May 11th, 2008 by Remcyl
I was preparing myself for a photoshoot me and my family were about to do later in the afternoon. I did everything I had to do around the house that day so I’d be free from any chores afterwards. So I took off my clothes, brushed my teeth and twisted the knob to get the water running on my shower. Scrubbing my fingers on my scalp, I suddenly felt numb and the bathroom turned dark .
The water was still running when my eyes had a glimpse of what happened. It was running on my ears and this was when I realized I was lying on the bathroom floor and I couldn’t move.
It was dark once again and I lost it for the second time.
My eyes opened with the screams of my aunt, grandfather, and Nanay (our maid) as they carry me butt naked to the closest room. What seemed to me as screams at first were apparently cries from the three of them. What happened next was all blank as I lost it once more.
I woke up in the whitest sheets, the softest pillows, the cleanest smooth clothing, but my head was in the most excruciating pain.
I’ve been in the hospital for about three weeks now and my family’s been with me from the moment I was taken in. All I could hear were voices around me because my head was hurting so much I could barely open my eyes. Some were chatting about the people back home in Dagupan, others were diverting their attention through browsing on the bills.
When I get to hear the pricey bills mentioned by my parents, I try my best to block the words, hold back the tears and go back to sleep. I wanted to die knowing I’m the cause of all those bills unpaid. I know we really couldn’t afford to pay them to begin with.
Days passed and the time was drawing near. My mom was the only one left in the ICU with me and it was time for lunch. The plate was once again filled with the tastiest dishes I could ever taste and my mom holds a spoon in her hand ready to feed me. But I was so tired after all the fluids injected to me for the past weeks and my body was about to give up from all the medicines I’ve been taking. Not to mention the amount of blood aspirated for all the tests they were to do.
“Mommy hindi ko na kaya”, I expressed.
Tears rolled down my mom’s face and suddenly gave me the tightest hug she could make.
“Anak huwag kang ganyan. Ngayon pa, andito na tayo. Huwag kang mawalan ng pag-asa may awa din ang Diyos makakaraos ka rin. Huwag ka lang bumigay. Ginagawa namin ang lahat tapos bibitaw ka na.”
I remember all of those words clearly, as I never heard them more sincere than that moment.
I breathed, sighed, and hugged her in return.
“I’ll just go check on his IV fluids”, the ICU nurse says as she interrupts the moment.
We went back to the spoon I was supposed to take before everything that just happened and pretended nothing happened. She wiped her tears, and so did I.
After that incident, I started facing each day at the hospital more courageous. I wore the toughest eyes, and fear was nowhere to be found on my face.
…
The day finally came and my doctor was telling me to stop eating after midnight. I gobbled on the last cereal box I had and drank the milk out of my mug. Each second meant more to me during that last hour I had for what lies ahead is out of my control.
Hours after, the nurses started to prepare me. They moved me out of my bed which I laid on for God knows how long, and into the stretcher which they pushed into my room. My mom was holding on to my hands and my dad was running his fingers on my hair while I was more relaxed than any of my relatives in the room who were all holding on to the hands of the person beside them.
I started moving.
They brought me to what was a first for me, the operating room.
“When I count to three, inhale on three”, the staff explained.
“One…Two… Thr……..”
…
In the middle of the operation, the doctor went out to explain to my family that they found a second lump at the back of my head.
My grandfather was uncontrollable, my aunt and grandmother was taken aback, and my parents were both in shock and speechless. Everyone started crying.
…
I came out 19 hours after the operation. My parents held my hand the moment I left the room and walked as they wheeled me into my room.
…
…
…
I’m Abraham Remcyl L. Viloria. the youngest cerebral aneurysm (craniotomy) patient at UERM. I was only 17 at the time of my operation and I owe the life I have now to the medical team of Dr. Baronia.
I knew from the very start, that the heart that pumped to keep me going, belongs to my mother who gave not only her prayers, but her unconditional love to me.
From the bottom of my heart mother, I love you! It was your tears that rolled on my cheeks that made me strong. It was at that moment, I’ve learned my worth as your son, and I hold that in my heart everyday.
So during our trip to Antipolo, we visited my relatives over at Edsa Kamuning to hand out my gift to my dear godson.
