Parallel episode

“Aguy! Kasakit sa akong tiyan.”
My head snapped up to the owner of the pained voice. Time seemed to stop. My heart beat wildly; my breathing was nonexistent. I went cold.

“Maó man siguro ni ako kamatyan.”

That was my Uncle who has just been diagnosed of nasal cancer. He’s 72, and until now, was leading a very active, very healthy lifestyle. After having been diagnosed of cancer, he was prescribed a lot of medicines including prednisone.

Hearing those pained words, I was transported back in time when the same words (well, almost, since it had been said in Tagalog) were uttered by a girl of six with fragile body who had also been diagnosed of cancer—acute lymphoblastic leukemia—and was also given a lot of medication including prednisone.

“Mommy, ang sakit-sakit ng t’yan ko,” she used to cry to her worried and helpless mother.

She used to have stomachache all the time. It occurred to me that if a 72-year-old strong and able man could not stand the pain, how much worse could it have been to a little girl in such a delicate shape?

I still remember that fateful afternoon. It was raining hard. Her Mommy hailed a taxi to take her to the hospital. I expected her to be there for a day, then she would be home for Christmas. But that was not meant to be. The doctors decided to do a surgery on her stomach to see what was bothering her. My sister, trusting the doctors, and thinking of nothing but only the best for her only daughter, consented. My sister brought her crying child to the operating room, waited outside for what seemed like an eternity, only to see later her only daughter come out of the room with tubes all over her. Her daughter was not able to talk to her again. Ten days after, we lost her totally. Her frail little body couldn’t take the assault of the knife.

It was practically the stomachache that actually took my niece from us.

Now, hearing those same words, witnessing the same reaction from another person—an adult—left me cold. It occurred to me that the pain must have been caused by the medicines introduced into her very young body. My mind raced, and just when I thought I had forgotten and forgiven, all the pain of losing someone I love came back. And then, the anger.

It is a pity, really. I am not a mother, but I am so much affected. Every time I remember my young niece in that state, I still cry even after five years. I can’t imagine what it is like with her mother who was also her best friend.

If there is one thing this experience has taught me, it was never to give my full trust to a doctor: certainly, never to rely too much on him. Even if he is the most expensive doctor in the most expensive hospital in the city.

One has to be equipped with all the details. Exhaust all the alternatives, study possibilities, research about the possible consequences of a process, listen to the patient. After all, she or he is the owner of that body. The doctors want an immediate result, for a lot of different reasons--from showing the care givers that they are doing something, shutting off the insistent parents, getting big amount (which they get regardless of the result of their operation), to maybe sincerely wanting to help.

What I feel was wrong with the system at the time my niece had her ailment was that doctors didn’t exhaust all other alternatives. And a worried Mommy couldn’t think clearly when in distress. That is why the people around them should be doubly alert. If possible, be a devil’s advocate. Sometimes a villain is necessary in a scene so that other possibilities can be explored, and probable consequences examined.

It’s no use crying over spilt milk, so they say. What has been done can never be undone. The dead couldn’t be brought back to life. But then, there are still many who are experiencing what we have experienced before. And I just hope they could come up with what they feel the best decision—and one that they won’t regret later on.

And for this family, I hope we can finally find it in our hearts to forgive and forget and move on with the rest of the living.