Of feverish stupors and gnawing clarity

Photo by Levi Meir Clancy on Unsplash

It all started one Monday night. During our cell meeting, I felt aches ripple through my body. Earlier that morning my throat started itching. When I got home I felt worse. I awoke the next morning groggy, everything was spinning. 

“Need ug bantay ni mama unya. Naa ko’y ilakaw nga papeles,” the text from my step-father read.

When I got my bearings back, I replied that I wasn’t feeling well.

“Importante ning ako lakwon. Paanhi-a imo igsuon.”

Quickly, I ran downstairs and called my younger sister.

“Mayroon po kaming test kuya. Malapit na rin periodical exam namin; bawal akong um-absent,” she protested.

“Paano yan? Eh ang sakit ng pakiramdam ko?”

She shrugged and left.

It was useless to argue. I was too flustered to explain, she wouldn’t understand.

An hour later, I was in transit to PGH. Sending my notice to our HR as I’d be absent for the day, I mentally prepared myself for another day in the hospital.

It didn’t take for my mother to notice how sluggish I was.

“Ambot ma, lain kaayo ako pakiramdam, bug-at,” I explained breathlessly.

I fought the urge to snap and bicker, it wouldn’t be productive. After all, my mother had nothing to do with my situation. If anything, she had it worse. And to be honest, I was too weak to complain.

Earlier that week, my mother was having bouts of fever every night. Around afternoon mine began. Luckily, I had finished all my morning tasks. I slumped beside mama and asked for her blanket. When a nurse came to take mama’s vital signs, I jumped out of the bed and sat on the floor. A few moments and I was in a feverish stupor.

“Toy,” my mother called.

I looked up and slowly stood up, trying my best keep still as my surroundings began to turn.

“Palit sa ko ug dinner nimo ma para di nako mugawas unya.”

The sun has set outside when I returned.

I helped mama with her dinner and afterwards I ate mine.

“Higda tapad nako unya toy,” she said while I was cleaning up.

Later that evening, there were two patients on mama’s bed. Covered in blanket, we were coursing through different stages of sickness. My eyes were too heavy, and my bones were cracking underneath my sagging weight. Beside me, mama was shivering. I was too weak to even lift my hands and take her temperature. Around us, the ward was a sea of faceless ghosts hovering from one bed to another. The stench of spoilage was heavy in the air. 

How can you take care of your sick when you’re sick too? The old adage “You cannot give what you don’t have.” never rang truer.

Looking back, it is one of my most precious hospital memories with mama. Her shuddering gave me assurance, she was still fighting. Why would I lose hope when every day I was surrounded by the frailty and finality of life? And while I was beginning to reassess my options, the sea of faceless ghosts reminded me of the fact that I still had a choice while most of them were robbed, merely fighting to make it through another day. 

That night, while the ward blurred into oblivion, a gnawing sense of clarity dawned on me.