"The Aide of Ades"

My forehead was covered with sweat and seemed ready to scorch my hand every time I feel it. My eyes were blurry and felt like gushing tears each time I open them. My whole body felt nauseated. Every second I was awake seemed like a hallucination. I never thought I would experience getting that sick in my lifetime. Of my then-16 years of living, I have often had colds and occasionally, fever and mild asthma attacks. But until August 13, 2005, Saturday, I never experienced an illness worse than those.

On that week, I had the midterm exam in Literature on Monday, the Math long test on Thursday, and an English travel essay on Friday. On that Friday, I stayed much after my last class to watch the A.C.A.S Conference in Escaler Hall. When it was around 6 in the evening, my friends and I decided to leave the conference. Escaler Hall was soundproof, and thus, we were every bit surprised to find out that it was raining very hard outside. Luckily, two of us three had umbrellas. We carefully tried to cross the grounds in front of the Sec buildings leading to the library. Unfortunately, the sky was dark, and we ended up stepping into the holes in the ground where rainwater collected. The strong winds have almost carried my umbrella twice or thrice on the way, while the sky terrified us with booming thunder and bright lightning. Perhaps if I stopped for a second under that heavy rain, I would have thought of all these as an omen of what was about to happen. After minutes of arduous struggle in the rain, we breathed a heavy sigh upon reaching Xavier Hall. With the bottom of our pants dripping with rainwater, we took our rides home, feeling exhausted and looking haggard.
I was very tired that when I got home, I barely had the energy to wash my face and change into dry clothes. I do not remember having troubled sleep that night. The next day, however, I woke up with a slight fever. I thought this must be natural, after soaking in the rain the previous night. My nose was depressingly runny that whole day, so much that I have easily used up a roll of tissue for it. The fever went on and off for two days, while my colds seem to be coming from an endless supply of mucous. I think I must have drunk a galloon of water on those days, as my mother warned me from dehydration. When Sunday came, I did not miss Mass, though I was feeling very bad then and could not stand up for a very long time. After the Mass, as was our usual habit, we prayed in the Blessed Sacrament for my health. I stayed in the back of the room and whispered to my youngest brother to pray to God for me.

At first, I took the usual cold medicines and paracetamol. However, by Sunday afternoon, my mother decided to take prescriptions from the doctor and I had to take a new set of medicines. By Monday morning, I still felt sick that I could not get up from bed, so I had to be absent in school. At this period, I was getting worried—it was the middle of the semester and we were having midterm exams in several subjects, and I don’t want to miss those. Besides, I am aware of the difficulty of catching up once I return to school after missing several days. At this time, I alternated between eating, taking medicines, sleeping, and praying the Rosary and other prayers to God. When my mother is away, I secretly opened the books and encyclopedias to find out what kind of illness I could possibly be experiencing. I first opened the page on common colds, but after finding out several illnesses mistaken for colds or have colds as their symptom, I decided to read about those, too. I started crossing and checking the possibility of me with a particular sickness after reading its symptoms and causes. It didn’t help knowing that it could be not just a common cold.

On Monday evening, we heard news of Dengue outbreaks in Metro Manila. After dinner, I pulled my feet toward the study room and read about Dengue. The books tell that one has to be bitten by an aedes mosquito to acquire Dengue, and fever and colds are symptoms of the disease. I decided worrying would get me nowhere, and after taking my medicines, I went straight to rest.

We were getting worried, though we tried to keep it. Before the noon of Tuesday, my mother brought me to the doctor for a blood test to check if I had Dengue fever, typhoid fever, or any other illness. The test revealed that I have low counts of WBC and some other components, which the doctor said, may indicate Dengue. She gave me antibiotics and medicines that should increase my blood counts, and asked that I return there by 5 p.m. to see if they’ll bring a good effect.

I forced myself to eat and drink the big tablets, praying with all my might that I may get well already. I prayed the rosary several times and must have drunk another galloon of water before falling asleep. When I woke up, there was a short time before we left, and I spent brief seconds looking around my home, thinking “What if I have Dengue? What if I never get to return home? What if I die…”

I was never more worried in my entire life than when we were waiting for the results of my second blood test. While waiting, I started texting my closest friends, giving just a little hint of what might happen, subtly saying my goodbyes and thanks. The results revealed not only that the medicines were of no help; even more, my blood counts have gone even lower at an alarming rate. The doctor recommended that I be confined. Since that hospital was full, we went to another hospital, where my mother got me a small private room. It was the first time I was hospitalized and I felt very well that I was going to die, for if it were Dengue, the body cannot endure it for a long time. The moment the dextrose was connected to the top of my palm, tears started running down my eyes that I had to bow my head and pretend I’ve fallen asleep.

My mother had to leave me afterwards to get some of my clothes and other things I might need. While she was away, I looked around and realized how alone I was. It was at that time that I seriously considered my life. I thought about everything I could remember, from my childhood until then. And I asked myself, has my life been worth it? Am I ready to die? I thought of all the things I’ve done, all that I didn’t, all that I could have done, and all that I wish I could do. I was still young, I have many dreams, I want to do so much. Why, Lord?

After some consideration, I took in that perhaps, I’ve done my purpose in life—even without me knowing it. I thought that maybe if I die, my death will have an impact to those I’ll love behind, and that’s my purpose. Then, I thought, maybe it’s better to die while you’re still young and haven’t loved life so much rather than having a family and a career and losing all those. And what more, I thought (rather foolishly) that if I die, my parents would have only three kids to look after.

The three days I was in the hospital were the longest days of my life. Between sleeping, affirming I was fine in front of my visitors, and chatting with the nurses who regularly entered to check my blood pressure and get blood samples, I contemplated on my life’s worth. Seeing my family, relatives, and friends dropping in to wish me good, I realized how much I love them, and how much I want to live. I promised that if, given the chance I still live, I would not waste a moment. I want to strive to make a change so that someday, I’ll be ready to die anytime.

After almost a week, the doctor announced on Thursday evening that what I had was not Dengue Fever but a viral infection, and that my blood counts have been steadily returning to normal. On Friday noon, I left the hospital. I did not have to attend school since it was Quezon City Day. But I had one significant learning that all my days in school have never taught me. In touching that void between death and life, between hope and despair, I became full of dreams.