United in Hope, Unique in Battle

The ribbons worn are a spectrum of colors—lavender for all cancers, pink for breast, dark blue for colon, yellow for bone. But beneath the pinned fabric and the hashtags flooding social media lies a reality that is less about symbols and more about survival.

It is World Cancer Day, a moment when the world pauses to acknowledge the Emperor of All Maladies. In the Philippines, this day arrives amidst a humid February, where the heat of the season is just beginning to rise, mirroring the intensifying urgency of our healthcare crisis.

We often speak of cancer in metaphors of war—battles fought, warriors fallen, victories won. Yet, for the thousands of Filipinos currently navigating the labyrinth of diagnosis and treatment, cancer is not a battleground of loud explosions. It is a quiet, persistent siege. It is the waiting room at the Philippine General Hospital (PGH), the queue for financial assistance at the PCSO (Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office), and the silent prayer whispered before a PET scan.

This year’s global theme, "United by Unique," strikes a particularly resonant chord in our archipelago. It reminds us that while the disease is a universal scourge, the experience of it—the pain, the resilience, and the hope—is deeply, beautifully, and heartbreakingly individual.

A national snapshot

To understand the weight of today, we must first look at the numbers, which paint a stark picture of the Philippine cancer landscape. Cancer remains the second leading cause of death in the country, trailing only behind heart disease. According to the 2025 data from the Philippine Statistics Authority and the Department of Health, the trajectory is alarming. In the past year alone, neoplastic diseases have claimed 22,837 Filipino lives, a figure that represents not just statistics, but empty chairs at dining tables.

The "Ulat Lila" report, a recent comprehensive study on Filipino health, highlights a critical gap: screening. The Philippines has one of the lowest cancer screening rates in the region. For instance, despite the prevalence of breast and colorectal cancers, only a fraction of the eligible population undergoes regular mammograms or colonoscopies. The barriers are high—financial toxicity, lack of accessible centers in rural areas, and a lingering cultural fatalism that whispers, "Bahala na" (come what may).

But the data also reveals shifting demographics. We are seeing a rise in diagnoses among younger Filipinos, particularly for colorectal and breast cancers. The disease is no longer just an ailment of the elderly; it is infiltrating the prime years of our workforce, our parents, and our youth. 

“Melania’s walk”

The true measure of cancer is not found in mortality tables, but in the lives interrupted. Take the story of “Melania,” a 24-year-old graphic designer from Malabon who was diagnosed with osteosarcoma (bone cancer) in her left tibia just as her career was taking off.

Bone cancer is rare, accounting for less than 1% of all cancers, but its impact is devastatingly visible. For “Melania,” the diagnosis meant facing the possibility of amputation—a terrifying prospect for a young woman who loved to hike. She underwent a limb-salvage surgery, a complex procedure replacing the bone with a metal prosthesis, followed by grueling rounds of chemotherapy.

"Akala ko noon, tapos na ang buhay ko," she shares from an interview with The Communicator, adjusting the brace on her leg. "Nung sinabi ng doctor na may tumor ako sa buto, parang gumuho ang mundo ko. Ang una kong naisip, paano na ako maglalakad? Paano na yung mga pangarap ko? Pero na-realize ko, hindi naman nasa paa ang buhay. Nasa puso, nasa isip ko. Mahirap, oo. May mga gabi na umiiyak ako sa sakit ng chemo, tinatanong ko si Lord, 'Bakit ako?' Pero nung nakita ko yung ibang pasyente sa ward, mga bata pa, nakangiti pa rin... sabi ko, lalaban ako. Hindi para sa akin, kundi para sa pamilya ko na hindi sumuko sa paghahanap ng pampagamot."

Her story highlights the "Unique" in this year's theme. Her cancer required specialized orthopedic oncology care, a subspecialty that is scarce in many provinces. Her survival is a testament to the importance of early referral. Had she ignored the persistent dull ache in her knee for another month, the outcome might have been amputation or metastasis. Today, she uses her platform to educate others about the subtle signs of bone cancer—swelling, unexplained fractures, and bone pain that worsens at night.

 “Joey’s second chance”

On the other end of the spectrum is “Joey,”  a 45-year-old jeepney driver from Navotas and father of three, who survived stage III colorectal cancer. Colorectal cancer is the third most common malignancy in the Philippines, often linked to lifestyle and diet. For years, he ignored the blood in his stool, attributing it to hemorrhoids caused by long hours of sitting.

"Yun ang mali natin eh, yung hiya," he admits in an interview with a rueful smile. "Natatakot tayo magpa-check up kasi baka kung ano ang makita. O kaya nahihiya tayo kasi... alam mo na, sa pwetan ang problema. Pero nung bumagsak na katawan ko, wala na akong choice. Operasyon agad. Nilagyan ako ng colostomy bag. Dati, hiyang-hiya ako. Paano ako pasada kung may nakadikit sa tiyan ko? Pero naisip ko, mas okay na 'to kaysa nasa ilalim ako ng lupa. Ngayon, binibiro ko nga sa mga kumpare ko, 'O, ako special, hindi na kailangan mag-CR, diretso na sa bag!' Tawanan lang kami. Importante [yung] buhay."

Joey’s candor breaks the stigma surrounding colorectal cancer. His "unique" challenge was not just the disease, but the adaptation to life with a stoma—a major adjustment for a man in a labor-intensive job. His story underscores the need for better support systems for ostomates in the Philippines, where supplies can be expensive and public toilets are often unequipped for their needs. Yet, his humor and resilience act as a shield, proving that dignity remains intact even when the body changes. 

The invisible war

While “Melania” and “Joey” battle the physical manifestations of cancer, there is another war being fought in the quiet corners of the mind. Health advocates are placing a spotlight on the mental health crisis among cancer patients. Studies have shown that some Filipino cancer patients experience significant anxiety or depression, yet mental health support is rarely integrated into standard oncological care.

The psychological toll is heavy. There is the "scanxiety" before every check-up, the body dysmorphia following surgeries, and the overwhelming guilt of being a financial burden to the family. In a culture that prizes pakikisama and keeps problems within the family unit, many patients suffer in silence, fearing that expressing sadness might be seen as a lack of faith or gratitude.

Survivor groups are stepping into this gap. Online communities and hospital support groups provide a safe harbor where patients can vent without judgment. They share tips on managing chemo brain, dealing with hair loss, and navigating the emotional rollercoaster of remission. This peer-to-peer support is the "United" aspect of the theme in action—strangers bound by a shared trauma, lifting each other up when the medical system feels too cold and clinical.

 Call to arms

As World Cancer Day draws to a close, the challenge remains: how do we move from awareness to action? Awareness is the first step, but it cannot be the last. The "care gap" in the Philippines is real. It is the distance between a patient in a remote barangay and the nearest radiation center in the city. It is the gap between the cost of the latest immunotherapy drugs and the contents of a minimum wage earner’s wallet.

Closing this gap requires a multisectoral approach. We need the government to fully implement the National Integrated Cancer Control Act (NICCA), ensuring that the Cancer Assistance Fund is accessible and swiftly disbursed. We need the private sector to include better cancer coverage in HMOs. But most importantly, we need a cultural shift in how we view our own health.

Early detection is the most powerful weapon we have. We must normalize screening. A colonoscopy at 45 should be as standard as a birthday celebration. A breast self-exam should be a monthly ritual. We must listen to our bodies, shedding the hiya that “Joey” spoke of.

For every “Melania” learning to walk again, and for every “Joey” driving his jeepney with a colostomy bag, there is a victory. But for those who are still afraid to see a doctor, the clock is ticking.

Let this day be a reminder that while every cancer journey is unique, no one should have to walk it alone. We are united by our fragility, but we are also united by our capacity to endure. The fight against cancer is not just about science; it is about solidarity. It is about the neighbor who brings food to a sick friend, the daughter who researches treatments late at night, and the community that refuses to let hope die.

Today, we honor the survivors, we remember the fallen, and we commit to a future where the diagnosis is not the end of the story, but merely a difficult chapter in a long, well-lived life.

Article: Rebelyn Beyong

Illustration: Simon Sampani