Unseen War: How a Quiet Night Turned into Our Toughest Battle

On the night of January 17, 2025, we gathered at home to celebrate my husband’s 59th birthday with a few of his closest colleagues. What began as a carefree evening of laughter, stories, and wine slowly wound down at midnight. By one o’clock, the last of the glasses had been cleared away, and we sank into bed, sleepy and content.

But at 4 a.m. on January 18, a quiet urgency stirred me awake. My husband stood at the foot of the bed, eyes wide with alarm—he had passed bright, pure blood. My heart pounded as I imagined every horror: a heart attack, lung trouble, internal bleeding. Grateful that he handled the worst of it privately—I never saw the blood—I ushered him into the car and we sped to the emergency room.

Blood tests confirmed his hemoglobin had dropped to 11.4 g/dL. Fearing continued bleeding, the doctors admitted him and scheduled an urgent colonoscopy for the following day. I paced the hospital corridors, praying it was nothing more than hemorrhoids or diverticulitis. When the surgeon emerged, his expression was grave. The camera had revealed a mass nearly seven centimeters across. My legs went weak; the world blurred, and tears fell before I even heard the words “possible tumor.”

Because my husband was on blood thinners, they couldn’t biopsy the lesion right away. Instead, they prescribed antibiotics and paused his anticoagulants to allow his inflamed colon to heal. A month later, a second colonoscopy yielded a tissue sample, which we rushed to St. Luke’s for analysis. The ensuing five days crawled by. When the report finally arrived by email, one word hammered through me: “ADENOCARCINOMA.” My greatest fear had come true; my husband has colon cancer.

And yet, amid the shock, an unshakeable peace settled over me. We faced this diagnosis hand in hand, trusting that it was God’s battle, not ours. Following our oncologist’s recommendation, we began six cycles of neoadjuvant chemotherapy—each session is done every three weeks, each costing ₱60,000. The financial strain was real, but time and again we witnessed unexpected provisions: friends and relatives stepping forward, small miracles that covered tests and treatments we feared we could never afford.

After the third cycle, a CT scan and tumor markers told our answered prayers: the tumor had shrunk by half, and his tunor markers fell from over 280 to 89. I wept with gratitude, not bitterness. This trial has deepened my faith, taught me that peace isn’t the absence of fear but the presence of trust. People often tell me we don’t look like a couple in crisis—but calm wells up in my heart because I know we walk with God, and He never leaves His children.

Now, as my husband completes his final two chemo sessions, we await another scan and lab work before planning surgery. I believe with every fiber of my being that this too will pass, that healing and long life lie ahead. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: surrender your anxieties, lean into faith, and watch grace move mountains.