sick
Willjett
“Gusto ko pong mag-fine arts”, he sheepishly replied, with his right hand drawing on his small pillow.
I often accompany college and high school students to visit indigent patients of public hospitals. I’ve been doing this for the past ten years. Some sort of mini-exposure trip. Some guys I’ve brought have learned profound lessons. Most have thought of it as a welcome ‘eye-opener’, a pause in their daily grind. I’ve had one or two who backed out when they couldnt stand the stench and the sight. We usually bring treats, goodies, sweets plus a little amount of money. Being the ‘most’ experienced, I would ask a nurse on duty who she could refer to us. It never
fails to amuse m e to see that quizzical look on the nurse’s face (a patient who needs merienda and money? All of them need any assistance!! Why only one, you lazy, capitalist bast@#%!) That sort of look.
That warm afternoon I went with a recent graduate of Biochemistry, who is waiting for job interviews. We went to Ward 11 of PGH, Pediatrics Ward. One thing I like in PGH is that it is always bursting at the seams. Doctors, nurses, students, interns, clerks, med reps, insurance agents, occasional tv crew, patients, families, guardians, guardian angels. So our entry hardly
caught a second look. We went up to a young nurse, showed her our gift to a patient (a box of doughnuts) and asked for a referral. She said all 40+ patients need assistance. She even wanted to divide the donuts equally among them! (Ma’am, I am neither Jesus Christ nor do I want to multiply those donuts. Dunkin Donuts might sue me for illegal multiplication of bread). So
she gave us Willjet, 12 years old, male, suffering from a liver disease. Bed 41.
Like other wards at the ground floor, Ward 11 is a pavillon with high windows and ceiling and huge pillars supporting the upper floors of the building. It reminds me of an old-fashioned ballroom for waltzes and a chamber orchestra or a big band. But at that time real estate was very precious. Patients and guardians were all over the place. As we walked inside a few sighs and
sobs managed to escaped from the suffocation. Towards the end of the pavilion we turned left. We found him two beds away from where we turned, beside a pillar, his eyes away from us and towards the entrance. His guardian was not there.
He had a small, oval face, thin lips, and kind, penetrating eyes. His thin frame was covered with yellowish brown skin. Despite his big shirt, his stomach bulged, and we thought that this kid would not live long. Or so we thought. We then introduced ourselves. His lips tried to smile. At that moment his grandmother came. Rather young-looking for a grandmother, she was in her fifties. And like all good grandmothers, she talked a lot.
Their story is a common refrain. Willjett’s father is a construction worker, the mother does odd jobs. They couldn’t stay away from their job for a long time. He is one of 4 kids, the oldest being an HRM student. She told us that they’ve spent more than 2 weeks in PGH, and the doctors were subjecting Willjett for more tests. Something was wrong with his liver. CT scans and a biopsy were needed. The lola seemed very strong-willed as she mentioned casually that Willjett might have cancer of the liver. During this time Willjett just stared towards the entrance, so I decided to talk to him.
“Do you play sports?” He shook his head. Not much. But he liked running around.
“Do you like anime?”. He nodded and smiled.
“Do you like Initial D?” (An anime series I saw while waiting for my turn in a barbershop). He smiled even more. He liked drawing. His grandma said he had a good hand.
“What do you want to take up in college?”
We learned more things about him. Math is his favorite subject in school. In the pavilion he would go around, talking to other patients and laughing with them. The nurses would often tell him to go back to his bed as he needed to rest. He nearly died of some respiratory illness when he was 3-4 months old. As the lola talked, I realized that there was a lot more to this little guy. A born fighter and a survivor, rare in a kid. And he had a natural capacity to make friends. Even rarer in adults.
The lola was very thankful for the company, the small talk, and the little money (P200) and treats we gave. We told her to pray for a cure or a quick recovery, and that all of us could raise the money for the CT scan and biopsy. As we were leaving I asked Willjet if he remembered my name. He quickly replied “Kuya Paul”. I mentioned my name only once when we introduced ourselves. He had good memory.
Two weeks later we went back to him. My friend (a different one) got P 2,600 from selling his toy cars and we decide to give P1,500 to Willjett. We found him with his father, who was on leave from his construction job. Willjett was lying on his side, his skin even more yellow than before. His father said Willjett didnt sleep well that night, due to a fever and screams from a nearby patient. We had a nice chat with the father. The usual small talk, banter, encouragement, aspirations of hope, of a better life. As we said goodbye, I asked Willjett, who was lying with his back away from us, if he remembered me. He slowly turned his head (the whites of his eyes are now yellow) and answered “Kuya Paul”.
There are hundreds, even thousands, of poor patients like Willjett. What struck me about him esd his unusual intelligence, his cheerful courage, and seeming defiance to be chained to his bed, to his sickness. Anyway, PGH needs donations of cash and food, but especially occasions for small talk, for laughter, for sharing stories and swapping encouragement. This Lent is a good time to visit the sick and learn from them.
Paul's Alarm 