Musings

musings reflections by the sea and other stories

JERRY JAMES M. DE LA TORRE

musings

JERRY JAMES M. DE LA TORRE reflections by the sea and other stories istoriami | 2017

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SHOOT FIRST

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PANTABANGAN LAKE

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06 SABBATH 08 THAT WHICH DOESN’T KILL YOU REMINDERS 12 SWEET 14 FACE OFF 20 4

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HOPE 24 DEPARTURES 28 34 DELAYED 38 WAITING 44 FIVE POUNDS 5

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SABBATH

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There’s a great Master Builder on a Sabbatical in the neighboring laboratory. He is proficient in complex structures, attachments and mechanisms. He is hardworking too, like his carpenter father. He practically lives in the laboratory and thus, unmindful of office hours.

He rests only once a week.

But sometimes, it looks as though he’s taking too much load that he forgets to clean up some projects once in a while.

Or, how do you explain dermoid cyst?

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THAT WHICH DOESN’T KILL YOU

“It’s a little creepy, yes, but it cannot kill you,” Dr. Mercy declares.

“My OB in Nueva Ecija recommends immediate surgery,” she replies in between sobs. “I’m dying.”

“We will all die, at one time or another.

Dermoid cyst is no more than an extra appendage. It is merely an aesthetic issue to me.”

“My OB says it is getting bigger.”

“Size is not confined to width. I would look at all three dimensions over time, say six months, before I can conclude it is getting big.”

Dr. Mercy turns around, gets her doll and shows the abdominal longitudinal

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section.

“If you go under the knife, I don’t recommend bikini cut, no matter how sexy it sounds,” she suggests.

“Why?” “It cuts across meridians of energy in your abdomen. That may sound eastern but conventional medicine says the natural bending of the body makes healing longer. But then, there’s also laparoscopy. My friend, Teresa, has a clinic at VRRP.” “Am I dying?”

“We will all die.”

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REMINDERS

“Why are you whispering?”

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“I am not whispering,” she whispered.

She continued in hushed tones. “Don’t forget my cellphone. Separate the hospital money in 10 different locations.

Bring them with you if you have to read the newspaper at the coffee shop.”

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SWEET

“LU” “Luv u? Sweet.”

“La Union.”

“My gulay. Ok.” Three hours later, they arrive at a German resort which has a strong ambiance of a spiritual retreat house.

Clean surroundings. Layered garden sections. Isolated from the big players and crowded, noisy bars of San Juan.

But then, there’s a mini-bar.

He scouts the drinks. On the side, an aquarium-size glass boxes a scale down ship with intricate details of poles, mast and ropes.

The strongest bait in turned out to be the small bookshelf near the fire extinguisher between the column and awning window on the west side. Three steps towards it, an alarm bellows.

Now, it looks - and sounds - like a mafia hideout.

The cook gets out to reset the sensor, then heads out to hand the wifi password to her. The internet was surprisingly strong and fast in such a rural hideout. Or, maybe not.

The Instagram feeds come alive in rapid succession.

The cure for anything is salty water.

Sweat, tears or the sea. ...next page

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She’s quick to double tap to stamp her red heart of approval.

Three swipes down and a silhouette of a couple appears on a scenic sunset by the beach.

I kiss your lips And on your lips I taste the sea But the sea has always been home to me.

“Sweet,” she sighs.

“Sweet? Not salty?” he asked.

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FACE OFF

“It’s nice to meet you again,” Dr. Ong greets her, then looking at him reading the Star at the lounge, “and a bit intimidating, too.”

“Don’t bother about him. We agreed he will not interfere with our discussion from this point on,” she said. Then, she gave Dr. Ong a box of Silvanas. “Nueva Ecija’s best.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He wasn’t sure which one Dr. Ong was more grateful for: her closeness or his distance.

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HOPE

“Doc, who is that figure?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s the Madonna. Mama Mary.” Dr. Josie replied.

“We can only do so much. Even in this advanced age of science, once in a while, some unexplainable medical cases appear before us. In the end, I believe there’s a greater Power above who cares deeply about us. Although not all of us are meant to believe. Some of us can only wonder and on good days, hope, so to speak,” she said.

“Doc, isn’t hope a recourse to a lapse in concentration?” he asked.

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DEPARTURES

“No more food intake from 6 am onwards. At 2 pm, we’ll proceed to the operating room,” the nurse said.

“Not even water?” she asked.

“Yes. Your IV fluid will take care of you.”

The nurse took out the needle.

She’s quick to look away. She closed her eyes, cleared her throat and held her breath. She winced once on the IV puncture into her vein, and winced some more on allergy pricks. She did not cry.

Gerald, her husband, reached for her free hand and massaged it. It was freezing cold and sweaty.

Two pm came and two nurses arrived.

Jo transferred on the wheeled bed. One nurse pushed like steering a shopping cart through the maze of grocery stacks.

The other nurse followed, holding the IV pole, like an altar boy shadowing a priest.

Just a few right and left turns and the wide swing door of the OR appears.

Julie turned to the processional entourage and, seeing her mother, extends her parallel hands. “Ma, can I get a hug?”

The nurse braked. If not for the grub suits, the scene was not any different from airport pre-departure area.

Her mom responds affirmatively without a word. ...next page

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They hugged briefly.

After letting go, and the bed was wheeled away, the white door swung open, like a giant shark swallowing a prey. She broke into tears, as though being thrown into the unknown abyss, head first. She looked like a scared baby, muffling a faint cry, her chest in spasmic turbulence.

Gerald reached for her leg, then rubbed them gently for a few strokes, then waved her off.

Those standing around fought back tears.

It was a moment when the universe spills one of its numerous mysteries.

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, ,

Why do some people get this medical condition? It is physically painful and financially costly.

And it is not even confined to the brave and the rich.

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DELAYED

It turned out the laparoscopic operation was not any different from Philippine flights. Acutely delayed.

“I’m a Bicolana, too,” the nurse admitted. “From Naga City. Dayangdang, near the Robredos.”

“Small world,” Jo said. “How long have you been here?”

“Three years. Professionally, I assist Doc Esther in laparoscopic procedures.

Personally, she’s my OB.” “Are you married?”

“I’m single, but delayed.”

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WAITING

The fate of all love story ends in the rot of togetherness or the misery of separation.

It was the only status update in his feed that he was able to like, then the wifi waned into comatose.

“Something wrong?” the nurse on duty asked, parting the divider curtains in this economy ward.

The couple on the neighboring bed looked at the nurse for a good three seconds before replying. “Yes, the internet is dead,” the wife said.

The nurse left without a word.

“That nurse seems to expect there’s always something wrong in the lives of

married people,” she murmured.

Gerald went back to Chapter 11 of Microcontrollers. A few more pages and he’s done with the whole book. It’s not even fiction.

It has been 7 hrs running and there’s no word at all about the operation. The last surgery he attended to, as a standby blood donor, was five years ago. It was supposed to be a routine removal of a tennis ball-sized cyst in the ovary of his wife’s classmate, Irene. When Irene woke up, both her ovaries were gone. Cancerous, the doctor said of the oncologist’s findings and Irene’s mother decided her fate.

His wife, Jo, was present during that family caucus. When the verdict was issued, it was as though her own ...next page

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ovaries, not Irene’s, were on the line.

She was traumatized.

Now, it is Jo’s turn to be examined for cancer, among other things, while she’s asleep. Some major decisions may be made about her body without waking her up.

The final consent, if ever required, is on his hands.

Some place else, like New Zealand, Canaman, Dayangdang, Dubai, Cebu and Naga City, some people shared the agony in bated breaths.

Gerald tried recalling some halfforgotten prayers and sought kindness from a God whose existence he wasn’t even sure.

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FIVE POUNDS

When she regained consciousness, Jo was chilling.

“It won’t be called frozen section for nothing,” Gerald said.

“Are my ovaries still intact?” she asked.

Her first question upon waking up affirms the enduring tremor of Irene’s case.

As soon as her ghosts were extinguished, she recovered all the other senses. She’s cold, hungry and hurting on the right half of the body.

She felt thirsty, too.

“Do that for me, get this for me. I cannot hold or lift anything beyond five pounds,” she said.

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, “It will be that way for two months, according to my doctor, and as guaranteed by Magna Carta for Women,” she added.

Within 24 hours after the operation, she could sit, stand, eat and walk unassisted.

She may be ambling like a slow motion replay but it was one of her strongest state. To get things done, all she has to say are the magic words.

“Honey, it’s more than five pounds.”

This would pass, he thought. She realized she’s afraid this might pass.

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PARTING SHOT

HOPE FLOATS

Floating stage, Isdaan, Talavera, Nueva Ecija, Philipppines.

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, THE AUTHOR

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Enrile by Navarro. P1,000.

Grit. Angela Duckworth. P828.

Sophie’s World. Jostein Garder. P728.

Golden: The miraculous rise of Stephen Curry. Marcus Thompson II. P1,196.

Outliers. Malcolm Gladwell. P315.

Quiet. Susan Cain. P529.

“Honey, where’s my toothpaste!?”

“Tooth… toothpaste!”

“Yes, my toothpaste! You bought yourself six expensive books and you forgot a single, cheap item for me? I texted you to buy me toothpaste.”

“O, yes, your toothpaste. Of course, I remembered. I asked all the salesladies from the magazine section, textbook section, fiction, biographies, school supplies and even children’s books section. I even requested the manager to check their electronic database, including the stocks of other branches within 5 kilometer radius. No luck. They don’t have your toothpaste. ” “My gulay. And people call you board placer, Fulbrighter?”

“I’m sorry.”

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