My vision oscillated and my whole body trembled with indescribable pain. I tried to steady myself, to no avail. With a deafening crash, my body hit the cold linoleum tiles, shivered, and went limp.
With both my parents quivering beside me, I was the frail and feeble 16-year-old that was being rushed to the nearest hospital on a Tuesday afternoon. I was brought to Mother Seton Hospital, known for its low-spirited and wistful atmosphere, which had been the scene of so many griefs. The paramedics quickly parked the ambulance and took me out. I was taken immediately to the emergency room, to request for a room to stay in. The suffocating smell of bleach and antiseptic wafted through the air, before permeating into my nostrils. The people in the room had as much temperament as the rest of the hospital. Sluggish patients on wheelchairs were crammed inside, with only a handful of them being tended by their own families. I guess I was lucky enough to get a bed after waiting for almost two hours in an overcrowded room. A nurse checked my vitals while my parents described my symptoms to a medical resident. I decided to sleep.
When I woke up, the doctor had already arrived. He asked me questions about my condition. My parents were panic-stricken when the doctor told them that I will be moved to the Infectious Diseases Section. As the words left his mouth, I felt myself and my parents’ spirits wilt a little bit.
I was moved to the Infectious Diseases Section, a place dripping with unimaginable horrors. I had to wear a mask while passing through the hallway, where patients in different ages and sizes tried to take a peek at me, their bloodshot eyes devoid of showing emotion. I had eye contact with some of them, and it was like staring at mannequins, their dull eyes not evoking any sign of feeling whatsoever. When I had arrived at the room, the nurses had to transfer me to the rigid bed, since I did not have the power to even stand up on my own. My parents hastily set up all our belongings in the room.
After two excruciating days, my parents finally met the doctors assigned to my medical condition. But before that, I had to undergo a painful series of laboratory examinations and injections to find out what was wrong with me. X-ray, CT Scan, and MRI Scan, some of the many diagnostic tests I had to take to identify my illness.
Just when things could not get any worse, my illness suddenly became more serious. The doctors diagnosed my condition as Viral Encephalitis. My eyes became droopier. My eyesight was slowly losing its clear vision. My body could only lie down to sustain my strength. No matter what I eat, no matter how small it is, my body refuses the food and gets it out of my system, I blow chunks. Consequently, my body became scrawnier. My parents were terrified with what they have seen. Tears came, and fell. There was not a day that I did not cry because of what I was going through. My doctors were extremely worried also. I had to take more than five drugs to combat the virus inside my body. We lay stricken and sleepless as the days passed.
“Ma, sorry ma ta arog ako ka ini, ginigibo ko man gabos ma, pero dae ako nararahay,” I sobbed after puking for the umpteenth time. I was ashamed that they had to pay a hefty sum of money for my healing. I knew that they could not afford it, that every single day that passes by means more expenses for them. But they said it was okay. I should not worry about the costs, just focus on recovering.
My mother and father had a hard time dividing their time between me and my other siblings, especially since I was confined in the hospital. Even though they tried to hide it, I could still notice that they were extremely exhausted. From that day onward, I decided to help my parents through the only way possible — by fighting The Virus.
With a dumbbell in hand, I did what terrified me the most: I charged against The Enemy. Whether it be through attempting to stand on my own bare feet, learning how to eat soft food without puking, or by practicing impunity to the sting of an injection, I was hell-bent on eradicating the virus out of my body. And I was so happy when my family and friends also joined the fight. We prayed until our heads ached. And when we were certain we could not do another prayer, we still did, and then did another, and then another. Day by day, they see me improve. My doctors flashed me huge smiles when they check my condition. Nurses also gave me pep talks when I’m about to be injected. The paramedics wished me luck every time I go to another hospital for an examination. Each and every single individual that helped me conquered my illness is the sole reason why my heart still keeps beating. After three weeks in the hospital, at last, I was able to finally see the outside world again.
