From Birthday Songs to Hospital Nights

Well, that was the least we could do to make my father’s birthday memorably celebrated as the flame of the birthday candle was lit up like a marble sun. We had just come back from the walk we took in the public plaza of Bogo City, where Christmas lights and space were given birth through this shared square that honors the yuletide. If you want to check the story out, read this post and discover the wonder of Bogohanon’s Christmas celebration this year amidst being the ground zero of the earthquake that changed our lives. Such perseverance made way for this plaza to exist this December and remind everyone around that Christmas is still in our hearts and homes, and that love is the greatest conqueror of unwritten war.

When we got home, I was so excited to open the door, knowing they were already inside the house where we left some food and the birthday cake, since we could not bring them to Bogo for dinner. Singing the Happy Birthday song is, for me, the most important thing to do when someone celebrates their birthday, alongside the blowing of the candle. The man in the video is our father, although not biologically, and I am so proud of him for bringing back another love—a love that is healthy and safe—to my mother and, next, to us, his offsprings. Fatherhood indeed is not measured in biology, but in the amount of love you can give to us, his children, and fully accept us like we sprouted in his arms, singing his lullaby in our sleep.

As much as I want to put the love I felt for my family, this is not the idea or center topic of this blog. Instead, love, I say, is eternal, but it never said it could stop the arrival of sadness. An hour ago, we were singing a Happy Birthday song for my father, with my mother staring at him genuinely, but the next time I saw my mother staring at him again was in the hospital hours later. Time is a thief, they say, and I never dreamed of being robbed this way.

It was 9 when we arrived at the house with a cake, and by 12, deep in our sleep after a long day, my mother knocked on the door of my eldest brother asking for assistance as she was struggling to breathe and having a visible panic attack. I could hear it next door, and my sister’s sudden wake-up startled me in bed. When I got out, Mother was already seated on a chair, with my eldest brother holding her hair tightly.

While Mother was asleep earlier, she noticed her breathing was not normal—almost skipping—and sometimes she could not breathe completely. That was when she panicked, and luckily she was able to rise and ask for help. I was startled and ran to her room to get her medication as I saw in her eyes that something was wrong, and I could not ask her more questions so her body could rest in the chair.

Worried about what might happen, we rushed to the hospital to make sure Mama was safe that night. I prayed for her while she was still sitting on the chair, and on our way to the hospital, which was 20 minutes away from home, I prayed fervently and asked for help.

We arrived at Bomedco Hospital, a private hospital in Medellin City, which has been our trusted hospital ever since Mother developed her underlying diseases and conditions, especially when she had a heart attack eight years ago. It had been a long time since I found myself in this heartbreaking situation, knowing Mother was in pain and trying her best to breathe. We were fortunate to find a private hospital at that hour since Mama needed immediate help. We do have a public hospital, but the accommodation will get you an inch from death’s doorway. This is the Philippines, and when you try to go to a public hospital, six hours is the least waiting time.

When we arrived, the nurses accommodated us immediately and asked questions, which I answered so Mama could rest her body. In situations like this, knowing everything that happened and your family member’s personal information is a big help. A BP test was performed on my mother, which turned out to be normal. Then the doctor was called for consultation.

The doctor ran an ECG (electrocardiogram) on my mother, which is a quick, painless test that records the heart’s electrical signals to show how it’s beating, using sticky patches (electrodes) on the skin connected to a machine that graphs these impulses. My mother has high blood pressure and heart disease, but these days she has been so carefree with her food and lifestyle that she forgets she needs to maintain a healthy one, because anytime, her conditions can be triggered—especially high blood, which is a villain.

Mother was well that night after the hospital visit. The ECG was normal, but she was recommended to undergo other procedures like 2DEcho in a referred hospital for peace of mind. It was found out that her acidity caused her abnormal breathing, which later triggered anxiety and resulted in a panic attack. I felt relieved knowing her heart was okay, which worried me the most. Today, she underwent another procedure—I forgot the term—but it was still related to the heart’s electrical signals and operation.

Why did I write about this? I wrote this not to ask for sympathy, but to remind everyone who reads this that time is a thief, and we cannot do anything about it. One hour, you are sitting at a table singing a Happy Birthday song with laughter filling the room, and the next hour, you are in a hospital corridor, praying nothing worse happens. Life changes without warning. You can be happy now, and the next moment, devastating news can knock on your door. That is why we must be grateful for what we have in the present, for the people we love, and for the moments we often take for granted. Life is fleeting—happiness, sadness, and grief come and go—but love remains, and it is the one thing that can carry us through it all.