19/09/2025
One of my cancer patients showed up at the clinic one day. She is in her sixties, and is already on cancer surveillance, which means she already completed cancer treatment and is on planned periodic evaluation to detect recurrence, secondary malignancies, or long-term effects of treatment.
When I asked her, what brought her to the clinic that afternoon, she answered, “Doc, I would like to ask for a certificate from you that says I am fit to work.”
I was shocked, surprised, and at the same time worried. I thought, “Why would she still want to work in her twilight years?” She was obviously a bit frail on first glance. Of course, I asked her why.
Me (M): Magtatrabaho po kayo ulit, Nay?
Patient (P): Opo, Doc.. (Felt like a needle was thrusted right into my heart)
M: Bakit naman po? (In a worried tone)
P: Para kahit pa’no po makapagbigay ako ng pambaon sa apo ko po, Doc. College na po kasi sya, tapos, single mother lang din po ang anak ko, yung nanay nya po. Pampuno na din po sa pang-araw-araw naming pangangailangan.
Me: Ah okey po, Nay. Ano naman po ang papasukan n’yong trabaho? (I probed even more, out of my concern.)
P: Sa pabrika po ng sardinas, Doc. Bale dun po ako nagtatrabaho dati. Tumigil lang po ako Nung ako’y nagkasakit at nag-chemotherapy. Ayaw ko na po sanang matrabaho ulit, pero Kailangan po, eh.
M: Ah okey po, Nay. Ano naman po ang gagawin n’yo don?
P: Bale lilinisan po yung isda (tamban) tsaka tatanggalin po yung ulo.
M: Ah okey po. Magkano po sweldo nyo do’n, Nay? (Chismosa ang tita nyo, hehe.)
P: Trenta pesos po yung isang maliit na timba kung mapuno namin ng tamban po (While gesturing with her hands to give me an idea of the height of the small pail she was referring to - about 12 inches in height. I was thinking, that would take a lot of “tamban” to fill that “small pail.” Another needle straight to my heart 😰
She probably saw how worried I was, so the patient kind of reassured me and said, “Doc, wag kang mag-alala, pwede naman akong hindi pumasok araw-araw, pwedeng tatlong beses lang sa isang linggo. Tapos kaming mga seniors ay pinapayagan naman na magpahinga kung gusto namin. D naman po sila mahigpit sa amin.”
(Silence. Still, the word worry was written all over my face, in “puta” red lipstick)
I reached out for my pen. It felt quite heavy that time, I don’t know why. “Sigurado kayo, Nay ha…” “Opo, Doc,” she replied.
It was with a heavy heart that I wrote that certificate. While
scribbling, I blurted out a litany of reminders telling her to just do light work, to rest frequently and take breaks, to be careful while slicing the head off the fish and while cleaning it.
What I did not tell her was, if it were up to me, I would not advise her to get back into the work force. I would advise her to enjoy her senior years - to take it easy. But who am I, to stop her, if I will be up against their hungry stomachs? Who am I to stop her, if in that way, I would be depriving her granddaughter of a future that is brighter than her folks’ present? Who am I to stop her, when she has seen this as a necessity?
My heart felt a little heavy that day, but I have no choice.
Masakit, pero wala na akong magawa.
I am sharing this story in the light of the recent events in our society. The gap between the rich (AND THE CORRUPT!) and the poor has definitely widened in uncontrollable dimensions. While others struggle to make a daily living, others are busy throwing away millions in casinos and luxurious travels, splurging money on expensive handbags and luxury cars, and stuffing themselves gluttonously with costly meals enough to meet the basic needs of a Filipino family for a year.
Okey sana kung sa inyo ang pera, kung pinaghirapan nyo. Pero ninakaw at kinurakot nyo lang eh.
“Mahiya naman kayo. Mahiya naman kayo sa mga katulad ng pasyente ko—matanda na, pero hindi alam ang salitang “retirement” - mukhang patuloy pa rin syang magbabanat ng buto hangga’t kaya pa niyang huminga at maglakad.”
That’s a dagger right there straight into my heart.
