Bygones

It's been more than a year since i've been to the top floor of our house. That was February of last year, two days after i came home. That was when my grandpa was asking about the things that were happening to him, and i gave him one wrong answer after another. On that top floor, there was my grandpa's room. Adjacent to it was a makeshift basketball court where my brother and i used to play when we were kids. On the rooftop was a small garden, and when there weren't too many building around almost twenty years ago, we could see as far as the ocean back then. Back then, it was some sort of sanctuary from me. Back then, it was all serene and quiet, and i used to go there when i needed to get away from it all. It was yesterday afternoon when i decided to go upstairs. There was no specific reason. I just thought of going up there all of a sudden.

Most of plants have died now, save for a few which were beginning to wilt. The soil was dry and cracked. The iron chairs we placed there were now all rusty. Privacy and serenity were things of the past. Before our house towered all above the others, now several buildings were around us, and the tenants of the apartments right next to us can see me clearly if they chose to look out their windows. I could no longer feel a breeze, i could no longer breathe fresh air. I could no longer see the ocean. All i see are smog and skyscrapers blocking the view. It's no longer a view that can foster joy and relaxation. The sight i see now is simply depressing.

I went inside my grandpa's room, and it looked as if a bomb hit it some time last year. The sight that I saw shocked me. The last time i was here everything looked okay, it didn't seem so dilapidated. I dunno, maybe it was and i just didn't take notice. Now all the paint on the walls were peeling. Thick dust covered his bed and the floors, i left shoe prints everywhere i walked. I saw family pictures beneath the glass covering one table, our faces unrecognizable due to the damage caused by water that had managed to seep through the walls. It's amazing how a year of neglect can make such a difference. Before, proper maintenance managed to hide all the wear and tear. Now it's exposed for all the world to see. If i didn't know better i would've thought that this room had been abandoned for years.

And then i looked up and i saw the basketball ring. I was never good at that sport, i never played it unless i had to, like during our physical education classes because i had to be graded, or during intramural games in high school because our class lacked players. But playing with my brother when we were kids was the exception. There were no rules, there was no pressure to perform well. We played by our own rules and we made them up as we went along. Come to think of it, the only times my brother and i got along well was during play time.... until we argued about something about whatever we were playing, then we'd end up fighting like we always did. lol. But I spent many summers up there with my brother, and during the extremely warm days of summer when i close my eyes and everything's all quiet, i smell fresh grass. I smell the flowers on our rooftop. I hear birds chirping. i see myself playing on the streets with people i've already lost touch with. I see the view of the ocean from a distance. i see myself playing with my brother on that makeshift basketball court in our rooftop. And I hear my grandpa cheering us as he watched us through the window of his room.

I have no idea when that backboard broke and how it broke. I guess 20 years is a long time for even the sturdiest of boards. Twenty years is a long time for anything. Anything is bound to break sooner or letter, all things tend to pass away some time. It's funny how time flies by so fast. It seems like it was only yesterday when everything seemed so much different. People just become so preoccupied with many other things, most of them unnecessary, that we tend to become blind to the changes happening around us. We tend to ignore the changes to the things that we become familiar with, to the changes in the things that we used to cherish. To the things that were once essential, but has since lost relevance. I guess i went upstairs because i remembered the feeling of peace i felt back then, every time i spent all those afternoons alone on the roof top alone... and i really missed that feeling. It was something that i wanted. It was a feeling that i was yearning for. But when i went up, i discovered a very different place. It all seemed very alien to me. It could no longer offer the peace of mind that i was looking for. Its time had passed a long time ago. I never went back when it could still give me that reprieve that i needed. Like may things in my life that i have somehow neglected and disregarded, the realization came too late. It's a sad fact of life. For most people, regrets always come in the end. All we could so is wish for a way to turn back time, but there's nothing more we can do but wish for the impossible. We failed to act when our actions could have meant something. We never think of doing something until it's already too late.

The List

I've always kept a list of things I wanted to do before I die. Things I want to experience at least once in my life. Some of the things I've written on that list were simple. If I'd only exert a little effort i could cross them out immediately. But I've made that list years ago, back when i thought that someday, I would be living an ideal life. Someday, it would be easy to do all those things in my list. It was so easy to be optimistic when I was still young. I haven't encountered much of the harsh realities of life back then. It was so easy to dream. But as years went by, I began to realize that some of those things on my bucket list aren't really feasible at all. And as I've gone through different experiences in life, the list has evolved. Some things were added, some things were scrapped. One of those things that used to be on that list was to view the Earth from outer space. Even if I lived to be a hundred, i doubt if i could ever experience something like that in my lifetime. That's right, I was one very delusional teenager. haha.

My grandma used to have a bucket list too, although she never called it that. Some didn't require any effort from her at all. If time was on her side, all that she had to do was wait. One of the things that she kept saying again and again during the past few years was that she wanted to see all of us graduate from college. Once we have all graduated, her list was modified. She added other things. She wanted to live to see the day when my cousin would graduate from college, because she was the one paying for her education. And she told me she wanted to see the day when i'm finally stable financially. And she wanted to see the day when I got married and have a family of my own. When we all have families of our own. She wanted to see her great grandchildren. But time was no longer on her side. I don't know when those things would happen or if they would ever happen, but when that time comes, she's no longer here to see them.

Some of the things required some effort. She used to travel a lot during her younger years, but she had to stop that pastime of hers when the four of us started school. When we had finally graduated, she told me the places that she still wanted to see. But her health was no longer on her side when that time came. Traveling across the globe was no longer feasible. So she settled on that one place about a hundred miles away. That serene and allegedly holy place that she kept hearing about. She asked me and my brother to take her there, but for some reason, we never could find the time. I told her I'd finally take her there the last time she was confined at the ICU, but I knew she probably wouldn't be able to travel that far. When we took her home she told me to forget about it, she no longer wanted to go there. I had a feeling she still wanted to, but she knew that she couldn't. Her last request before she died was for me to take her to the mausoleum that was being built for them. She just wanted to see what it looked like, even though she had no idea that she was going to die two days later. My grandpa made the same request to me, since i was the person mostly at their side during their last few days. I was just waiting for them to get a little bit stronger, to get a little bit better so that they could be fit enough for traveling a short distance. Their situations only got worse instead. I made the same promise to both of them, a promise that i never kept. That was probably the only thing left in their bucket list. They asked me for help, and i failed to deliver. Like so many other things that happened last year, things that were probably predetermined by fate... I still couldn't help but feel that i was partially at fault.

They say that we should live each day as if it is our last. I have my bucket list saved on my laptop. I was looking at it a few minutes ago. If I was going to die tomorrow, next week, or the next few months, there's no way i could possibly do most of the things on that list. And i don't want to die without getting to do at least half of the twenty things I have listed. I've managed to cross out some of the things already. I've learned how to surf. I'm no pro, but I can ride a wave easily using a longboard. I've learned how to play the guitar. I'm no expert, but I can already play those songs with simple chords. See Green Day perform live--- I've done that last year. Travel to California--- I've done that thrice already. Give a substantial amount to charity--- I've done that two years ago. Save a life on my own--- I've done that many, many times. But the other things? Go on an Amazon River cruise. Have my picture taken in front of the great pyramids of Egypt. Good luck with those two. Go Skydiving? I don't think i could afford that in the near future. See Avenged Sevenfold and Slipknot live.... I've already seen two of my favorite bands perform live so i could probably scrap those other two off the list. Besides, I already have DVDs of their live concerts, and I could watch those DVDs again and again. Have a son and name him Connor--- oh boy. I've tried taking care of a baby a few months ago, and there's no way i'm ready to have kids of my own in the near future. LOL. So instead i'm putting other things. Things that are feasible. Things that I can do at this point in my life. Instead of skydiving, I can just try wakeboarding. And mountain climbing. Instead of traveling to other continents, there's still this one place a few hundred miles away that i can probably visit within the next few months. There's no use creating a bucket list if it would take so many years to cross everything out. Better to just keep things simple, to keep things attainable. If both time and luck are on my side, and if opportunity would permit me to try and do greater things in the future, then I would just modify my list again. If this year is going to be my last, i'd rather go out knowing that i've done most of the things i've wanted to do in my life. I don't want to die with the realization that I haven't lived my life to the fullest... that the life that I have lived for 30 long years was and still is incomplete.

In Retrospect

Nothing like driving on the freeway to keep my mind off things. I don't need a particular destination. I just drove around, moving in circles. It was just me, my car, and the road... with deafening music on full blast on the radio, I was all by myself, completely oblivious to the outside world.

Everything has been relatively normal these past few days. I can function perfectly, in fact no one would have known that my grandfather recently passed away unless i told them so. It's just that during those times that I find myself alone, the littlest things bring tears to my eyes. The music coming from the radio, old pictures on our family albums, even eating dinner alone makes me think of the person who used to sit on the seat to my left... I know I've been acting a little too melodramatic these past few days, but he's the first person that I used to see on a regular basis that has passed away... never mind if we weren't really that close when I was growing up, never mind if we had countless arguments, never mind if we didn't really get along during my younger years, and never mind if he's not really my grandfather, at least biologically speaking... every time i think about him, especially how he looked on his last few days, i just couldn't help it. I just couldn't help but cry.

I have come to realize that I'm such a lousy doctor--- at least when it comes to my family. I never wanted to be a doctor, and the only way for me to resign myself to this fate is by viewing this profession as simply work--- i derive no pleasure nor personal satisfaction from it... it's just a way to make ends meet. Thus, for the past couple of years I strived to separate work from home, because home is the place where i find refuge, where I can be away from the things that I do not want to do. So when any of them would ask me questions about their health or about anything medically related, i get annoyed. I would just think of the simplest, shortest answer possible just to get it over and done with. When i'm in such a bad mood, I simply answer i don't know. Most of the time, i wouldn't even exert any effort at all, but when it comes to other people, I can give a definite answer, and even give them proper treatment. At work some would laud my performance, but at home i turn out to be one of the lousiest.

I know that they expect me to have answers regarding their health related concerns, seeing that I'm the only physician who's readily available to them, but I still get annoyed by the fact that they fail to see that sometimes, I just want to be completely free from anything medically related. There are times when I just need a break from it all. Sometimes, I just need to be free to do the things I want to do, and be away from the things that I feel I am only forced to do out of necessity.

Right after graduation, I failed to recognize that my grandmother had varicella zoster infection despite its classic presentation... as a licensed physician, that was the first negligence on my part. And during her repeated bouts of congestive heart failure, i would find myself at a loss even though I have treated dozens of patients who were brought to the emergency room and presented with the same condition. i seldom check on her numerous medications and insulin shots... who knows if she hasn't been taking the correct dosages. And when it came to my grandfather, i used to hate all those conversations we had during dinner when he kept on asking me all those health related questions as soon as I get home from work. When i'm in such a bad mood, I simply answer with a yes or no. He never had much trust in doctors, that's why he often relied on folk medicine. Looking back, maybe there were many instances when he would have opened up his mind to the legitimate practice of medicine, and i was the one who was capable of opening his mind... yet all those times, I chose to brush him off. Who knows, if he had consulted a doctor early enough, his cancer could have been diagnosed in an early stage, and he could still be alive today.

When i came back home, I noticed that he had lost a lot of weight... his clothes seemed a little too large even though they were old. And he was telling me that he felt very weak, and he was asking me for a possible cause. When I am presented with a patient who complains of weakness accompanied by weight loss, i would immediately suspect cancer. But in his case, i wonder why it didn't occur to me as quickly. And looking back on his last night, I knew that he was suffering from respiratory distress and he was obviously having a very difficult time, i didn't really do anything. i should've gotten my grandmother's oxygen tank when his ran out even though she didn't want to share--- she didn't need it at that time, she just wants oxygen to help her fall asleep... I should've given some analgesic to take away the pain... and I should've demanded that he be brought back to the hospital even though it was agreed upon that we'll just wait for him to expire at home, because he was clearly in respiratory distress and to simply wait for him to die wasn't the right thing to do... I had the opportunity to do all those things, but I didn't. Because when I'm inside our house, i choose to be crippled... i choose to be incapable, unreliable, useless.

i found myself outside the mausoleum. Aside from the wind blowing softly, everything was still. It was locked from the inside, so i just stood outside for a few minutes. Maybe unconsciously, i knew it was where I was headed. i didn't really know why i went there. I knew all that's left inside is just a body... cold and lifeless, undergoing the slow process of decomposition. I doubt if i still believed in the myth of the afterlife, and I knew that any word i would say couldn't really reach anyone. But just for the sake of it, with the wind and the earth as my sole witnesses, I said sorry... for all the things i have done, and for all the things I haven't done.

Epilogue

If someone asked me a few days ago questions pertaining to death, I would have answered in a nonchalant manner. It’s not something I’m afraid of. It's not something that saddens me. It’s part of the natural order of things, and death will come to everyone sooner or later. I have encountered so many deaths in my few years of medical practice, that I have become desensitized with the whole idea of death. Except for a few patients that I have been seeing regularly for a few weeks or even a few months, I have no deep emotional attachment to most of the dying patients that I have encountered. Once they’ve taken that last breath, I would check for definite signs and pronounce them dead in a very systematic manner. After one patient, I could easily proceed to the next. After all, once a person has died all that remains is a lifeless body, made up of organ systems that have simply ceased to function.

But that was me yesterday. This is how I am now. After more than a month in the hospital, we finally decided to bring our grandfather home. I often advice relatives of terminally ill patients to just bring the patient home and let him spend the last remaining days of his life in a familiar environment together with his loved ones, even though I absolutely had no idea of what it would feel like, how it can be both physically and emotionally draining. Such a recommendation looks so good on paper that I thought it was also the best decision to make with regard to my grandfather. The basic necessities were bought, and one room in our house was renovated to make it look like a hospital room, complete with all the basic equipment. Two private nurses were hired, so that means less work for us. However, more pressure was set on me because I was the one that they would call whenever there were problems. Everything was manageable though, and my grandfather seemed to be getting stronger, even though I knew that was quite impossible. He spends less time sleeping, he can carry conversations again, and the manifestations of psychosis seemed to have lessened a bit. But I knew in the back of my head that whatever sort of reprieve that we were experiencing back then was only temporary. Back in March i thought he wouldn’t even reach April… the fact that we were able to bring him home was nothing short of a miracle.

It was on Tuesday morning when things took their turn for the worse. He barely woke up again, and I wasn’t able to have any decent conversations with him again. Around lunch time I noticed that he was gasping for breath. He was trying to tell me a lot of things, but all that I could make out was something like… he was having a very hard time, he was finding it difficult to breath, and he wants to give up. Oxygen was administered, and after a few minutes he fell asleep. I knew back then that in an ideal setting, he should be intubated already. But it was agreed upon that we would just wait for the inevitable at home. Bringing him back to the hospital wouldn’t do much good anyway. And if it could add a few more days in his life, he may not even be aware of those extra few days anymore. It would probably just prolong the agony.

After midnight I went back to his room... though he was asleep he was obviously in respiratory distress. He woke up when I tried to listen to his lung sounds, and he just looked at me without saying I word. I wasn’t even sure if he recognized me. I smiled and said everything’s okay, and then he fell asleep again. It was on Wednesday morning when the nurses called me up again to check on him. He was lying on his bed as always, he looked exactly the way he was each time I checked on him on most mornings. Except this time, I felt no pulse. I couldn’t hear any heartbeat. There was no spontaneous breathing. Both of his pupils were fixed and dilated, and all his extremities felt very cold. I’ve been so used to the sight of death that I felt nothing at first, but when everyone started crying I felt tears welling up. I knew that it was coming and I thought that I was already prepared for it, but it seemed as if I wasn’t. I tried so hard to fight those tears but ultimately it was a losing battle. A few hours ago I witnessed him gasping for breath, a few hours ago he looked me straight in the eye and I told him that everything was okay even though we both knew that it was not. And now that he has expired, I was the one who would pronounce him dead.

I knew the exact moment when an endotracheal tube should have been placed. I knew the exact moment when vasopressors should have been started. I knew the exact moment when we had to do CPR and when those intravenous injections of epinephrine could have helped... and I wondered if I should have done those things instead of doing nothing. But looking back, those things wouldn’t be able to do much good anyway. All those life saving measures are only temporary and cannot sustain life in the long run. Doing so would only prolong his agony. I just wished I could have given something to have made it easier. I didn’t even give him anything for the pain. We ran out of oxygen during the wee hours of the morning and there was nothing I could do to help him breathe. Looking back, I just wish that he wasn’t in pain or in any form of agony. I just wish that he didn’t experience any form of hardship. I just wish that the last remaining minutes of his life didn't prove to be difficult for him... and I wish that he died with a sense of fulfillment, without any physical nor emotional burden... I hope that he died peacefully.

It has been a long day and I haven’t even slept yet. He had specific instructions that he did not want to have a wake. He just wants a short service in church, and then we should proceed to his burial afterward. Everyone had to do his part for all the necessary arrangements, and with everyone’s help, we managed to pull it off. We picked up some formal clothes in his closet, thinking of what he would want to wear... and what would look best on him. At the church, after mass, when we all took turns at dousing his coffin with holy water, I couldn't even look at his body without breaking in tears. By 6 PM, we were already at the cemetery back at his home town. The sun was setting on the horizon and the wind was blowing softly as we finally laid him to rest. Everything was so surreal, I could have sworn that it was all just a dream. The atmosphere was serene and for me, it was close to perfection. If he was still alive, I knew that he would be happy with what we all saw. We did exactly as he wanted, and taking all things into consideration, i would say that we did a good job.

We got back home at around 8 PM. Everywhere I looked, there are things that reminded me of him. I got so used to his daily routine through the years, that I would half expect him to show up. 8 PM... that’s the same time everyone usually gets home from work. That’s also the same time he goes up to his room upstairs to sleep, and we would see him on his way up and we would all kiss him good night. At 6AM, I would always expect to see him eating breakfast, and by 8AM I would expect to see him running around the garden as I’m leaving for work, doing his exercise routine. By 11 AM if I’m at home, I would expect him to call me, asking me to join him for lunch. At 5:30 PM he eats dinner, and he would always ask me if it was really all right to take that one shot of brandy after dinner so that it would help him fall asleep. Everyday, at those specific times, I would expect to see him going through his daily routine... his routine that I took for granted and never gave much attention to because I have become so used to it... and after a while reality would set in and I would begin to remember that he's gone... i would realize that i won't be seeing him anymore. I would realize that he'll no longer be there.

I entered my grandparent’s bathroom and the smell of pomade admixed with his aftershave lingered in the air as always. That was the same scent that I’ve smelled as I kissed him on the cheek that last time while he was still confined in the hospital. In the kitchen there are all sorts of herbal medicines in the cupboard... he was never fond of “manufactured” medicines, and we always had minor arguments regarding all those stuff that he used to take. In the garage his car is parked next to mine, that vintage Mercedes Benz that he refused to give up no matter what, despite the many offers from vintage collectors. I would always remember the distinct smell of its old leather interior, and how I always found it embarrassing to ride that car when we were in elementary school because all the other kids rode in cool and modern cars. When I went upstairs, I saw the makeshift gym that he has filled with equipment bought from those home shopping channels on TV, and I would always remember how he tells me I’m wasting money with my gym membership because he thought everything that I needed was already there. In the living room there’s still that Lazy Boy chair, where he sits all day just watching TV or sleeping when he was already too tired to move around the house... and now it's just an empty chair. Inside the makeshift office I saw the words “dada 56 years old” scribbled on the wall. I wrote those words directly below his picture on that wall back when I was 5, to commemorate his 56th birthday. My dad said that dada was how I called my grandfather when I was 2, and somehow it just stuck. Me and my siblings call him such, even to this very day. Scattered on the desk, I see lots of empty billing forms for the tenants in his apartments. Years ago he taught us this weird formula that he made up which was needed to arrive at the proper total billing. He said we needed to learn all that because we will be the ones who would manage his business when he’s gone. During summer he would bring my brother and me to help him do those basic repairs because when he’s gone we are the one’s who would take care of his business... it’s funny that now, both of us would want nothing to do with it. I went up to his room and I remember that talk we had last November, when he said that there’s nothing greater than remaining in one’s own country and serving his own people... and I answered that there’s no money to be earned here, that’s why I want to search for greener pastures. I can’t afford to be a hero or a saint after all. When I got home back in February, that time we talked in his room was also the last time he slept there, because he grew tired of going up and down the stairs already. His body wouldn’t allow him even if he wanted to. He was asking me a lot of questions about his health, and I had to cut it short because I still had plans for the evening. After that he grew too sick. That was the last meaningful conversation that we had.

All this familiarity has resulted into such a huge emotional investment. That’s the reason why his lifeless body is so different from all the rest. That's the reason why reality refuses to set in. I kept crying as I was holding his hand yesterday, wishing for him to still be able to feel my touch for one last time. I wish I could have said something better that last time we spoke, and if I only knew that yesterday was his last, I would have spent all day beside him instead of being holed up in my room studying. There are things that we couldn’t change, and there are things that we couldn’t take back, no matter how hard we try. He has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and will all those things that I wish I should have done still in the back of my mind, it makes it so hard to let go. I kept holding his hand for more than an hour since he passed away, denying the fact that the hand I was holding was no longer the hand of my grandfather. It was just a hand attached to another lifeless body, made up of worn out organ systems that have finally ceased to function...a lifeless body that has finally succumbed to the disease... and nothing I could do can ever change that fact. Nothing I could do can ever bring him back.

Midpoint

Back when I was a kid, I always prayed before going to sleep. And before I ended each prayer, I had “wishes” that I would always enumerate. A lot of kids would wish for super powers, and I was one of those. And the last thing that I would always ask for is to live a longer life--- to live until the age of 30 to be exact. I was paranoid when I was young, I kept on thinking that each day could be my last. I don’t know the reason why I thought of the age of thirty. I guess back then, a 30 year old guy seemed to old already. I guess I thought back then that by the time I reached 30, I would have accomplished a lot of things. Back then, I thought I would have my own house, I would be happily married, and I would already have several kids. Back then, I thought that by the time I reached 30, my life would already mean something.

And now that I’m thirty, I can say that nothing can be further from the truth.

I feel as if my life hasn’t even begun yet. There are still a lot of things that I want to do, and here I am, still struggling to get out of the starting point. I want nothing more than to move forward, but things keep holding me back. I want nothing more than to gain independence and live my life on my own and see where it takes me, but I can’t seem to move forward because I still depend on my family for almost everything. There are still things left at home that I can’t just leave behind. I want my self to amount to something, I want to leave my mark. I’ve probably already lived more than half of my life. Thirty years can go by so fast. I may have less than thirty years left to live... I wonder if I can still do so much.

Not having a job makes me feel worthless. And with all of the things happening these days, God knows I can use some sort of a day job to keep me distracted. Yet I know that having a job would throw the entire family in disarray. I’m the only one who can watch over my grandfather in the hospital at night. So I guess this has to be my everyday routine until the next month or so. With the rate that his illness has been progressing, I seriously doubt if he would live until the next month anyway.

When the clock struck twelve midnight on the 20th of March, I was with him at the hospital. He was sound asleep, nothing seems to keep him awake for long these days. Amidst all the stillness, I just sat there beside his bed, staring at him. He looked so different from the grandfather I knew. He looked so different from the person I said goodbye to last November, he looked so different from the person who welcomed me back when I got home. He looked so tired and beaten, as if all the life has already been taken out of him. I touched his arms, and all I felt were skin and bones. He couldn’t even eat even if he wanted to. At those times when he would awaken for a few minutes, he would ask for something to eat. He couldn’t even swallow liquids anymore. Each attempt to feed him is an exercise in futility. He would also ask if he could stand up, which actually means only leaning on us because he can’t stand up on his own anymore. I never really felt that close to him in the past, but a few minutes after twelve that night, after staring at him for a few minutes, I felt tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t figure out why, but as I sat there alone with him, I couldn’t help but cry.

Each day my grandma and my dad would remind me to ask my grandpa where he put the money that he withdrew from his bank account a few months back. For some reason, they think that if my grandpa would tell it to someone, that someone would be me. They want me to ask him if he bought something, if he gave it away, or if he hid it somewhere--- apparently, that’s a riddle that has to be answered in order for them to have some peace of mind. That’s quite an impossible task because he’s just sleeping most of the time, and whenever he speaks, I couldn’t even understand what he’s saying anymore. But even if I could understand what he’s saying, I couldn’t really bring myself to ask him. It’s just money. There are more pressing concerns these days besides money, and to ask him such things during those few minutes when he’s awake seems a little too insincere. The very thought of that made me cry even more. It would be better to just make the remaining few days of his life as comfortable as possible. There’s no use in dwelling on such things. I wonder why they couldn’t just let it go.

He has already lived for 80 years. I wonder if he already feels fulfilled. I wonder if he thinks that he has lived long enough. I for one do not wish to live that long. Looking ahead while I’m at that certain point in time, I wouldn’t want to live past the age of 70… or whatever age when I would have to depend on others for everything. Never mind if the people who are with me that time are more than willing to take care of me, never mind if they are willing to make a lot of sacrifices just because they love me… I don’t think my sense of pride would allow me to revert back to such a dependent state. I wouldn’t want to cause any burden to anyone. And losing that sense of independence that I would have worked so hard to achieve would cause an even bigger burden on myself. Although we’re doing all these things for my grandfather now out of love, I know how much trouble this whole ordeal has been causing us, and I would never want to cause this much disarray to my future family. I’d rather die abruptly than to watch myself slowly wither away. I’d rather die quickly than to watch such burden slowly break down my family. Better to end my life abruptly than to prolong the agony for all of us. There’s this feeling of ambivalence that can’t seem to go away. You’d want nothing more than your love one to life longer. If it’s possible, you’d even want them to live forever. Yet on the other hand, You’re wishing that such an ordeal would end soon, because the physical and emotional strain that it has been causing can seem a little too much, especially when it drags on and on, and there’s no end in sight.

I’m probably more than halfway through my life. Would have some sense of accomplishment 30 years from now? I don’t really know. 30 years go by so fast, and at the rate I’m going, 30 years might not be enough.

And the sad thing is, when that time comes, I may no longer have the strength to do the things that would give me some sense of fulfillment. And I would hate it if when that time comes, I would lie in some hospital bed, barely able to move, thinking about the sad, pathetic life I have lived--- full of regrets, wondering if I could have lived my life differently, wondering if I could have done more. I hope that such is not the case with my grandfather. I hope that as he looks back on his life, it would leave a smile on his face. When the time finally comes, I hope that he would die a happy man.

Torn

I hate to admit it, and I feel guilty that I’m even feeling this way… but this routine is slowly getting tiresome.

After being admitted at the hospital for a few days due to extreme weakness, my grandpa is finally back home. Not that anything has changed as far as his strength is concerned. He’s still extremely weak, I wonder if he was really fit to be discharged from the hospital. I even wonder if he should have been admitted in the first place. I mean, I doubt if he could ever get his strength back. But he’s already back home, and the past two days seemed to have made everyone in the house tired and weary.

I'm starting to find my everyday routine tiresome. I always have to check on both of my grandparents every few minutes when I’m at home--- and that’s most of the time. I only work twice a week… I doubt if I can actually call what I am doing as work. When put in another perspective, the time I spend at work is actually my free time. I go to work just to take a break from it all. The things I do at home is causing me too much stress. I do more work at home, and I seldom rest. I have to check on their medications, give intravenous meds, assist them as they are trying to walk, change diapers and even feed them at times. I’ve become a personal caregiver with a degree in medicine. I don’t mind doing all those things since I owe my grandparents a lot and God knows that I love them. It’s just that there comes a point every now and then when all these things pile up and I reach the brink of my tolerance.

But compared to what our two household helpers have been doing, I guess I have it easy. All of a sudden, their work load has been multiplied a tenfold, and the things they do are definitely not included in their job description. The time and effort that they give are definitely not proportionate to the salaries they have been getting, and I predict that at least one of them will leave on the next few days. They couldn’t even sleep for crying out loud. How could they when the buzzer would ring every few minutes or so, which means that either my grandpa or grandpa needs help with something. And they choose no specific hours. Even during the wee hours of the morning, I hear the buzzer ring a lot of times and it awakens me from sleep every so often. The exasperated sighs I hear from our helpers every time the buzzer rings are sure signs that they too are getting tired of this routine. A few times, they even pretend not to hear that dreaded buzzer. I can’t really blame them. I mean, even I wouldn’t last this long doing those things for people I’m not even related to, especially if I do not receive just compensation for all the time and effort that I give.

My grandparents don’t even want me to go out of the house. They want me to be always there just in case they needed me for something... stuff that no one else could do. As much as I want to get out just to get some air, the look in their eyes as they plead me not to leave makes it hard for me to say no. There are times that I get to sneak out late at night, but evidently they would discover that I left. When I’m out I get this indescribable feeling of elation that only freedom can give. But when I get home, the manner in which they ask me why I went out really saddens me. It tears my conscience apart as if I have done something that was gravely wrong. How I hate that feeling.

Earlier my grandpa asked me if i will be leaving the country soon. I told him it won’t be able to work abroad this year, I have to wait until the next year. After that, my grandma told me to just stay with them. She asked me if it would be possible for me to just stay in this country. Even though I wanted nothing more than to get out of this god forsaken place, I found it hard to tell her that. How I hate this feeling. I hate it when I’m torn between two things. I want nothing more than to get out of here, but at the same time, I’d hate to leave them here. I hate the fact that my family is holding me back, and it sucks even more because I love them. If I leave I won’t completely be happy because I’ll be thinking about them, but if I stay here I would never be happy. Whatever decision I make, I just can’t win. It sucks that I can’t have it both ways, but ultimately I have to choose. At this point in my life I am more inclined to do what I want. I am more inclined to base my decisions on what’s good for me, and I try so hard not to be swayed by love or pity. At times it would seem to be a losing battle, because family just holds so much weight, but still I have to try. It’s like choosing the lesser of two evils. In life, nothing is perfect, nothing feels completely right, nothing can make us completely satisfied. My conscience will continue to nag me, but oftentimes our conscience is being unfair so it would be best to simply ignore it. I won’t be turning my back on them completely, and it’s about time I made definite plans that would impact the rest of my life. It's about time that I make long term plans. One’s family shouldn’t hold one back. One’s family should support one’s dreams and help them reach their goals. I can’t devote my whole life to them, even though it’s only temporary. I have to leave a part for myself. I can’t put everything on hold waiting for the inevitable--- who knows how long it would take? I’ve put my life on hold for so many years now, maybe I deserve the chance to slowly move on. How can that be so wrong? Why does this conscience keep on bothering me, as if this is so wrong? I am determined to go on with this path I have chosen. I’ll keep walking on this rocky path no matter how hard it seems, and I would try to keep myself from stalling every time that I look back. I’ll keep moving along, hurdling over all obstacles, resisting the urge to head back, even if it would ultimately break me apart.

The Sordid Face of Reality

Well, that really came out of left field.

All my life, i really thought that my grandfather would reach the age of 100. How can i think otherwise, when he was always more active than people his age. He played sports, he exercises regularly... heck, he even actively participated in the sex trade until the past year or so. And compared to my grandmother who has a lot of illnesses, he remained relatively healthy. Until late last year, when he started to complain that he was feeling weak. He doesn't like going to doctors. Whenever he gets sick, he just lets the disease run its course--- sometimes with the help of herbal stuff, and rarely does he take legit medications. His archaic beliefs have been a source of our numerous clashes while i was growing up, especially when he enforces those beliefs upon me. He says that vitamins are bad for one's health. He says that food in restaurants are dirty. We should never take a bath a night, we should never clean the house at night, we should never spend money on Mondays, we should always go to church before 12 noon---- doing otherwise would bring us ill fortune. Of course, being the hard headed grandson that I was, i frequently disobeyed. I knew those beliefs had no basis and they were senseless, and often i found the guts to tell him that--- and that wasn't easy, because in our house, he was the authority. I lived with my grandparents all my life. Besides my grandmother and my brother, he was the only other person that i see everyday. In the game of good cop- bad cop, he was the bad cop while my grandmother was the bad cop. When we were kids, we were so afraid of his thick belt and that thick wooden stick of his. One wrong move and he would lash us with either one, whichever he could grab first. I remember the day when I was already in my early teens and I was already strong enough to fight back. Instead of just crying while he hit us, I grabbed that wooden stick and broke it in two. He then told me to get out of his house and to never return. My grandmother was crying her heart out as my mom took me away. I spent a week at my parents house. I came back because of my grandmother. I swallowed my pride and did what it took for my grandfather to forgive me--- I knelt before him and said i was sorry. I was wrong and I would never do that again. He slapped me afterwards, and I tried so hard not to fight back.

The rest of my teenage years were tumultuous. I was never the type who would bow down in submission, especially if I do not see the point. I never agreed with his ancient beliefs--- like whenever a boy and a girl were left alone in a room, they would surely have sex. That's why we were never left alone in a room with our sisters. I told him how perverse his way of thinking was, and of course he wanted me out of his house again. When I threw a party at my house and my friends and i slept in a single room, he scolded me for organizing an orgy. But no matter how much i would try to reason out, it was no use. He was the authority. He was the law. He was right, and everyone else was wrong. That's just the way he is and we had to deal with it. Even my father was afraid of him. I even hated the fact that he was so religious, yet he does things that no religious man would ever do. Gambling, watching porno, cavorting with prostitutes, saying curses and shouting expletives after every sentence... Every time he scolds me he would quote the Bible, and I just couldn't help but answer back. I was the rebel, i was the only one who had the guts to answer back... I saw myself as the defender of my siblings and I had to fight the villain for all of us. But as i grew up, eventually i learned how to shut up. I learned the art of silence. I learned how to ignore everything that he said no matter how hurtful and no matter how senseless they are. By the time I reached my mid-twenties, he seem to have mellowed a bit. i guess he finally saw me as an adult, and dealing with me in an authoritarian manner like he used to would be a little inappropriate.

In recent years, we manage to have small talks, mainly about his health. He always remained healthy, so there was nothing much to talk about. So we talked more about the future, and how he was going to leave everything that he had to me and my brother. I don't know how he sees me now, but all the animosity that we had all those years seemed to have dissipated. I feel no hatred towards him, but I'm not sure if I feel some love. We get along now, but somehow, I can't help but feel a little detached. Maybe because he was the bad cop as I was growing up. That drove a wedge between us. He wasn't the person i ran to when I was growing up. He was the person that I avoided, he was the person that i was afraid of. The last time that we talked was the day before I left for the USA. He told me that it would be better for me to stay here and serve my own countrymen. Then I told him how much it sucks to be a doctor here... that I have no future here. The talk I had earlier with my grandmother was difficult, but my talk with him seemed to be just as difficult. Because as I was explaining everything to him, that was the first time that I saw him teary eyed. He was actually on the verge of tears, and he was trying so hard to keep those tears from falling. He said something like he doesn't want to die without his entire family by his side. Of course i brushed it off. I told him that he was the prime example of health. He still had many years ahead of him. To think otherwise would be preposterous.

When I got back home last week, he seemed like a different person. He was so weak, he couldn't even walk alone. He even found it hard to eat by himself. For the first time, he was weaker than my grandmother, it all seemed surreal. I couldn't really tell what was wrong with him. I recognized that his heartbeat was irregular since last year, i thought he could have a cardiac pathology. After a series of discussions, I finally convinced him to go see a specialist. We practically had to force him to go. He didn't like the trip to the hospital, and he didn't like the fact that he had to wait for 30 minutes before being seen, but we managed to keep him inside the doctor's waiting area despite his numerous pronouncements that he wanted to go home. He was seen by the doctor, initial meds were given, a follow up check up was scheduled, and x-rays and blood works were done... the results of which we found out today.

He has stage 4 cancer. He never consulted a doctor for the past decade or so... whether or not we could have detected the disease in its early stages, we'll never know. The source of the cancer wasn't clear, but it seems that it originated from one of his kidneys. There were numerous metastases to lungs, to the liver, to his entire abdominal cavity. There were even metastases to his muscles and bones. No wonder he was felt so weak. Even chemotherapy would be useless at this stage. No wonder the changes were so abrupt. It's just weird that he doesn't feel any pain. There are no other symptoms, just weakness. Once again, it just seems so surreal. At first I was shocked, and until now I am in a state of disbelief.

Still, I do not feel any sorrow, at least for now. I still feel detached. I don't know what exactly it is I'm feeling. Probably because we did not have a strong bond as I was growing up... probably because I still can't believe that he's really dying. His cancer is terminal, and he only has a few more months, or maybe just a few more weeks to live. And now he refuses to go to the doctor, he just wants to stay in his room, saying he has given up, he does not want to receive any more treatment, he does not want to take any more medications. I would like to think that he has lived long enough. He has done so many things in his life and i think he would leave this world with a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment... but seeing him like this, it just doesn't seem right. It's like seeing Superman in the twilight of his life, broken, worn out, and beaten. The cosmos must be playing some sort of practical joke because the man I'm seeing now isn't the grandfather that i have known all my life. There's just no way that all this could be real.

It just can't be.