This Change Through Time

Patrick Zaldarriaga
H2B 33 Mr. Lacson

This Change Through Time.

Three years. 1095 days.

People say that life is so valuable, so short yet so long. The things we do in our life reflect who we are. The things that happen to us in the past and present defines our existence and our future. As for me though, things I did, things that happened still fails me to know who I am, what I will do. Why it happened? What reason? Where to continue? Why me?

2006. I was 12. Just as any pre-teen kid would be, I was selfless, carefree and even happy go-lucky. Just as any pre-teen kid would be, I’d run around, play ’til I drop, I played with my B-Daman like any kid would have at this time. My life was normal, so normal, very normal, just as any kid would be. I had above average grades, above average family, above average friends, above average everything. I was pretty much contented with my life. It didn’t need to change. I was 12, what else would I be doing?

Then one week, just one week. Such an anonymous day began the end of my young life, my young self. The signs came, and symptoms began to show up. My walking has gone haywire. I would begin limping and limping, and as the days followed the pain increased in intensity to such extent that I wasn’t able to walk. As early as this, I was using crutches already.

Of course I’d deny it. ‘It’s just muscle’ I used to say. I didn’t want to think it was anything bad, then again anyone else would want to think the same. Was I ever so wrong. We had an X-ray taken. The first doctor we went: ‘Yeah, it’s just muscle’. Was she ever so wrong. It became worse by the minute, felt nothing like it. The second doctor we went: ‘You see that shadow on your tibia? That could be malignant. We need to schedule an amputation.’ Was he ever so wrong. Yet the signs kept coming. The word cancer just pops up every time. It was an impending sadness, or so it seemed.

The week wasn’t over, so was the pain and the misery brewing inside my heart. We went to the last doctor for a so-called ‘third opinion’. Dr Vince Gomez, POI. ‘Let’s take an MRI. Let’s not get into any conclusions’ or something like that. So we did, and which became one of the most grueling things I’ve had to do in my life. By this time, the pain was at its most extreme intensity. I couldn’t keep my leg straight in the MRI, it hurt so much it was borderline unexplainable. Add to that the Intravenous Contrast being inserted to my forehand. ‘Get me out of here’ I thought. The nightmare has just begun.

After some hours, we finished it. He was there to see. The plates were up on this lighted panel. As I got out of the machine, he was there, looking very concerned. Something’s wrong obviously, but he wasn’t saying anything. I immediately asked what was wrong, that usual questioning self. He told us that a biopsy would be needed. There was something, he didn’t lie. There was a spot inside the bone cranked in there somewhere. ‘Relax Patrick, go to Pizza Hut. Eat a Cheesy Volcano Pizza. Relax.’ So we did. Needed to get things off my mind, and what better way to do so by eating pizza. Like a calm before the storm.

Another anonymous day the Biopsy was. It was my first time in an operating room. Not really nervewracking as the following ones, but the aftermath was crazy. Non-stop vomiting happened. It was chaos everywhere, the anaesthesia perhaps was just too overwhelming. Then again, I’d get used to it afterwards. It took 10 days for the results to come out. Within that time, I did what I could, before the worst. But then after 240 hours of happiness, came that one second of sadness. My mom came home crying. It happened. It was official. I was diagnosed with Chondroblastic Osteosarcoma Stage IIA. My world went into a downward spiral. My life was flushed down the toilet. An automatic surge of depression struck my innocent 12 year old mind. It was tough. So tough. Not only on myself, but on my family as well. I didn’t know where to go, where to begin. Our worst fears were confirmed, now what? We thought of all the options. Go to States, Clinical Trials, name it. But it wasn’t a complicated case. It was just a matter of doing this and doing that, and we’re done. My case was at its early stages, nothing too bad. So we just stayed here. My doctors just decided on applying High-Dose Neoadjuvant Chemotherapy, before and after surgery. So then, it began immediately. The storm begins.

First chemo was hell. My head throbbed like it never throbbed before. It was sick. As the medicine stroked my veins, my disposition was going nowhere. I remembered just wanting to stay still, not wanting to talk to anyone. Not to mention the after effects. Didn’t eat for a whole week, but rather than losing weight, I was bloated due to the influx of all the other medicines counteracting chemo’s traces. It was hard.

This went on for almost exactly a year. Yeah, one whole year. It went on and on and on and on. From this point on, the downward spiral continued. And with this, my faith began to sink. I questioned. I angered. I bargained with the Higher-ups. Being in the shadow of death, I was left wasted, my soul was spiritually mauled. I had nothing, and my spirit was nearing non-existence. And yes, there were times when I stepped into death’s chamber. These were times when I was losing the battle, losing hope, losing myself. I was being crushed slowly.

Then again, I realized. Who the hell was I to defy? Who the hell was I to ask? I’m merely borrowing this life, which isn’t mine. This was a borrowed soul, a borrowed time. As this friend of mine told me and which I too realized, everything was a blessing. My life was nonetheless a blessing, though marred with pain and misery. This was a test, a chance to prove my faith. I was wrong. I had to hold on, not because for myself but for Him, and for my friends, my family who held on for me. It was then I had to make a stand. This was the time that I had to put up a frontline, a brave front in this battle because this will be a long and hard one.

As the storm raged on, I made myself immune to fear and sadness, numb to pain and suffering. It was tough. I was determined to get through this, to get passed the odds. Then again, being a cancer patient has its perks, so to speak. I was exempt from school the entire year, which allowed me to do whatever I want. In between cycles, I had breaks in which I did whatever I desired, for at least 2 weeks. This time was sweet and fun. From my uncles and aunties visiting me to play scrabble to hanging with my closest friends, these were some of those relaxing moments, times where I was relieved. Another perk is VIP treatment, sort of. People give you priority, so I’m always first at anything. No lines, no wait, no nothing. Plus, we get to use the Disabled Parking Space. Awesome. Oh and being a cancer patient allows you to eat whatever your heart (and by that I mean your arteries) desires. Since a cancer patient does not eat for a week or so in the hospital, it’s allowed and highly encouraged. It was great. Pizza, day in, day out. This was the bright side amidst all the sadness.

It took a year. We were in and out of Cardinal. Then the dust settled. After the last cycle, it’s as if a huge javelin was taken out of my chest. The prognosis was good. The cancer cells were arrested, and it was a done deal. We could all breathe lightly at this point. It was over. After a year of chemotherapy, a year of emotion, a year of nausea, I was now in remission. All done.

It changed me. The whole experience/crisis made me who I am. As I’m now lost for words to conclude this memoir of mine, I end with one simple question: What is your role? Your purpose? God lend you your life for something significant. Change. Influence. Believe.