[DISCLAIMER: The events contained in this blog have brought deep and transformative impact. To accurately portray the moments that have fostered such change, I have chosen to recount them in realistic and unrestrained detail. Thus said, please be aware that this blog contains a graphic depiction of breast cancer]
Wednesday morning brought anticipation and a pang of sadness as I awoke and prepared for my last visit to Tent City. On Friday, our squad would leave the Philippines and fly to Thailand, meaning today was our last day of “ministry� and the day I must say goodbye to a community that broke my heart and left me changed.
The group that loaded into the van included Ate Rona (a Filipino woman who works at YCM) my teammate Cara and squad mate Angela, a nurse from Canada, and myself. As we drove through mountain roads my anticipation and excitement grew; I couldn’t wait to jump out of the van and see little Lander explode out of his house and run into my arms. I envisioned his mother Rowena grinning from the door way, waiting to invite me inside after pulling me into a soft hug. I couldn’t wait to get Lander’s bowl of rice and sit inside his house feeding him and visiting with his family. I knew Rowena’s neighbor Ishmaela would come over and bring her daughter Princess Pearl. I pictured Rowena’s other son Vincent and Princess Pearl crawling from the floor to the bed, trying to take hold of my camera and providing entertainment for us all.
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True to form, Lander sprang into my arms seconds upon arrival and soon we were in his home, sitting on Rowena’s bamboo bed, enjoying our sweet time together. A soft knock on the door announced the arrival of a woman unfamiliar to me. Her searching face found mine and asked if I could come with her; a woman she knew was sick. Of course, I responded, and rose to follow, promising Rowena I would be back shortly. I followed the women down the broken dirt road, and wondered what type of “sickness� her friend had. A cold? A rash? Possibly something that needed antiseptic and a Band-Aid? My thoughts, however, in no way prepared me for what awaited.
My hand pushed open the wooden door, and slowly natural light illuminated the dark, single room. There was no furnishing in the dirt room save a small pallet in the far right corner. On the pallet crouched a thin, grey haired woman who appeared to be in her 90’s. The moment I saw her, I knew something wasn’t right. Her thin legs were pulled close to her chest and held there by her right arm while the left hung lifeless and swollen by her side. My sight followed the curve of her body and noticed that her left leg was also severely enlarged. She had a wrapping of fabric draped across her front that seemed to cover a sunken chest and swollen abdomen. I looked into her face and met her sad, empty eyes. Knowing absolutely nothing medically, and sensing that this was far beyond my single prayer & Band-Aid, I told the woman who fetched me that I was going to get the nurse, Ate Rona and my two team mates and return shortly.
When our small group entered the room a few minutes later, Ate Rona conversed in Tagalog with the woman, and translated the elderly woman’s illness in hushed whispers to the nurse. At each word, the nurse’s countenance sank. When all was communicated, the nurse slowly knelt down and joined the woman on the pallet, her face full of compassion and pain as she gazed upon the hopeless eyes opposite her own.
The nurse turned to us.
My heart stopped. Oh God, what were we supposed to do?
Cara, Angela and I lowered ourselves to the mat, joined hands, and lifted up silent prayers as the nurse began removing the woman’s shirt to see how the cancer had spread. The moment the shirt was lifted off the woman’s chest the pungent smell of an infection long untreated flooded the dark room. Our eyes were then immediately drawn to the woman’s emaciated torso. Her chest. I stopped breathing. There, in the place where her right breast should be, was large cauliflower shaped tumor growing through her skin. Due to the removal of the wrap, a steady stream of blood and puss silently oozed from the tumor down her chest and onto her abdomen. We could see more clearly now how the cancer had metastasized. Although severely emaciated, the woman’s extremities and stomach were swollen due to the spread of the caner to the lymph nodes, liver, and lungs. It was stage 4, I later learned.
I was completely numb. I have never ever in my life seen untreated sickness to that degree. As the nurse cleaned and bandaged, I dared a glance into the woman’s face expecting to see pain or discomfort but was met with neither. Hopelessness and sadness were all I could find in her deep brown eyes.
The heaviness engulfing me was so dense I doubted if I could pick myself off the pallet. Before I had to try, however, the nurse finished all she could do medically and said, “What we really need to do right now is pray. She took hold of our hands, and began to pray but completely lost composure one sentence in. My medical ignorance of the severity of this woman’s situation was immediately illuminated by the devastated and heartbroken words the nurse tearfully prayed.
I barely remember when the prayer ended, or when we stood up, or said goodbye or walked to the door. Hurt, shock, and confusion enveloped me. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I kept thinking as we trekked to the top of the hill. Physical, literal pain was wreaking havoc in my heart. I then had to say goodbye to Lander and his family, forcing smiles that didn’t reflect my shattered heart. This can’t be my last day, I cried to God. Oh please Lord, please let me come back.
The nurse continued the conversation by requesting that someone come back in the next week to ask how the woman passed away…�Was it in pain? In her sleep?� My heart shattered even further. Was it really that bad? Was there truly no hope?
I wish I could convey the ache my heart experienced on that ride. How the short time I spent with that woman consumed my thoughts, my emotions. I was completely and utterly wrecked. What I had just seen was not a scene from a movie. It was not a story from a book. It was real life.
Oh God. I feel so lost. Where are you in the midst of such devestation and pain?
To be continued…
