How My Brain Works…

The last time that I prayed so
very hard to God to spare a dear friend’s comatose mother was very
recent.  She passed away.  The fact that she recovered for a while and
gave great but temporary joy to the family is another story.  But to my
very mortal mind what mattered was that she did not live longer than
her still-living mother, despite all those prayers, including mine.
For a brief moment when news came up that Waki may have biliary
atresia, I was afraid to pray…fearing I will not be heard again.  I
felt so inadequate, full of doubts, almost bereft of self-worth.

But
what Waki’s father, my eldest son Mike, said to me in the middle of all
those preliminary lab tests, was most poignant.  “Pa, Waki never cries
when the needles pierce him.  At times he flinches, almost like he
grits or gnashes his jaws.  But he never cries.  I cannot give up on
Waki if Waki himself puts up that kind of a fight.  Please help me pray
for Waki.”

Waki was barely a month old when we suspected
something was not so right with him:  he was a tad too yellow and
grimaces unnaturally often.  My first impulse was to hug and hold on to
him.  Then a more sinister rationalization kicked in:  I have to
distance myself because I feared that if I get so attached, I may not
be able to bear losing Waki, who is my (and wife Julie’s) clan’s first
–ever grandson.  In my twisted logic, I thought that if I decide I will
not have Waki, then I will not miss him.  When son Mike mentioned
Waki’s fight and thus needed prayers, I was suddenly afraid He will not
answer me. Again.

Then everything poured.  The prayer brigades
of my prayer cell groups (St. John and Sta. Rita) and of the ASDC
members overwhelmed me.  I had texted and emailed everyone even friends
from the distant past.  Heck, I thought, if I am not so worthy as to be
heard and answered, I have friends, you know.  Just you wait and see.
Or words to that effect.

The texts came as early as April 24,
the eve of the lab tests.  But the bulk of incoming messages was on May
8, the operation day itself.  I could not keep up with answering back.
I lost track who I have responded to.  Some got texted the same message
twice.  Unfortunately there were some I failed to text, thinking I did
already.  The built-in and SIM memories of my mobile phones went
haywire.  To my request for prayers, I got a wide range of responses.
I got a couple of “K”.  Also “Noted” and “Copy”.   Then I have a
favorite business acquaintance in Mindanao who said they just finished
an intense prayer meeting when she got my message.  She and her husband
called back the small congregation and held one more prayer session
especially for Waki.  In her text she mentioned bible passages for me
to read.  Almost simultaneously, her brother who lived a hundred
kilometers away and who I met only once before, texted me also with a
couple of Bible verses to read.  The fact that they are not Catholics
hit me right here where my chest is.  I told her I felt so special with
their communal response.  Her textback: “It is a privilege to witness
how God works and it strengthens our own faith as well.”  When they
heard about Waki’s turnaround days after, it was the husband who texted
back, “We rejoice with you as GOD is healing Waki so we can experience
His power when we trust completely.  Indeed what a joy to see answered
prayers.  To God be the glory!”

Looking back, one favorite text
that Julie and I still get chuckles from as it once gave us a consoling
respite was:  “I have prayed for your grandson.  Let’s claim God’s
action now!  Who is this please?”  A similar one said, “Okay, will pray
for Waki.  Who’s this please?”  A kumpare who has stayed far away
texted: “Who is Waki, pare?”

Please understand that I cannot
single out any more particular text from within the Community.  I got
already 250 messages and still counting.  I sent out almost the same
number of texts.  I could not as yet include the text in Julie’s or
Waki’s parents’ phones.  This space is not enough and if I do it
selectively I most certainly could miss what I should not.  May I just
mention my prayer buddy who was in Bohol with his wife during those
critical times.  They went to all Bohol churches they passed by.  Then
they could not wait to get back and shared a timely message flashed in
one projector: “The Father knows what you need.  You need not worry or
doubt.  And as by faith we approach Him, He will surely hear our
prayers.”

Be assured that those text messages are now my
personal gem, priceless treasures.  I wanted to keep them in my phones
but I had to erase them otherwise my phones will hang.  I had an idea
that very same day May 8th.  Before erasing them, I kept a journal of
those messages including the exact time, date, sender and exact texts
word for word including punctuations and errors.  If you want a copy of
this journal just drop me a line.

Most texts were asking How is
Waki.  Late that night of May 8th, my 12-year old Judy got curious why
I stayed up so late laboriously copying something from my phones.  She
took a peek and asked about it.  I said I am keeping a journal of all
those who cared for Waki.  This will be a permanent part of Waki’s
life.  She ran outside and seconds later I got three rapid texts from
her, “How is Waki?” Of course I included those in the journal.  If Waki
makes it and as soon as he understands, I am going to read to him all
the texts and show him not just where he comes from but more
importantly how he came to be.

The next time I saw Waki two days
after, there were tubes in and out of his frail body.  He has not been
nursed with milk for three days and was sucking fruitlessly on a
pacifier.  Now he cries, but I guess more out of hunger than of
external pain.  It was as if he says “I can take the needles but why am
I deprived of milk?”  He was in a critical limbo for 48 hours pending
results of multiple biopsies.  Still has a yellowish tinge, though
evanescent.

So why do I say “Lucky Waki”?

First the
practical things.  It was not biliary atresia after all, but
choledochal cyst.  Both have almost similar symptoms but the latter is
more manageable.  The operation was longer – about four hours.  It
uncovered an undeveloped gall bladder and amazingly the surgeons where
able to remedy it.  The surgeons also discovered a herniated umbilicus
and they fixed it gratis.  While opened, Waki also got a free repair of
his appendix and his surgeons beamed that even if Waki lives for a very
very long time, he will never have appendicitis ever.  There was a most
special baptismal party slated for June but due to the critical nature,
Fr. Cesar Marin agreed to do an unscheduled baptism accepting the
promise of the godparents to attend the seminar in the future.  So we
saved that money.  But by now you know where the savings went.

But
Waki IS lucky.  Never before has his grandpa prayed so hard.  Ever.  In
just a span of a week, I have prayed while wet with sweat as I drove
the forklift at work when the operator was late.  I have prayed while
wet with tears alone in my office altar.  I have prayed myself to sleep
with unfinished rosary as I crept to bed too spent after a day’s toil.
With Julie at my side, I went to all traditional places of entreaties.
We have braved the hot Friday noonday sun as we fell in the very long
line in Quiapo just to have a brief caress and some whispered prayers
to the Black Nazarene and the other statues inside.  We have survived
the throng of Baclaran on that Wednesday to reminisce those days when
we used to go every Wednesday to St. Clement’s Church La Paz, Iloilo
(where the Wednesday novena originated).  We have squeezed our bodies
into the huge mob in St. Jude that Thursday as we once again sought
help for a seemingly hopeless case.  We never felt the difficulty or
hardships.  It was cathartic, even blissfully humbling as we got
awashed in re-experiencing total surrender to His loving mercy.  Waki
did all this.

I have cried still more as I read heart-rending
texts and gut-wrenching emails.  My eyes still smart when I recall
those morbid accounts in the internet prognosticating that biliary
atresia often leads to cirrhosis or worse, cancer and worst of all,
early death.  One good thing about reading the internet was knowing
that the pioneers in the field of choledochal cyst were the Japanese
scientists named Miyano and Yamataka.  No question, take the “y” and
these names say Miano Ama taka.  In our dialects, this means Miano you
are my father.  Of course I tend to stretch logic so bad but as I said
anything helped to ease the pain.  Short of shedding my blood, (I
cannot donate blood, ever) I was hit hard more than anyone.  I feel
twice the pain: first as a father to my first-born Mike.  I feel Mike’s
frustration, even confusion as he balances his budding career and
losing sleep in the hospital all the while not sure if he keeps his own
first-born or not.  Then I feel the pain of possibly losing my first
grandson.  I have always cherished the prospect of having a grandson on
my knee, as a second chance to raise a young one, or simply having
someone to spoil, as I often hear is what grandpas are wont to do.
With all that, if Waki outlives me, he will be treasured as long as I
exist.  Waki made me see beyond myself.

Waki IS lucky.  Never
before have I personally experienced such an overwhelming juggernaut of
prayers.  From casual acquaintances to prayer buddies to friends I
thought I have lost, they all rallied around Waki.   The Alay sa Diyos
Community did so much.  More than I thought possible.  On this I can
humbly say that Waki ceased to be Mike’s or mine.  I cannot lay sole
claim to Waki anymore.  He belongs now to everyone who all cared and
prayed for him.  Henceforth I need not fear for Waki’s well-being.
Waki did this.

Waki IS lucky.  His paternal great grandma was a
consistent Quiapo and Baclaran devotee before.   Then they migrated to
the States where the devotion waned.  When Waki needed the prayers,
Mama went full blast again as if there was no interruption.  My own
mother who is also there has never stopped praying and crying since the
day of the sad news.  Now Nanay smiles again.  Julie’s brother recalls
that the last time he prayed so hard was to ask that his six-year old
nephew be spared of cancer.  He was not.  So when he prayed for Waki he
made it come from the deepest recesses of his stricken heart.  And a
vision came to this erstwhile half-believer saying Waki will be fine.
Julie’s sister and cousins are mainly in the medical professions and
quite jaded in the belief that healings are the product of science.
When we asked them to pray, it was timely that Fr. Suarez, the healing
priest was there.  With their husbands, these ladies even volunteered
to be “catchers,” for Waki’s sake.  They placed a photo of Waki on the
altar and Fr. Suarez in fact claimed healing over that.  There were on
the spot healings and that sister could only mutter, “There is indeed a
healing God.”  Waki had reached across those thousand of miles,
prayerfully reuniting the family again to Him!

Waki IS lucky.
My second son Mark is also in the States as an up-and-coming architect
in his own right.  He and Mike were born less than a year apart.  If
there ever was a fine example of sibling rivalry, friendly or
otherwise, it’s them.  Calvin and Hobbes, cat and dog, mouse and cat,
Mad Mike and Mark, the works.  But when Mark got wind of Mike’s
predicament, he sent more than his share of financial help.  When Mark
learned that I may be late in giving my own share, he said, “Never
mind, Pa.  I will send some more.”  Mike says, “Please tell Mark ‘Thank
you’”.  Julie says, “Tell him yourself.”  And Mike knowingly nods.  My
eyes moisten, no, glisten as I write this.  Waki single-handedly did
this.

So there.  God has given us His answer.  In His way.  In
His time.  Beyond our meager minds and twisted intellects.  It is
indeed a privilege to witness how God works and it does strengthen our
faith when we experience His power, when we trust Him completely.

God may have changed Waki’s life for the better.  But He definitely changed mine forever.