The Pink Pilgrimage

My first year anniversary is just around the corner, the moment I found out I had breast cancer. Back then it was strange and daunting... but now, I am living it, fully. And lately I find myself drifting back to those six weeks.

Remembering the six weeks of radiation therapy. The bubble I chose to live in, where healing was the only agenda, and everything else could wait. I needed a medical leave from the rest of my life, and I was lucky enough to take it.

Fatigue hit me like a ton of bricks. It was cumulative, heavier by the day, like dragging a ball of chains I hadn't signed up for. Then, a few days before my last treatment, I almost quit. The burns had become almost unbearable.

Having my sister with me almost daily was like a balm to my aches. So were my visits to the chapel before each treatment, calming me down and, through an offering of intentions, letting me live beyond myself, even just for a moment. Looking back now, it's all a blur, soft-edged in memory, though some scents and flavors still pull me back to those days without warning. Love and generous prayers came in abundance... I am truly grateful to have survived it.

I also met fellow breast cancer patients, all of them warriors. We tickled each other pink, quite literally. We looked forward to our little get-togethers in the waiting room, trading laughter like currency, comforting each other without needing to say much at all. Oh, how much I miss them.

I am outside that bubble now, a warrior bursting with valor and joy.

Is This Worth My Sanctity?

In the solitude of prayer, I asked myself if everything I'm busy with is worth my sanity. There are days I'm at my end, overwhelmed by my to-do list, exhausted (because I am always exhausted these days), doing too much.

At first I was ashamed of the question, as if noticing my exhaustion were selfish. As if wanting rest were an exaggeration. Work sanctifies us, I told myself. It gives us grace. We are meant to work, for others, for God.

But I don't think the answer is to argue myself out of what I'm feeling. Exhaustion isn't something to override; it's something to listen to.

"Worth my sanctity" asks something truer: does this activity actually form me into who I'm meant to be, wife, mother, the specific vocation I've been given, or is it just occupying me? Work sanctifies when it's ordered toward that. Busyness that leaves me too depleted to be present to my husband, my boys, or God isn't extra holiness stacked on top; it can actually work against the very things I'm trying to serve. Even the saints who worked hardest built in withdrawal, silence, sabbath. Rest wasn't their concession to weakness; it was part of how they stayed faithful to what mattered most.

So let me minimize, not everything, but what doesn't belong at the center. The social calls can wait if I need to rest. Let me prioritize the work God has actually planned for me: my vocation, my family, my apostolate.

Let me rephrase the question, then, into the one that actually matters:

Are my activities worth my sanctity?

I hold pain until my body shivers. Oblivious, because I'm too busy: mother, wife, entrepreneur. I'm used to it now. Every day, an 8 to a 10. Lately even lifting my arms makes me wince.

"Just exercise." Easier said than done. Though movement helps. So does sleep; when the pain hits hard, I get sleepy. That's my body's way of saying: stop, rest. On those days I can't think straight, can't function. Running on empty.

This is my normal. Pain and fatigue, every single day. Do I stop the meds to escape the side effects? I'm six months into an aromatase inhibitor I'm meant to take for five years, to keep the cancer from coming back. Not even a year in, and I already move like an old woman.

A taste of Christ's cross. A kiss of His passion. I offer this for the forgotten souls in purgatory. May I walk this pilgrimage with grace and joy.

Whirring sounds of ultrasound scans used to mean "infanticipation". A fetal heartbeat. Exciting times, new beginnings.

Now I choke on my tears during a dental scan. Trying to stay still, holding on. I am not as strong as I thought I was. This is nothing compared to daily radiation. And yet here I am, wondering how it came to this.

Bone scans. PET scans. Mammograms.

Scans, to know what lies beneath the surface. To know if it's rotten or still viable. To know if there's a lump, or inflammation, or the pink of health.

Do they also see whether I am already breaking? My heart, torn into pieces. Do they show where my tears have crystallized, the countless times I tried to hold them back, because I am strong. Lie.

Do the scans see how exhausting all of this is?
How much longer?

Some days it is hard to find peace, or joy. I know I am overly dramatic.

I am still here.

There are days when I am in pain, and the anxieties get stirred up. I’m not necessarily very worried, just learning to embrace this new normal: the aches, the discomforts, the joint pains, and all the little reminders that my body has been through something.

This is life with cancer. There is not only the toll of the disease itself, but also the toll of the medicines I am taking to keep me alive. The irony!

I’ve had new scans and labs recently. Relatively good news. Nothing conspicuous. My white blood cell count is low, and there’s a lymph node that has grown over the past six months, but nothing conclusive yet.

So, I breathe. I pray. And I remind myself: I am still here. Praise be to God for new beginnings.

Life continues with motherhood, work, responsibilities, and all the beautiful chaos in between. I’m trying to get my groove back.

But I also have to be honest: my groove isn’t the same anymore.

Naluya na si Darna. 😂

And that’s okay.

I’m learning to slow down when I need to, listen to my body, accept what has changed, and celebrate what I can still do.

Trying. Adjusting. Surviving. And most of all, grateful. Still here. Still fighting. Still living.

Survivorship is a journey. Some days the will to live is just... low. I'm tired of being tired. Aching all over like an old lady — and yes, I'm blaming the meds meant to keep me alive.

I get it now. Why some cancer patients choose to skip treatment in exchange for quality of life, however short. Nobody likes suffering. My pain tolerance used to be legendary. Now everything hurts, and I'm tired of even saying it out loud. It is what it is. I'm not asking for sympathy — I'm very much alive, thank you.

The nutrition, the exercise, the whole "take care of yourself" package — it's one step forward, two steps back. You feel like a champ for a moment, then boom. Side effects. Or just the will to live calling in sick.

And my brain decided to wake up again. So many things disturbing my peace. Long to-do list. Zero energy to match. I'd rather nap. The list can wait.
But in the middle of all this — I know I'm lucky. To afford my medicines, my treatments, my supplements, my food. Not everyone can say that. That is not lost on me.

Lord, have mercy. Sustain me with your grace through these five years. Make me better — not just healthier, but a better person. May this journey somehow transform hearts and lead people back to your love. ❤️

Getting to know myself again: my limits, my strength, and my potential… gently trekking this path of recovery, softly and slowly. I am not in a hurry.

Grateful to still be here after the pain and everything I had to endure during treatment. Here I am, hoping to become the best version of myself -- the woman God intended me to be.

Mentally and physically, I am slowly waking up to the life and activities I once knew. Not perfectly, not quite the same as before, but I am learning to give myself grace. Though if you know me well enough, you know how impatient I can be. So I slow down. This season feels like God whispering to me, “Sit this one out… not just yet.”

I am rebuilding my strength day by day. Learning to live with the joint pains and shoulder stiffness... little reminders of the treatments and medications that carried me here.

One day, I will read this again with gratitude and gentleness. One day, these discomforts will fade. One day, I will feel whole and strong again. One day…

Thank you for your prayers. You are in mine too. 🩷

It’s not mostly joyful. Sometimes my happy energy gets depleted and I feel defeated.

Going through the daily grind of surviving cancer is mental calisthenics. I find myself busier, my creative juices coming alive again, able to go out on errands, and my naps are getting shorter. Although there are still days when fatigue gets the best of me.

I haven’t been taking coffee for a few weeks now, and surprisingly, it has helped manage my lethargic moments. I’m also happy with my combination of magnesium glycinate and melatonin for more restful sleep.

Nothing big is happening, thank goodness. I’m due for my routine laboratory tests next month, but for now, I’m simply enjoying this little break from medical errands.

In moments of spiritual dryness and during my darkest hours, your prayers continue to lift me up. Sometimes I just have to brush off the downers and choose gratitude and faithfulness again and again.

Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts and prayers.

🩷

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" - Philippians 4:13