Cesar Magnaye
July 18, 2010
My moment of bitter truth came four years ago. The diagnosis was a rare type of pancreatic cancer called “pancreatic neuro endocrine tumor” or PNET. Surprisingly, when my doctor finally broke the bad news to me, I was able to take it with total equanimity. I’m not sure how or why. But maybe, my accumulated frustrations from the preceding two years of painstaking visits to a procession of specialists, to seek a satisfactory answer to why I was continuously and unintentionally losing weight despite my good appetite, primed me for this moment of truth.
In May 2006, I underwent a procedure called “distal pancreatectomy,” wherein my surgical oncologist took out the body and tail (or two-thirds) of my pancreas to rid me of a tumor the size of a large matchbox. Two months later, I was well enough to go back to work, and for almost one and a half years after my pancreatectomy, the worst seemed over for me. I gradually regained my lost weight and got back to the pink of health.
Towards the end of 2007, however, trouble loomed again when a routine CT Scan detected two small nodules measuring 1.2 cm. each in my liver. My medical oncologist wanted to know if these were of hepatic origin or if these were metastatic growth from my pancreas. Unfortunately, doing a biopsy was risky since the nodules were yet too small and the liver was a bloody organ. The fallback was for me to have a PET Scan in order to find out if the nodules were malignant or not. So I had my PET Scan at St. Luke’s (the only hospital in the country with this state-of-the-art equipment) just barely a week before the Christmas of 2007. In keeping with the season, the results buoyed my family’s spirits as the lesions were not apparently malignant. I will never forget that Christmas.
Our jubilation proved short-lived. Ten months later, a MRI of my upper abdomen revealed that the two small nodules have now grown to six, with the largest measuring 6.6 x 6.6 cm. I was dumbfounded, and so was my oncologist. Was there something wrong with the technician who operated the PET Scanner or the radiologist who interpreted the results? Apparently, PNET does not show up well on a PET Scan. For the first time, my confidence was shaken as I became conscious of my own mortality.
My oncologist arranged for me a procedure called transcatheter arterial chemoembolization or TACE, which I had in December 2008. This was followed by a similar procedure in April 2009. It was at this point when I asked my doctor what our next step would be after this. His answer made me realize that my treatment had hit a wall, and that Western medicine’s menu of treatment for my type of cancer was painfully limited.
But as fate would have it, help (and hope) was just around the corner and I almost missed it had I continued to be stubborn. In mid-2009, my wife had told me about a hospital in Guangzhou, China that specialized in cancer treatment with an impressive track record. This was strongly recommended to her by relatives, Nestor and Domingo Bonifacio. Kuya Nestor, then just back from Fuda Hospital, had nothing but praises for the highly successful treatment that he received, which was later on featured by ABS-CBN’s Karen Davila in “The Correspondents.”
I was reluctant at first to go to Fuda. In the first place, why should I go to China? The first thing that comes to mind when I hear “China” is the melamine affair, which gives me the creeps. Why not known centers of medical excellence in Asia like Singapore, where the boss of my friend who had lung cancer got well? These and other questions begged to be answered. In retrospect, I’m glad that my wife was persuasive. She convinced me to attend a seminar arranged by Dingo and Kuya Nestor at Vivere in Alabang where Dr. Xu, President of Fuda Hospital, would make a presentation. Thankfully, I did and so the rest is history.
I first went to Fuda in August 2009 and never looked back since then. Although the hospital itself looks spartan compared to some of our large hospitals here which resemble five-star hotels, that first impression is highly deceiving. Fuda has state-of-the-art equipment and facilities. With its highly experienced medical professionals and trained nursing staff, Fuda is a paragon of efficiency and productivity. But being Asian in character, the hospital has a homey feel to it. The camaraderie among patients and the medical/nursing staff is spontaneous and sincere. Strangers become friends so easily and smoothly because of the fellowship and community that permeates in Fuda. I guess it is this unique “Fuda experience” that eases the thought of returning to Guangzhou for continuing treatment.
During my first visit, the treatment involved cryoablation of the large nodules in my liver, TACE on the smaller nodules, immunotherapy and loads of Chinese medicine to boost my immune system. I’ve returned there in December 2009, February 2010 and July 2010 for needed maintenance treatment. Thanks to Fuda, my liver condition has stabilized, meaning that there has been no new growth either in terms of number or size of nodules. Given the current state of cancer research and development, I cannot possibly ask for more.
For now, seeking cancer cure is like searching for the Holy Grail. It’s a journey with no definite timetable or sure destination. I have embarked on such a journey with hope in my heart and God on my side. Along the way I have learned a couple of lessons already. I have reconfirmed that there is no foundation or ground more secure for me to stand on than my family. More importantly perhaps, cancer has taught me to become a philosopher. I’ve found myself reflecting more on life and its meaning. This best captured by an old saying that: “It’s only when we truly know and understand that we have a limited time on earth—and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up—that we begin to live life each day to the fullest, as if it was the only one we had.”
I will continue to return to Fuda for as long as necessary and for as long as I can, because I know that my Holy grail can be found there.
