Like everyone else, I wished to welcome 2022 with positivity, good health, and vibes.
The universe, on the other hand, seemed to have had other plans for me.
On Dec. 28, I went to the Lamberto Macias Sports Complex to have my booster shot. Two days later, I experienced symptoms which I first attributed to be side effects of my recent inoculation.
After days of taking over-the-counter drugs, I did not feel any relief, so I got myself swabbed. On Jan. 5th, my results came out: I was positive for CoViD.
The following day, I was pulled out of my dormitory at the Silliman campus by the City government, and transferred to a hotel.
That afternoon on a routine check-up, the government health worker found my oxygen saturation level to be low, so she suggested that I be admitted to a hospital. An hour or so after, I was again picked up by the local government unit from the hotel, and sent straight to SU Medical Center.
Samantha Jones, a character of Sex and the City, said it best that being single is fabulous, until one gets sick.
I couldn’t agree more.
The last time I got really sick was in 1992 when I contracted pneumonia. I remember being in the clinic of Dr. Flores, a mentor of my Dad during his residency at SUMC. It was my first time to see Mom and Dad reduced to tears by anxiety.
Thirty years later, I was outside SUMC, in a local government vehicle, waiting to be admitted for a potentially life-threatening disease.
This time, there were no Mom and Dad to rely on, and its realization rendered me an emotional wreck. Simple phone calls from family and friends made me ugly cry, affecting my breathing.
Adding to the challenge was the need for someone to fill out forms, so I could be properly admitted. Since my brother and his family were isolating, I could only ask my colleague to do it for me.
So there I was, languishing inside a local government vehicle, and giving my personal details to a colleague so she could write them down on a form.
I have never been a fan of self-pity but that night, it was hard not to fall prey to its traps.
While I was waiting to be wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit, I received a text message from a friend who knew I had not been feeling well.
I told him I was at the hospital, and yes, I had tested positive for CoViD. His reply repulsed and confused me in equal measure. He wrote, “That’s not true, War. Be wary because doctors tell you it’s CoViD even if it’s not, so they can make a fortune.”
After more than two years of battling the pandemic, why are there people who still doubt the realness of the disease? What triggers this skepticism that even demonize the very people who are working hard to fight the disease?
CoViD is very real to me because I felt it attack my immune system. I needed oxygen to breathe properly; blood work and laboratory results showed irregularities. What other evidence is needed?
If the physical effects of the disease on a patient is not scary enough, the financial aspect should be.
In my case, tests of different kinds were done almost every day. The medicines were not cheap. After-care was essential, too.
After I was out of ICU, I had to hire a personal caregiver, who charged by the day.
While the expenses mount, no way do they go directly to the doctors, so the sentiment that CoViD has become a business venture of doctors is unfounded and malicious.
Despite everything that happened, the experience offered me plenty of opportunities to reflect and be grateful.
First of all, it gave me a certain level of clarity as far as my faith is concerned. During my entire stay at the hospital, I surrendered everything to God, and I realized that doing so inspired hope and love.
Second, I was given the opportunity to marvel at the magnanimity of the human spirit. The experience taught me that help is always available to those who open their hearts to any kind of help.
Since the experience, I have been at the receiving end of people’s generosity and kindness. A colleague and friend, despite dealing with the recent cancer diagnosis in the family, and doing her everyday routine of taking care of her and husband’s health, selflessly helped me buy my provisions, and made updates on Facebook in my behalf.
Upon learning I had been isolated, another good friend immediately called and asked what I needed, even if the boat he had boarded had not properly docked yet.
When I got admitted, a college friend sent a self-care box, which included many hydrating products for the body and skin.
My “adoptive” family in Dumaguete was round-the- clock sending prayers and food to the hospital. Friends, and friends of friends generously offered prayers and financial assistance.
When my sister learned about all these, she could not help gushing: “You have the greatest friends!”
Above all, the ordeal taught me that everything else is just noise in the world, and that I need to be discerning to realize what really matters: relationships, kindness, gratefulness, awareness.
I may not have started the year right (by most people’s standards), but I am definitely ready to recalibrate and see life’s offerings from a different perspective.
Sometimes, it’s a crisis that gives one a different kind of clarity.
Prof. Warlito S. Caturay Jr.
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