By Malyne G. Nim

Photo by Benjo Rulona

I am a psychologist and consultant trainer, wife to my best friend, Arli, mother of Bea and Gioia. In September 2000, I concluded a training program with workers of the evacuation centers in Mindanao as part of a project with an international agency. Because of the success of this project, I was given a new assignment in another war-torn country. My bags were packed, my ticket confirmed. Then...I had a visitor.

News from an old friend

A childhood friend, now a well-known surgeon in our province was in Manila for a conference and came to say hello that Sunday morning. I asked him to take a look at the lump in my breast, which got painful when I was tired. For what seemed like eternity, he examined both breasts. Then he gave me 'the look' that I knew from way back whenever he'd tell me something serious and sad. To save him the effort, I asked, 'Am I going to die?'

He laughed. Then, addressing both Arli and myself, he explained that the lump was disturbingly large and deep and should immediately be biopsied. Even if it were benign, I'd still need to have it removed. 'And if it is malignant?' I asked. Surgery was just a part of the treatment. Chemotherapy should follow to stop the cancer cells from spreading. He wrote to his fellow surgeons in one of the best hospitals in the country. I remembered murmuring thanks and bidding him good-bye in a daze.

No more trips

Arli called the doctors for appointment. Going upstairs, I stared at my luggage. 'No more trips,' my friend said. I felt like I'd been stabbed, a heavy feeling overpowering me and tears started to fall. I allowed myself to cry relentlessly. A movie in my mind started to play: through tears, I could see my daughters--how would they grow up without me? Would Arli marry again? The pain intensified. I cried even more. I saw a team of doctors with scalpels digging into my body and could sense the horror of it all! I saw myself balding, weakening. I was very scared. I searched for the phone and dialed a friend.

She cried with me, and then said: 'Malyne, this is the time to really believe in God's love for you. Let's do this together.'

Her words instantly blurred the horror movie in my mind. I felt I was being transported to another dimension. True, the fear was still there, but now, there seemed to be a purpose to it. It didn't seem worthless and pointless.

Sure winner

I went for surgery, armed with a renewed faith in God's love for me, with the hope that whatever He wills is best for me; and with the love of my family and friends.

I understood why the first Christians sang as they were being fed to the lions. They were not afraid because they knew that God was with them. Taking my cue from them, I was singing in my mind as they wheeled me to the operating room. At that moment, I knew that many were singing with me a song to Mary that goes, 'You have held the whole world in your hands, and watched it slowly fade away. But you believed in love.' Later on, my doctor would comment that the smile on my face as he was operating helped him too.

Feast in my hospital room

The hospital experience was unique for miracles came one after another. Prayers were abundant, so were visitors and flowers and even balloons. My room was so festive that other patients said it looked liked I had a baby, not a mastectomy. I was overwhelmed by the support of everyone. Indeed, God cannot be outdone in generosity. He just wants us to say 'yes' and he will do the rest.

Struggle with change

My side of the bargain was to do His will and to love those around me. Easier said than done. For me, it's still a daily struggle. Being used to an active lifestyle, I found it hard to stay home all days, at times alone. The radical change from a diet with meat to a vegetarian one demanded a big change, plus adapting to the side effects of the chemotherapy, which includes emotionality and depression.

The Psychologist in me

As a psychologist, I know that a grave illness is a major crisis. It affects one's physical, psycho-social and spiritual functioning. The chemotherapy becomes more agonizing as the days go by. The family concerns increase as the children grow up. My stubborn personality crops up regularly. There is boredom and fatigue to balance and battle. But I'm learning that what matters is to live each moment in love, starting again each time I fall.

My children have become more mature for their age, being like little mothers to me, helping me wash myself, preparing my bed, giving me my vitamins, assuring me of their love, even when my hair started to fall. My husband has proven to me that love is more beautiful when suffering is embraced together with faith and hope. In my dark hours he kept encouraging me to believe in love. It was easier for me to do so, because he was beside me.

Cancer as my teacher

It may be ironic, but there are moments I thank God for my cancer. It has taught me the biggest lessons in life. It has taught me patience, forgiveness, temperance, fortitude. It has made me more prayerful, translating each activity into songs of praise. It has brought me closer to Mary Desolate--Mary at the foot of the cross--who never stopped believing in love. It made me realize that suffering can be a song because it teaches us how to love more deeply.

POSTSCRIPT

Last January, we learned that my cancer had metastasized to the lungs, liver and bones. I needed another operation and a new round of chemotherapy, this time with a drug more potent, and much more expensive.

It was another Gethsemane for me. But then, again, with the help of my family in the Focolare, I got the courage to say, 'Here I am, Lord, I come to do your will.'And again I became witness to the outpouring of God's love, through the people around me.

The next six months passed by in extreme pain due to the side effects of the drug. I lost my hair, gave up the job I like, restricted activities with my children. But in the same period I also felt boundless joy, as I experienced the love and support of everyone. Many times I wished to give up the fight, but I am lifted up again and encouraged to start anew by everyone who believe that all this is part of God's plan of love for me.

Today, the miracle continues and the song remains the same: 'You, O Lord, are my only good.'

Salamat sa NEW CITY.