So Long, Doc Frankie

click here to view Doc Frankie's speech at the silver linings event last Septmber 2005

I just got a text from our breast cancer support group that my surgeon, Doc Frankie has passed away this morning. My mind was still trying to grasp the terrible news when my tears started flowing.

I didn't know where the tears where coming from -guilt feelings, fear, or regret. Guilt because I was in the same city she was having her treatment yet I didn't bother to pay her a visit. Our consultant who is likewise a breast cancer survivor mentioned to me a few weeks ago that Doc Frankie has been deteriorating. She had suffered complications from her liver metastasis. Lately, her ascites worsened and they were draining about a liter of peritoneal fluid per day. I knew that was bad news but I never acted on it. I didn't even text her to cheer her up, like she always did to me when I was undergoing my chemotherapy and about to start my now cancelled radiotherapy.Fear, because all along she was doing fine. She was radiant and beautiful who made life meaningful by helping others through her profession.She had a loving husband with whom she fought her life's battles. Yet despite the vibrance and strength, cancer caught up with her again. Regret, because she was someone this world needs. Compassionate and understanding, she was more than a surgeon to me.

The stubborn patient that I am, she invited me out for lunch just so she could convince me to go through chemotherapy. It was at that time when I didn't care whether I live or not, as long as I didn't feel pain when I die. Pain was then a major staple in my life.Death was a friend who would take it all away.Doc Frankie patiently discussed my options until I could finally view life as the right and only choice. It wasn't easy but she succeeded in teaching me to be brave.

She introduced me to our breast cancer support group composed of amazing women who inspire others to live. She constantly invited me to activities that would help me get better. From group meetings to a healing session with a priest.Since she was a surgery consultant at the hospital where I work, she would sometimes drop by the reading room to announce an activity cooking up. More than my doctor, she was a friend. When she broke the news that I had cancer, I could swear, I saw tears welling up in her eyes, while I listened calmly, but in denial.

Doc Frankie was strong yet emotional person who was not afraid to cry. She was remembered by most of our i can serve sisters as the "crying lady" while she delivered her testimony at the silver linings event. One of the more prominent figures in the group said, she wishes she could look as good as Doc Frankie while crying. She was also the ever dependable doctor who shed light to medical topics in our egroup.

Doc Frankie was diagnosed with breast cancer about the same age I was. Likewise, she was on residency training when the disease struck. She was stage 2, like me. About 4 years later, they found bone metastases to her spine, requiring her another round of radiotherapy. On February this year, a week after our healing mass, the cancer spread to her liver, necessitating chemotherapy again, a nightmare which cancer patients dread repeating.She kept in touch while on treatment and I told her, "doc, pagaling ka ha".My healer was sick. I got bothered everytime I heard news about her health. It was depressing know that the person whom I drew my strength from was suffering more and more.

Last I heard, visitors weren't allowed at her hospital room. Last week I made a mental note to visit her at the hospital when I learned she wasn't doing well. Several times last week, I wanted to text her but somehow I always forgot to do so. Today, it is all too late. My cheer-up messages or my presence would no longer count. She could no longer hear me when I say thank you when I visit her wake. Cancer is a bitch.

Doc Frankie,I know you're in a better place now,free from all the pain, in God's loving arms. It was a battle well-fought...We'll miss you.