Resurrection story

Nora Soriño .

ILIGAN City–The 14-month old baby Len was sick–very, very sick. She had diarrhea for days and was running a high fever. Her small chinita eyes had grown wide and the skin beneath them took on a purple color. She was given only water from overcooked rice which we call “lawot.” Milagros, the lone nurse from Libagon, a fifth class municipality in Southern Leyte, then injected some liquid directly into each of her tiny thigh. Then she had to go home to get some rest. Even then, the baby was still deteriorating. Fast, I should say.

My mother, who got very tired of keeping watch over my young sibling, had the helper take over the job one morning so she could get herself a few winks. My father too was equally tired as he, too, kept watch over the baby during the night.

“Nang, Nong, look at the baby! Something’s happening. She’s going to… to…” The helper, Ilang, couldn’t say some more. All of us went on panic mode. I was 15 then and kind of foolish  like any other teenager. Yet I, too, was very concerned and stayed home to help watch over my kid sister. I was  not watching over her at the time because I, too, had to get some winks.

In no time at all, we were at the baby’s bedside. Her shoulders were going up and down in spasms. The pupils in her eyes retreated and all we saw were the whites.

Mother cradled her in her arms even as she was pressing her every which way in an effort to get back to life an obviously dying body. She then looked upward and begged God for forgiveness. Everybody feared this must be the dreaded moment…

The other family members decided to do something to help. I ran to the town’s only pharmacy and there, muttered vaguely if they had something a miracle tablet perhaps to bring back someone to life. This only invited curiosity to the lone storekeeper; she did not have such tablet and instead plied me with endless questions about what was happening. I could only mutter some words and then instead of going back home, I went to the seashore to do some reflection to calm my nerves.

After an eternity, I went back willing myself to calm. My younger sister Kingking (such a name), was already there with another woman. Toling, the “hilot” of the town and the baby’s baptismal godmother was there, frantic in pressing the baby every which way like my mother.

The baby seemed to respond as the pupils in her eyes returned and the spasms somewhat stopped with her breathing returning to seemingly normal.

By and by, my father arrived with Milagros the  nurse. Papa had pedaled in his bicycle to go get her who was around six kilometers away, in barrio Kawayan. She had rode the bike with him.

My mother and Nang Toling stopped pressing the baby and made way for Milagros. She then injected the baby with some liquid, again in each of her  thigh. The baby let out a tiny cry and we were relieved for the moment. The cry meant life.

After her injection ritual after which the baby was fed with “lawot” again.  Milagros advised the family to take her to a doctor at the earliest.

My very concerned Papa E, an elementary teacher who became one when he was just a grade six pupil, thought hard together with my Mama on what to do. Aside from the fact that there was no medical doctor in town, there was no bus either to somewhere outside the town. But Papa had a solution. He hired a pump boat to take him to Malitbog, a town over 60 kilometers away by land. So, at around noon of that day, he set out for said town through the sea, the Sogod Bay.

By early evening, he had with him, a Dr. Gimeno, his wife who was a nurse and two aides tagging along.

People crowded in our small bamboo house. Without much ado, the doctor and his party put up an intravenous and gave baby Len some medications. They stayed there overnight. By morning of the next day, they returned to Malitbog, this time by bus already as there were now buses available. (The buses trips were scheduled then with some days having no schedules). Before leaving though, he advised that the baby stays in their clinic in Malitbog for several days.

My parents, of course, did so with myself, and Kingking, my mother and a helper tagging along.

Baby Len had grown up uneventfully with Papa occasionally referring to her as “binawi sa Ginoo” ( taken back from God). Her schooling in the University of the Philippines in college was sponsored by another sibling who had gotten himself a scholarship from said university in Diliman, Quezon City.

Len now is with an international NGO helping people in need. Maybe that was why she luckily had been resurrected at that crucial time?

We were told later that she had “convulsion” due to her fever and dehydration. And many convulsions go all the way to death, if not attended to immediately and specially if that occurs during the night as everyone is asleep.

We were thankful to God. And to Papa, to Mama, to my kid sister who was able to get Nang Toling immediately. The latter was bathing then and she “forced” her to continue her bath later as there was an emergency. To the nurse, to the doctor and his team. It was later related that the  team with my Papa nearly capsized in the pump boat off the seas of Sogod Bay. To the helper also, and to everybody.

During the Holy Week, I couldn’t help recall that episode in another life, another time…