By Danilo P. Padua
I was hesitant to write about what COVID 19 had done to my family as it may induce so much emotion in me, and that I may not be able to complete it on time. I had actually started to write on another article which, I would like to believe, is a very interesting one. That article should now be next in line. It is a last minute change.
COVID 19 continues to sow havoc among our population, and more especially in many poorer countries where availability of vaccines is hampered by low purchasing power. It is still an unbridled scourge.
Last Nov 1, my wife was staring at the pictures of our beloved and dearly missed son Dakila, all of 37 years old then, who was rudely claimed by COVID 19 last April 30, 2021. I saw her silently crying with her tears freely flowing like spring water, down her cheeks. Couple that with her subdued sobbing. It was a chilly moment.
It seems that we have not yet overcome the grief that befell us because of such loss of our son. We are now left with just one son (we have only 2 children) that we equally love and sorely miss too as he is abroad, and away for 3 years already. He wasn’t able to come home because of the pandemic. He just cried and cried all by himself in Vietnam.
I felt that by writing about this unexpected turn of event in our family, I could unload most of the sadness that is still enveloping me. And maybe that could also be true for my wife when she reads this short note.
So, I steeled my nerves and willed myself to go ahead and write something about it, preparing to pour out some of my hidden emotions and telling myself at the same time not to be too melancholic about it.
But, oh it’s not possible to control everything. Something warm is already scaling down from my two eyes. I have to say sorry to myself.
Well, the day our son died, I got a call from somebody who was constantly monitoring the situation of Dax (as he was called by his colleagues at the Department of Agricultue). When I was sure that our son already left us for good, without even talking to us, or us talking to him, I started to cry and wail so loud that my wife woke up at 5 o’clock in the morning, at least one hour earlier than her usual wake up hour, she rushed down and asked a lot of questions. I can not even mumble any quaint answer, just looked at her with a shrouded eyes. She knew then instinctively what happened. She joined me in a loud, out of tune duet that we did not want to sing. That impromptu concert made us quite weak after.
After 30 minutes or so, I got the number of the attending physician and called her. We talked for sometime. Two days before, I sent a stem cell product that was proven to be effective in increasing the oxygen level of at least 3 COVID 19 patients in Baguio. They survived. I asked the doctor if they receive it the following day. The doctor answered in the affirmative. I then asked her if they administered it to our son. The answer was no. Logically, I asked why. The doctor swiftly replied that it is not in the protocol.
The answer to it came to me like a bolt of lightning. It spurred me to spit out a handful. I told her in a very rapid, angry voice “There are so many Covid patients in your hospital that are dying (the day I was there, there were at least 5 who died that I witnessed being carried to the morgue), and yet you are talking about your protocol. You could have asked us for any way that we, the patient’s relatives, are to be wholly responsible if the patient died because of what you are giving outside of that protocol. If the patient recovered, you could claim that you found a way to help cure COVID 19 patients”. I gave her more ear-splitting diatribes.
A bit later, I sincerely felt that I was being too hard on the physician, realizing that she is also a victim of the system, of that protocol. So, I mumbled an apology.
After the encounter and collecting myself, I immediately prepared to go to Philippine Veterans Hospital where our son died, reaching Quezon City just after 2 o’clcock in the afternoon. I made necessary arrangements, that were quite heavy for me to take. As things were being cleared, and relevant documents from the hospital are being prepared, I went to the nearby Department of Agriculture Central office to meet with former Sec William Dar, Usec Leocadio Sebastian, Asec Noel Reyes and other officials. I put up a brave front in their midst. I was able not to cry in front of them but once the meeting was done, and my back behind them, the flow of pearls from my eyes became uncontrolled, as it is presently happening as I write this piece.
(Let me thank, 2 years later, DA Central officials led by former Sec Dar, DA Region I and DA-CAR officials for all their help during our son’s hospitalization period and during the height of the ordeal.)
Returning to the hospital, I asked if I could have a glimpse of my son, already in body bag. “How do I know that it is him who is inside that cadaver bag?”. I blurted out. They said no, it’s the protocol. That protocol again! Later, I was able to persuade the ambulance men to allow me to have a fleeting peek of who is inside the bag. Its him, with all those signs of struggle with COVID written all over his face, and the neck injury caused by intubation.
It was hard for me to see my son, being carried out of the morgue, loaded to the ambulance going to the Manila North cemetery crematorium. It is even harder to see, the black smoke coming out of the crematorium chimney as he is cremated. Then silently weeping as I alone, accompanied him back to Baguio.**
