Grateful

Today I am a teenager again, marking 13 years since being diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer. If my husband were alive, we’d be going to our neighborhood sari-sari for a Coke date. I would again be hearing him boast about his tactile abilities, having been the one who discovered my lump. He would again joke about volunteering to do clinical breast examinations at my doctor’s clinic, and then remember my doctor saying he could charge him with illegal practice of medicine.

It has been a difficult year and a half without the hubby, but my habits have saved me. Doing things just because I am so used to doing them has kept me going. I do not care why or wherefore, but I have kept doing them—often distracted (prayer), sometimes with errors (work), but never giving up (sleep). I have been told that what I am experiencing is natural for those who encounter loss, that it would take time, and that I still have a mission in this world while that of my husband was already accomplished.

In his first encyclical, Deus caritas est (God is Love), Benedict XVI wrote: “Hope is practiced through the virtue of patience, which continues to do good even in the face of apparent failure, and through the virtue of humility, which accepts God’s mystery and trusts him even at times of darkness.”  

Whenever I feel low, I count my blessings: Mama is doing well, fully recovered from her hospitalization and surgical procedure last month; son has work and is enjoying the advantages of earning his own keep, among them saving up for toys (for big boys); daughter is in third year, swamped by major subjects and almost drowning in an ocean of reading and writing assignments (she did save on matriculation this semester, thanks to the law mandating free tertiary education); bosses, colleagues and friends remain as supportive as ever.

Suddenly, I feel so unworthy… but at the same time, grateful.  

I thank God Almighty for so many blessings, especially for all the prayers and well wishes of family and friends.

And because of all these blessings, I can be patient, and humble.

Even as I grieve, I can hope.  

Maybe the lost soul can still be found.

Misadventures on a quite curious weekend

The weekend was ushered by a very lucky Friday, the 13th. It was payday

and that’s always lucky for the employed. Alas, the ATM in our building
manages to go offline on paydays, and it was no different. I was saved by
my daughter who had change from her enrollment money, having enrolled
only 15 units, instead of the usual 18. So we had cash for the weekend. At
least, our househelp would get paid.

On Saturday morn, I brought our very pregnant cat to the vet, she had a
cold the previous week and had been on antibiotics for a week. She still
had a cold and was given more antibiotics and Vitamin C in what turned
out to be a prenatal exam (she gave birth the next day).

On Saturday afternoon as we prepared to go to anticipated mass, I receive
a call on my cellphone from a certain Brando Pimentel looking for someone
with my first name, maiden name and last name. Finding out it was I, he
said not to be shocked but someone hired him to kill me and he had sent
four henchmen from Mindanao to my place. But he changed his mind
because the one who hired him wanted them to kill my entire family. He
said he would give me the cellphone as evidence of the messages of the
one who contracted him but I had to pay 45,000 pesos to send back his
men to Mindanao because they were already nearby. I said I didn’t have
that kind of money on hand. He said he just needed to send his men, who
are armed and dangerous, back to Mindanao and if I had 20,000 pesos,
that would do for now and we can discuss the rest later. I said 20,000 is
too much but if he waited for Monday, maybe I could borrow some money.
He asked how much I had on me and I said I had 3,000 in my wallet. He
said that was too little but that was fine for the moment. I had to deposit it
right away at Cebuana Lhuillier or Palawan Pawnshop. He would text me
the name and cellphone number of the one who will receive the money. 

So I proceeded with my afternoon, bathed and when I got out of the
bathroom, I had missed 6 of his calls and the text messages. One text
message was giving the name Laila E. Gomez, cellphone 0956 173 5711.
I was supposed to send the money to her. The next message was I had to
send money now so his men could leave my area. And the next one said
if I didn’t send the money, I couldn’t blame him anymore for whatever
happens to me.

So I replied to him (by text) first, “May the Lord forgive you.” Then I said I
was going out to deposit the money but my husband stopped me and told
me that we should not live in fear nor revenge (all in Tagalog), that if it was
our time, we should not avoid it. Rather, we should accept God’s gift of
peace. I also told him that my cellphone actually belonged to the office so
if anything did happen, somebody will know what happened. Finally, I said
I would not fight nor go to the police and that we accept his decision with
pleasure (ng malugod). He replied that he felt fear of God with my
message, and that I should not worry because he would help me even
without anything in return (pangako daw). After that I blocked his number
(0956 154 8361) and reported the incident to my friend who knows a few in
NBI. Just so there would be a record in case something does happen. 

The next day, Sunday, we had a very nice lunch with our badminton group
as four members jointly celebrated their birthdays--all January-born. It was
a fun and filling afternoon with lots of stories and camaraderie. And then
people left a couple at a time. But before we ourselves left, the host’s dog
bit my hand. It bled and I washed it with soap and running water, then
compressed to stop the bleeding, iced to stop the swelling, and took
Paracetamol. The dog just had his anti-rabies shot in November so we all
felt I’d be fine.

When I got home, around five hours after I was bit, my hand started feeling
numb and then my arm, and then the tip of and right side of my tongue. So
I told my children, I don’t think I will last until morning, we have to go to the
hospital, which praise God, was also an Animal Bite Center. The doctor told
me even if the dog had his shot, they still advise the full anti-rabies protocol
because the effectiveness of the anti-rabies shot if not done annually is just
70% so there is a fair (30%) chance I would be infected. So the dog is under
observation and if he survives, then I will only get 4 appointments instead
of 5. But on my first appointment, I had 6 needle pricks: one was a skin test
to make sure I was not allergic to the ERIG (equine rabies immunoglobulin).
The others were injections of full doses for anti-tetanus (ATS or anti-tetanus
serum and tetanus toxoid), anti-rabies (PVRV or purified vero cell rabies),
and 2 ERIG. They call this the post-exposure prophylaxis for rabies. “Strict
adherence to the WHO-recommended guidelines for optimal post-exposure
rabies prophylaxis virtually guarantees protection from the disease.”

Anyways, as I lay in the emergency room reeling from shots on my arm,
thighs and buttocks, I was saying thanks be to God: I thank the Lord that
it was I who was bit, and not any of my children. It was not enough that I
had Stage 4 cancer (2004 and 2005), had a 10-wheeler truck crash head-on
to my car (2013), and just last year, lost my gall bladder and then my
husband...I still had to suffer a dog bite. I was the first person ever bitten by
that dog, so now the owners know that he bites. We’ve known that dog for
years and we thought he was all bark and no bite. It had to be me... because
I have a high threshold for pain, I suffer with good humor (not that I am a
masochist, but I can chill even in adversity, which is kinda loony, but I can’t
help it, I was born that way), I don’t often get angry, I will never fight nor sue
(unless it involves my children), and I have medical coverage from our office
HMO (therefore, I can get treated at no cost to the dog’s owners). Entonces,
among all the guests last Sunday, who else would the dog choose? I was
the best choice of the lot---aside from being the plumpiest.

I document my very curious weekend for any lessons people may learn from
my rather painful misadventures. Always I lift to God my soul, that benefits
immensely from my practice with the pain and misfortune this life has to
offer. My husband (bless his soul) would not be the saint that he is today if
not for the purification of 22 years of marriage (and other forms of mortal
combat, as he himself would say). I look forward to more joys (I did spend
Christmas with my kids in Japan) and greater delights from Him who
befriends, directs and gives most generously to unprofitable servants like
myself.

To God be the glory.