KELOID FORMER

COO-LOID. The cool keloid.

I woke up not knowing where I was or why I was there. The clock facing me tells me that it’s past two, AM or PM, I wasn’t sure. The door on my right side had a small glass window but the blinds were down which made everything dark. I heard footsteps; so I knew I wasn’t alone.  And when the lady in light green scrubs approached me, I realized where I was.

It’s done. I’m alive.

I was ecstatic, but God, was I thirsty; so thirsty that I pleaded for water.  The nurse responded quickly, brought me a cup, dipped a cotton swab and made me sip three times. It wasn’t enough though, I wanted more. Because of the thirst, all I could imagine were ice chips, snow cones and liters of cold bottled water. And so she promised to give me a few more sips later or perhaps a cup as soon as the doctor cleared me. It was when the thirst was quenched when I realized how heavy I felt – like someone decided to place an anvil wrapped in barbed wire on my chest. When I coughed or sneezed, the pain doubled, so I decided to ask for pain medications. And to make everything even more uncomfortable, I had tubes everywhere – one on my neck, a venipuncture on my left hand, an atrial line on the right, a tube connected to my chest; another drained excess fluid from my pericardium, a catheter connected to my uhmmm… urethra and lastly, a small blue wire connected to my heart muscle.

I looked at the clock again. The nurse said I would be given dinner later that night so I concluded that it was past three in the afternoon. She left after showing me where the call button was. I kept staring at the window knowing they would open the blinds at 6 pm. I still had about three hours before I see familiar faces again.

I couldn’t believe it. It was over. I looked back at all the events that led up to this moment. The quarterly check ups that began when I was an infant after the doctors concluded that I had VSD. The abnormal heartbeat that only I can hear when everything around is quiet. The madness that goes with accomplishing forms and completing requirements; and saving up the needed money for the operation. The frustrations of getting turned down and having  those requirements expire. Plus, getting told that you’re not top priority because your case isn’t that urgent but needs surgery nonetheless. The glimpse of hope given when you realize a lot of people are willing to help you get what you need. And the joy of finally getting that guarantee letter, of getting admitted and prepped up for surgery.

I was holding back my tears.

I thought of everything that happened that morning,

getting prepped by the attendant,

getting “God bless you” messages from friends and family,

taking goofy pictures with my boyfriend then admitting to him that I was as nervous as fuck that I might die.

Him, calming me down.

The nurse giving me antibiotics and anti-histamine before wheeling me to the OR.

My mom, smiling as she accompanied us to the OR floor.

Me, uttering the words “I love you. See you later” to my mother before they closed the door on her.

Me, shaking uncontrollably because of the icy cold operating room and perhaps because my nerves were getting to me.

And finally, me, getting laid on the table, inhaling the anesthesia and counting one..two..three…before finally dozing off.

After I woke up, I spent a few more days in the hospital, attended a month of therapy then spent a long period of time in my hometown to regain strength; and the rest as they say, was history.

It’s done and I’m alive. I ‘ve repeated this in my head three more times yet I still couldn’t believe it. It has been a year. I am already used to guys (and gals) checking out my chest, not ’cause of my boobs though; but because of that nasty keloid.  Some people cringe when i tell them how I got it. Some, thought I had a heart transplant or a bypass. Others, however, think it’s cool.

Well, I must admit, it is pretty awesome. And I am “COOL”, in a scarred-chest-wired-sternum-patched-heart kind of way.

I still feel like a rockstar. All I need now is an electric guitar. 🙂

A page from a wimpy kid’s diary

 “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

JUNE 3, 2013, 9:32 PM

I lost it today.

My friend called me because after weeks of endless pursuit, the med school where we both applied to finally agreed to accept her as a student. It was the first day of classes and she told me that perhaps it wasn’t too late yet and that maybe there was still an available slot for me. I was in the middle of my Basic Life Support Training in Red Cross, already getting over the fact that I failed to get into that school, and starting my life’s “Plan B”, which included updating my BLS, Standard First Aid and IV Therapy training, renewing my license and PNA membership and applying for jobs. But I took it as a sign. I thought to myself, maybe the reason why I was a few blocks away from that school, on this day, was so I could easily go there and ask for a second shot. So, thinking I’d get lucky, I rushed to the school. I walked fast through the entrance, head down, and avoiding eye contact. I was saving all the courage and kapal ng mukha I had left for my conversation with the dean. I asked to see her. The lady who entertained me got  my last name and told me to wait while she sees what she can do. My heart was already racing and thoughts of what I was going to tell her ran through my head. How was I going to convince her? After what felt like ages, the lady who I’m assuming was the dean’s secretary, came back to me and told me that the dean was very busy and had no time to entertain me. And that, unfortunately, there was nothing more they could do because they officially closed the enrollment at 12 noon that day. I was practically begging her to let me speak to the dean (because I was pretty sure that what I was going to say would convince her to accept me). But again she said there was nothing more she could do. I pleaded for the third time and got an “I’m sorry,” for the third time. So I gave up and went back to training, defeated.

Maybe it was the afternoon heat. Maybe it was fact that I only ordered one cup of rice for lunch. Or maybe it was because I sprinted back to Red Cross being already late for the afternoon session. But whatever it was, it made me really weary. Just too friggin’ exhausted. To top it all off, I still think about him and in the worst timing (I was also in the middle of a relationship crisis). Obsessing over what I did wrong and what I could have done instead and trying to convince myself that no matter how hard I tried, if the relationship was bound to fail, it would fail. That’s what I was telling myself. After the training, I wasn’t in the mood for anything. The mall was too crowded so I decided to go home. My feet and heart however, had other plans.

I saw this church in Legarda and walked inside supposedly to offer a short prayer. But, because I was feeling crappy, I ended up crying. I cried (silently, of course); just sobs with icky snot and tears running down my face. Yes it was that ugly. I couldn’t bare it anymore. I was too paralyzed to do anything. I just wanted to surrender it all to Him because it was too much. I was tired of being tired. All I wanted was to stop wasting time, energy, tears, sweat and sanity over things I didn’t have the power to change. I know my worries weren’t as big as others, but I really didn’t care. I was in a very dark place and I could not find that silver lining they spoke of.

So I cried like shit and I didn’t care about what the other church-goers were thinking. I surrendered and I knew He was just there, waiting, like He always had. He was sitting there waiting for me to need Him again, to seek Him again. I was the prodigal daughter. I was the child who always ran away and I would always come back to Him when I’ve fallen and hurt myself badly. And he’d heal my cuts and bruises and fix everything that was broken. And I would say sorry every time, for forgetting Him or for taking Him for granted; and He would never care, because no matter what, He will always love me. I didn’t apologize this time, not because I wasn’t sorry, but because there was no need for apologies. I just asked Him to take care of me and help me get through this. “Ikaw na po muna yung bahala, kasi pagod na po ako. Salamat po.” That was all I can utter. I finished my prayer and left the church.

I talked to a close friend. I fought tears on the jeepney ride back home. And I called my mother and told her the continuation of my med school frustrations. The conversation made me feel better. My mom’s a gem.

At this moment, the only thing I am certain of is that, whatever is happening to me, I am never alone. I am blessed with the love from so many people. God never allows me to be alone. And I am grateful for the good friends and the best mother. I am also grateful for the failures and rejections because no matter how hurtful they get, no matter how much they break you at a certain moment, they never fully destroy you. Instead you walk out from it with a few scars, sometimes, really thick ones. Scars that are unique to you. Scars that shape and define you as a person. At the end of the day, all I still have is gratitude. I will never stop being grateful.

How we got hurt is not important. How much we got hurt doesn’t matter as well. It’s what you do with the pain that counts. If it destroys you, then okay, game over, brother. But, if it made you stronger, be grateful.

I am tired, because it’s a quarter after 11PM and my eyes are puffy. Tomorrow I will be performing CPR to a dummy and I need strength and sleep for that. I am tired but I can see brighter days ahead of me. This is it. It’s the dark before the dawn. And I need to wake up early to see the sunshine.

Goodnight.

Post-Father’s Day Blues

Facebook Caption: Happy Father’s Day to my two fathers. To my Tatay who will always be my superhero and to Nanay who has taken the responsibilities of fatherhood for gazillions of years now. I love you both, equally, to infinity and beyond!

Yesterday was Father’s Day and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like crying. Maybe it was because I was feeling particularly excited for a trip to the beach with friends, hence the positive vibrations and hyperactivity. Or maybe it was because I have outgrown the long, melodramatic posts that my Facebook friends are so used to seeing during Father’s Day, my dad’s birthday and his death anniversary. Whatever the reason was, the end result was the same, I opted for a fun and playful dedication addressed to both my father and mother.

But I guess the hype I felt wasn’t supposed to last. You know that annoying voice inside your head, the one responsible for the Bieber last song syndromes, the one that comes up with good comebacks for an argument hours after the actual argument, the voice that keeps nagging you to finish your homework, well today, that voice kept telling me I should read that note I wrote for my dad two years ago.

“Just friggin read it, see how you’ll feel.”

“I bet you’ll cry. Hah! You were so dramatic back then.”

“Or maybe you won’t cry. I’m dying to know!”

“What are you doing? Oh you’re looking for it. Alright!”

“There it is! Read it! Read it!”

Here’s the note I wrote:

Let me just start by saying that I don’t enjoy celebrating the third Sunday of June. It sucks that I won’t be able to say “Happy Father’s Day! I love you.” to you, personally, or through a call or a text message. Instead I whisper it to the wind, say it through a prayer and write a note about it on Facebook; as if there’s internet where you are. But if by any chance you happen to pass by my Facebook page, read this ’cause it’s obviously for you.

I didn’t want you to leave and I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to leave us either. But He took you away just the same. I don’t hate Him though; back then, I just didn’t understand why He had to take you. Amongst everyone you left behind, I think I took it the hardest. I couldn’t accept the fact that you were gone.

Only a few weeks before my kindergarten graduation, we were rehearsing my lines for a play and the next thing I knew, I was up on stage performing and you weren’t there to see me. You missed out on a lot of things. I’m all grown up now, although, I’m afraid 5’3 ½ ’’ is the tallest I’m ever gonna get.  I went to college, graduated, became a nurse and landed my first ever job. Everything I have accomplished, I worked really hard for. There were times when I felt like giving up, but I didn’t because I knew I had to make you proud. I am blessed to have gotten this far but I would give everything up in a heartbeat just so I could spend even one more day with you.

That’s how much I miss you.

I miss everything about you and everything we used to do. I miss the piggyback rides, the sweet lullabies. I even miss it when you scold me (sorry I tried to run away that one time). I miss the times I went to work with you and ruined your lunchtime poker games by reading the cards out loud. I miss the times we sketched houses on paper and how I was always disappointed that no matter how hard I tried, my drawings never looked anything like yours. Yet you always had encouraging words, so, I never gave up on sketching. I miss our pretend dances, the ones where I would place both my feet on yours then you’d hold my hands and we would dance around the room. It was silly but, I loved it. We danced a lot especially to Jose Mari Chan’s Beautiful Girl. That was your song for mom and me.

It has been fifteen years and I’m used to not having you around. But whether I’m at a mall, a restaurant or even inside a bus, I will always be in tears whenever I see a father and daughter being affectionate to each other. Envy eats me up. I hate father-and-daughter themed movies. And I cry every time I hear Dance with My Father on my playlist.

I wonder what it would be like if I had another day or even an hour with you. I’d get to see your face, hug you tight, dance with you and talk to you. We have some serious catching up to do. I would tell you about mom, Raj and Lance and give you an update on my heart condition and go on and on about the awesome things I get to do as a nurse. I know I would be doing most of the talking and you would just listen and smile at me as I tell you things that perhaps you already know. By the way, is it true that people who go to heaven watch over their loved ones here on Earth? Because if it is, then I guess you wouldn’t have missed out on anything after all.

I would definitely cry if I see you again. I may be all grown up but inside I’m just a little girl who needs her father to wipe her tears away and tell her that everything’s going to be fine. And that you’d always be there no matter what. Okay, that may have sounded a bit cheesy, but who cares, I just know it would stop me from crying. Then I would simply sit beside you, hold your hand and we would wait until it’s time for you to go.

I know I’ll see you again. I have faith in that. And even if all I get is a minute with you, I’d still be grateful. Because maybe the only thing I really want to tell you face to face is that I love you. But in the meantime, I hope this letter will do. I am hoping it reaches you, maybe through the prayers of those who get to read it or maybe a friend of mine, knows a friend who knows a friend, who knows another friend who knows you and would tell you that your daughter wrote you a letter.

I love you and not just because it’s Father’s Day. 🙂

Shei

“Oh shoot! You’re crying? My bad. “

“The fvck did you expect? Of course you’ll cry. You always cry.”

Today, a day after Father’s Day, I am allowing myself to cry, be sad and be vulnerable. I have a free pass to wail and howl like a friggin child because I miss him. I miss him every single day. And most of the time I smile when I remember him, but not today. I’ve decided that I don’t want to run away from the sadness and longing I’m feeling on this day.

Seventeen years ago, I lost one person who meant the world to me. A lot has happened in seventeen years, things I wished my father became a part of. I wrote that note two years ago and the feelings are still true today. You never really forget a person or the love you have for that person. You learn to cope. You learn to accept that they are gone. You pray and hope that heaven exists so that one day you’ll see each other again.

He’s gone and it sucks.

Hopefully tomorrow’s a different story. Maybe he’ll show up in my dream and tease me for being a cry baby. Or maybe he’ll sing our song. Or maybe I’ll go back to remembering  him minus the tears.

Lever du Soleil

The sun’s rays passing through the Ungab Rock Formation. Photo taken on May 19, 2013 during my weekend in Mompong Island, Sta. Cruz, Marinduque

Who doesn’t love a beautiful sunrise? It signifies hope-the beginning of a new day. When I look at the sun rising, I always feel like I have a fresh start; that whatever happened yesterday is a thing of the past.

Grieve for the bitterness of yesterday, but you will eventually have to let it go and move forward. Reminisce the happy moments in your life, but do not hold on to it because like sadness, it doesn’t last either.

So be thankful for yesterday, but since it’s over, leave it there. Focus on making the present better. Focus on your fresh start.  Wherever you are, be grateful for the sunrise. When you see it, remind yourself that you are lucky because God’s giving you another day to live your life.