Quality time

Thanks to the world wide web, our long lost classmates have now been found.

At first, it was just touching base.

The congratulations on achievements and the birthday greetings that popped up as reminders of how old we have become were happy reminders that we celebrate another fulfilled year or another year battling with some chronic disease.

A fair reminder are the pictures that accompany these greetings in both our Yahoo group photo buckets and in Facebook.

As we rekindled our acquaintances, we found out that like a double-edged sword, it also brought bad news as well.

Some of our classmates have met their maker - sooner than most of us who still get to read the news trails.

Lately, the group messages have become morbid.

The father of so on and so forth, the mother of so on and so forth, the sister or brother of so on and so forth have passed away. One of my batch mates in med school (Beth Solang) had posted in the email trail a startling, but real message - "some of our parents are in final stretch of this journey on earth."

That struck a nerve. Many, if not all of us, owe a lot to our parents. Not only because they sacrificed so much for us, but because they are (or were) the foundation and bedrock and inspiration for us all (to quote Evelyn Musni). They are the reason why we are where we are today. I guess, it's also the reason why we remain inspired to do good and to take the road less traveled...in rearing our children and providing for them in return for the care and love they shared with us.

Today is Tuesday. It's my regular day off. It's the only day of the week that I don't work and I kick back from all the stress in my very busy career to spend a day with my mom, whom I fondly call INANG. I have done this since my dad passed away over 15 years ago. One of my fave students, Rhona, coins my day off as TUESDAYS WITH NANAY!

When I read the email message of Beth, I was having lunch with INANG in the mall. I took a second look at my mom's feeble hands. The white hairs sprouting out of her head. The wrinkles on her peaceful face. The gusto when she put that spoonful of Arrabiatta pasta in her mouth. That was when the chord struck.

How many of us still spend some quality time with our parents who probably are in that homestretch of their journey?

While we probably are embroiled in the busy schedules we have in our successful careers, it's a fair reminder that we are all travelers in the journey of life. That we need to stop and smell the roses. That what we earn today, we will never bring to the after life. That life is beautiful and each day is painted more colorful by the quality of time we give to those whom we love the most.

Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow is another day. No one knows if we will still live another day to make amends for all the regrets when we or our loved ones are gone.

As the song goes, yesterday is dead and gone.

[photo from guardian.co.uk]

Alone

I have an uncle who has advanced prostatic cancer.

He's been battling with it for the last 2 1/2 years. And he is single at the age of 66.

Initially, he was in denial, but a few months ago, he accepted his fate. A tad too late, though.

Some of us in the family have chipped in for his medications for palliative relief from the pain and the infections that have come and gone.

In the meantime, his condition continues to deteriorate.

Last Saturday night, I received a call from my resident informing me that he was in the ER. He was conducted by ambulance. He had passed the house of his brother to ask him to accompany him. My other uncle declined. So my uncle ended up in the ER alone. My resident had called me to ask me if I was willing to sign consent for procedures and other responsibilities for him. I told her that my relatives should be contacted for this as I am his nephew and not the primary person responsible for his welfare. Understanding the legalities and ethics of medical practice, my remaining unreliable relatives might end up suing me for taking care of him.

The remaining living relatives residing in the Philippines had actually abandoned all care for my uncle. It was not a matter of caring for him in his time of need. It was about financial matters. (I will not delve on the complicated issue and story of the life of my relatives. That is not worthy of this blog.)

The following day, I went to the hospital to check on him.

It was sad that he was sitting in a hospital bed all alone. When I saw him, I was drawn by so much pity. He was very ill and all alone. I asked my resident Osang to accompany me to him. I was touched by the fact that the clerks, interns, and Medical Residents at UST had taken the time out to buy him food and lend him their mobile phones so that he could contact his siblings. But they all did not want to come. And I had to break the news to him. No one was coming. Then he became teary-eyed and held my hand.

This was the scene I wanted to avoid.

I could not imagine how flesh and blood could abandon someone who is dying.

It was not about the finances. That was the easier part. Parting with hard earned money was something that could easily be replaced. But the emotional support to someone who is your brother at a time when he would need all this family support seemed to have broken down completely. While my other relatives may have financial difficulties at this time, the responsibility of caring for him emotionally was theirs. Providing consent to procedures was theirs as well. It blew my mind that one of my uncles had called me that morning to ask me to just go there and see what he needed and settle everything. Their excuse was that they didn't have the time.

Didn't have the time...

After settling all the accounts at the hospital and giving him money to buy medicines and some other things he may need, he could be sent home.

I blog about this because a part of me died that day.

It pained me to see that even family had little meaning when it came to financial challenges like these. We can always prepare for a life of luxury, but when an illness strikes us, where is our family? How can we be so selfish?

That Sunday morning, I wondered where my uncle drew the strength to continue his battle with cancer in spite of how his brothers treated him.

That Sunday morning, I found the real definition to the term ALONE.

I pray that everyone who leads a life like my uncle, will somehow draw strength from the others like my clerks, intern, nurses, and residents...who took the time to care.

Strangely, it is the nameless people in the crowd who cared more than those who you lived your whole life with.

Being alone is the worst kind of exit we have in this life. Being alone, means losing meaning to everything we lived for. It is the ultimate taste of hell while still being alive.

The eulogy

It's not just because All Saint's Day and All Soul's Day is around the corner that I blog about death.

The last month alone, I had several friends and/or their parents who have gone to the other side of the world. There are no words to describe the outpouring of sympathy for them. As I have always said, it is the ones we leave behind that are left traumatized or emotionally scarred by the untimely demise...gone too soon.

The email groups were flooded with memories of classmates and schoolmates that we once shared our laughters, joys, and tears with. Flashbacks into lives of where we were and where destiny has led us.

I recently bought the new CD of Trijnte Oosterhuis (Traincha) a favorite artist of mine. Many of the songs in her new album were songs of Michael Jackson. One that struck me and left me teary eyed and staring at a blank wall for a few minutes (no I did not have a seizure episode!) was the song entitled "Gone Too Soon".

I have copied the lyrics and uploaded the YouTube version of Traincha's 3:25 minutes rendition.

Like a comet
Blazing 'cross the evening sky
Gone too soon

Like a rainbow
Fading in the twinkling of an eye
Gone too soon

Shiny and sparkly
And splendidly bright
Here one day
Gone one night

Like the loss of sunlight
On a cloudy afternoon
Gone too soon

Like a castle
Built upon a sandy beach
Gone too soon

Like a perfect flower
That is just beyond your reach
Gone too soon

Born to amuse, to inspire, to delight
Here one day

Gone one night

Like a sunset
Dying with the rising of the moon
Gone too soon
Gone too soon

I hope you enjoyed listening to it as much as I did. It is, in so many words, the eulogy to those who have crossed this world to a more peaceful place...home.

Alone

I was watching an episode of Private Practice the other night.

The series featured the plot between life and death. A baby born with diaphragmatic hernia where an immediate surgical procedure would be needed. A matter of life and death. But the baby was being delivered to a mother who had already decided that the baby would be given up for adoption. And she refused to decide on the fate of her baby and would leave that decision to the adopting parents. But the adopting parents had opted not to adopt the baby. Which left the plot requiring a resolution.

The most touching part of the episode was the doctor who was dying of pancreatic cancer. On his last days, he wanted to just go home to die. Two colleagues were there to provide him company and comfort in his last few days. He had little options, and he wanted to die.

The "assisted death" was one of the most moving scenes I ever saw. When the doctor had injected himself with a large dose of morphine, he was more than willing to die. Then at the brink of death, he began having second thoughts. It was then that he expressed to his colleagues how lonely he was. And how it terrified him to die - alone. And that he wanted to live. He begged for another chance. Dying alone was his greatest fear.

Alone.

One is such a lonely number.

It is my most feared scenario as well. At the end of the day, when I crawl to bed, I feel the loneliness seeping in.

Many of the escapes we have in life provide us the temporary exit out of the myriad of problems we face each day. Going on a vacation, changing jobs, moving to far away places, changing partners, buying things - often provide us the "distraction" from facing real life decisions and ending up with "peace of mind".

The greatest step we make towards sanity is facing life the way it is presented to us. Full of challenges and yet disappointing. An escapist life is not fulfilling. You only run away from problems and end up losing yourself in the process.

Wherever life takes us, we cannot live regretting that we could have made it right, when we were given the opportunity to. There may be misgivings and heartaches, indecisive moments driven by past hurts and pains, but nothing falls short of realizing that it can be resolved by a simple text message or a hand of forgiveness and reconciliation that is just within our reach. Even if it means having to swallow our pride, we did our part.

We do not need to be alone.

Let me share with you (even those who are non-Catholics), a short prayer I say each morning. It has become a ritual, but it has helped me through the best and worst days of my life. You may want to try a little prayer. Each morning as you start your day, in the solace of your home, instead of being ALONE, whisper this prayer.

It is "peace of mind" for free!

"Dear God, as I begin this day, let me turn to you and ask your help in everything that I say and do.

Give the patience that I need to keep my peace of mind, and with life's cares, I hope, Dear God, some happiness to find.

Let me live but for today, not knowing what's ahead, for I trust that you will see, I get my daily bread.

Give me the courage to face life's trials and not from troubles run. Let me keep this thought in mind, Your will not mine be done.

And if some wish I do not get, though I have prayed to thee, let me keep in mind, you know what's best for me.

I've failed you many times I know, but when tonight I rest, I hope that I can kneel and say, dear God, I've done my best."

One day more

I have a friend who's dying.

At the prime of his life, he has been diagnosed to have cancer. Non-smoker, non-drinker, a family man - good provider, husband and father. It started as a bad cough. It must have just been a cold that wouldn't go away. In a recent trip abroad, the symptoms worsened. He experienced difficulty in breathing.

A few days after his return, the cough worsened. His wife was worried but he didn't get to see a doctor until he collapsed at work.

At 30 years old, it was a shock to his family that he was diagnosed to have lung cancer. There was bone metastasis already.

The doctors and family huddled together to talk about chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and surgery. The prognosis was poor, but technology was advanced. They could prolong his life and the new protocols for this type of cancer were promising.

In the confines of his hospital, my friend was asking many questions. Why him? What did he do wrong? What did he do to deserve this? Was he not a good person? He wanted to live. He wanted to see his little 3 year old girl enter nursery school this coming school year. He wanted to experience more out of life.

Ironically, he was not asking about the treatment protocols.

He was asking why him?

Then tears began to flow. Normally, my talkative self would give a lot of heart warming advices on being strong, putting yourself together, hang in there, fight for your life and all that rah-rah perk up your spirit talk.

But he made sense. Why him? All these talk about treatment protocols and options would only prolong the agony, not to mention the financial burden it would put on his family. The truth of the matter is - science cannot explain everything. And science cannot have a solution to everything.

Truth be told, the prognosis was grim. Even with the new protocols, the chance for survival with metastasis was less than 10% for 6 months.

He comes from a well-to-do family. And they can afford the treatment protocol. His parents were at his bedside, providing encouraging words. That it would be alright. That this was simply a setback. The doctors were explaining the treatment regimen to him.

He simply looked away. He was staring at space and at the blank walls.

My friend has never left the hospital, a month after his diagnosis. He has undergone chemotherapy and radiotherapy. When I went to visit him the other day, he was all shriveled, pale, and gaunt. He was hanging in there.

He gave me a smile, a tear, and I couldn't help but smile back and shed a tear as well.

I told him to hang in there. Take one day at a time. You have come this far, one day more my friend.

He smiled and weakly said thank you. And then replied,

"I want to die..."