He asked me to supply him with daily broadsheets to break some of his hated routines. He found the place too strange, completely different from where he used to do all his things. I gave in hoping it will do smart changes but to no avail. Obviously, his health is deteriorating but his spirit remains steadfastly strong. Sheer determination does wonders really.
I came to know various cancer-stricken patients and their families during Papa’s hospital confinement. Sincerely, I have heard their ordeals, harrowing struggles and had perfectly commune myself in them. I drew strength from all these strange faces really.
Back then, the second floor- west wing of the hospital confined all the cancer patients in various types and each new day can be truly considered a miracle. On his 3rd day prior to the actual chemotherapy, the patients next and adjacent to his room passed away. I had carefully advised my sister not to break the news to Papa.
It’s like a game elimination happening so ironically. Papa, showing some significant strength energizing his flagging health, is up to the final round so positively.
Half an hour after the excruciating bone marrow test, his physician advised me of the chemo drugs I have to make available the following day. I have asked her if we could defer it seeing that his body cannot endure consecutive tests.
Alarmingly, he lost his appetite gradually that his physician suggested milk substitute instead. At worst, he suddenly barely talks and hardly recognizes us. Nevertheless, the chemo proceeded as scheduled.
On the process, I found myself on bended knees at the hospital chapel, saying a very selfish prayer.
Throughout his life, Papa was never been into hospital confinement.
We had sleepless nights thereafter as he complained severe muscle and chest pains. He pitied himself too of the gradual hair loss as an obvious effect of the chemo. Walking alone for him is fast becoming a struggle and at worst, he stopped taking food. He doubled the milk intake.
Three weeks after, we sent him back at the hospital for the second chemo session. That time, he’s a bit recovered from the adverse effect of his medication but too premature to note his health’s progress.
I failed to get the medical assistance I applied at PCSO. Money back then is becoming a scarce but the bills were all due. I lobbied the House of Representatives and got pledges from some kind-hearted solons. I begged. We just can’t forego the scheduled chemo.
Twelve hours after the chemo process, we got the clearance that Papa can now go home. His tolerance to chemo drugs was noteworthy that time. We are in high spirit, caressing every single hope that we could get in hand.
We left the hospital Thursday evening and allowed him to recuperate the whole Friday. I booked him for his Bicol trip Saturday afternoon with my sister. He just wanted to be home so badly. His attending physician gave her approval.
Finally, he felt so home on that Sunday. He’s with Mama at long last with the rest of my siblings, relatives and his work colleagues. I made a call, giving them instruction to take things carefully. Stress should be avoided as instructed.
Somehow, I felt relieved back here in Manila. That’s all what Papa wanted — to be home. Again for the very first time, I had the best sleep of my life ever. No waking ups at wee hours, no medicine intake to attend to and I missed doing my work which, temporarily, had been put on the back seat.
I worked eagerly that Monday. I owe my work a lot but asking feedback from my sister religiously in between. Everything’s just so fine not until Monday evening when Papa experienced severe chills and declined food intake at all. Sensing another post-chemo effect, I advised Mama to “tolerate” everything but carefully put their eyes on Papa keenly. Half past midnight when my sister gave me a call that I missed. I managed, however, sending replies to her SMS sent as early as 4AM. Everything’s wrong as she had it. It’s no longer a post-chemo effect. Papa’s half-breathing and failed to get a sleep the whole 48 hours.
Hastily, I called up his physician but cannot get through her line. I started to panic and started to entertain the worst idea. Calmly as I could, I managed to maintain my composure and reported to office, do my routines and called my sister again at 10AM. She’s calm too, saying that Papa’s sleeping. I sighed. I felt relieved.
Before lunchtime, I got a call from his physician, asking what went wrong. Ironically, she’s asking me to send Papa back to NKTI. She forgot, I assumed, that she gave her approval of having him back to Bicol. And so I reminded her. I promised to get back to her ASAP should things go beyond the board.
Nth times I am calling my sister to relay the physician’s instructions. I got no answer and so I tried other lines. I got SMS instead that caused me trembling. Papa’s BP dropped and allegedly, no longer breathing and has been rushed to the local hospital. I felt some weight on my shoulder. That cold feeling too. I am walking in no direction. I could hear my phone ringing but can’t find the courage to press the answer key. It rung countless times. All I wanted is a hug because the cold is killing me. Down the office hallway, I broke down I felt like I traveled so far.
I got back to my senses. Slowly, I am reading my sister’s SMS, Papa left us. He’s dead.
He stopped breathing en route to the hospital. He was pronounced dead on arrival.
I felt deceived. That all our struggles ended up futile; that all the entailed sacrifices failed to sufficed prolonging his life or at best, getting him cured. We obeyed the rules but the cancer played the game the other way around.
July 22 last year, I lost the man I am greatly indebted, the man with myriad of visions for us, his family, and yet is now constrained himself up from the heaven looking down upon us. We could now only console ourselves with the fact that he’s now free from whatever form of earthly sufferings and would no longer hate the pains and inconveniences of the disease.
My homecoming will never ever be the same again without Papa. I had my worst Christmas homecoming last year. The acceptance took time and the pain still lingers on. Gradually, we are giving ourselves a favor of moving on, of moving forward without him. Still, we have life to celebrate at and love to share with.
The lost enriched me. It brought about bold changes the way I look at the horizon. It gave some defining lines bordering pain and acceptance, forgiving and letting go. It was a well-fought- five-month battle with Lymphoma and that he failed though at the end, he triumphed on delivering the purpose of his death to us, his most beloved family.
I’ll be home come 22nd of July for his first death anniversary.
You know how much I missed you, Pa!
jansen