Year 2004-2005

Honoring B



What I'm writing tonight won't be a 'Ramon story'; it is instead a very sad story. It is about B the Pinoy bro I have at work. He passed away yesterday, Saturday 3/4/06. He was 42. I took the news of his demise calmly and rationalized his death the way I rationalized my mother's death: All of us will die, his time was just sooner. And I proceeded to work. I detest fake mournings or fake sadness or fake anything. I was ready for B's death since December. On December 22, during our Christmas Party, he pulled me aside and asked, "Alex, I've been losing weight and my stomach hurts." I enumerated for him all the possibilities. I said, "My brother had the same problem, lost half of his weight, vomited everyday, until they found his gallbladder inflamed. He went through a routine procedure and now he's just fine." Then I added other reprimands: "B, why do you skip lunch? I heard your wife complaining that you bring home your lunchbox untouched. Man, you may really be busy at work but don't forget to feed yourself. Maybe you're having the symptoms of gastric ulcers. My mother used to tell me how skipping lunch could lead to stomach ulcers." That seemed to comfort him. He said he would eat more frequently. "B, there is also a stomach virus going around."

I forgot about B after that and we worked in our respective departments. He covered the Outpatient and I am Acute and Rehab floater. (A floater is someone you float where there is a need. One minute I'd be in the ICU, then, Institute of Mental Health or Rehab or Ortho the next. I love being a floater. It keeps me from being bored).

A week later, we were being asked to cover the Outpatient department. B was out. He nearly collapsed they said. "Poor B," I uttered, "he must still be skipping his lunch. One of these days, when I see him, he better listen to me."

The following week after that, I was told he was diagnosed with liver cancer. Metastatic liver cancer. He would be off our list of perdiems(PTs on call) permanently.

That was the beginning of my sadness. Before B came to work for us, I heard his name from other Therapists who told me that having him around would help me form a Filipino mafia. In our Rehab we always make fun of Chileans dominating - the Chilean Mafia of Rehab. Of course all the Chileans are my friends and I'm their sub-mafia.

B came to join us two years after I was hired in our hospital. He chose to be either in Acute or Outpatient.

When he came, I saw him as boyish, very brown, always smiling Pinoy. I never saw B mad or loud (like me, unfortunately). Being the senior PT, I expected to be greeted first by him ...but...well, I couldn't help it, being nosey that I am. "What is your name Pare?" I burst in greeting him. He said his name and that's that. We casually stared at each others, shook hands and became instant friends as other Pinoys becoming instant friends because...well.. becasue they're the only Pinoys in the crowd.

And that's how we lived our working lives as OFWs. Gradually, I learned more about him. B was not exactly the Pinoy who would open up - and especially with me - gay that I am , and a dirty-joking-mouthed gay at that. I mean, I'm in my 40's and had been in Therapy business that I don't care anymore what I say. At times, my mouth can utter jokes so disgusting even Satan would blush. I usually regret my jokes. Always too late though. After the damage was done.

But just like everybody else in the hospital, people get used to each others. Next thing, B was matching my jokes with equal jokes, snapping at my provocations with sharp answers. Along the way, he slowly revealed himself.

He's a PMA graduate of 1986. Was a Philippine Officer for many years before abandoning it all and moved with his Nurse wife to the US. In the US he took PT and switched his career from the military to hospital work.

Just like that.

"Just like that?" I asked. I had my reservations about him. "Man, if you pursued your career with Philippine Military, you'd be a General now won't you? You'd be plotting coups. You'd be catered good by politicians, won't you? Won't you? I bet you're hiding a lot of military secrets in your sleeves."

"Ang kulit talaga! Shut up!"

Oh I can really be a pain in the butt. "B, what goes on in the brains of the military coup plotters? Are they planning another one?"

"I don't know and I don't care. And even if I know, what makes you think I'd tell you?"

"Bummer! You are a real bummer!"

I pissed the poor guy so much.

Our childlike dealing with each others changed when I started running races. Serious discussions between the two of us began with sports. I asked him to join me in my training. He said he couldn't because of his knee injury. He could play tennis occasionally but... forget about running.

I knew what running in the military was all about in 1980's. I took ROTC in UP and my boots from Recto were what I wore in running the UP Oval then. I couldn't, for the life of me, imagine running in those same boots around PMA in Baguio.

And then, B started meeting people who were my friends in college. And perhaps they told him about my life, my struggles. I learned later that he was a good friend of S. S was my thesis partner in college. S still insists I'm not gay, that I am just using my jokes as a way to compensate for the hard life I led in Manila.

B was a member of Couples for Christ in our area. To be more precise, he and S were the ones who led this group. B persistently invited me to their Catholic meetings. Just like S in the past who invited me in the guise of making use of my enormous talent for God's work. I have the skimpiest idea of what they meant by 'my talent'.

"Oh stop the two of you," I protested. "Picture me in your gathering. I, a solitary gay person in the midst of husband-wife couples. And what should I pray for, a man?"

I have the inherent capacity to render serious matters mundane if not laughable.

As time went, B and I got settled with each others. Our jokes and talks and greetings became more and more ordinary and routine. Eventually.

But B kept revealing himself more and more - about his charities. He was a member of a group in the Philippines that provides free housing to the poor. One time he invited me to attend a meeting with this British guy who started whatever humanitarian organization they have. One time, he wanted me to train some members of Couples for Christ for half-marathon."Alex, we can ask them to donate, say, 100 bucks for the trianing and that money will go to the humanitarian group."

And then the liver cancer took over.

Why, many people asked. Why B of all people? How can a man of God be treated like this? Why him? Why why why?

The last time I met with B was during a Pinoy fund-raising event for him. He spoke to us and said he'd fight this. "I still have many many dreams. I still have many many hopes. As a soldier I fought many battles and won. I will win this battle. In God's name I will win this battle."

I left early. I still remember what I told him. I, acting as casually as ever."B, why the hell you don't update me about your condition? I'm hearing so many bad things about you when...just look at you. You're fine. You will be fine."

I swear I meant what I said. I sincerely believed he would win this battle. I sincerely believed he'd come back again to work with us and he would tell me more about his Catholic plans and charities. And his past. I swear.

B was a soldier in the Philippines after PMA. He was gunned down in Mindanao and lost a lot of blood. He was rushed to a local hospital and was transfused with contaminated blood. Out of that transfusion he acquired a liver disease that eventually led to metastatic cancer that took his life.

Why... didn't he serve his country? Why... didn't he live his life like a Saint? He was so happily married with his daughter and sweet wife. Why leave them now?

B of PMA was my friend. He was a hero. He will return to the land of his battlefields in the Philippines. He served his country well. He served God well. He served Filipinos well.

I am nothing compared to him.

--names witheld to protect their privacy and respect their mourning --