Service that Smiles

FRIDAY STARTED OUT early for us. It was Aesop’s laboratory tests at Capitol Medical Center preparatory to the operation of his right iningual hernia, the next day, if the tests agree. Aes has gone through the initial ultrasound which was the most basic of requirements.

My wife Myrna had the foresight to enrol him and me for a health care plan at Maxicare. All three of us chased paper from Monday until Friday to ensure that the targeted day, Saturday, was met without a hitch. We were fortunate that, in spite of snags caused by forgetfulness on our part, we were able to comply with the fundamentals. Added to that was the pleasance of the staff of the health care provider and the hospital itself. Until the visit to the ground floor billing office. Myrna went th
ere to ask for an assessment of the cost of the operation. When she and Aes came out, they were wearing long faces. Myrna did not hesitate telling me that her inquiry resulted in the information that the mesh, that will be a necessity for Aes during the surgery, will cost a hundred thousand pesos. I had to let Myrna sit down for the weight of the information to settle while I went back to the fourth floor to ask the attending surgeon for less-costing (and stress-causing) alternatives. Both his secretary and Dr. Guevarra were solicitous in reassuring that nerves were probably the culprit in the exchange for a regular mesh would only cost four to seven thousand pesos. His snicker even suggested the hilarity of the price.

According to schedule, Aesop was fetched by two attendants in scrubs before 6 in the morning of Saturday. Three hours of praying and waiting later, two attendants knocked on the door and rolled Aesop back in the room. Somewhere between those hours, the surgeon asked us to go down to the operating room to show us the lump of excess intestinal fat that was removed from Aesop’s testes. It was the size of an uncooked slice of pork chop.

I knew what was coming next. Not that I mind being alerted every time a nurse enters asking my son the history of his hernia, like if he has allergy, dentures, cutex, fever, or if he smokes. I really don’t unless the frequency is every hour. And when the same nurse gives him a tablet for his guts and then returns minutes later to get my signature signifying agreement to his operation. At least only two doctors asked to see his cut  and only one examined him wearing gloves and they did it only once. At least only one doctor came to announce that he is from anaesthetics and that was that. I got used to the unholy visits eventually. Prayer helped tremendously.

I never liked hospitals and it is only a matter of Christian duty and social obligation to kith and kin that prods me to personally commisserate with their situation. The pathos of disease and the abhorrent smell of antiseptic are enough reasons for me to avoid the clinical detachment of medical institutions. My son’s confinement and the blurred memory of my wife’s protracted executive check-up aggravate my indifference to them. This does not include the horrible fact that my veteran father died in a government hospice the long story of which I’d rather not recall.

But given those aberrations typical in any hospital, I have to thank my Marian mindset for reminding me that those establishments are there for a noble reason. More so, the people that inhabit them are sworn to a calling that does not only save lives but also, if possible, improve them.

It is true that, at the end of the day, when quiet finally seeps in, and the mind is rid of the pressures of what transpired, essentials assert themselves. I was so preoccupied with the operation nothing else would enter my consciousness. When Aes was asleep and the sight of him solaced, I remembered it was 38 years ago that Myrna and I exchanged our wedding vows and posthaste texted an anniversary greeting to my wife. She was alone in the house, with only the help for company, Alex was in Batangas wrapping up a scuba diving course, and my message gave her comfort. I concluded the night again with a rosary and lauds.

Sunday was still dusky from the 5th floor window of Aesop’s hospital room. He was still snoring in bed while I faced the skies and prayed my rosary and vespers. I mulled missing the PREX seminar opening yesterday and could only imagine the music ministry singing without me and silently surrendered the second day entirely. I turned the television on, absently worked the remote and caught Sunday Mass on tv and realized it was already the offertory part (I have been musing inwardly for some time). I changed channels and the Mass on another one was already singing the Lord’s Prayer. Further channels on, I chanced on Cardinal Tagle expounding on the homily’s “love your enemies” message. I knew it because that was what our BEC group reflected on last Tuesday. I remembered my wife saying the hospital has a chapel. I went to the nurses’ station just outside the room to inquire and was told that it was on the 12th floor and Sunday Mass will be celebrated at 8 am. I had time to buy breakfast for Aes at 7-11 across the hospital and preparatory prayer. 

Fr. Thomas, the Indian national who presided at the Eucharist gave a beautiful homily, a continuation of the Cardinal’s exposition, and I told him so when I blessed his hand after the celebration.

My son was in pain I didn’t know the degree of but I sensed enough the discomfort of being not only confined in a room but also constrained in bed by an operation wound that limits movement and renders one at the mercy of company. I could not talk him out of his misery because he was almost always asleep except when he needs to use the toilet or eat. He is afraid to move his bowel because of the dread of pain so holds it until he can. At this writing, he hasn’t.

So I spent the daily quiet in prayer and contemplation. And watched as little tv as my thirst for news allowed. And prayed harder that the cost of the entire process does not give my wife palpitations again. We were already on the wings of the prayers of my friends, fellow legionaries and TTJers to ask for extras. Besides, I had already claimed that when this is all over, we can look up in thanksgiving that heaven’s will is ever on top of everything. It is such a blessing to close your eyes with the certainty that tomorrow will be better than today because God always sees to it that it is so.

Monday had the components of an inspirational movie. Reassured by a running bill that did not raise her temperature anymore, my wife went back to her morning meeting before proceeding to the hospital. She found ease in the visit of Dr. Guerrera and a coterie of physicians training under him yesterday. The surgeon confirmed that there was no need to extend Aesop’s confinement and that his slight pain is a post-operation normality. We took that as a confirmation of his smile as a signature of concern for his clients, an attribute that we observed early on. One of the doctors changed the dressing of our son’s wound while Dr. Guevarra repeated his admonition against eating food that is not good, a joke that never fails to tickle us till now.

I heeded the Maxicare rep’s advice to secure clearance from Philhealth (a sorry dent because none of us was a member) and, after working on the form, the billing lady told me they’ll just give us a buzz. At this time, Aes has reduced his diet because intimidated by the toilet (he’d rather do it at home) and it was already past lunch. Myrna left to settle our account downstairs. When she returned, she was the exact opposite of her (and Aesop’s) long face last Friday. She came in, beaming, excitedly announcing that the bill was considerably less than the initial estimation of the mesh alone! I unstuck my eyes from the tv set, held the bed railing, lowered my head and prayed in thanksgiving. Over and over and over.

Looking back, God had already known of our need. Our first surgeon was a legend from St. Luke’s. His diagnosis was congenital hernia, which would have cost a fortune and, who knows, Myrna’s heart to falter. Fortunately for us, he was not Maxicare-accredited. Her initial inquiry with the billing clerk was anxiety-ridden and produced misconstrued messages. I stood steadfast in my faith and never ceased praying for God’s help. I was insistent but not impatient. Even asked for reinforcement. God sent us real-life angels housed in a haven of a hospital. Where not once did I feel our pockets (more my wife’s than my empty one) were the focus of the people there. The end of our journey painted them all to be larger-than-life pictures of sincerity and a genuine desire to serve. As they have probably been sincerely served in their need in the past. And so reciprocate through those that foray their way into their midst. 

I forgave the medical personnel of that other hospital for a perceived inefficiency and forget the passing of my Dad there; I can now remember it without pain. I thank God for sending us the efficient service-with-a-smile of the staff of Capitol Medical Clinic who did not cause our stay any unpleasantness one bit. I keep them in my prayers.

Abraham de la Torre