This is the unedited version of my article published in Kerygma in the year 2003.
Test of Faith
It was just another ordinary Sunday as I sat down to eat lunch with my family. “Hmm… sinigang sa baka, extra sour” my favorite. I filled my plate with rice and mashed the gabi and mixed it in my rice. While eating, we were exchanging stories that happened to us during the week that passed. I told them about my trip to Duty Free Angeles. My sister and papa were ganging up on my brother, making fun of his mannerisms and cracking corny jokes at each other. We were laughing hard, so hard that I choked on my food and started coughing. I excused myself from the table. When I realized I was having difficulty breathing, I got up and went to the bathroom. I threw up twice. I then went to my room and took four puffs from my ventolin inhaler but it didn’t work, I still could not breathe. I panicked while gasping for air; I managed to shout “Mama hindi ako makahinga!” A split second I saw their panic stricken faces, they knew this was no ordinary attack. My father immediately got me in the car and just as I was able to give directions to the nearest hospital I lost consciousness.
Everything happened so fast as my mother recounted the events that happened. I was with her at the back seat. When I lost consciousness, mama began giving me CPR but I stopped breathing altogether. My father kept shouting “kaya mo yan! You are strong, you are strong”. Finally reaching Sto. Nio Hospital in Marcos Hi-way, papa tried to carry me to the emergency room, he dropped me on the floor because I was too heavy but the security guard who saw us helped him carry me to the emergency room. I was clinically dead, however the doctors still tried frantically to revive me and they did but by the time they got a faint pulse and oxygen in my brain, I had suffered massive brain damage. A man who saw the doctors trying to revive me said in a very loud voice “Ay, patay na”. When mama heard him, she snapped out of her shocked state and began praying. I was then transferred to the Intensive Care Unit of the Philippine Heart Center where I was hooked up to a respirator, an ECG machine and other tubes.
At that time my parents were in a state of shock. Mama realized she wasn’t wearing any slippers and the bag she brought along with her was empty. But as calmly as she could, mama called her best friend and she asked for prayers from whoever can pray for me but she had her own silent prayer. She was offering me to God. She said; if I were to live but as a vegetable, she’d rather that God take me now so that my suffering would end.
Complications arose from my brain damage. I had multiple seizures, lifting my body up more about five inches from the bed; it was like I was having an epilepsy attack. I had a fever which rose and stayed at 40 0. Family members, nurses and friends literally covered my body with tube ice to keep my body temperature from going over 400. Doctors said that my chance of survival was small and if I did survive, they weren’t sure I would be the same because they didn’t know the extent my brain has suffered.
A friend told my parents that I was with child. Sure enough I was two months on the way. The doctors contemplated on giving up my baby for my safety but my parents said to keep the child because they knew that I would pull through and because they had faith. The doctors were careful in administering medication so as not to harm my child.
Again, doctors hinted that my body was too frail to survive the attack but mama refused to believe such talk. She knew I was a fighter and was convinced I would pull through. One day she whispered in my ear “If you wake up now, I will buy you a Nokia 3210 “. Funny or as shallow as it may seem, I woke up after eight and a half weeks of being in a coma on the feast day of the patron saint of my law school.
I remember seeing faces and hearing voices without recognizing anyone or understanding anything. People were looking at me, some crying, others had smiles on their faces. But as to who they were, I had no clue.
I would drift in and out of sleep, my parents telling me. They would talk to me, I would hear them but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. When I tried to speak, no sound came out of my mouth. When at last I regained consciousness, my mental age was that of a four year old. Doctors could not yet tell if I would recover fully.
It was a long, painful wait for family and friends, but being pig-headed as I was, I returned to my normal state of mind. But physically I wasn’t the same. My hands were in balls of fists and my feet were on tiptoes. I couldn’t sit on my own. I didn’t know how to swallow. My baby and I were being fed through my nose NGT (nasal gastric tube). There were times I’d go blind. I could only let out a soft low moan, which frustrated me even more because I want to say something but I feel like I’m being gagged. I felt like a child learning everything for the first time.
I began asking mama and papa how my brother, Benji and my sister, Donna were doing. Were they all right? Were they hurt? I thought I had been in a car accident. I was driving fast and I lost control of the car and we went under a sixteen-wheeler truck. Mama told me that there was no car accident but that I had a severe asthma attack. I saw Benji and Donna and I let out a sigh of relief because I had only dreamed the accident. Mama explained that while I was choking, some food went inside my lungs causing me to aspirate.
I hated the feeling of restriction because I was used to moving around all the time and now I am tied to my bed, dependent on the people around me. I felt paralyzed, useless. I abhorred it so much that I kept telling papa to bring me home.
At last, exactly three months after I was confined, I was allowed to go home. My room had changed. In place of my single bed were a hospital bed and an oxygen tank right by the side of it. It looked like and smelled of hospital only bigger. I didn’t like it but it was better than being in the hospital where nurses and doctors poke you, woke you up every hour or so. I did everything in my bed from eating to bathing. I only got out of it when I would go to physical therapy and check ups. My parents hired two heavily built helpers to carry me from my bed to my wheel chair to the car and back. That was the life I lived.
I missed the life I led before the accident because I was not the typical teenager. I was goal-oriented, independent, extra receptive and though very sickly. I had asthma since I was two. Never a year passed that I was not confined in the hospital, but it never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. I engaged in different sports such as swimming, volleyball, cycling and taekwondo. I believed that my body needed the exercise for it to grow strong, and with the strong body come a strong mind.
What set me apart from kids my age was my zest for life. I got what I want when I wanted it. I wasn’t spoiled; I just set a goal, gave myself a deadline and simply went for it. I would make mistakes just like any other person but I never succumbed to failure. If things don’t go my way, I would find another way to make it work. The word quit never became part of my vocabulary.
I grew up in a very religious family where we go to church every Sunday, say grace before and after meals, pray the 3 o’clock habit, the Angelus and the Holy Rosary every night, including the litany. At a very early age I learned that miracles happen, faith exists in every person and that there is a higher being looking down on us, taking care of us, loving us.
My papa, mama, sister and I were members of our choir in church. As I started growing up, I took interest in spirituality and the divine. I believed in angels, miracles and the good.
As I grew to my teens, I didn’t take part in parties, soirees, instead I offered my voice to serve the Lord by joining my high school choir where I played the recorder and sometimes the piano. Later on after high school, I took charge of our youth choir in our subdivision. I gathered friends and neighbors and taught them songs we would sing on Sunday mass. Some found it odd that I would spend most of my time practicing with the choir rather than go out on gimmicks. It didn’t bother me though that I didn’t have an active social life like the rest of my friends because I loved what I was doing. I chose this kind of lifestyle and committed my whole self to it.
When I was in college, I held the second highest positioning our student council. I spearheaded many of my organization’s activities; I was also on varsity, which took a lot of time on my hands, I was so active that I hardly had the time to sit. People knew me and admired the work I carried out, but on no account did I abandon my commitment to the choir.
The moment I graduated from college, I was admitted to one of the country’s finest law schools. I was thrilled. Finally, my dream of following my father’s footsteps was about to come true, but fate didn’t agree with me.
During my third year in law school, I got pregnant. It seemed harmless at first because I was of age and I could still continue school and finish my studies. I thought wrong. Afraid of their reaction, I kept this information to myself. That was my biggest mistake. When I had my attack, my parents discovered I was going to have a baby. They still say they felt as if they were being sucked to an empty, dark hole of emptiness. Here I was in a coma and pregnant! What was in store for me in the future?
I was oblivious of my future as well. How will I raise my child when I myself had to be taken care off? I lost all my skills, I was bed ridden, no job, unable to control the things and circumstances around me. I was scared and angry with me and with God. How could He have let this happen to me? Of all people, why me? What did I do to deserve a punishment so harsh as this? Haven’t I been good? Haven’t I served Him with unfailing loyalty and commitment? I felt dejected and sunk myself in self-pity. I wanted to blame God but then I remembered Job, the man who lost everything including his family and was being tempted by the devil. But Job, till his last breath held on to his faith in God and God rewarded him with much more. I was being tested for my faith. Many times I have been tempted to blame God, but I didn’t because I was aware that it was my negligence that placed me in this situation, not God. It was my own doing that I ended up like this.
I came to several realizations, how strong is my faith and what has been passed to me as my new mission, my purpose. I still don’t know.
My Two Miracles
December of 2000, I gave birth to my miracle daughter, Noelle Ann. I had seven doctors because I was a high-risk pregnancy case. With me were my Ob-Gynecologist, Pulmonologist, Pediatrician, Neurologist, Cardiologist, Perenatologist and an Anesthesiologist to ensure the safe delivery of my baby. I remember the feeling groggy when the drug took effect. When I awoke my baby was being handled to me and I gave her first kiss on her lips. I remember being blissfully happy upon seeing her then I fell back to sleep.
I woke up with a stir in my room. Everybody was there. My parents, sister, brother, cousins, aunts, uncles and friends. They were talking in excited tones. I asked mama how my baby looked like and she said “Ang puti at yung ulo nya kasing laki lang ng tennis ball. Maganda sha pero pango” then she smiled. I didn’t believe her that the size of my baby’s head was like a tennis ball but when I saw her, I believed. She was tiny, pango but beautiful. I laughed “pango nga!” She was perfect. And for the first time in months, I was genuinely happy.
September of the next year I was scheduled to have a carpal tunnel release surgery so that I would be able to make use of my hands. But problems arose when my insurance refused to pay some amount for the doctor. I was so depressed because we couldn’t afford to pay the doctor’s professional fee. I was desperate, I called the insurance company, spoke to the person in charge of my case and I cried. I begged her to talk to anyone so that my operation would push through. I said “Sige na please tulungan mo ako! Gusto ko magamit ang mga kamay ko, gusto ko makarga ang baby ko, please!”
Now, I can carry my baby, hold my spoon and fork, my glass, fix my hair, write, type, text, paint, bake just about everything I used to do. But although I am still undergoing physical therapy, I feel it’s not enough because still can’t walk. Another challenge faces me in the face. Another obstacle to test my faith.
As I was watching TV. One day, I stumbled upon the Oprah Winfrey Show where they featured children who lost their arms and legs and yet they lead normal lives, walking, running, dancing. If these kids could do it, why can’t I? Inspired by their spirit, I asked my doctor to operate on my feet. He said, “Mas masakit ito kaysa sa opera mo sa kamay at magkakaroon ka ng apat na mahahabang hiwa sa magkabilang paa. Ok lang ba sa iyo yon?” I told him that the scars didn’t matter. What was important was that I walk again. For the third time and hopefully the last, I went under the knife.
I started in a wheel chair, moved my way up to a walker, now I am only using a cane and sometimes making short baby steps without my cane.
I have friends and strangers approaching me telling me how I give them strength, inspiration, and patience. They tell me that I’ve touched their lives somehow and changed their outlook in life. Maybe that’s my purpose. To serve as an inspiration for those who are about to give up on life, those who don’t believe in love and miracles and lead them back to God.
To me trials are not reasons to give up but challenges to improve ourselves. I survived this tragedy because of my faith and because I refused to acknowledge defeat, instead I sucked the marrow out of life once again.
Forrest Gump once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates — you never know what you’re gonna get”. My life has been one big box of chocolates, with lots of surprises and two miracles.
About the Author: AFB is a graduate of AB Communication Arts of Miriam College who reads only when there is music or when the TV is turned on. She loves cheese, Korean and Taiwanes telenovelas. An artist by profession, she paints still lifes and landscapes.
Source: www.isnare.com