Old Friend

Hello friend.

First of all, I know it is your birthday tomorrow. Don’t be impressed that I remember that after all these years. It is just because you shared the same birthdate with my father, that’s why I cannot forget.

I know we have not seen each other in person for several years. But it is not a reason that we have not stayed in touch as friends. After all, we’ve known each other since our “uhugin” days of childhood. We even had that matching yellow shirt that we would often wear at the same time when we were kids, as if we were twins.

We played together. We ate together. We even got lost once together in a farm. We were so small then and cannot see beyond the tall plantation. But you told me that we should kneel down and pray right there in the rice field. After that, we eventually found our way back.

Remember how we played those tau-tauhan or toy soldiers? We would stand them up in the dirt while we were on our hands and knees on the ground, and we’ll hit them with marbles as if it was a war. I think I could hit more than you. And I’ll rub it in, mas asintado ako sa iyo.

Our lives were intertwined, as our families were good friends. We would go to parks and other places together. Remember how we would fit our two families in our “Ford Cortina” – all 4 adults and 6 young kids in one car? Who cares about seatbelts? Those were the good ole days.

Then your family decided to migrate to Papua New Guinea. I was sad that you were leaving us, but happy for you and your family that you would be going to a new country and pursuing a “better” life.

Yet you still came back a couple of times to the Philippines for a visit. You told me about your experience riding that big airplane and crossing the ocean. I was so envious! You told me how excited you were in going down the stairs of the plane that you slipped and almost fell down the tarmac.

Then after a few more years I heard that your family would be migrating to the US from Papua New Guinea. Again I was happy for you and your family for another new adventure. Though I honestly was saddened, as the chances that you would come back to live in the Philippines and we’ll be together again was nil.

But tadhana smiled again and our path crossed once more. Several years later I was given the chance to go to the US too. I remember how you and your family welcomed me with open arms. I even stayed in your place for a short time. You showed me around California in your new Toyota Camry. Your family toured me to Disneyland. And you even took me shopping for some muffler and gloves, as you learned I was going to New York City in the dead of winter to have an interview.

Then I too was able to chase my American dream.

One day you called and told me that you are quitting your job. Your stable, high-paying job. And that you were going to South America with your family as missionaries. I was surprised. But more so, I was so impressed with your admirable faith. I know it’s not easy to give up the comforts and luxuries of life, and leave everything behind, in the name of God’s higher calling. I don’t know if I can do the same.

I understand it took you some time getting used to the change. You told me how remote your location was in South America. That you live almost like in a jungle, and your home was like living in a big tree house. And how it would take you a couple of days to travel to the nearest city. Yet you never forget to call me once in a while when you have the chance. I know you can only make that overseas call whenever you’re in the city.

I heard you say that even though how meager your resources were and how simple your life was, you told me, that you love working in God’s mission. What a remarkable dedication. I have nothing but respect for you.

Then more than a couple of years ago, I learned that you and your family came back to the US. Though I understand, you were still live-in volunteers in a small Christian academy. At least you don’t have to fight anymore, those pesky mosquitoes and poisonous snakes that sneak inside your home.

Once in a while we’ll talk about our families over the phone. And how we would open up about our “little” problems raising our family, just like any parents have. I called you few weeks ago, and I told you that I would be praying for you and your family. I also got your “thank you” card about two weeks ago.

Then I got a phone call from your sister yesterday. What an awful news! A heartbreaking news. That you had a tragic car accident. And in an instant, you were gone.

I don’t know what to think. My finite mind cannot rationalize it. I don’t know why God called you home too soon. But I just have to trust Him. As you always did.

I cannot imagine how your family and children are taking this. I am praying for them. I would continue to support them in whatever way I can, just like I promised you the last time we talked.

I guess I will never hear your voice again. We will never have that heart to heart talk again. At least not here on earth. But hoping someday, somewhere, beyond this earth…….

Goodbye my old friend.

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(*in loving memory of Boying)

(**photo taken with an iPhone)

 

 

Death Snatchers

During our ICU morning rounds, the medical residents were presenting the patients’ cases to me as I was taking over care from another attending physician.

One of the patients came in with fever and worsening shortness of breath. After work-up he was diagnosed with Legionnaire’s disease, a severe infection by a water-borne bacteria . He had complications with multi-organ failure, requiring mechanical ventilator and dialysis, among other life-sustaining support. After more than a week, he improved.

So as the resident was presenting his case with such bravado, he concluded with the statement, “we snatched him from the jaws of death,” with matching clawing action, like the arcade game of claw crane.

I kind of smiled with his presentation. I know he was half-joking, just to lift the morale of the ICU team. Taking care of very sick patients in the ICU where mortality is quite high despite of all the efforts, can be depressing.

I know this resident is a smart guy. In fact he is finishing his Internal Medicine residency with us in another month, and will be continuing his training in Hematology-Oncology Fellowship at Mayo Clinic this July. Maybe he’ll be “snatching” more patients from the jaws of death.

But there may be some truth in his statement, as we are literally snatching people out of the jaws of death. But are we really? Or are we just kidding ourselves?

That afternoon, there was a Code Blue (medical emergency) that was called overhead and my ICU team ran to respond to that call, which was a little ways out, as it was in the annexing building at the outpatient Cancer Center. The Intern (1st year resident), the most “inexperienced” of my team was the first one to arrive at the scene. He immediately took helm and directed the resuscitation efforts. Of course he was more than able and certified to do so.

By the way, even though some may say that residents (doctors-in-training) can be inexperienced, in a recent study published last month in the Journal of the American Medical Association, it reported that patients’ mortality rate is lower in teaching hospitals, than non-teaching hospitals.

Back to my ICU team, after more than half an hour of furious CPR, a stable heart rhythm was finally attained. The patient was then admitted to our ICU. I commended the Intern for doing a great job with such poise and calm, even in the midst of chaos during the Code Blue. Borrowing the words of my other resident, I told him in a jest that he “snatch” one out from the jaws of death.

I know from my experience, that even though CPR was “successful,” it was only temporary. Given the fact that this particular patient has advanced cancer, and was receiving chemotherapy when she had the cardiac arrest, tells me that the prognosis was poor.

I spoke with the patient’s son and explained to him the situation, that even though we were successful in reviving her mother, still the odds of her surviving through this was slim. But the son wanted “everything” done including doing more CPR if in case her heart stops again and does not want to hear about the poor outcome. But I understand, it is hard to let go.

The next morning, I learned that our cardiac arrest patient died. She died a few hours after I left for the night. So much of snatching people from the jaws of death.

Before we can start our ICU rounds that morning, my ICU team was called to the Emergency Department (ED) for a CPR in progress.

When I came to the resuscitation room in the ED, I saw a patient with the Lucas device on him (a machine that do the automated cardiac compression). I was told by the ED physician, that they were trying to resuscitate the man for about an hour now. He would temporary regain a heart beat, only to lose it again.

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Lucas device (photo from web)

They called me to assess if we should place the patient on Extra-Corporeal Life Support (ECLS), a “heart and lung” machine, as a temporizing measure to save him (see previous post). I suggested we call the cardiologist too.

Shortly thereafter the cardiologist arrived, and as soon as he walked in, the patient regained a stable heart rhythm again. So the Lucas device was shut off temporarily. After a brief conference with the cardiologist, we decided that the he would take the patient to the Cath Lab and see if he can open any blocked coronaries. Then we’ll decide if we need to hook the patient on ECLS.

Less than 10 minutes after we hashed our plan and as we were preparing to take the patient to the Cath Lab, the patient’s heart stopped again. We turned on the Lucas device once more. Our resuscitative efforts was now close to an hour and a half.

That’s when we all agreed, the cardiologist, the ED physician, and me, to call off the code. This patient was too far along from being snatched from the jaws of death.

We turned off the Lucas device, unhook him off the ventilator, and stopped all the intravenous medical drips that were keeping him “alive.” The ED physician then went out of the room to speak with the patient’s family, while me and my ICU team went to start our morning rounds and take care of our ICU patients.

It was grim start of our morning. Definitely my team was feeling down again.

Two hours later, I got a call from the ED. On the other line was the cardiologist, and I cannot believe what I was hearing. He was asking me to admit to the ICU the patient whom we pronounced dead earlier that morning!

Apparently after we unhooked the patient from all life-sustaining device, he regained a stable heart beat, and he started breathing spontaneously. They were waiting for him to die for the past two hours but he did not.

When I told my team that we were admitting “Lazarus,” which was what I called the patient, they thought I was just joking to lighten the mood. It took me a little more convincing for them to realize that I was telling them the truth.

That tells me enough of this “snatching people from the jaws of death.” Some of them can get out, even if we already dropped them. It just show who is really in charge. Definitely, it’s beyond us.

 

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Post Note: “Lazarus” eventually died 12 hours later.

 

 

A Christmas Spectacle

One of the hallmarks of Christmas is the wonderful shows, parades, or spectacles that happen during this season. The second story I want to re-post is about a different kind of Christmas spectacle.

I originally published this story, “The Christmas Homecoming,” on December 17, 2011.

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The Christmas Homecoming

He arrived with much fanfare. Clad in a brightly orange suit, with two escorts on each side. He made a jingling sound with every small step he made. People turned around and looked as he walked and passed through the hospital corridors, for it was an unusual sight to see. But he did not mind their glaring stares. He came for a special purpose, and that’s what matters. He came to see his father.

His father laid in our ICU. He suffered an acute and severe bleed to his head. The bleeding was so extensive that he required a neurosurgical procedure to evacuate the large collection of blood inside his skull, and placed a shunt in his brain to relieve the high pressure, in an effort to save his life.

However despite of all the intervention, his condition did not improve. In fact, it even got worse. After the surgery, he had more bleeding and swelling to his brain. And no further surgery could fix or decompress the pressure that was squashing his brain. There were no “miracle” medicines that can be infused on him that would make him better. No further medical intervention left that could be done to save him. His condition was unsurvivable. Sooner or later, all the life-sustaining machines hooked on him would be deemed worthless as he would be pronounced brain-dead.

Due to the grim development of events, the patient’s family were all in agreement to discontinue all life support. Though they had one request before that happens. They pleaded for the patient’s son to come before he dies. A son who had not seen his father for a long time.

In the past 10 years that I have been an ICU physician, I have signed for diverse medical and non-medical requests – a disability form for a patient who was critically ill, a leave of absence for a relative who’s loved one was in our ICU, a letter to the military requesting for a deployed soldier overseas to be permitted to come home to be with his mother in her last days, or a letter to the US consulate for a patient’s mother in a foreign country requesting for a visa to see her son, who was in near-death.

This time I signed a request for a prisoner to be released briefly from jail, to visit his dying father.

And so he came.

The brightly colored clothes was not because it was the holiday season, but it was the standard issued jumpsuit from the prison. The jingling sounds as he walked, was not from trinkets or bells to announce some holiday cheer, but rather from the chink of the chains that binds his ankles. He brought no gifts as he came empty-handed, except for the handcuffs. There were guards that flanked him as he made his way through, and people watched and stared, but it was not a parade.

He was led into the ICU room where his father laid. Her mother who was at the bedside, cryingly welcomed him with open arms. It was an embrace of acceptance to their “wayward” son. Like a homecoming of a prodigal son, if you will. Yes, it was a sort of homecoming alright. A very sad homecoming indeed.

As the son stood silently beside the bed of his comatose and dying father, the tears began to flow from him. Prison, I supposed, did not harden him enough to be devoid of all emotions. If only his father can see his tears, but it was too late. Whatever demons he had in the past, and I don’t care to know, he was still human after all. Just like you and me.

Was the tears for his father, who he knew he failed, and who he would never see again? Or was the tears for himself, as he had caused his family such heartache and disgrace? Was it tears of painful loss and farewell? Or was it tears of remorse and repentance? Or maybe it was a combination of all of those reasons. Whatever it was, he alone knows.

After some time, he was escorted out of the room and back, I assume, to the penitentiary.

There will be no singing of Christmas carols, I’m sure, in his dark and lonely cell tonight.

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Post Note: I have not witnessed a similar spectacle since, nor do I have any word of what happened to the son afterwards.

(*photo was taken by my wife)

A Christmas Miracle

We have entered the month of December and Christmas is only 3 weeks away. For this month I would like to re-post stories that happened around Christmas, which I have witnessed first hand, and that I have written several years back.

I first published the following story, “Gift of Life,” on December 15, 2010.

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Gift of Life

Everybody said that her pregnancy was ill-conceived and ill-advised. But who are we to judge her?

Mary (not her real name) lies in our ICU. Her 21-year-old body looks frail and debilitated, her skin is pale and sallow, and her breathing is irregular and shallow. Attached to her sick body are a number of tubes, catheters and monitors. The regular bleep and tracings in the monitor screen above her bed tells me that she is still alive, although she looks otherwise.

Mary was born with cystic fibrosis. This is an inherited disease caused by a defective gene that causes thick mucus plugging of small tubes and ducts, mostly affecting the lungs and the digestive system. Patients suffer with frequent lung infections, digestive problems, and usually succumb with respiratory failure or liver failure. The disease is fatal that many patients will die in their childhood and adolescence. However, in the past few decades, with the improvement of care, patients who made it through adulthood has an average lifespan of 35 years.

Mary’s childhood was anything but normal. She was in the hospital or doctor’s office so often more than she was in school. She was on medications constantly. She had known more doctors than childhood friends. She experienced more than her share of suffering and disease. But she had beaten the odds. Now, that she made it through 21 summers tells me that she is a fierce survivor.

But now, this pregnancy. Her family doesn’t want her to have this. Her doctors told her that her body may not be able to tolerate the additional stress of pregnancy and that it will be very high risk to continue. But she made up her mind that she will keep this child whatever the cost.

Due to developing problems and complications, she was admitted to the hospital’s maternity ward on her 32nd weeks of conception, where she was expected to stay for the rest of the pregnancy. However, after a few days in the hospital her condition worsened. Her liver function deteriorated and she went into fulminant hepatic failure. Mary slipped into coma. She was then transferred to our ICU.

Because her baby may get compromised further, we had no choice but to deliver the baby, even if it was barely 33 weeks old (full term is 38-42 weeks). Mary underwent an emergency caesarean section.

Now, 3 days after her baby’s delivery, Mary still remains in our ICU. She continues to be comatose.

As I stand beside her bed to examine her, I see the pictures of her newborn baby posted on the wall of her room. Being a parent, I cannot help but feel a twinge of sadness. Will she ever know that she brought forth a beautiful baby, premature, but otherwise healthy boy? Will she ever hear the yearning cry of her dear child? Will she ever see the sweet smile of her son? Will she ever hold her baby in her arms, the life that she fought for so dearly to bring to this world, even if it meant going against medical advice?

I just hope that someday this precious boy would be grateful and proud to the mother, he may never know. And may he appreciate and realize the challenges, the difficulty, the sacrifices her mother went into, to give him the gift of life. Yes, even in exchange of her own life.

But wait. This is Christmas season. Time of miracles. Maybe there will be one here tonight.

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Post Note:

After I published this story, Mary did improved and recovered. She got out of the ICU and eventually went home to take care of her beautiful baby. I took care of Mary a few more times and I always asked her about her baby boy. Her son became her pride and joy.

Sadly, Mary eventually succumbed to her illness last year, leaving a very young son, who at least experienced a mother’s love, even for so short a time.

Heart Tones

I just arrived home one early evening when I received a call from the hospital’s Emergency Department. On the other line was the Emergency Room physician who said that he needs my help on a patient that he was admitting to the ICU. After hearing the severity of the situation, I knew I had to come back to the hospital. At least it was still early and not in the unholy hour of the night.

Our patient was a woman in her late 20’s, who was brought in by the ambulance after having a prolonged seizure. Her family noted that after the seizure, she was not breathing at all. Her family started CPR and called 911. When the emergency responders arrived, they continued the resuscitation efforts and worked on her for more than 15 minutes before a stable cardiac rhythm was established.

When I arrived at the hospital, the patient was already in the ICU. She was unresponsive, intubated and hooked to a mechanical ventilator. After examining the patient and placing orders, I assisted my medical resident placed a large triple lumen catheter for IV access in the patient’s jugular vein for better management.

Not too long after, two more doctors came to the room to evaluate the patient. They brought along a heart monitor, not for the patient herself, but for the “other” patient involved.

Other patient? Yes, our primary patient was 36 weeks pregnant.

I have noted that once in a while our patient was going into a “stiffened posture.” This posturing is a tell-tale sign of a probable brain injury. To be certain, we consulted a Neurologist who came in several minutes later to assess the patient as well.

With two lives hanging in a balance, the Neurologist, the two OB-GYN physicians, and me, arrived on a decision that an emergent Caesarian delivery was necessary.

All along during our discussions inside the room, on the background, we can hear the baby’s heart tones from the fetal doppler: blup-blup-blup-blup-blup-blup-blup-blup……

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I entered the ICU room and the patient was lying motionless in her bed. Taped in the railing of the bed was a paper with a footprint of her newborn baby.

It had been seven days since my patient had the seizure and the subsequent cardiac arrest. Seven days since she had the caesarean section and delivered her baby. Seven days, and she had not waken up.

As I performed a thorough neurologic testing with prodding and certain maneuvers, she did not respond at all. Does she know that I was examining her? Does she know that her family was all worried and praying for her? Does she even know that she had delivered a beautiful baby boy?

Sadly to say, she has no idea at all. For she was gone. And the only things that were keeping her “artificially” alive were medications and machines.

Life is precious, yet so fragile. One moment you are a picture of health with all the promise of joy and life, then the next moment you are dangling by a thread with nothing but loss and despair. May we value and appreciate every fleeting moment of our lives.

We met with the patient’s family in the consultation room outside the ICU. They were obviously distraught and heartbroken. After explaining the facts to them, including the EEG (brain wave tracings) and brain MRI results, we gave them the grim news. The chances of a meaningful recovery was nil.

Amid the crying and whimpering, the family related to me that they just wanted to have the patient’s baby brought to her ICU room to have some time to be with her. Then, they will take her off life support.

Before coming out of the consultation room, we gave the patient’s family a token in a small box. A keepsake for her baby.

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In a lonely nursery, a baby was being lulled to sleep by a rhythmic sound coming from a small box hanging in his crib. It was a recorded heart tones of her mother. A mother he will never get to know.

Lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub………

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 (*image from the net)

Shivering Tulips

Arctic blast is back in our area. After a few days of relatively warm days with some melting in our piles of snow, our temperature is again in single digits (Fahrenheit). The next few days does not look encouraging either. Afterall, we are still in the thick of winter.

As I was seeing patients in our clinic today, one of the constant small talk that I have with my patients is the cold weather. With most of my patients having significant pulmonary condition, this subfreezing temperature is such a struggle for them. My parting shot with them as they get out the door is “stay warm!”

The last patient I had this morning was someone who had been followed in our clinic for more than ten years. Ten years is more of a rarity to be followed by us, as most of them are with advanced lung disease and thus they do not last that long.

He is an old sweet man with a sunny disposition, but crippled with severe COPD, and had been oxygen-dependent for several years now. Damn cigarettes!

He is on maximum medications, inhalers and nebulizers we can place him on, but despite of that, he admits that minimal exertion, or even talking, makes him short of breath. Though he said that not talking much is probably good for him, as his wife who always accompanies him on his visits, laughed with his confession.

As we talked about the deep freeze, he stated that it was too cold outside that the “tulips were shivering.” I told him that it was not yet spring, and so it was not time for the tulips to get out anyway.

When I asked him how he was doing, he said that he was “ready to be planted.”

Was he still talking about the tulips? Or did he mean being “planted 6 feet under ground?”

I know he understands that we have not much to offer him, yet he always come to his appointments, even just to chat with me and my nursing staff. Sometimes I feel that a plain doctor visit gives some of our patients a chance to get off their mundane schedule and provide something to take their mind off their existential misery temporarily. And by merely showing up in our clinic, they let us know that they are still alive.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to see them. I know as well, that they are happy to be seen. Or perhaps they are happy just to be here.

Knowing that his condition will only get worse, our discussions wandered to what his advance directives might be. He said that if it comes to a point that he cannot breathe on his own, he does not want to be placed on a ventilator or a machine to keep him alive; and if his heart stops, he said that he does not want to be resuscitated. In other words, he just want to go gently and naturally into the night.

I even offered that I can refer him to Palliative Care Medicine or even Hospice, but he said that he was satisfied with my management and did not feel we need to do anything else at this time.

As I walked out of the exam room, I called out to him, “stay warm!”

He looked at me meaningfully, as if he expects something more.

Quickly realizing my comment, I said that I wanted him to “stay warm” from this arctic temperature. To “stay warm,” that is to keep his sweet and positive disposition. And to “stay warm,” that means staying alive and warm-blooded, and being above ground.

With that I added “I’ll see you in spring.”  I hope the tulips will not be shivering. Nor weeping.

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(*image from pinterest.com)

 

Crash the Board

One late afternoon, when I arrived home, I noticed something lying in our driveway. It was not the fallen autumn leaves that needed to be swept, that caught my attention, but something more strange.

It was a dead bird.

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My son was actually the first one to see it and pointed it out to me. As we looked at it closely we have concluded that it was a robin. It also looked healthy and well nourished, so we wondered what caused its demise. Its feathers did not look ruffled so it was unlikely that it was attacked by a predatory bird, like hawk, which abound in our area.

Then like detective Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr. Watson, we looked at the evidences available to us and formulated a theory of what caused the poor bird’s death. We could have done an autopsy but there was no need for that.

We looked at the dead bird’s body location and its relation to the other surrounding structures. The hard driveway pavement. The soft grass lawn. The nearby garage. Our big oak tree. And the fiberglass basketball goal.

The bird was lying right underneath the basketball goal. And there was some smudge in the fiberglass.

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Here is our conclusion: it was a clear sunny day; the robin was flying spiritedly heading to our oak tree; the bird mistakenly looked through the clear fiberglass and flew directly into it; the robin fell to the hard pavement and died.

That, or Dwight Howard swatted it down from its flight.

We know that skyscrapers have caused several birds to crashed to their death when they fly smack into the glass windows. The wind turbines that we erected to generate energy has caused many winged wild life deaths as well. On the reverse side, there are several reported airplane accidents, especially small aircrafts, crashing down when they hit a flock of birds. I suppose that still is unfortunate on the part of the birds.

I like my basketball goal though. I am not going to take it down. It has given me and my son so many hours of fun playing on it. But to this poor creature, it caused its death. Life can be cruel at times, I guess.

In basketball, there is a term “crash the board,” which means to get the rebound, or the act of rebounding the ball. This little birdie gave that term a whole new meaning.

I will remember and will pay respect to this poor soul, every time I play and crash the board.

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(*all photos taken with iPhone)

All in Love is Fair

Nobody said that life would be fair. And anyone who still believe that it is, would be rudely disappointed.

“Life is so unfair.” That’s what I heard my wife said, a few days ago. Here’s the story behind it.

I was on-call that day. It was an extra-ordinarily busy call for me. In fact, I have not had such a “toxic” call for a while. And it was not even a full moon. Maybe the dark stars aligned in their orbits or there were a couple of full moons in some other planets. Whatever the reason was, it was busy.

During one stretch of my call, I had 4 ICU admissions in a matter of 2 hours. Having very sick patients coming at the same time was bad enough, but them presenting simultaneously on 2 different hospitals I cover that were few miles apart was almost impossible to deal with. Good thing I had reliable medical residents that helped me took care of our critically ill patients. And to cap the night, two more ICU admissions came later that night.

I came home past 1 o’clock in the morning. (I usually come home 5 or 6 PM, even if I am on-call.) I was glad to see that the porch and driveway lights were on, when I pulled up in our garage. It was a nice feeling to come home, and know that you were expected.

My wife was already in bed but I was delightfully surprised that she was still awake, waiting for me all along. She even told me that my son also stayed up almost up to midnight, waiting for me. It was really a wonderful feeling to come home, even though I know that I was still on-call, and my beeper can go off anytime, and there was a possibility that I could still be called back to the hospital.

My fatigue melted away and not too long after, I was snoring in bed. Perhaps my beeper went off one or two more times after I slept, but I was able to deal with those calls without the need to return to the hospital.

Later on that morning, when the sun was already up, as I was preparing to go back to work, after a short night of sleep, that was when my wife blurted out, tongue-in-cheek: “Life is so unfair.”

Apparently after I came home, and was soon fast asleep, she stayed awake, unable to fall asleep. Can you imagine her sad plight? She waited that long for me, and when I came, I fell asleep so readily while she was kept awake by my snoring. Sure, that I agree was “unfair.” But I really appreciated that she stayed up for me, for I know she did it out of love. And I know that her ‘life is unfair’ statement, is an expression of endearment.

Life is so unfair

Last weekend, I woke up early and went out for my morning run. It was nice to get out and run as the sun was just peeking above the horizon. The spring air was fresh and crisp, the birds were singing, and the neighborhood was still snoring. After half an hour, I returned home to find out that I locked myself out. I did not carry a key, and I did not leave the front door of our house unlocked.

I knew that my wife and kids were still sleeping, so I did not knock or ring the doorbell. I dare not be told again that “life is so unfair.” Besides, it was a beautiful morning, not so cold outside (read: a little above freezing) and the sun was shining, so I just sat there in the front bench of our house and enjoyed my quiet moment. Or should I say “enjoy” the moment of my stupidity of locking myself out!

After a while, my wife and kids woke up eventually. As my wife opened the front door to let the sunshine in and to see where I’ve been, she was surprised how happy and smiling I was, to enter back our house. She initially thought that I just had a good run or perhaps I had a funny incident while I was out. Only later that she learned that I locked myself out and that I was sitting in our bench for almost half an hour.

I don’t think my wife would really mind if I wake her up a little early if I rang the doorbell, but I’m sure she appreciated that I did not. Yes, life can be unfair, but like in Stevie Wonder’s song……”all in love is fair.”

(*image from here)

Missing A Special Flower

A couple of weeks ago we visited an elderly lady in her home. We have missed her for a few months, as she had grown so weak to attend church anymore.

This is a woman that made us feel right at home when we first arrived and became members of a church here, in Des Moines. Even though we have been in the US for several years, we were always been a part of a Filipino congregation. In New Jersey, New York, Florida, and California, we have been attending church composed mainly of Filipinos. (We Filipinos wherever we are, tend to conglomerate, you know.) However, when we moved in Iowa, there was no such Filipino congregation, and thus we became a part of a church that is mostly white, with a sprinkling of other races, like us.

Whenever this lady would see us, she would greet us so warmly and would ask my kids to give her a hug, and would say for everybody to hear, “Here’s my beautiful family.” Of course it was so obvious that we were not related at all, just based on the difference in the color of our skin. However she made us feel like a real family. And without a real family in the area, that meant a lot to us. We then called her Grandma Dorothy.

Several weeks ago, Grandma Dorothy was diagnosed with cancer, and it was in its advanced stage. However due to her ripe age, she chose not to receive any treatment at all. She said that she had lived a full life and was ready to meet her Creator. And as the weeks passed, she became weaker and weaker.

During our visit with her, it was by chance, also her birthday. She is 97 years young. She may be weak but she still looks happy. She was sitting in a chair eating her lunch of soup and crackers. Her digestion was not so good anymore she said, but she still had room for dessert, as she finished a scoopful of ice cream. She was thankful for the flowers that we brought her and wondered how we knew that she likes yellow flowers. My wife confessed that we really did not know that she likes yellow, but she just picked this color since she likes this too.

Grandma Dorothy's flowers

Grandma Dorothy’s body may have been feeble but her mind was sharp as ever. She called us by our first names and reminisced the earlier days we had with her. She told us that our church is like a garden of flowers: some are roses, some are daisies, some are petunias, and pansies, and gardenias, and lilies, and lavenders, and daffodils, and irises and tulips. (To this I will add sampaguita, ilang-ilang, gumamela, kalachuchi, katuray and kampupot.) She said that every one is beautiful in their own right.

Today, we learned that Grandma Dorothy passed away around seven this morning. I guess, people just like flowers too, will fade away and die. But she surely let her bloom radiated so beautifully and her fragrance diffused so eminently while it lasted.

We definitely will miss a very special flower in our garden.