ICONS OF HOPE: Bibeth Orteza

BIBETH ORTEZA, writer, actor, director, spokesperson and member, board of trustees, ICANSERVE Foundation

“I find the humor in my tumor.”

I’ve always never given in to despair or sadness — not as a child, not even when I was diagnosed. During my fourth chemo in March of 2005, I asked myself: “Why do I have to wear shoes that match, with one breast that’s real, and the other a prosthesis?” I shared my thoughts with my mother-in-law, Armida, who remembered we both had Cole Haan loafers; hers were red, mine were blue. She sent me her pair, so when I was doing my fifth chemo, there I was: a red shoe on my left foot, a blue one on my right. Approaching 2010, I decided never to match shoes again, and women undergoing treatment told me they’ve learned to do the same. It makes chemotherapy a lighter thing to go through, when there is humor.

My son, Rafa, is in on it, too. Discussing chemotherapy with my oncologist, he blurted out: “You’re going to get well, Mama.”
“What makes you say that?” I countered.
He replied: “Because the word mother is embedded in chemotherapy. It’s actually ‘CheMOTHERapy.’”
So, there. As a family we continued to laugh together. We got closer.

I didn’t see cancer as a death sentence, but something like getting a front row ticket to the first night of my wake, where people say good stuff about me, where I’m given a chance to apologize to those whom I’ve hurt, and for those who’ve hurt me to likewise say they’re sorry. Because I was open about it, not at all shy about talking of my cancer, strangers would go up to me and tell me they were praying for my recovery. Through it all, my faith in God stayed steadfast. This could sound corny to some, but to those who have been diagnosed, I really start quoting Franklin Roosevelt: “There is nothing to fear but fear itself.” Then I segue into saying it’s better to get checked and find out what’s wrong, how it could be set right, and if it’s early enough to get treatment. I do this holding the hand of whoever is asking advice, guide her hand to my own breast, inform her I’m wearing a prosthesis, “But look, I’m still able to laugh, make jokes, look forward to tomorrow, look forward to help others.” From there, I emphasize early breast cancer detection is almost a sure-fire way of beating it.

I’ve been with ICanServe for close to 21 years now. In this group, and in the communities we serve, friendship is borne out of a common experience, like you were classmates in grade school or high school, or you were neighbors. A common cancer diagnosis irretrievably links women together, you so quickly know that you shared the same fears and what-ifs, the same wondering if you’d still see your children finish school, go through college — you’re sisters, that’s it, pancit. I can never forget the simultaneous laughing and crying sessions we’d always have when talking with others in the various barangays. I don’t just help them, they help me, too. They make me continuously in awe of life, and feel blessed. I am with ICanServe because my breast sisters more than make up for the loss of one breast.

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Photos by: Jun De Leon

Icons of Hope is a social media campaign that features cancer survivors who share their own stories, learnings and the lives they now live. It is part of ICANSERVE Foundation’s 25th anniversary celebration in collaboration with Camera Club of the Philippines. With thanks to Owen Santos and Zonia Bandoy.