by: Jc Aquino

The echoes of the current pandemic rippled through my mind and brought back a series of nostalgic episodes of my past experiences. These musings are more than a decade apart, but I feel that this is the best time to share them. Life often gives us more questions than answers, and I hope this lifetime is enough for you to find the answers you’ve been longing to hear.

One.

About 11 years ago, I worked as a staff nurse in one of the most advanced hospitals in Manila, Philippines. That career lifespan was relatively brief, but it gave me some of the most profound experiences I’ve had before I sought other options to make a living. Being a nurse immersed me into life in all its extremes, from the sheer triumph of recovery to the inexplicable grief of loss, and this has led me to a deeper understanding and appreciation of life and everything that surrounds it. I realized that life is a lot like a roulette of circumstances from beginning to end, and meeting people from countless backgrounds gave me a beautiful panorama that showcased what living is truly about.

I’ve had my fair share of experiences in the hospital that helped me grow and develop not just as a nurse by profession but also as a human being. This is something I will not trade for anything. I still remember one afternoon, as I was about to start my night shift, when my head nurse asked me to report to her office before conducting pre-shift rounds.

“We have a special patient today, and I will specifically assign this patient to you until he gets discharged,” she said.

I took his chart and glanced at his records. He was admitted for chemotherapy sessions as he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He was a retired man from the United States who decided to stay in the Philippines with his wife. They have a son, who at that time was stationed in South Korea, and his wife is the only relative present to look after him.

I was engrossed in his history but wondered what was it that was so special about him because chemotherapy sessions are not unusual admissions, especially in our unit. Then, the head nurse explained the situation.

“He’s deaf, and he has been uncooperative lately, even when his wife is around. Both of them are mute but can communicate through writing. However, the chemotherapy session keeps on getting rescheduled because his vital signs become unstable whenever we try to initiate the treatment. This has been his third admission in two months, and this is his first admission to our unit.”

The situation piqued my curiosity. I have never handled this kind of patient before, but I wholeheartedly accepted the assignment. As I did my rounds and entered the room, I found the patient on his bed, facing the wall, with his wife sitting quietly beside him. I can already tell that the patient was not as approachable as I hoped he would be, but his wife gave me a faint smile. The scene was very peaceful, and the only evident movements were the gentle drops of intravenous fluid and the steadfast beeping sound of the heart monitor.

I wrote my introduction on a blank piece of paper and showed it to the wife, after which I gave her instructions on how to use the call monitor if she needs something. I informed her that her husband’s vital signs will be monitored the whole night, and if he is stable enough, we will proceed with the treatment the following night. She nodded, so I returned to the nurses’ station.

The night was relatively peaceful for a shift, which gave me time to check on my patients often. About an hour before the shift ended, I made one last visit to their room and saw both the patient and his wife sleeping peacefully.

When I returned the following night, I’ve been informed that the patient had a hypertensive episode during the day, and we had to reset the monitoring of his vital signs. I was a bit surprised because he seemed stable on my previous shift. A few moments before midnight, I checked the patient’s room and saw his wife staring out the window. Her crossed arms spoke volumes about the number of things running through her head. I lightly tapped her shoulder, and she turned towards me.

She opened the side cabinet and showed me a well-kept album, and after a couple of pages, I realized that it was a photo album. The interaction was quiet but emotionally dense. She pointed at the photos showing their wedding and their trips together, as well as how their son grew up, from kindergarten until he became part of the military. Despite being unable to communicate through spoken words, I believe this couple lived a life far better than most. They have managed to cultivate what they had rather than dwell on what was not there.

Then, she started writing her thoughts, explaining that her husband was not the most romantic person in the world, but he always looked after her. She expressed how she always felt sure that his love for her was constant and unending. I felt like that night was more of a lesson on marriage than a work shift because I learned a lot about married life in the most unconventional situation. After a little while, I told her to get some rest and just use the call monitor if she needs anything.

At around 2:30 a.m., the call monitor suddenly alarmed. When I asked what she needed, I heard a raspy voice on the line.

“James… James…,” he said. It was the patient.

That was the first time I heard him speak since he got admitted. I went to his room and found him sitting on the side of his bed, his wife peacefully sleeping on the watcher’s bed. Despite the dim lights, I saw that he was writing something on the whiteboard he was holding. I switched on the lamp on the side table to read what he wrote. It turned out that he quietly observed me with his wife as she showed me their old photos.

On his whiteboard, he wrote: “I don’t want to be destroyed.”

“I don’t want to be destroyed. Not for me, but for my wife.”

He stood up and gently caressed his wife’s shoulder. I remembered what his wife said about him not being a showy person, but I thought he was in his own way. They may have had an unusual way of communicating, but love doesn’t follow a single path anyway. He was an understated romantic who loved her deeply.

He reached for his whiteboard and he slowly wrote.

“Please help me for my wife. Please help me survive for her.”

I suddenly felt a lump in my throat. I can still remember how my eyes started to well up because I just wanted to embrace him. Up to the last chapter of his life, she remained the focal point of his story. All of my questions about why he chose not to express himself, why he always became unstable and stressed whenever treatment was about to start, and why he seemed distant were answered clearly. The patient was not thinking of what would become of him but about what would become of her should he die. That was such a revelation of profound and selfless love, and it was such a privilege for me to see.

I nodded, and I wrote that everything would be alright.

From that point on, I wanted to make sure that he would get well. I told him to relax so that he could complete the treatment safely. He nodded and smiled for the first time since he was admitted.

The following night, the infusion started without any complications, and his vital signs were monitored every fifteen minutes until the treatment finished in four hours. Everything went really well until the second hour when he started to experience increased breathing rate and blood pressure. I think he got agitated again, which prompted me to notify his oncologist and subsequently discontinue the ongoing infusion. It happened so suddenly that it made me worry.

In the afternoon of the following day, the oncologist informed me that the tubing used for regulating the drug infusion was found to be defective, and the pharmaceutical company would compensate for this by giving the patient the entire course of treatment for free rather than just the originally approved arrangement of two out of ten. It was stressful, but I felt relieved because the patient was guaranteed full treatment.

A few days later, the patient was discharged and was to be booked for treatment after a couple of weeks. As they headed out, the wife held my hand and smiled. She signed “thank you” and bid farewell to the staff. I went to the patient on his wheelchair and kneeled in front of him. I pointed to his chest and flexed my arm. He laughed, but I think he got what I meant. The reality is that, his love, and his heart were way stronger than this roadblock in their relationship, and he already won in life in so many ways.

As this story occurred more than a decade ago, I have already forgotten their names, but everything that happened during that time, including the feelings and the lessons, remain crystal clear. I can still remember their smiles, and the lessons I’ve absorbed within the four corners of their hospital room. I wonder where they are now, and I wish them well. Just thinking about them makes me smile. They’ve been my episodic reminder all these years to be grateful, to remain in love, and to value life.

Two.

A few years ago, I have pledged my commitment to a support group for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma patients in the Philippines. As this type of cancer requires very expensive medications, I communicate with pharmaceutical companies and suppliers to reach less privileged patients and help give them a better chance at recovery and survival.

Through this support group, I met John. His wife was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma about two months before I met him. He used to work abroad but chose to stay in the Philippines to support the treatment of his wife and just return to work once her recovery is secured. He was a gregarious man who liked to joke a lot and laughed at his problems, knowing they have a solution no matter how hard they may be. He took pride in how his children were growing up, with most of them already in college. His wife was his polar opposite; she was a beautiful, timid woman of a few words who didn’t smile often, although I understood where her sadness was coming from.

Through the course of several weeks, my wife and I communicated with him to secure his wife’s medications. These conversations gave me good insight into how selfless he was. He shared his plans to set up a new business, perhaps a grilling station or a small convenience store. His enthusiasm was admirable; he was just so positive about life in general. We usually met every two or three weeks so we could hand over the medicines we sourced, which cost more than a thousand dollars each. His unwavering level of dedication continued to fascinate me every single day.

During one of those meetups, he informed me that his wife was recovering faster than expected, and the treatment was working really well. He planned to take her somewhere and maybe renew their wedding vows because once she recovers, it will be like a new lease in life for her. He asked about my opinion on beach weddings and sought my opinion on whether it should just be the two of them or should their children be included. John radiated love and positivity, and I can’t help but to root for this man and his devotion to keep his wife alive happy. I told him that I will ask for photos once that happens.

One time, he missed the scheduled hand over, and we did not hear from him for weeks. As he usually bought medicines one treatment session in advance, my wife and I thought that maybe he was still working out the funds or waiting for the next results to find out how many sessions remain.

Then one day, we received a text message from his son, informing us that he will be the one to meet us for the medicine. We found it a bit odd but assumed that John was probably busy, so he asked his son to take over.

When we arrived at our meeting place, we found a young man patiently waiting for us. We smiled and asked him how his mother was, and he politely replied that she was doing quite well. When I asked him where his dad was, he paused for several seconds, after which he heaved a deep sigh.

“….he passed away.”

“H-he?” I replied with absolute disbelief.

“Yes, my father. He had a ruptured brain aneurysm, and it was too late to save him. We apologize for not communicating with you because he was the only one who had your contact information, and we had to have his phone unlocked to gain access to his phone book.” His son can barely finish talking because of the tears he was trying to hold back, and the reflection of the afternoon sun made his watery eyes glisten in despair.

My heart sank, and my brain felt numb as the words sank in. We’ve been helping him for his wife for months. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, it was he who lost a battle he never knew he had to fight. It was like life betrayed him—the most optimistic person I knew.

I asked myself, “Why? Why should life be this cruel in this particular story?” My mind went into an emotional overdrive, firing a million questions while drawing answers from a sea of tears. Life robbed him of the chance to express his love for his wife through his grand plans—plans that will never come to be because he already passed.

Even years after, I still have no answers to the questions running through my head that day. I check his children and wife’s social media accounts every so often to see if they are alright. I feel that I have to, as it is the only thing that I can do for him.

I remember one episode of House M.D. in which one of the doctors said, “When a good person dies, someone should take notice… someone should be upset.” John was the stranger who, in a short span of time, taught me life lessons on love, marriage, struggles, and even death. He made me realize how every second is so precious and that all we can do is to just enjoy living and embrace it all—the complete cycle of ups and downs.

Sharing these two threads of love is like baring a portion of my soul to the world. I pray for this to reach many people as I feel that these stories are perfectly molded to heal specific wounds. Sharing these fragments are a bit painful, but it gives me peace knowing that I can share with others how love comes in different forms, different languages, and different conclusions.

We don’t always get our perfect endings, but these stories help us appreciate all we have and learn more from what we have gone through. Indeed, love is one of the strongest forces in the world—it can break you, but it can also unlock the greatest strength you never thought you had inside you.