Love and Resilience

The Truth and The Fear

SERENA'S POV

Two weeks had passed since Jovana and I celebrated our second monthsary at the beach. The memory of that night felt distant now, overshadowed by the fatigue and discomfort that had become a constant part of my life since the gala event. The joy of our celebration was now tinged with a deep, unsettling fear.

I spent most of my days in bed, trying to ignore the growing worry that something was seriously wrong. My energy was depleted, and the dizziness was becoming more frequent. I couldn’t ignore it any longer I needed answers. I turned to my laptop, searching for symptoms that matched what I had been experiencing. It didn’t take long before I stumbled upon information about leukemia. The more I read, the more my fears were confirmed. The symptoms aligned so closely with my own that it was impossible to ignore.

Panic set in as I realized how serious it could be. My hands trembled as I closed the laptop. I knew I had to see a doctor. I couldn’t keep avoiding it, hoping that it was just a temporary condition. I dressed quickly, my heart racing as I made my way to the hospital.

At the hospital, I registered for an appointment with a new doctor, as Jovana wasn’t working that day. The wait felt endless. My mind was consumed with thoughts of what the results might be. I tried to distract myself by flipping through old magazines in the waiting area, but the fear was relentless.

When the doctor finally came to get me, my anxiety spiked. I followed him into the examination room, where he sat down with a folder of test results. I took a deep breath, trying to brace myself for whatever was coming.

The doctor settled into his seat and looked at me with a serious expression. “Ms. Suvilla , I have reviewed your test results. I’m afraid you have been diagnosed with stage 2 leukemia.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. I stared at him, feeling the ground shift beneath me. Stage 2 leukemia. The reality of it was almost too much to bear. I struggled to process the information, my mind racing.

“Are you sure?” I managed to ask, my voice barely audible. "Baka po may mali lang Doc"

The doctor shook his head gently. “The tests are conclusive. We need to discuss treatment options and next steps as soon as possible.”

I nodded numbly, trying to absorb the gravity of the situation. My thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and confusion. I didn’t know what to do next. I felt overwhelmed, lost in the enormity of the diagnosis.

After the appointment, I drove home in a daze. The world outside seemed distant, almost unreal. I needed to talk to someone, but I wasn’t ready to share this with Jovana not yet. The thought of telling her was unbearable. I couldn’t stand the idea of adding to her pain, especially knowing how much she had already suffered with her mother’s illness.

When I arrived home, I found my mother in the living room. Her face lit up with a warm smile, but she quickly noticed my distress.

"Serena, anak. Okay ka lang ba?"  she asked, her voice filled with concern.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Ma, I… I need to tell you something.”

We sat down together, and I told her everything the symptoms, the hospital visit, the diagnosis. Her face grew pale, and tears welled up in her eyes as she listened.

“Hindi ko po sasabihin ang kondisyon ko kay Jovana,” I said quietly, my voice trembling. “I know she’s been through so much already. Losing her mother to cancer was devastating for her. I can’t bear the thought of causing her more pain.”

My mother reached out and took my hand, her touch comforting. “Anak, you can’t go through this alone. Mahal ka no Jovana, may karapatan syang malaman ang kalagayan mo isa pa oncologist sya matutulungan ka nya. Hiding it from her won’t make it easier. It’s important to be honest with her, even though it’s hard.”

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “I’m scared, Ma. I’m scared of what this means, and I’m scared of how it will affect her. Alam kong sisisihin nya ang sarili nya pag hindi nya nagawang iligtas ako, ayokong gawin ni Jov yon sa sarili niya.”

Back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the soft glow of my bedside lamp. The room felt eerily quiet, and the weight of the diagnosis pressed heavily on my chest. My thoughts churned with the gravity of what I’d learned, but one resolution stood out above all else: I couldn’t tell Jovana.

The fear of seeing her heart break again was too great. She had already been through so much, losing her mother to cancer. I couldn’t bear the thought of adding to her pain, of making her relive those dark memories. The idea of her watching me struggle, of seeing her own fears reflected in my illness, was unbearable.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I would protect her from this at least for now. I would face this challenge on my own terms, keeping the burden to myself. Jovana deserved to enjoy our time together without the shadow of my illness looming over us. I would put on a brave face, try to maintain some normalcy, and handle the reality of my condition away from her.

It was a heavy decision, but in that quiet moment, it felt like the only choice I could make.