I turned forty two Sundays ago. It was a most memorable affair of surprises, good friends, family, sunlight, water and a sumptuous breakfast all arranged by my very thoughtful husband. It was immediately followed by a shopping trip to the outlets in Clinton and Westbrook. Now, to a self-declared shopaholic, this is no ordinary event. All in all, it was a wonderful celebration of my forty years in this world. But later that night, I was left pondering what it all meant. We hear the cliché, “Life begins at Forty” all the time. But does it? What about the past forty or 39 years behind us? Was it not a life worth celebrating? In the past forty years, I have lived a life with love, faith, childbirth, cancer, loss, hope and changes. Too many changes, some for the better and some, I can’t quite fathom the purpose yet. So when did life begin for me? When I turned thirty? Or when I met my husband? Or was it when I immigrated to this country? But, could it also have been at the moment I was born?
I was born to my mother, Marilyn Mamon, on February 12, 1972 at a small community hospital in a little town in the southwestern part of the Philippines. I was her firstborn, and at the age of twenty, she had no idea what it would be like. Without proper prenatal care, her childbirth was ravaged with complications. She labored for 7 days in a maternity clinic before they decided that she could not possibly deliver her baby vaginally because her cervix was too small. By then, her blood pressure had skyrocketed and she was having seizures after seizures. Needless to say, my mother almost died giving birth to me. But with the grace of God, mother and child made it. And my mother had two more babies after that.
Driven by poverty, and the desire to make a better life for their children, it is not very uncommon for a parent or both parents in the Philippines to be working far away from their families. It’s unthinkable for us now not to see your children on a daily basis. But that’s just the way it was, and still is. The sad and unfortunate truth of family life in the Philippines. So while growing up, my father worked in Manila, which is close to 300 miles away from our little town in Iloilo. We lived next door to my father’s family, but they chose not to be involved with us. I then became my mother’s sounding board, a confidante, a friend, a daughter matured way beyond my years. I went to some of the best schools in the country no matter how financially constrained we were. My mother made sure of that. I remember her selling her sewing machine so I could pay for high school tuition. And in return, I did my best. I was a good student and a good daughter. We managed. I had one pair of shoes at a time. My mother sewed all my dresses. We never went on vacations. And we never ate out in a restaurant. But I grew up knowing the value of dreams, hard work and ambition. I dreamt, I hoped and I worked hard.
When I was 24, I learned that my 17 year old brother was slowly dying from a heart condition. I have never prayed so hard in my life. With a non-existent health insurance, how could we afford an open heart surgery for him when we could barely afford the basic day to day necessities of life? But with prayers, the support of friends and numerous charitable donations from the government and ultimately, with the grace of God, my brother’s life was spared. He’s done fairly through the years, after having suffered two strokes after his surgery. He’s been married, and will soon be a father of two.
I got my nursing degree at the age of 21, and due to the lack of any decent paying nursing position in the Philippines, I aspired to find employment outside the country, preferably the U.S. With the help of a longtime college friend, I applied for a job in New York. It took three years before it turned into fruition. After going through all the requisites, and $8,000.00 in agency fees, I found myself at JFK International Airport on December 15, 1999. With just $200 in my pocket, a suitcase of clothes, a borrowed ill-fitting winter coat and my familiar life behind me, I was ready to begin a new life, in a new country.
After the initial culture shock, I integrated successfully, I should say, into American life. I had a great job, I made new friends, I worked hard and I shopped hard! I met my husband after going through a bad break-up. He was the most romantic person I have ever met in my entire life. Ten years ago, on my 30th birthday, he showed up on my front door with a cake that he had baked himself! Things progressed easily between us, and after a few months, we had fallen in love and had gotten engaged. Unfortunately, due to difficulty in obtaining a visa to enter the country, my family didn’t make it to our wedding. It was supposedly a great time of joy in my life but was marked with sadness and a great deal of disappointment. Nonetheless, we had a beautiful wedding in North Kingston in Rhode Island and a month later, my husband and his parents travelled to the Philippines with me to meet my family. And there, we had our second wedding. A small, but beautiful affair.
My husband and I had planned for a big family, possibly 4-5 children. We even went as far as buying a big car the year after our wedding. But infertility happened and after numerous trips to doctors and a barrage of tests, only then did I get pregnant. On November 16, 2006, after 36 hours of labor, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. It was the most beautiful time in our lives, that 6 months later, we tried getting pregnant for the second time. It took over a year of trying before we finally did it again. But five weeks later, I had a miscarriage. It was a heart break like no other. But I wasn’t new to adversaries so I kept going. Ryan and I went to a fertility specialist but 6 cycles of Intrauterine Insemination couldn’t help us realize our dream of a big family. Before we could think of any other options, I got diagnosed with breast cancer in December of 2008. Now, the word cancer is like a death sentence, leaving a nightmarish quality to life. I cried for days, then I steeled myself for the onslaught of emotions, options and disappointment to come. My husband was my rock, my son the hope that filled my core. The bilateral mastectomy that had to be done went smoothly. The chemotherapy was uneventful. Racked with so much pain post procedure, I gave in to moments of weakness, hopelessness and utter depression. I am only human after all. But I remind myself, everyday, that there are people with a lot worse than my own.
Putting the cancer behind us, my husband and I looked into adoption. A trip to the Philippines confirmed what we already know about adopting from countries like China and Korea. As a cancer survivor, I had to be medically clear of cancer for five years before we could even put in our application. A friend encouraged us to look into local adoption. But two years of paperwork, parenting classes, adoption classes, lead abatement and hoping came to no fruition.
So when did my life begin? As I overcome adversary after adversary, I feel I am reborn. I am stronger than I was 10 years ago, more mature than 5 years ago, and more alive than yesterday. Life is too short for regrets and what ifs. I live my life now. The next forty years will just be an extension of my past forty years. A life of love, faith, hope and loss. A life lived. A life worth living. For the next forty years.
I was born to my mother, Marilyn Mamon, on February 12, 1972 at a small community hospital in a little town in the southwestern part of the Philippines. I was her firstborn, and at the age of twenty, she had no idea what it would be like. Without proper prenatal care, her childbirth was ravaged with complications. She labored for 7 days in a maternity clinic before they decided that she could not possibly deliver her baby vaginally because her cervix was too small. By then, her blood pressure had skyrocketed and she was having seizures after seizures. Needless to say, my mother almost died giving birth to me. But with the grace of God, mother and child made it. And my mother had two more babies after that.
Driven by poverty, and the desire to make a better life for their children, it is not very uncommon for a parent or both parents in the Philippines to be working far away from their families. It’s unthinkable for us now not to see your children on a daily basis. But that’s just the way it was, and still is. The sad and unfortunate truth of family life in the Philippines. So while growing up, my father worked in Manila, which is close to 300 miles away from our little town in Iloilo. We lived next door to my father’s family, but they chose not to be involved with us. I then became my mother’s sounding board, a confidante, a friend, a daughter matured way beyond my years. I went to some of the best schools in the country no matter how financially constrained we were. My mother made sure of that. I remember her selling her sewing machine so I could pay for high school tuition. And in return, I did my best. I was a good student and a good daughter. We managed. I had one pair of shoes at a time. My mother sewed all my dresses. We never went on vacations. And we never ate out in a restaurant. But I grew up knowing the value of dreams, hard work and ambition. I dreamt, I hoped and I worked hard.
When I was 24, I learned that my 17 year old brother was slowly dying from a heart condition. I have never prayed so hard in my life. With a non-existent health insurance, how could we afford an open heart surgery for him when we could barely afford the basic day to day necessities of life? But with prayers, the support of friends and numerous charitable donations from the government and ultimately, with the grace of God, my brother’s life was spared. He’s done fairly through the years, after having suffered two strokes after his surgery. He’s been married, and will soon be a father of two.
I got my nursing degree at the age of 21, and due to the lack of any decent paying nursing position in the Philippines, I aspired to find employment outside the country, preferably the U.S. With the help of a longtime college friend, I applied for a job in New York. It took three years before it turned into fruition. After going through all the requisites, and $8,000.00 in agency fees, I found myself at JFK International Airport on December 15, 1999. With just $200 in my pocket, a suitcase of clothes, a borrowed ill-fitting winter coat and my familiar life behind me, I was ready to begin a new life, in a new country.
After the initial culture shock, I integrated successfully, I should say, into American life. I had a great job, I made new friends, I worked hard and I shopped hard! I met my husband after going through a bad break-up. He was the most romantic person I have ever met in my entire life. Ten years ago, on my 30th birthday, he showed up on my front door with a cake that he had baked himself! Things progressed easily between us, and after a few months, we had fallen in love and had gotten engaged. Unfortunately, due to difficulty in obtaining a visa to enter the country, my family didn’t make it to our wedding. It was supposedly a great time of joy in my life but was marked with sadness and a great deal of disappointment. Nonetheless, we had a beautiful wedding in North Kingston in Rhode Island and a month later, my husband and his parents travelled to the Philippines with me to meet my family. And there, we had our second wedding. A small, but beautiful affair.
My husband and I had planned for a big family, possibly 4-5 children. We even went as far as buying a big car the year after our wedding. But infertility happened and after numerous trips to doctors and a barrage of tests, only then did I get pregnant. On November 16, 2006, after 36 hours of labor, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. It was the most beautiful time in our lives, that 6 months later, we tried getting pregnant for the second time. It took over a year of trying before we finally did it again. But five weeks later, I had a miscarriage. It was a heart break like no other. But I wasn’t new to adversaries so I kept going. Ryan and I went to a fertility specialist but 6 cycles of Intrauterine Insemination couldn’t help us realize our dream of a big family. Before we could think of any other options, I got diagnosed with breast cancer in December of 2008. Now, the word cancer is like a death sentence, leaving a nightmarish quality to life. I cried for days, then I steeled myself for the onslaught of emotions, options and disappointment to come. My husband was my rock, my son the hope that filled my core. The bilateral mastectomy that had to be done went smoothly. The chemotherapy was uneventful. Racked with so much pain post procedure, I gave in to moments of weakness, hopelessness and utter depression. I am only human after all. But I remind myself, everyday, that there are people with a lot worse than my own.
Putting the cancer behind us, my husband and I looked into adoption. A trip to the Philippines confirmed what we already know about adopting from countries like China and Korea. As a cancer survivor, I had to be medically clear of cancer for five years before we could even put in our application. A friend encouraged us to look into local adoption. But two years of paperwork, parenting classes, adoption classes, lead abatement and hoping came to no fruition.
So when did my life begin? As I overcome adversary after adversary, I feel I am reborn. I am stronger than I was 10 years ago, more mature than 5 years ago, and more alive than yesterday. Life is too short for regrets and what ifs. I live my life now. The next forty years will just be an extension of my past forty years. A life of love, faith, hope and loss. A life lived. A life worth living. For the next forty years.
