greatest gift I ever had came from God. I call him Dad.” Unknown

May Sunshine

It is amazing that it is already the second week of May. Indeed time waits for no one!

The days have warmed up now, and I am proud to say that I am keeping up with my exercises. Today I walked around Lake Artemesia where there is a paved trail around the lake. The light green leaves of the trees glimmered in the sunshine, the birds were out and singing, the lake was peaceful with a few water lilies starting to bloom.

My leg seems to be stronger since I started walking again – I have no choice but to walk because the restrooms are placed way at the center of the park, about a mile from the parking lot! Of course I enjoy the exercise and the time alone in such a beautiful scenery.
A lot of things happened since I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. What I thought was just a pulled muscle turned out to be something real big.

One day in April 2006, a colleague was quite down because of the divorce process that she had to go through. Going back and forth to the courts, the burden of figuring out financial issues, the trauma of being ridiculed and belittled by her ex-husband was taking a toll on her. I thought that she deserved a listening ear and offered to give her a little back massage to ease her tension. The chair had a tall back, and I in my high heels just leaned over and started giving her a massage. As I pressed her shoulders, I felt something pop at my right thigh, and a little pain. I brushed it aside, thinking that it will just go away after a while.

No, it did not go away. I pretended that it was not there. I continued doing my walks, hikes, treadmill, & stretches. I even remembered that I went to a park with some friends. We did exercises on some stops: uneven bars, sit-ups, etc. I followed someone on the monkey bars and jumped to dismount. (I dread thinking of the pain if my femur broke then.)

The pain did not go away. I visited the chiropractor and asked some people to give me a massage on my right leg. The chiropractor took an X-ray, but did not see anything wrong in it. He showed it to me, too, but of course, I did not see any problem either (how would I know?).

But months passed, and the pain was still there. It had become more intense, and I definitely told myself that I should go see a doctor – after our college nursing class reunion in California in July. At the reunion, my friends gave me clear instructions: see a doctor as soon as you return.

And that’s what I did. The day after returned I went to see a family practitioner. He did some tests, took an X-ray and asked me to return the following day for an ultrasound. The next day it was so painful, and I have to hang on to the rails to go down the stairs. It was not possible to put any weight on my right leg. Getting on the car was very painful and difficult. When we reached the office, I asked for a wheelchair.

The technician told me to sit on the ultrasound table, and later on, to lie down on the table. I tried, but the pain was so severe. She helped me up the ultrasound table. Eeeeeeew! I screamed in pain. She did the ultrasound quickly, and told me that there was no bleeding, in fact, there was nothing wrong with my right leg from what data they had so far. At this point, I realized I will have to go through more tests, and asked to be taken to an emergency room.

So, for the first time in my life, I was in an EMS vehicle, with 2 burly guys, taken to the Emergency Room of Laurel Medical Center. I had another X-ray at the ER. “They told you that there is no fracture? “ he asked, as he spouted out unprintable expletives. Later on, the ER doctor told me that there was something suspicious in the X-ray. He offered to find a good doctor that takes care of these things (I can tell it was something serious). He later told me there was a place for me at John Hopkins Hospital, and that I will be sent there.

Well, everything, as they say, is history. I was transported to Johns Hopkins Hospital at 3:30 AM After a series of tests, the diagnosis was multiple myeloma, or cancer of the bone marrow. I spent around 3 hrs at the outpatient clinic, and around 14 hours in the emergency room.

Two years later, as I hobble towards the park’s restroom, I cannot help but compare my life then and now. I may be handicapped (and jobless) now, but I have learned so many new things in the past two years: I got a fresh perspective of life; to worry over something only if it has a bearing on eternity. I am more relaxed and contented (easier to live with?), and learned to enjoy the simpler things of life: clap at the antics of the barn swallow as it flits around me, pay attention to the calling sound of the red-winged blackbird, examine and admire the exquisite design of the water lilies, inhale and enjoy the cool breeze by the lake.

Oh I hope that you too will slow down, take a closer look at the miracles around you, and enjoy them today!