My Story

More than a crutch

2011-11-21T04:36:00.001-08:00

Jesus is not my crutch, HE'S my wheelchair! - Jesus Daily

The piano and my handicap

2011-09-27T20:34:00.000-07:00

One of my passion when I was young was playing the Piano. It was my dream to learn it and become a pianist. I didn't know you had to have good and strong hands and arms to do that. MY piano lessons ended after a year. I discovered I couldn't stretch my arm far enough to do a roll and play the keys at both ends of the piano. It was very frustrating nevertheless I still learned to read notes and play a few pieces.

Unfortunately, our piano has been out of tune for ages now so here I am on our keyboard (set to piano) playing the only piece i still know how to do - Vincent" by Don Mclean. Notice my left hand fingers not bending and stiff? Part of the deformity I got from my paralysis. I haven't played in a long time so excuse the few fumbles.

My Redeemer lives (The Hoyt Team)

2011-08-18T23:11:00.000-07:00

My nephew Patrick Flores asked me what's my favorite song and I told him, when he went home he looked it up on youtube and he posted this video on Facebook. My nephew is 11. Please watch and be moved because this moved me :)

Love is blind

2011-05-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

Here's an incredible story you guys need to read. A story of love, courage and overcoming disability.It will bless you.

Click here - Love is blind

Note: Now who's to say people with disabilities can't have all that?

Thanking my friend Dodi Short for the link to this story.

Not "Death" but "Love"

2011-02-16T22:58:00.000-08:00

It’s February and who says people with disabilities should be left out in the ‘love’ month? Not at all….

I thought once how Theocritus had sung

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,

Who each one in a gracious hand appears

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,

The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung

A shadow across me.  Straightway I was ’ware,

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;

And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,—

“Guess now who holds thee!”—“Death,” I said, But, there,

The silver answer rang, “Not Death, but Love.”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) is now best remembered for her "Sonnets from the Portuguese," a cycle of sonnets during her courtship with Robert Browning. In fact however, she was an accomplished poet before she met Browning. Most of her poems were not about romantic love. They were topical poems about political issues such as child labor, slavery and the Italian national cause. Elizabeth Barrett was a "hopeless" invalid and recluse, six years older than Robert Browning. They were happily married and had a son. The fame of the poets, and the fairy-tale story of the girl who was thought to be doomed to be an old maid, rescued from a loveless existence and brought back to life and the world by a gallant suitor, kindled the imagination of the public.

Chris Medina - Break even (a beautiful love story)

2011-01-30T03:53:00.000-08:00

This story really touched my heart. This is what 'LOVE' is supposed to be all about...

It's so easy to find a man who falls for beauty, you can buy them a cent at the store but one who would love and commit to a handicap woman, like myself, is a rare gem, and that's the one I want!.

Romance in the chair

2010-12-06T05:11:00.000-08:00

If I have a van and a power chair like that, I'd be working like a regular employee in any company.

Empowering people with disabilities

2010-07-21T20:40:00.000-07:00

On July 24, 2010, BloggersUnite is asking bloggers and writers around the world to use their voices to raise awareness about empowering people with disabilities. Participating is easy. Simply share a story about living with a disability, working to empower people with disabilities, or supporting an organization that empowers people with disabilities. On the event page, you will find links to resources like events, organizations, articles, badges and more. We encourage you to get involved in your community by participating in a local event, or supporting an organization that empowers people with disabilities by volunteering or helping them raise funds. Then, write about it!

5 Inspiring stories you should know about

2010-06-23T19:06:00.000-07:00

Five inspiring stories I’ve featured on both here and my other blog (and some from a friend’s) that you might have missed.

The woman who touched the world
Joni Ericson Tada - the quadriplegic woman who rose above the tragedy that rendered her paralyzed for life. She can only move her head but she’s starred in a movie, she paints, has her own albums and married.

Nick Vujicic – Get back up
The incredible story (with a video) of a man born without limbs. This will make you cry and truly inspire you. After seeing this, you'll realize how blessed you are.

The blind who led the blind
Ann Sullian – the woman behind Helen Keller. Ann too suffered from a sight disability nevertheless, under her tutelage, she mentored one of the most amazing and remembered woman in history.
Wheelchair Bodybuilding: Rich Knapp
A competitive bodybuilder in a wheelchair. Read his story and be motivated!

Graduate speech to remember Eric Duquette
Diagnosed with autism and learned to talk only when he was five but graduated Salutatorian in his high school class.

Check them out and if these stories do not touch and encourage you at all, I don’t know what else would.

The song that will be with me forever

2010-05-30T07:02:00.000-07:00

So my dad kept watch that night and we had our moment. As I lied there, unmoving but with eyes open and much aware of things, he took out a piece of paper where something was written and then he began to sing acapella…

When you’re weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all, I’m on your side
Oh when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you're down and out, when you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you.
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes,
And pain is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will lay me down,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will lay me down.

Sail on silver girl, sail on by,
Your time has come to shine,
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind.

…near the end of the song, his voice cracked and his tears fell and met mine. I felt so guilty, I didn’t want mom and dad to be so sad, so hurt, so burdened (yes, children do blame themselves a lot for everything that happens in the family) . I wanted to comfort him, to say it will be all right but I couldn’t say a word and I was only eight.

---------
When I die, I want this song played as they lay me to rest.

Richard Knapp (One inspiring interview)

2010-04-13T20:01:00.000-07:00

Here's the story of a man who was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis back in the 80s but instead of succumbing to self pity and the disease, he not only fought back but made something great out of it.

Here's an interview a friend of mine did with him. Be inspired!

They fixed the ramp! (a good update news related to my accident)

2010-03-24T23:10:00.000-07:00

I remember talking to the Administration Engineer who came with us to the orthopedic hospital when I had my cast, speaking for other handicap people like myself who might meet the same accident on that ramp, telling him to make sure the mall have the ramp fixed.

I said, it’s a good thing it’s me who had that accident there, it could be someone who’d be more than willing to sue the mall for negligence on their part to make sure their facilities are safe for people with disability. It would not only cost the mall a huge amount of money for damages but he too, could lose his job.

I don’t know if that got to him or he really felt responsible for )it's his job after all) what happened to me that he had the work done fast on the mentioned broken ramp for PWDs (People with disability). My brother tells me, they’ve fixed the broken ramp.

God is good! Now nobody (hopefully) will ever go through the same accident in that area again. IF only all the public places with provisions for the disabled will learn the same lesson, we will make life one more step easier for people like me.

My freak accident: Cast off (the final post on this) Part VI

2010-03-14T21:06:00.001-07:00

Like I said before, the next time I write here, my cast will be off and it is, so I’m a happy woman today!

Thank you all for following the story, for the prayers, the texts of concern and the encouragements! God bless you! Although the bone still needs to completely heal, I’m on the road to that. I’m just so glad I won’t be dragging this ‘green thing’ around anymore and will start to get my life back to normal again.

I’ll be able to attend church (I miss the kids and class so much). I’d be able to move around more and be less dependent. I could see my dad is happy too and he’s also gotten well.

I praise God for the healing and lastly, let me just say my mom is the greatest!

My freak accident (patience, perseverance and grace) Part IV

2010-03-01T20:20:00.000-08:00

I confess to not being very patient. Despite years of working with children, I should’ve some mastery of it by now but being honest, I’m poor at it, specially, with myself. When I want to accomplish something, I want it now, if not, I’d give up or lose interest while in the process of waiting. Something I really need to improve on.

When I wanted the cast off, I wanted it off two days after the leg was wrapped. That’s how impatient I am at times. And all I can think of after those two days is seeing my leg again without the green ‘thing’. I tried counting the weeks, three, two, one more….I’m supposed to keep the cast for at least 6-8 weeks and as of this writing, I’m on my 26th day with it and the thought of two more weeks is driving me insane. Hopefully, the x-ray will reveal I won’t have to wait two more weeks.

But I must perseveringly press on (James 1:2-4 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.). Although I’ve made some speed progress and because the leg doesn’t hurt as much anymore, I can move with little pain now but I’m still far from where I was before the cast. And not only must I re-learn to do things differently for now (with a cast leg), I also have to be strong for the parents. Dad got so affected by what happened (so affected he bought me a new computer! Not bad huh?). So at times, when I’m just about to break down, I can’t. I have to hold the fort for the family who only hurts because they love me.

I’m able to keep a straight face and a hopeful spirit just only because of God’s grace. The truth is I don’t know how I manage but it seems I do. I'm confident in the Lord. I've seen His faithfulness all m life.

I bet the next time I post about this the cast will be gone.

My freak accident (life at home with a cast) PART III

2010-02-16T21:24:00.000-08:00

Continuing where I left off…

My last post had me ending this series talking about a road trip with the family and I’m back from that trip and looking forward to a long hopeful four more weeks of cast at home.

The first few days with the wrapped leg at home were truly arduous. It was difficult enough not being able to walk and move freely like normal people before the accident and now, I have to drag a fiberglass cast that’s about twice heavier than my own leg. Add to that, the fractured bone and the daily swelling episodes when evening comes.

For the last many years now, I’ve become independent in the house; do whatever I want alone and whenever I want. The rest of the family can go on with their businesses without having to worry about me. In my house, I’m like a walking person. The only thing I can’t do there is climb stairs (I live in a three-story building and hibernates on the second floor)

Now, with a cast, I need assistance when moving or transferring from my chair to the bed or any other parts of the house. I can move and transfer myself but someone has to assist and move my cast leg. During showers, I have to elevate my right foot and keep water from getting in the cast. Everything I do takes twice the effort and time now but by God’s grace (and being honest), I haven’t broken down yet.

It’s going to be a few weeks more of this but I know soon I’d be free from this heavy burden. This morning, I was able to get from the bed to my chair alone and later in the day, will try from the chair to the bed. So I’m not just coping with the cast but also making progress with the cast.

From this experience I realize being in a wheelchair without a cast is so much better than being in a wheelchair with one, made me appreciate my life before the accident more though there wasn’t much of it even then.

My freak accident (The injury) PART II

2010-02-09T20:38:00.000-08:00

Continuation….

The crowd started to thicken but I couldn’t see well because my glasses flew along with my fall. Good thing they didn’t break and nobody stepped on them. The guards radioed and we were assisted to the clinic right away.

The mall clinic nurses (two of them, pretty ones I noticed) were already alerted and informed of what happened before we got there. One of them checked my BP and it was 190 over 140 (That’s high – probably due to the shock and pain I was put through). I’ve no hypertension history. They gave me a pain killer and started cold compress on the injured leg.

We all thought, including me, that it was really nothing that my leg just got sprained or twisted. There was no sign of trauma, no swelling, discoloration, not even a bruise. It just hurt when moved. Nevertheless the nurses recommended an x-ray.

We had lunch and lots of food before we went to get an x-ray. One of the nurses suggested they eat without me and just leave me in the clinic, bring my food there but no way! Not going to miss lunch with family, NOT at Gerry’s grill! We were all hopeful it’s nothing. By this time, the pain killer was working so my leg hurt very little so I thought everything was just ok.

They referred us to the ‘medical city’ inside the mall and I had my x-ray there. I’m touched by my brothers’ support and show of love and concern. What a blessed girl being closely assisted by two good looking fellows (my brothers). While the rest of the family waited outside, the 3 of us went for the x-ray. The transfer from the chair to the x-ray bed was excruciating. MY baby brother supported my back as I leaned on him, sitting on the x-ray table while my other brother supported my injured leg on the film plate. I guess one set wasn’t enough so they had us do it again after a few minutes.

The shocking revelation

How surprised we were to see a 5 inches diagonal line crossing the tibia of my right leg. It’s called a hair line fracture or an oblique, closed fracture. It showed very clearly on the x-ray film, you won’t need a doctor to interpret the result, you can see it yourself. The nurses said I would probably need a cast for it.

I didn’t want a cast. I only wanted a splint and a stronger pain killer. I’ve been through worse than this and thinking this pain would be nothing compared to the pain I had to endure during my first therapies when I first got paralyzed. I just wanted to go home and was certain in a few days this leg will be alright BUT my brother convinced me to have it cast. He said the line fracture crossed the bone so if I don’t have it cast and I accidentally leaned on it or one more fall, the bone could break in two. He also said it’ll take longer to heal if not cast AND I might not be able to go with them to the trip if it becomes too painful to move it. No way, I’m letting this trip pass, I’ve let so many chances in my life pass and regret each one so NO, I’m braving this one…and with that I succumbed to having my leg cast.

They took me to the clinic one more time before we left for the National Orthopedic Hospital. They gave me another pain killer and took my BP. And it's gone down to 150 over 100. Still a bit high for my normal BP but understandable under the circumstances.

To be continued…

My freak accident (what really happened) PART I

2010-02-07T17:59:00.000-08:00

(As you all know or maybe not yet, I'm already in a wheelchair before this accident happened, since I was 8.)

MY dad was going to treat the whole family to lunch at the mall and we were all just excited and thrilled - a pre-gathering before our family road trip up north a week after my accident.

We parked just a few meters across the entrance of the mall. MY dad was the one with me when it happened. The irony of it was that the accident happened at a ramp for disabled people and I’m disabled!

We were about to go up the ramp (only a foot high) and my dad gathered his strength to push me up the ramp but failed to notice the damaged part of the ramp, a crater just before the climb (obviously, negligence on the part of the mall building administrators and engineers). The smaller front wheels of my chair got caught in the crack and the impact threw me off my chair and into the ground! It happened very fast and so unexpected.

I could’ve survived that fall, in fact I’ve no bruises or any other injury except the fracture, BUT my legs got entangled. My right foot (the most paralyzed limb in my body) got caught under my left leg and the ankle bended the wrong direction, the pain just had me scream my lungs out!

The guards (2 of them) and my dad panicked and picked me up instantly (Guys, don’t ever do this if you ever see an accident. Let the victim lie on the ground unless the patient would be in greater danger there until medical personnel arrive – maybe try calming down the patient, asking what hurts so you’ll know where to not touch). I couldn’t mouth the words “Don’t touch me!” because a scream was all I could manage from all that pain. They failed to get me on the chair the first time, so they tried again and each time, I squealed like a pig when they moved me, each time I clutched my right leg to protect it from further damage.

(The story doesn’t end here but this is all I can manage for now. I can’t stay long on the computer yet, I have to move and elevate my leg to keep blood circulation – doctor’s advice. Thank you for reading and continue to pray for me.)

To be continued…

Faqs (Frequently asked questions)

2009-12-24T19:37:00.000-08:00

People ask me all kinds of questions, curious about how a handicap person lives her life. Children come up with the most unexpected ones.

Here are some of my favorites from them and the ‘not so young’ ones:

(from kids)

Q. HOW DO YOU SLEEP?

A. With eyes closed.

Q. DO YOU SLEEP SITTING?

A. Hey, If I could sleep standing up I would but I can’t even do that awake.

Kids tend to think I do everything in my wheelchair, sleep there, shower there, everything there like my butt is super glued to the seat. It’s hard for them to picture the teacher on a sofa or lying down on the bed unless the chair is in the bed too and I’m still attached to it. For all the children’s information out there (and adults too), I do get out of my chair.

Q. HOW DO YOU SHOWER?

A- I soap and rinse.

Q. CAN YOU BRUSH YOUR HAIR?

A. Does that mean my hair look bad? Yes! I can brush my hair. I can brush my teeth too.

(Adults)

Q. DON’T YOU GET LONELY?

A. Who doesn’t?

Seriously, yes! Yes! Yes I do. Despite my seemingly positive disposition and outlook in life, my loving family, very good friends, great church, amazing God, I still get lonely.

Q. DON’T YOU GET BORED?

A. I do and this post proves it.

I have Sunday school classes and church works. I have many hobbies I’m into to keep me from being idle but it’s seeing the same corners that get to me sometimes. So I need to go to the mall once in a while just to see other walls. And other people...haha

Q. DON’T YOU GET TIRED SITTING?

A. Yes, I do. Sometimes I just want to fall off and roll.

Those are just a few of a zillion other questions people come up with to ask me. Sometimes I’m surprised how people incorrectly think, perceive or read me (or people like me). I don’t take it against anyone who does. Unless you’ve been in the same chair, you couldn’t possibly fully understand and that’s okay, and asking maybe is the only way to know and understand. As long as you don’t ask ASL, we’ll be fine.

The no. 1 Question:

Q. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?

A. Click here

MY STORY

2008-07-22T04:09:00.000-07:00

(As was told in a former blog - in prequels and sequels)

“A mysterious illness left me paralyzed from the neck down. I lost my voice and communication was reduced to questions answerable by ‘yes and ‘no’ only. I replied by winking, a quick eye bat meant ‘no’ and two meant ‘yes’. I was only eight years old.”

Prequel

Dad built us a shanty under one of our mango trees. I was seven and my brother was six. If you don’t find us down there, we’re probably in another tree, climbing the brick fence or trying to get on top of Chikie’s (our hog) roof (yeah, we once lived with a swine). Hey, she was a good pig you know. I, personally, prefer a corner with a book until the light goes out but my brother would lose his mind if he remained still for a few seconds (apparently even when asleep) so we were always moving. If not running, walking, if not walking, jumping from the sofa to the floor, from the floor to the sofa, from the sofa to the floor, as if there was nothing more to life than jumping back and forth. We were so shallow.

School was a refreshing break from the wired life with the brother at home. In school, I can sit still without disturbance, read, write and be the lethargic nerd I was already. In school I was the teacher’s pet, I was the favorite friend, I was popular. My teacher was an old gray-haired woman (Spanish looking) whom we all feared. She was good looking but had the face of a tiger. All she would do was write stuff on the blackboard and sit through the subjects. In no time I won her favor and got to use her long wooden stick (it was like the king’s scepter –lol- it symbolized authority and status – lol) and pat anyone I’d catch not paying attention to the lessons at hand. BUT with that privilege came the responsibility to lead the whole class to reading, using the teacher’s stick to point to words on the blackboard that a girl, less than four feet high, can’t reach yet, do flashcards, help them with their homeworks, check their assignments and help them in math??? (alright, I was smarter when I was eight). My teacher manipulated me into doing much of her work in class and her bait was her stick. To an eight year old, that didn’t matter. I have the ‘scepter’ (shallow and deluded - shakes head).

Weekends were a treat. Sunday meant Sunday school. Yes, I was an avid fan of it even then. MY brother and I would be up early, we’ll be dressed in clothes cut from the same fabric (that sucks) and we would walk a few kilometers to church an hour ahead of our parents. We walked because we didn’t know how to commute yet. I also had a wiz kid reputation there but that was all I felt I was worth. Of all places, it was in Sunday school where I first learned I’m not a pretty girl. I was short, skinny and brown and my hair is black. Back then you had to be a little chubby and foreign-looking to be considered pretty. And if you were not pretty, you can’t be an angel in the Christmas presentation. This I was told. Well, I’d rather jump from the sofa to the floor.

Prequel II (Bear with me)
-

Summer was approaching and school was ending. We were practicing our cub scout’s march for the coming “recognition Day”. The best of the bests will be honored with ribbons and little “Blue” had her name in one of them. But the thought of that is nothing compared to the thought of marching the cubs’ scout’s march, in cub-scout socks, green dress, yellow scarf around the neck, a hat and a cub-scout badge. I couldn’t wait to do the formations. I never made the march.

I can’t remember how many days in between it was from that unforgettable marching in school to that Friday morning our dad took us jogging (he would whenever he could). We’d go around the neighborhood, making our way around the cow dung that littered the street; our father said they were cakes (lol) and the goat droppings were raisins (shakes head at adults). We almost believed. That fateful day, I backed off from the traditional morning run, my lower back and butt area hurt abnormally. I just sat by the way side and waited for them to return. Who knew that was going to be my last shot at running?

The pain became unbearable that night. They stacked pillows under my legs so they’re propped up on top of them while I lay in the room. They were hurting so bad. I barely slept and just cried quietly. Even then I preferred to fight my battles alone. I collapsed the following morning trying to get to the rest room. My right leg was numb and it hurt to even just stand on it. It felt like my sole was being punctured with needles. I limped around the house on one leg the whole day. My mom was worried but angry. She said I was being too dramatic and should ignore the pain and force myself to walk on both legs or else it would worsen (sometimes she plays doctor). And it did.

On Sunday, three days after, both my legs were paralyzed and my dad took me to my uncle’s house where we met with their family doctor. He took out this hammer from somewhere (I thought he was going to beat me with it –lol) and gently, with minimal effort tapped my knees, I guess my legs were supposed to respond and kick him back (lol – ok, joking) but there was nothing. The doctor swiftly made a diagnosis (which later was contested by other doctors we saw), Polio.

On Monday, March - 1978, I was taken to a government hospital, where all the poor polio victims were getting free treatments (it was all we could afford and it sucked there big time!) and this was to be my home (or hell) for the next weeks to come.

Prequel III (Getting there)

The first day at the hospital was horrible. We had to stay in a crowded pediatric ward where there were more than ten patients at the time. Some were new too, some, almost ready to be shipped out. It was an unsettling place for an 8 year old who only knew home, school and church, and the people there. The strangers frightened me so, that mom had to be near, within sight at least or I’d start screaming in a fit of tears. I was now an invalid, couldn’t follow her around if she moved away, won’t be able to get up and run if there was going to be any danger. And for some unclear reason I felt I was every second, and her threats that she’d leave me if I don’t stop being a paranoid twit certainly didn’t help.

The first night at the hospital was worst than the first day at the hospital. My temperature soared high and I slipped in and out of delirium. I remember crying to my mom because my vision was doubling due to the fever and it scared me so. My mom cried along, panicky. I realize now how horrible all of it must have been for her too. She was only 27 and this was our first serious confinement. I had always been sickly but not like this, she hasn‘t seen me like this yet. She hasn’t experienced this before either.

What we thought were just a day or two of hospital stay turned into weeks of hospital stay, to a month. A nightmare we will both share for life. My condition grew worse and I developed a lung complication (Sorry if I can’t give a clearer diagnosis or definition) that needed me to be moved to the ICU room next to our ward.

There, I went downhill. I lost my voice and communication was reduced to questions answerable by ‘yes and ‘no’ only. I replied by winking, a quick eye bat meant ‘no’ and two meant ‘yes’.

The Sequel (Picking up where I left off at the beginning…)

The complication was Bronchopneumonia (at last my dad remembers!) and the doctors wanted to do a Tracheostomy (a tracheotomy or tracheostomy is a surgical procedure performed on the neck to open a direct airway through an incision in the trachea (the windpipe) but my parents refused. Immediate families already made funeral suggestions and my uncle who was then a minister in the church we used to go to, would bring his Bible when he visits, reads passages to me and even had me memorize John 3:16. Even though I couldn’t talk anymore, he said I could, in my mind, still remember God’s word.

The weeklong vigil on whether I will die or not began at the ICU room, where the dreaded respiratory machines and life-size oxygen tanks line up in a corner, waiting for the next expiration. By this time, I was slipping in and out of consciousness and breathing was laborious.

My mom took one night off from her watch after she had a quarrel with one of the nurses. Mom said that she saw her turn off my oxygen tank and no sooner when she stepped back, my mom turned it back (whatever it was that was turned –lol). She lashed out at the nurse and accused them of trying to speed up my death. Too bad I missed all that action.

So my dad kept watch that night and we had our moment. As I laid there, unmoving but with eyes open and much aware of things, he took out a piece of paper where something was written and then he began to sing acapella…

When you’re weary, feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all, I’m on your side
Oh when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you're down and out, when you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you.
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes,
And pain is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will lay me down,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will lay me down.

Sail on silver girl, sail on by,
Your time has come to shine,
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind,
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind.

…near the end of the song, his voice cracked and his tears fell and met mine. I felt so guilty, I didn’t want mom and dad to be so sad, so hurt, so burdened (yes, children do blame themselves a lot for everything that happens in the family) . I wanted to comfort him, to say it will be all right but I couldn’t say a word and I was only eight.

Sequel II (Almost done)

My condition continued to plunge. At times I’d have seizures or convulsions (concluded that base on how she describes them). At last, after dancing around the bed for days now, death was finally closing in and thought he had it sacked. I turned blue and seemed to have stopped breathing, my mom turned away, to the door and prayed. She didn’t want to watch me die and she’s accepted it. Everyone else has. This was the time to let go.

She waited. My dad wasn’t there; there was just her and God, me and the gurgling oxygen tank that was quieting down. But something happened, something so unexpected! She heard the sweetest voice she hadn’t heard in a while; mine – I called out for water!!! I remember waking up so thirsty, like I’d just jumped up and down and ran a marathon. Mom’s heart leaped as hope filled the room. A miracle was sent from heaven! I wasn’t only alive; I was also speaking!

We stayed at the ICU room for a few more days. My condition had improved but not enough to earn a ticket out. Seven children died in that room before I was there. But I wasn’t going to be number eight. One mid day, a day or two before I was transferred back to the ward, an older man, a big one, was wheeled in the room. He just had a Tracheostomy. He didn’t make it to the respiratory machine, he died right there, the eighth victim.

My mom gained a little reputation in the ward after that. What was her secret? What did she do? What was the ritual? What kept me alive? A 2 year-old boy in the same ward who was checking out in a few days suddenly fell terribly ill. That night he was at the ICU, his grandmother asked my mom to watch over him and do whatever it was she did to me to keep him breathing. He died the next morning. It was measles, the ninth victim.

Sequel III
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Three more weeks passed, I missed the cub-scout march, the “Recognition Day”, the school competition where 15 of us were chosen to represent the school. I still got my ribbon despite my weeks of absences but what is that worth to me now? After everything that happened, what’s a piece of ribbon now? Or even the teacher’s stick? All I wanted was to go home and leave that awful place. Mom said I was going to get better, that I’d be walking home.

The day finally came BUT I wasn’t hopping and jumping in the cab. I was worse than when I first came in. This was not how I pictured it! They said I was going to get better! I was angry, I was frustrated, for the first time, I was hopeless. “Such liars!” I thought, “Why don’t they just tell me the truth that I’m never going to walk? Why did they give me such false hope?” Mom had to fasten her arm around me to keep me from falling forward or sideways in the backseat. My left hand was deformed, my shoulders drooped, the left side of my stomach bloated like a balloon when I coughed or exerted any effort, I couldn’t even fold my fingers! I was going home a vegetable!

The house looked the same but felt different. It wasn’t the same. I wasn’t the same, never again. Now I had to re-learn to do everything all over like a newborn. I couldn’t even digest food. Food had to be juiced or minced. I had to have suppository to be able to move waste (I hated that!).

The road to recovery was going to be long, painful and arduous. But there was some consolation. People started flocking the house, former Sunday school teachers, relatives, even a celebrity. His name was Heber Bartolome of the infamous “Banyuhay” band (an institution now in the local music industry). He just had surgery and part of his intestine was removed (this was a BIG medical thing here then), and he came just to share his testimony to me. Imagine that! But being eight only, the honor of being visited by a famous figure hadn’t struck me yet. So we were busy entertaining guests for a while and didn’t have time to grieve for my misfortune.

Sequel IV (Second to the last, I promise.)

All the excitement eventually wound down and reality began to sink in. Reality that my life is changed forever and nothing I want will ever come easy for me again. At eight, I’d have to work harder than my contemporaries, emotionally, mentally and physically.

Physical Torture -The therapies were extremely painful. My body still felt numb and touching leaves a faint burning sensation on the skin. Moving legs and hands felt bones were being twisted. Therapy sessions meant an hour of screaming, pleading and calling out to the neighbors (lol). I was a scandalous little brat. I’d scream and tell the neighbors that I was being tortured and that my family was killing me (silly girl – lol). I laugh at myself now but it wasn’t funny back then. A child in pain is a child in pain (they give something for that now I think).

Because I was a comic fan, mom would buy heaps of them and pile them up next to my face during therapy hour and try to distract me with them but I was like – “NO! You can’t fool me! It hurts too much, why can’t you see it and make it STOP!”. I couldn’t say them but I screamed them through fits of tears and loud bawling. My dad would leave the house because he couldn’t stand it, if he stayed longer he would end the session and send the therapist away but that won’t be good for me. This was just physical pain, the outer mantle of my agony; we haven’t gotten to the core yet.

Mental Torment - My parents had to be tough; they can’t afford to raise me weak. They had to be rough; someone told them if they gave me too much love, I’d be too dependent for life. No mercy. They needed to do this (unfortunately this might work for some but not for all – it only half worked for me) to prepare me for the times ahead when life will be harder and people won’t be kinder.

Mom made a chocolate drink and it wasn’t like we could afford to buy them always. So this was a treat. But if I wanted a drink, I’d have to lift the glass. And I tried but my hands couldn’t even turn a book page. I could feel my fingers gripping the glass but only in my mind, because they weren’t really. The glass started leaning on one side and the chocolate is starting to spill. My mom was getting upset (or so she pretended); I was wasting the chocolate she said. My tears started falling – this was cruel. I could almost taste that Ovaltine (the chocolate brand) but if the glass continues to tilt. All of it will be on the floor and she won’t make another. “Oh God, do something! Freeze the chocolate!” I thought. Before the glass fell she caught it and let me have my Ovaltine. This was how they motivated me. Torture first but in the end, give in (lol).

Emotional Anguish – I had to stop school for a year but everyday I sat by the window and watch children in school uniforms walking to and from school. I missed school, my girlfriends, the tree house, the pig. I missed walking, running, playing with my little brother. I missed my life. The world was so different now. I cried all the time. It was all too much for a smart 8 year old to take. Too much that I’d break down whenever they talked about it. I didn’t want to remember anymore and I didn’t want people talking about what happened to me so if they ever had to (if a guest was asking for details) they’d wait until I’m away. If someone asked we just say I got ill and I stopped walking, period.

We never really talk about it until now….

Sequel IV (finally!)

It took a long time before I regained a little independence. At last, I could turn a book page, roll over when lying down, sit, eat, write, dress up, put socks on, play my miniature clay pots and stop crying.

One Sunday morning, I remember being really upset because my dad won’t take me to Sunday school. I thought if the doctors couldn’t fix me, I can’t fix me, maybe God could do something. Where we failed, God couldn’t possibly. And in that thought, in clinging to the ONE who holds ALL the answers and the cure, I found my hope once again.

After a year, I went back to school and once more, dominated the honor list. I finished elementary in a regular school and beat my classmates who were walking (muahaha!). What my dad said stuck with me. He said the only way the other kids would respect me and not bully me around is if I can be better than them and show I’m worth more than a rusting chair with wheels and I did (grins).

I home-studied in highschool and took up Interior Design from a private correspondence school called ICS (International Correspondence School). Back then, the local government didn’t have a program for home schooling yet. ICS was an American standard based, post grad correspondence school, based in Scranton Pennsylvania USA. All my books came from there. This is why I read, write and speak fluent English. I had a good training. I wanted to take an Education course but ICS didn’t offer any at that time so I settled for re-decorating houses (lol).

Today, 29 years later, I still can’t walk but can do most things by myself. Many of my questions still haven’t been answered, most of what I wanted and hoped for, I didn’t get and those that I did, came in unconventional packages. I wanted work for money and self-fulfillment but instead became a volunteer for all sorts of free services like tutoring, raising a baby brother etc., and got a monthly pension for being a handicap person that I don’t work a cent for (not bad huh?). I didn’t get to be a teacher in a public school like I dreamed (since I love helping out kids – probably because of my own childhood) but I still ended up a teacher, a special one at that, the Sunday school kind

I wrote this, first, for myself (to deal with it finally) and second, for others (so they’d be nicer to me – haha!). May those who will read it find inspiration and encouragement. The hard times do pass and each one makes a better person out of us if we would choose to not lose hope. I don’t think I’d be the thoughtful, sweet, understanding, deep, blessed person that and the list goes on (did I forget conceited? - lol), I am today if I hadn’t been put to the test early on.

I’m not eight anymore but it’s still painful at times to remember and think of the physical restrictions I have but if there’s one thing that kept me strong and continuous to sustain me – that is GOD and HIS LOVE through CHRIST. Knowing that I am loved and will be loved for who I am and who I’m not, for what I can still do and can’t, unconditionally, even if I don’t deserve it. And with that assurance, I press on.

“For all things work together for good, to those who love God, to those who are called according to the purpose………Romans 8:28”

The end