Remembering my mother
Her name was Lydia
In the Bible, “Lydia” refers to a seller of purple cloth and robes, and was described as a woman of business.This very well describes my mother.
My mother’s parents were both from the North.She spoke Ilocano around her relatives, but not to her kids. Strange, I know.I’ve always begged her to teach me the language, but the lessons never lasted an hour.
She was a beautiful morena. She had wavy hair that my sisters and I — aside from Ting who was blessed with her locks, always wanted to have.(Even when she was around 40 and we’d walk around town, those who were new in town thought she was our sister).
She had a very humble and sweet smile on her face. But you also wouldn’t want to see her upset, that’s for sure — which I’ve seen quite a lot, because I was a bit of trouble maker.
She valued discipline, cleanliness, hygiene, and knowledge.When we were kids, she’d encourage Lou and me to read and do exercises two pages ahead of the class.As a teenager, she’d turn the TV off and tell me to read the encyclopedia instead.
Her father was a soldier.Her mother was a fish vendor, and later on an eatery owner.
She’s the eldest among her siblings, and learned at a very early age how to look after her younger brothers and sisters, do the laundry and press clothes, keep the house clean, sell fish in the market, and help out in her mother’s eatery—and yes, add, subtract, multiply and divide without having to use a pen and paper or a calculator.
During her younger years, she’d wake up at four in the morning, help her mother in selling fish at the Farmers’ Market in Cubao, go home, shower and change, then go to school.When she gets home she had a lot of chores waiting for her.On weekends, she and her younger sister, Auntie Myrna, would take turns in washing and pressing the clothes.
Raised by a military man and a strict entrepreneur, she knew that the floor always had to be polished, dishes thoroughly washed, laundry systematically done by hand wash—whites must be blindingly whiteby soaking them in soap and bleach overnight, washing them twice and rinsing them thrice, and scrubbing the frequently stained parts. Colored pieces of clothing must be preserved of their bright colors by separating the reds from the blacks, and all sorts of clothing crisply pressed that they could stand on their own – house clothes or not.
In college, she worked part-time as a clerk at the Philippine Armed Forces’ Logistics’ –Command, which was just a stone’s throw away from their house in Quezon City.
At 18, she met my father, who was then an officer in the military.
My father was married at that time, and had a family in Cavite.But as they would tell us, love prevailed, and the rest was history.
Her children
She had our eldest, Rebecca (or Ate Ruth) in January 23, 1974.Four years later, she hadLou and me in August, 1977.Ten years after that, another bundle of joy, Cristina, on January 12, 1988.In 1994, the one and only boy in the family, Carlos.
All but yours truly, Vi, have been blessed with my mother’s gift in cooking.
Ate Ruth is very good in Filipino dishes, Lou in pasta, cakes, and everything else baked, Carlos and Cristina so far are doing very well in local food.Me, I’m still learning to master the Nilagang Baka.
In my humble opinion, it was only Lou, or possibly even Carlos, who has her nose. Tsk. Life is not fair.
We’ve always wanted to look like our mom because she’s so beautiful.No offense meant to my dad, of course. Who wouldn’t want to look like her?She was a bomb in her youth, and even when she reached 40, I had a teacher who a crush on her. Seriously.
Her traits and what I miss the most about her
She loved to cook, she business-minded, and also loved to shop.
She can give a heartfelt and welcoming warm embrace.Whenever I’d come home to the province on my rest days, she’d have this sweet and humble smile on her face, welcoming me home.I’ll never forget the way she embraces her loved ones – she’d wrap her arms around you and hold you tight that you can feel the entire length of her arm and her fingers on your back.I miss the smell of her hair, and her clothes.She washes them twice, would you believe it?Yes, the queen of all OCs in our family.That’s my mother.
She’d offer me dinner or hot choco or coffee. We’d sit and talk, and most of the time she’d just listen to me blabber about work, and how well I was doing in training, and all that.I was still a rep then. She’d cry when I’d tell her I’ve developed kidney stones because I’ve been surviving on dried fish and sardines.She’d tell me to quit, come home instead.But we both knew I had to work.
I’d always give her a massage on the back because she works so hard everyday.She’d say “No, no, no.Let me rub your back, you just came from a long trip.”After a few attempts of saying no, let me, I turn around on my seat and let her strong hands grip the tired muscles on my back from prolonged sitting as a rep.She knew where it hurt, and she’d softly laugh when I squeal because she’d tickle me on purpose.She’d give me that laser-like glare when I try to tickle her when it’s her turn, though.Not fair.
After a few hours, I’d get up to buy some pan de sal.Being the light sleeper that she’s always been, she gets up too and joins me for a walk to the town proper at 5 in the morning.Then we’d talk.That would be her turn.We’d talk about my dad and complains about him, my sibs and complains about them, but later on says it’s okay, what she wants to put up as a business.I’d tell her I’m doing what I can to climb up the corporate ladder and she’d always say “Oh no, anak. It’s okay.”
She’d prepare a special lunch.She always does when one of her sibs come home.Whether it’s Ate Ruth from Guam, or Lou and myself from U.P. back in college.She cooked very well.Her dishes were addictive.All my sibs cook very well, including Carlos. I got left out, I guess.
She’d help me with my laundry.I love the part when we chat while we’re folding them and putting them back in my bag.Leaving home had always been so difficult, not to mention my younger sibs always begging me to stay longer, or to go on leave.
And before I leave, I could always count on her warm embrace.
She’s always been so supportive.Along with other mothers, she’d follow the marching band during our competitions which were usually held during summer, 3 small jugs of water in tow, one for each daughter:Ate Ruth who was playing the snare drum, Lou on the alto saxophone, and yours truly on the trumpet – and later on, the French horn.Ting joined those days as a saling pusa majorette.
She’d go with us during enrollments, talk to my teachers when I’m in trouble.She was there when I faced discrimination in high school and I had to drop out and take the acceleration test just so I can enter college.When the NSAT test results came back, and my high school buddies dropped by to give me a copy of the school paper, my mother was very proud.I was on the front page, top 5, if I’m not mistaken. With my self confidence still very low, she accompanied me during my first college enrollment.
Then I moved to U.P. to take up music.Tried to follow my dad’s footsteps and took the course he took, took up ROTC just as he did.The plan was to get that degree and Advanced ROTC certificate, enter the military as 2nd louie.I was so lost, of course it never happened.
Then my dad lost his job.Lou and I tried to hang on to schooling.My mom wouldd borrow money from our neighbors, including the talipapa vendor, just so we have fare and allowance for another week in U.P.My dad was pretty much known in town, being the former mayor’s cousin and right hand at that time.But she didn’t care.She did what had to be done.That’s what the people in our town love about her and always remember about her.
Then Lou and I had to stop schooling to work.I remember preparing for interviews back then.I’d try on different pairs of clothes and shoes, I’d go outside and ask my sibs and they’d shake their heads. But she would always insist “Naku neng, bagay na bagay!”Of course, my sibs would turn their heads and look at her as if saying “Ma, are you serious?”Although I’d always take my sibs’ advice knowing she can be bias to her daughters, her undying support never fails to add that much needed confidence.
Then the day of the interview would come.She’d wake up early in the morning, as she’s always have, prepare some hot choco and bread, give me some prep talk.Once I’m all set, she’d be like my walking checklist. “Cellphone? Money? Pen? Resume? Notebook? employers’ address? keys?”Then she’d give me that hug and say “Kayang-kaya mo ‘yan, anak.”
When I’d come home, and she sees me smiling up to my ears, she’d know it went very well.I’d be in the mood to brag about how the interview went and even tell her that the interviewer got so intimidated she ended up shaking.Nope, I’m not bragging.(it ain’t braggin’ if you done it. Can’t remember who said that but I agree).
I remember her telling me one day “Vi, yung hamburger tumawag.Job offer daw.”Turns out it was Ambergris Solutions,now known as Telus. Hamburger. So funny.
I worked at “Hamburger” (a.k.a. Telus) for a year, then got promoted.My mother was very happy when I told her the news.
My mother’s passing
A month after my promotion, I got a call from Ate Ruth.She was crying and asked me to come home.On the bus, I tried to prepare for the worst.
When I got to the hospital, Ate Ruth walked towards me and said “Vi, Mama had a stroke.She’s in a coma.”
My mind was torn between “No, that’s not true,” “She’s going to be okay.Some comapatients wake up and recover,” and “If she dies, I have to continue working for my family.”
Her siblings came and we held vigils outside the ICU section.I sent text messages to my friends and co-workers begging for their prayers.After a couple of days, she showed signs of recovery, but shortly after that her BP just kept on rising.
We were asked to decide.How can you decide?What other option is there?But just to hang on and keep praying and hoping God will extend her stay here with us.
Then the doctors told us they ran out of this drug that would keep the brain from swelling.In the middle of the night, I went to drug stores and kept looking where I can buy a few vials.Just to extend her stay for another few more hours.It was in God’s hands, but we had to do our part, too.
Ate Ruth and I took turns in watching her.The hospital allowed more visiting hours for patients who are…well, about to die.
Shortly after midnight, it was my turn.I went to her room and checked her stats.Machines were beeping, but her pulse was noticeably lower than I looked at it last.
I held her hand.They were cold.I thanked her for staying with us for as long as she could.I apologized.I told her that if she’s to leave us that very day, I believed that she’ll be going straight to heaven, getting the rest and peace of mind that she deserves.
The nurses went in and out of the room.Then the doctor came in.I’m not sure if I called Ate Ruth who was with Kuya Don, but they later joined me in the room.
They tried to revive her.I almost wanted to ask them to stop and let her rest.But Ate Ruth was the eldest, she was still holding on.
When we heard that prolonged beep, and the doctor shook his head and gave us that look, that was that.Ate Ruth clung to my mother and told her no, hold me ‘Ma.
My heart broke in a million pieces.My soul cried to God for strength.I begged for wisdom.
We pulled Ate Ruth away from my mother.Phone calls were made to our aunts and uncles.I went with a white-clad man to roll my mother’s body to the morgue and lay her body on a platform there.
I was told to wait outside. The sky was turning from black to gray.Then the sun was up.My uncles and aunts came, with Carlos and Ting.I heard their cries from inside.
I talked to Carlos and Ting.They knew.What do you want to do, I asked them.Carlos just wanted to have breakfast and work on his project.Ting, I’m sure, just wanted to move on.
They were both graduating then.Carlos from elementary and Ting from high school.I knew back then that they just wanted to forget about what happened and move on.Because we were afraid we won’t be able to recover if we let ourselves grieve.We knew we would miss her so much that if we entertain the thought of her, we’d die.
She was a very caring mother.It’s not easy to forget her.But for that time, we were just afraid.We were just afraid of not being able to move on.
Yet, my soul was screaming at me to grieve.Mourn.Cry.Yell.Pull my hair out.Beat my chest and smash something into pieces.
But as my mother would always say, “when things need to get done, get them done.”
I tried to stay away from responsibilities that had anything to do with my mother’s funeral.I said to myself “My aunts, uncles, Ate Ruth and Lou are there.They’ll do it.”
But as fate would ironically strike a joke at the worst possible time, I was left to do it.
That morning, I was asked to go home and tell my dad about the news.I obeyed, took the jeep and tried to keep a straight face in public, while trying to write this script in my head on how I’m going to tell him.
I had to cry it out. I took a tricycle and went to my high school friend’s house to just be able to let it out.As fate would have it, she and her family were about to leave.I took a tricycle home and found my dad sitting in his garden.
I told him the news. I’ve never seen my father cry before. Not when his father or mother died.He stayed outside, sat and cried in the garden.
There was just the two of us in the house and Kuya Edgar, my brother-in-law, came and told me I have to come with him to choose my mom’s coffin.I thought to myself “Please, no. My father’s here.” But my father was clearly emotionally incapable. So I got on the skooter and went with him to the funeral home.
The funeral parlor was owned by my dad’s cousin.It was evident that he’s been crying when I got there.He gave his condolences and asked me to go with one of the attendants inside.
I chose the cheapest coffin possible.The attendant told me that it’s too small for my mom.She got a yard stick, measured a body which happens to be my mother’s and lazily said “She’s this long. That coffin won’t do.”
I wanted to scream, get that stick and whack her head with it.My mother deserved more respect than that.But for some weird reason, I remained calm and got that over with.I was then told to go home and come back with a dress for my mother.Again, that thought in my head “No, please. Not me.” I was hoping that when I get home, those older than me would already be there.
When I got home, everyone else, aside from my dad, was still at the hospital.I wanted to cry and grieve.But my dad was there.He might grieve even more if he hears me cry and end up with a heart attack.
I went through my mother’s stuff.I tried very hard not to remember her scent, her thoroughly-washed clothes, the well-maintained and always clean room. The bed she slept in just a week before.
Thankfully though, Nanay Dulce arrived just a few minutes in and offered a decent pair of clothes for my mother.“We’re the same size,” she said.I’ll be forever thankful for her offering to bring the clothes to the funeral home and having everything else in there taken care of.
My dad and I were alone again.I wanted to get a pillow, try to mute my screams.But they’ll bring my mother soon and I had to prepare the house for the wake.
Where will the coffin go, where will the visitors sit, the kitchen must be clean, etc.
I just wanted it to be done and over with. I wished my dad and Ate Ruth would just decide on a one-day wake.
Then I went to Carlos’ and Ting’s school to let their advisers know what happened.But on the way to Ting’s school I had vertigo, at least that’s what the doctor said later that day.
I went to the E.R. and I was advised to be admitted for a night.I tried to politely say that my mom just died and things needed to be taken care of, and my dad might worry if he’s told that I’m at the hospital.I struck a deal with the doc and promised I’ll be back once I tell my relatives.
After telling them I was okay and it was just going to be a 24-hour observation, I headed to the hospital, the last place I wanted to be, and waited at the E.R. while they prepared a room for me.
I shared a room with a patient.A curtain served as a temporary wall of privacy for both of us.I peeked through the curtain and said hi, struck a conversation with the patient who happens to have kidney stones, we prayed together for her recovery and said my goodbye.She held my hand, thanked me, and said that when she saw me peek in, she saw an angel.And that she already felt better. What do you know. At least I did some good in there.
Then while I was about to lay down, taking out the Bible from my bag, someone knocked at the door. It was one of my high school buddies, Joie.She said she heard about my mom, went to our place, and was told I was in the hospital.I was just trying to be cheerful at that time, keep my mind off things and thanked her for dropping by.Before she left, she said she was sorry.
Then I was alone.I could cry, but I didn’t.maybe because I didn’t want to bother the patient sharing the room with me. Maybe I was again afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop.I just knew it wasn’t an option.I read the Bible until I got very tired and went to sleep.
When I completed 24 hours, I got the go signal to go home.
When I came back, it was as busy as ever.My mother had a lot of visitors.There were teachers, kumares, traffic aid enforcers, mothers of band members, band members, politicians, band committee members, relatives, and of course, market vendors.
Then the bands came to pay tribute.Thankfully, my uncle from Hawaii shouldered the food.
Then it was time for the funeral. Junnette, and her sister Tin, came to pay their respect.I was so thankful to see her there.I badly needed a friend since my mom was rushed to the hospital.I wanted to cry to her, and finally just grieve.
But there were so many things that had to be done.We had to serve lunch to 3 community bands that offered their services for free.There was the Citizens’ Brigade Band of Dasmarinas, the Music Foundation Band of Dasmarinas, and a band from Silang, Cavite.
That day was just busy.We had to prepare food for the sympathizers and the bands.The bands alone had a minimum of 50 members each.
Traffic enforcers who used to work with my father at the munisipyo also came to assist with the funeral.My dad used to serve as the head of the traffic department in our town, and they also got to know my mother.
I couldn’t wait for the funeral march to be over and done with.It was just so sad.I just wanted to be with my family and for us to be left in peace.But of course, it wasn’t up to me.
The march started with one band in front, another right after the flower car, i think, and anther one after the sympathizers.
In our town, a person’s character is judged by the number of sympathizers during his/her funeral.My mom’s had sympathizers, including the 3 bands that caused traffic delays that day.That was a first in our town.
Was I proud? I’m happy that they remembered and spent some time to say their goodbyes to my mother.I’m proud that I have a mother who’s loved by a lot of people, that she has touched so many lives in her short stay with us.But of course, I felt sorry for those whose trips got delayed because of the long procession.
After that, well, we just had to move on.I don’t regret denying myself of grieving at that time.
I had to eat.My family needed to eat.My siblings needed to enroll for the coming school year.
I went back to work. I worked even on rest days, took as much extra work as I could, anything to get my mind off my mom–everything about her, specially the sweetest things she’d do for us. I knew I wouldn’t be able to recover for months if I let my mind drift me to those good memories.
There was one time though, that I was afraid I’d totally forget her.
But I needed to focus on not giving in. I studied Japanese or read books when I couldn’t sleep.
I’d go to work at night with my shades on when I happen to be crying just before my shift, when my heart suddenly bursts and couldn’t hold my grief any longer.But there was work to be done, I just got promoted and needed to send cash to the province.
Call center folks usually wear shades even at night. But when I’d come in with shades on and red nose, my former team mates would always be there for me even when I was already a trainer.My boss was also supportive, too.
I believe I have never fully mourned for my mother’s death.When I’d go to interviews or co-workers would ask about my mother, it was a bit challenging to say “She passed away so and so months or years ago” with a straight face.
Moving on
It took me 3 to 4 years to be able to attend wakes and funerals.When I found the strength to do so, I realized that I was mourning not only for their death, felt sad for their loved ones, but also for my mother’s passing as well.
Now, every wake and funeral I go to, as weird as it may sound, is an opportunity for me to cry for my mother’s passing.I’d go the mass, give my condolences to the family, and stay with them until earth has filled up the grave.
In a way, it has helped me move on.
Since I was a kid, I’ve been my mother’s confidante. She’d cry about my dad. She’d wake me up early in the morning to spy on him when her instincts tell her he’s cheating. Looking back, it seems funny. She’d talk to me about my dad, my grandma, then we’d go shopping, then we’d go home, she’d talk about my dad and cry.
She’d always say she’d leave him if it only weren’t for us, specially our younger sibs Ting and Carlos.
I guess that’s where this trying-to-be-strong-for-my-younger-sibs came from.Now that she’s gone, I need to be strong for them.Although now that I’ve published this, they’d soon know why I try not to cry in front of them.
My mother still lives in my mind and in my heart. She always will.But there’s no way of denying that I’ll no longer experience her warm embrace, her strong and callous hands rubbing my tired back, and the smell of her hair when she holds me in her arms.
She wasn’t perfect.But I’m so thankful to God that she blessed us with her.
I’ll always remember her, there’s no doubt about that.She made me what I am now.At least I try to be like her.Whatever it is I’m doing, I always have her in mind. What would Mama say if I do this?Man, if Mama knew about this she’d be really upset.Yup.Always, always in my head.
I even dream about her giving me a lecture on how to wash my clothes, wash the dishes, and all that stuff. It’s funny, really. I’d wake up and think to myself “Even in my dreams, I get in trouble and get a telling from my mother.Sheesh.”
But I do believe she’s watching over me.And there are times that I’d pray to God and ask Him to say “Hi” to her for me, and to tell her that I miss her so much, and that I’m trying to be a good human being.
This is just one of the nights that I allow myself to miss her. After hours of crying, I won’t say I feel better. I feel lighter, for letting go of some emotions that I’ve put aside for some time now.
My siblings, aunts and uncles might hate me when they read this, because I’m sure it will make them cry. It’s odd. From what I remember, we’ve never really grieved together. My dad was trying to be strong for us and also wanted to be alone, I was trying to be strong for my sibs, and then there were some things going on at that time that just split the family apart. And then we grieved on our ways, in our own rooms.
My mother was the glue that stuck the family together. When she left, we all tried to do that same thing and we found out that it was a tough job.It was so difficult you’d want to pull your hair out, scream, and just quit. She never did. And I admire her for that.
I can say that the only reason I’m glad she’s not with us anymore is that she’s finally resting. The eldest of her siblings, she cared for them since childhoold. She has brought five children into this world, cared for them, discplined them and gave them a good spanking when needed, and tried to give them what they needed and wanted.
I guess it’s okay to cry every once in a while. Besides, there’s a time for everything. I believe it’s just fair to give ourselves that time to cry, too.
Now that I’ve allowed myself to cry, as my mom would always say “enough with the crying. There are things that need to be done.”
Long time no see
I’ve never imagined I’d see the Medical City’s E.R. again. At least not this soon. Or maybe I was just avoiding it all this time.
Last night I was rushed to the E.R. because of severe pain. It was embarassing. I was on my way to a PT session at the Megaclinic and only bought enough cash for it + fare. On the way to the clinic, I already felt severe pain and had to get off at Strata just so I can stretch and relieve the pain a bit.
But when I got to the Megaclinic, the pain got so severe I ended up leaning against a wall, dialing a co-worker’s number for some help because I had to go the E.R. for an IV shot.
I never like crying in front of other people, let alone strangers. I hate it when people at the E.R. waiting room stare at patients coming in, especially those wailing on their way in.
The only reason I was rushed there was to get a shot. No, I’m not a junkie. The pain meds I’ve been taking just won’t work anymore. I definitely didn’t go there to get admitted. Nossir.
I was rushed to the “urgent” section - at least that’s what I heard one of the orderlies say I was being brought to. I was wailing while they interviewed Junnette. This is very embarassing to admit. It surprises me that I’m writing this in detail. But I guess I want it to be a reminder to myself so I won’t be so hard-headed anymore, as well as a warning to those who may possibly be ignoring their back pains for granted.
A doctor or a nurse - someone in white asked me what pain meds I was taking…or were they asking Junnette? I can’t remember now. Then they went on and told me “Ma’am bibigyan po namin kayo ng pain reliever through IV para mabilis ang epekto.” And in between my loud “aargh!”’s, I said “yes, yes i know. go ahead!”
They took my right hand, then my left hand. Veins are too thin. They went for the back of my wrist where the veins were more visible. Since I’ve been breathing too fast, I was hyperventilating and my hands and arms were getting stiff - and for some weird reason, sensitive too.
It hurt like hell when they inserted the IV but I had to deal with it. Then, after a few minutes, I was given a shot of Novaine. After just several seconds, my muscles started relaxing. I wasn’t groggy yet, though.
I have to say that it wasn’t a dramatic scene. It had some comedy in it, too. While I was screaming in pain, I also said “I’m hungry. I’m hungry. Can I get something to eat?” (It was already 6pm and I haven’t had lunch yet). The nurse trying to give me the needle said “Uh…I don’t think so.” I’m sure that if I wasn’t in pain, I would’ve laughed my butt off.
Also, after being given the shot, maybe it’s because it was relaxing everything in my body that I had to urinate. I was offered a bed pan, but I told them I’d rather go to the washroom. Novaine is a pretty strong med and it’s used for op and post-op patients, and can cause one to get really groggy. After much hesitation and “Just roll me in to the nearest washroom before I wet the bed,” they agreed . I sat up, got off the stretcher, walked to the washroom and did my thing.
While I was walking to the washroom, one of the orderlies asked me “May slip disc po ba talaga ma’am?” If it weren’t for the drug relaxing my muscles and everything else, I would have said “Oh no, I’m a junkie. I just made an excuse so I’d get a fix of Novaine today. Ssshhh. Don’t tell anyone.” But of course, thought against it and said “Yeah, I’ve been confined here twice in ‘07. I need to pee.”
After my washroom break, I was rolled back to my spot, and was half asleep. Then I started feeling sick and noticed that I was palpitating. A passive doctor dropped by and gave me a run-down on the possible side-effects of Novaine and didn’t really answer my question. She advised me not to fight the sleepyness and just try to rest. I wanted to say “Well, that’s easy to do if you guys aren’t so noisy.” But of course no one expects and ER to be a quiet place. Minutes later, I was given a pill for the palpitation.
After half an hour, a guy in white asked what my pain level was, I said 5 and he said he’ll give me another shot. I asked how much it’s going to cost since I don’t have a card. It turns out they didn’t give me the whole shot, so I let him give me the rest of it. Then I felt reeeally sleepy.
Then an ortho dropped by, a cool doc, by the way, and when I told her I’ve had the problem for 2 years, she didn’t go through the usual physical test and smart enough to let me enjoy my Novaine and not trigger the pain by lifting my leg to see if it hurts. I guess my ortho there also filled her in on my condition.
We talked about the meds I’ve been taking and she said if Tramadol isn’t working then I do need IV shots. She said I would need IV shots and suggested confinement, I asked if I can just take those at home and she says no, she’ll see what she can come up with. Maybe I can just drop by when I need one, and said she’ll see what she can do.
By 9 or 10pm I asked for the bill and told them I want to go home since it was starting to hurt again which would mean more fees to pay. I was asked to sign a waiver that I refuse to be admitted, and a run-through on the meds I have to take.
The bill was P2,200+. Consultation was P1,100 and the rest was for the meds. This is why they say “Bawal magkasakit.“ Junnette paid at the cashier and kept the documents.
They upped my Lagaflex dosage, I have cataflam and dolcet. i’ve taken these in ‘07 and i’m just hoping they’d work.
I was rolled to the exit, got off the stretcher and walked to the cab with my eyes closed. I was so…sleepy. We got into the cab and I remember saying “I want popcorn” a few times on the way home. I was craving for Chef Tony’s popcorn. I was craving for something sweet or salty. I felt like I was going to throw up.
I asked Junnette if we can swing by a store for some ice cream. We did and went home. When i got there, i went straight to my room and went to sleep.
The pain has been tolerable until after lunch today. I’ve taken the meds but the pain level is still at 6.
I don’t like E.R.’s. But in fairness to Medical City, last night was the fastest response I’ve seen them have. I got a shot just a few minutes in.
Or maybe it’s because they just wanted to shut me up because I was too noisy.
