A STROKE?
July 31, 2004 | 12:00am
I wonder what was happening then. I remember only that my mother was coming to town and I met her at the airport. Panjee, my daughter, arranged for me to meet her. I went early, was extremely tense, but I was there looking cheerful, concealing my shock at her appearance. Mommy had gotten very thin, lost 20-30 pounds, I estimated, and looking at her I felt my heart break. What happened to my mother?
But there was time for talk and questions going home from the airport. She would be here a long time, she said. I checked her into a hotel to make her get over her jet lag and to give me time to finish what I was doing in Manila. It was not a good time for me either. Money was running short and. . . how do I explain that? I suppose now that I think about it, things were really bad for me then. I was fighting for survival.
The following week, I was having the remains of my beloved dead relatives cremated and moving them out of where they were buried now. Gino and Sarri, two of my four children, had strangely volunteered to supervise that event for me. I had to pick up urns for their ashes, bring those urns to the memorial park, then transfer them. Beneath that was the question: Am I doing the right thing? I felt I was, but that question still kept haunting me. Anyway I stayed in town at a friend’s apartment across my mother’s hotel until Saturday afternoon, the last day of my writing class. Mommy and I were spending the weekend at Lily Pad. I was very tired that night.
The next morning, Sunday, September 7, I awoke very early feeling very happy, very energetic. I did my week’s laundry while I got breakfast ready. Gino and his wife Faye were bringing food for lunch. I set the table. This is my life, remember? I have no maids and do everything myself. It’s part of my retirement.
Anyway it was a wonderful morning, everything went well. It was almost 11 when I went to check my dining table one last time. I looked down at the table and when I lifted my head suddenly things had changed. Everything seemed different. I was there but not there, present but remote, lost but also very, very sleepy. I could not figure things out, could not put them into words. To say I was confused would be to put it mildly.
I rushed through my meal to lie down on the sofa in the dining room where I sort of slept. The landscaper came. I got up, talked to her, went back to sleep again. She needed a check. I gave her one then went to sleep again. She finished her work. I checked it out then went to sleep again. Mommy and I had a light dinner and I went to sleep again. Sleep would not release me and there were dreams of me counting, dreams unlike the dreams I used to have. I didn’t know what was happening, but I had no choice but to surrender to this strange thing. I was very quiet, but I felt totally out of control.
The next morning, I was supposed to pick up my urns from Ugu Bigyan in Tiaong. In the way I planned to leave Mommy with my aunt Marita in San Pablo. We had lunch and then I left to pick up the urns. I still felt very strange but I was at least functional. The next day was a heavy one. I had a meeting for a job then it would be the first day of my writing class at McCann-Erickson. Mommy would stay at Gino’s home. The following day, we would cremate and move our dead. Then I would get some rest.
On Tuesday, I was dressed early but was late for my lunch meeting. Could not find the place. Got there late. Could not talk. Just said "yes" to everything and nothing happened. Then I went back to the little town apartment and slept. I woke up for the McCann writing class. I could talk but very broadly, no details. I could not demonstrate the method I used. Since it was the first class for this group and they had never met me, only Venus, my old friend, saw that there was something wrong with me. Nevertheless, the class went well. I went home and back to sleep.
The next morning, I went to the memorial park. I was looking — and feeling — terrible. I could tell the driver where to go but didn’t know where I was. I had to constantly tell myself I was at the memorial park. We had lunch somewhere — Sarri, Gino and I — while the dead were being cremated. Then we returned and put them in the urns. Gino and I brought them to where they were supposed to go then we went to his house where we eventually went out for an Italian dinner with Mom and Faye. Until that time I lay down in Mommy’s bed, trying not to talk then and through dinner because whenever I wanted to say something, another thing came out of my mouth and really I could not understand what was happening to me. Something was wrong obviously but what could it possibly be? Maybe I just needed sleep. Maybe if I slept some more. . .
And the next day I did. Thursday. No appointments. I stayed in the apartment and slept all day. At around 8:30 p.m. the telephone rang. It was either Panjee or Sarri saying they wanted to come see me. I told them I was sleeping, but they were insistent. I got out of bed to talk to them. "Mom," Sarri said, "you have had a stroke. Please come with us. We’ll take you to the hospital."
"Please, Mom," Panjee said.
I have had a stroke? Is that what I’m feeling? I looked at the clock. 8:30 p.m. I was so sleepy and so tired. "Tomorrow. I’ll go with you tomorrow. It’s too late tonight and I am so tired. I just want to sleep." They looked at each other. They tried to argue with me but I just said, "Tomorrow." We agreed to meet at 7 a.m. I crawled back into bed to sleep. A few seconds before I fell asleep I remember wondering — are they right? Did I really have a stroke? ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
But there was time for talk and questions going home from the airport. She would be here a long time, she said. I checked her into a hotel to make her get over her jet lag and to give me time to finish what I was doing in Manila. It was not a good time for me either. Money was running short and. . . how do I explain that? I suppose now that I think about it, things were really bad for me then. I was fighting for survival.
The following week, I was having the remains of my beloved dead relatives cremated and moving them out of where they were buried now. Gino and Sarri, two of my four children, had strangely volunteered to supervise that event for me. I had to pick up urns for their ashes, bring those urns to the memorial park, then transfer them. Beneath that was the question: Am I doing the right thing? I felt I was, but that question still kept haunting me. Anyway I stayed in town at a friend’s apartment across my mother’s hotel until Saturday afternoon, the last day of my writing class. Mommy and I were spending the weekend at Lily Pad. I was very tired that night.
The next morning, Sunday, September 7, I awoke very early feeling very happy, very energetic. I did my week’s laundry while I got breakfast ready. Gino and his wife Faye were bringing food for lunch. I set the table. This is my life, remember? I have no maids and do everything myself. It’s part of my retirement.
Anyway it was a wonderful morning, everything went well. It was almost 11 when I went to check my dining table one last time. I looked down at the table and when I lifted my head suddenly things had changed. Everything seemed different. I was there but not there, present but remote, lost but also very, very sleepy. I could not figure things out, could not put them into words. To say I was confused would be to put it mildly.
I rushed through my meal to lie down on the sofa in the dining room where I sort of slept. The landscaper came. I got up, talked to her, went back to sleep again. She needed a check. I gave her one then went to sleep again. She finished her work. I checked it out then went to sleep again. Mommy and I had a light dinner and I went to sleep again. Sleep would not release me and there were dreams of me counting, dreams unlike the dreams I used to have. I didn’t know what was happening, but I had no choice but to surrender to this strange thing. I was very quiet, but I felt totally out of control.
The next morning, I was supposed to pick up my urns from Ugu Bigyan in Tiaong. In the way I planned to leave Mommy with my aunt Marita in San Pablo. We had lunch and then I left to pick up the urns. I still felt very strange but I was at least functional. The next day was a heavy one. I had a meeting for a job then it would be the first day of my writing class at McCann-Erickson. Mommy would stay at Gino’s home. The following day, we would cremate and move our dead. Then I would get some rest.
On Tuesday, I was dressed early but was late for my lunch meeting. Could not find the place. Got there late. Could not talk. Just said "yes" to everything and nothing happened. Then I went back to the little town apartment and slept. I woke up for the McCann writing class. I could talk but very broadly, no details. I could not demonstrate the method I used. Since it was the first class for this group and they had never met me, only Venus, my old friend, saw that there was something wrong with me. Nevertheless, the class went well. I went home and back to sleep.
The next morning, I went to the memorial park. I was looking — and feeling — terrible. I could tell the driver where to go but didn’t know where I was. I had to constantly tell myself I was at the memorial park. We had lunch somewhere — Sarri, Gino and I — while the dead were being cremated. Then we returned and put them in the urns. Gino and I brought them to where they were supposed to go then we went to his house where we eventually went out for an Italian dinner with Mom and Faye. Until that time I lay down in Mommy’s bed, trying not to talk then and through dinner because whenever I wanted to say something, another thing came out of my mouth and really I could not understand what was happening to me. Something was wrong obviously but what could it possibly be? Maybe I just needed sleep. Maybe if I slept some more. . .
And the next day I did. Thursday. No appointments. I stayed in the apartment and slept all day. At around 8:30 p.m. the telephone rang. It was either Panjee or Sarri saying they wanted to come see me. I told them I was sleeping, but they were insistent. I got out of bed to talk to them. "Mom," Sarri said, "you have had a stroke. Please come with us. We’ll take you to the hospital."
"Please, Mom," Panjee said.
I have had a stroke? Is that what I’m feeling? I looked at the clock. 8:30 p.m. I was so sleepy and so tired. "Tomorrow. I’ll go with you tomorrow. It’s too late tonight and I am so tired. I just want to sleep." They looked at each other. They tried to argue with me but I just said, "Tomorrow." We agreed to meet at 7 a.m. I crawled back into bed to sleep. A few seconds before I fell asleep I remember wondering — are they right? Did I really have a stroke? ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
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