i know i’m a wimp. i’m easily reduced to tears. either through being howled at by a work senior who cannot spell, or watching tall, be-moustached jerry from ER undergo a life-saving heart bypass, i can’t help but be teary eyed. imagine a more tragic event, like a much longed-for blessing being taken away from you and not once but twice after envisaging you’ve finally reached that tape for the finish line in the baby race. i didn’t like the contractions one bit and those injections hurt. to quote eliza doolittle (and i’m not even a fan of audrey hepburn), “i’m a good girl, i am,” although the word good is open to interpretations and and the morality police and the judgment brigade with their guns blazing would surely disagree.
and with that, i would like to shower my heartfelt indebtedness to the amiable souls who dropped by my hospital cubicle; leilanie — i was not a pretty sight, blood and all and not everybody is willing to wipe those spillages off the floor. the sinigang was amazing. thank your better half for me. janette — for your wonderful presence despite your busy workday and i didn’t even offer you a chair. chrissie– your visit was truly a reflection of your generosity. raymund v, or hemingford (for a name that’s distinctively you) — that was a very benevolent gesture, others would have just said no. i heard you’re in RP? ate nemia — you may not be able to read this but i’m truly, truly grateful. and for
those who sent messages, ruth, dearie, thank you. prolonged phone conversations from friends — honey, i’m not in the mood to celebrate birthdays and but hope to see you next month. to my brothers — i’m still recovering but i’m fine. always, always take care of yourselves.
with the exception of certain periods of going to work in the last five months, i was actually bound to my bed. vomiting constantly was an awful, awful feeling. a huge sigh and a tear later. i still can’t answer all the questions.
