I am going to be a father!!!

I was in my parents’ house in Bulacan Friday evening (Nov 16), waiting for my wife to come from work. We have not seen each other since Wednesday morning and we were both excited, not just because we missed each other, but also because we wanted to confirm something. She has missed her period.

 

She arrived half past eight, and she already bought a test kit on her way home. We read the packaging and to our dismay, it recommended to obtain a weewee sample early in the morning, when the concentration of Human Chorionic Gonadotropin (HCG) is highest in the urine. Ugh, I’m a nurse, and I should know that! I guess, when you are excited, you tend to forget a lot of things… And so we decided to postpone the testing till the next morning.

 

For the last months, it was almost every day that we were asked by our friends and relatives as to whether she is already pregnant or not. Everybody was just expectant as much as we were. It was frustrating at times, especially if her period arrives. We would just hug and comfort each other reassuring ouselves that God has a definite time for that.

 

I wonder how we fell asleep that night. We kept on talking “what if” dialogues. We sensed that we were not alone together anymore. It’s a vague, but inescapable feeling that nothing will be the same. We suspected that a baby might be on the way! Although it was still unconfirmed, intuitively, we knew that it was true.

 

Just five months ago, Didith marched up the aisle to me, her beautiful face and brushed-up hair framed in bridal white. Up to this day, I still get the thrill of hearing “Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Bautista” and thinking of myself as her husband. I have adjusted to be being a married man. Now I feel I need to start adjusting being called a “daddy” and having a son or a daughter.

 

The following morning came and we were both excited to get up. We are usually sluggish in the morning, finding it so difficult to get up and get ready to work, especially if we are in our Antipolo house. But that Saturday morning was different. Although I really needed to get up early for my work (I work on weekends), the reason to rise early was more inviting.

 

We both decided to do the testing in our bedroom. The bathroom is downstairs and my parents would catch us doing our thing there. We did not want them to get disappointed as well, if a negative result comes out, so we decided to do it more privately. I accompanied my wife to the bathroom door and gave her a small plastic cup so she could collect a sample of her morning weewee. We then went back to our room.

 

After preparing the pregnancy test kit on top of our bed, we drew a sample of the urine using the pipette supplied in the package. We placed five drops on the small window at the lower part of the device.

 

In about 3 minutes, two distinct purple bands appear one after the other on the adjacent window of the device. The first band was a bit pale, and we got confused in a while. But after confirming with the packaging that the pale band still indicates a positive result, we then concluded that our strong suspicion has been confirmed. My wife was indeed PREGNANT! It was a beautiful and intimate way to share the first certain knowledge that we were no longer simply us.

 

It was one of my happiest moment. But the crappy luck I have dealt with my whole life trained me to subconsciously suppress excitement for a yet to internalize the situation. Seconds later, I felt happiness surround me. My wife was just as glad. The room was filled with so much joy and love. We thanked the Lord for this great blessing of a new life.

 

After I dressed up for work, we went to my parents and announced the big news. They were ecstatic as ever! It’s their grandchild!

 

I went to work as expected. Everybody in the hospital noticed my very pleasant mood, as if a smiley was painted on my face. Who could blame me, I was in 7^th heaven. I was supposed to work 16 hours that day (8 hours in B.A. Hospital and 8 hours in Dr. Yanga’s Hospital), but I had to cut it short a bit to get home early. I just could not wait to be home and be with my family.

 

They say that marriage is a union of two souls. Literally, word for word, it is difficult to understand. I found it hard to comprehend in the past. Immediately after marriage , I defined the union of two souls as the sharing of life, love and happiness. The union of souls is two separate souls becoming one in a balanced harmony. But now I believe that it is all of that and more. It is the creation of new life. A life that will possess a part of each of the two souls. A life that will be brought forth in the form of a child. I now know that a piece of my soul has been absorbed, combined, or intertwined with that of my wife’s. I now know that a piece of my soul has joined a piece of hers and created a new life to symbolize that union.

 

The day ended, but not my joy. I know that day was the beginning of some major changes in my life, but it will also be the start of a long, and happy journey ahead.

My Second Mother

Yes, I have a second mother. And no, she is not a stepmother.

 

I got to know her first as my English 1 teacher on my first year in college. Professor Jovita H. Orara was a very strict teacher. She was like a visiting professor from UP then. My classmates feared her because she would use her UP style of teaching in her classes. But later on, we found her very friendly especially outside the classroom. She was like everybody’s grandma.

 

After the first semester, she was appointed Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. During that time, there was no CAS existing in our school, and that meant that she needed to start her office from scratch.

 

That time, my parents have told me that our finances cannot support my nursing studies anymore because of the expensive tuition fees in our school. I was told that I should transfer to Bulacan State University, and shift to another course, hence I will not be able to continue my college studies. During that time, tuition fees in BSU is very cheap (as compared today) and so affordable especially for less privileged students. I felt terrible then, because I really wanted to finish what I have started, and become a nurse.

 

Having been regarded Professor Orara as a friend, I told her about my dilemma during class cards distribution. She was quick to suggest that I work in her office so that I will not have to pay my tuition fees, so that I could continue my nursing studies.

 

My parents did not object, and I promised to them that I will try my best to balance work and studies in order to graduate in time. They supported my decision and believed that I can pursue the goals I had set for myself.

 

During my stint as a student assistant for Dean Orara’s office, I came to know a lot of things that I still value up to this day. My tight schedules taught me how to value time. I would wake up very early in the morning to study, and prepare for my nursing internship in hospitals. After my hospital duty, I would rush to Dean’s office to do some errands, and some paper works. Later, I would be seen attending my classes until 7pm. I would also accompany Dean Orara home, a trip from Bocaue to Quezon City (where she lived), and back, on Mondays and Wednesdays. I would be home by 9 to 10 pm.

 

Ma’am O (I got used to calling her this way) also taught me how to become organized.  I absorbed her system in running her office. I made sure memos were signed by receiving persons, corrected even the smallest typographical errors, and made sure files were labeled and in order. I was made to manage a small library, which further improved my organizing skills.

 

I was made to deal with people more often. I was a timid person initially, but got over it after I dealt with different kinds of people as part of my work. I helped in the enrollment process where I got to deal with students. I assisted teachers with their work. I circulated memos. I was made to visit teachers in their respective towns. I was introduced to the UP community. I got to watch quality movies, stage plays, and ballet performances.

 

My values enriched as she taught me a lot of life lessons. She would tell me stories about her struggles in life and how I should get inspiration from hurdles and impediments. She trained me to become a strong person, enduring the sometimes harsh realities of life.

 

After graduating, I was then absorbed by the same office as an Office Assistant. Later on, I found a nursing job, and I found it difficult to leave the place. But even after leaving my office work, Ma’am O  and I never lost contact and she remained my mentor for life. Whenever I needed to make tight decisions, it was her that I would consult. She considered me as the son that the she never had.

 

She would also call me if she needed some help. And I would always come running at her doorstep. We started a unique friendship. When I went to work abroad, we remained in touch through phones, letters and cards.

 

When I was about to get married, I found it difficult to tell her. I knew I would break her heart, as real mothers would. And break her heart, I did. She felt so sad when I announced my wedding. But I knew that was just an initial reaction. I knew that she was just worried if I was making the right decisions in life, just like any parent would think in that instant.

 

She does not usually attend weddings, unless it is her daughter’s, I know that. But she attended my wedding. Mine was an exception to the rule, ah!

 

Today is her 81st birthday (Nov 15). We celebrated her birthday in her office yesterday, together with her faculty members. I think this is my first time in five years to be in the country for her birthday, so I really made an effort to be present. I bought her a cake from Red Ribbon. She just sent me a text message this afternoon telling me that there has been a lot of food during the day, but yesterday’s cake was still the best, not because of the taste, but because it has full of love. Whew! So inspiring…

 

I owe a lot to Ma’am O and words cannot just measure how much her contribution is to my life. She made me become who I am today and she will be part of who I will be tomorrow. I will forever be grateful for having been blessed with a second mother.

FRIENDS COMICS: A Past Revisited

I have a very imaginative mind as I child. I would make robots out of medicine boxes. I would sculpt figures out of clays. I would draw and write the whole day. I got involved in art competitions and really enjoyed art classes. I never realized that later on my passion in art would connect with another passion, to be able to connect with people.

 

I was 11 years old when I started making my own version of comics. I folded bond papers into two, and stapled it in the middle, just like local genuine comics would do. I would draw girls in flashy clothes for the cover. The contents would include children poems, short stories, comic strips, and other works of fiction, all brought about by my very wild imagination. A friend suggested the name FRIENDS COMICS. And that started it all.

 

I would then let my classmates borrow my masterpiece and would allow them to write anything they want – comments, suggestions, greetings, and sometimes literary contributions. I enjoyed the response I was getting, as my classmates enjoyed the entertaining reading material that I created. It then became a weekly publication. My sister and my neighbor once borrowed the comics and brought it to their schools. Instantly, I had readers outside our school waiting for the following week’s issue.

 

The comics would come back to me full of writings, and almost worn out. I did not mind if the comics came back in poor condition. My intention was to make people happy through my artworks. And I think I was able to do it in my own little way. I would keep the read comics in my drawers until I was able to collect piles of my masterpiece.

 

I continued making comics until I entered high school. I grew up with my readers, and as my readers and I matured, the contents developed as well. The article contributions included older-themed poems, advice columns, watercolor artworks, and even love song lyrics.

 

The use of photocopiers, scanners, digital cameras, computers, and the internet, was not as popular before as it is today. So the limitation in modern technology was a factor in mass-producing a personally-crafted weekly-published comics. My comics remained as a single copy, passed from person to person, until it comes back to me, when everybody has finished reading – and writing their own literary and art contributions. Its being a single-copy-comics had its advantages though, since it allowed my friends to write down on the pages personally, so that the next readers would read what they wrote. The early readers would come back reading the comics again, so that they will be updated on what has been added.

 

The weekly publication was ended by a farewell issue dated March 1992, just before our high school graduation. I wanted to continue it during my college years but my college studies did not permit me to do so, since I took up a very demanding course.

 

Fifteen years after I stopped making comics, I stumbled upon piles of my masterpieces in my old monobloc boxes. As I opened each pages, I started a time travel, and I was brought back into my younger years. How I laughed at my old corny jokes, and artworks as I child!

 

The comics issued when I was in high school were even more interesting. My classmates’ writings and contributions were a reflection of how colorful teenage years were. There were revelations about crushes and even word wars among friends. Two of my friends who have already passed away were made to live again by their writings. Ah, what a way to reminisce! I realized I never lost those joyful times of my childhood, as they are wonderfully inscribed forever in the pages of Friends Comics.

 

And hey, before I forget, I should give credit to my special friend who gave my comics its name – she is now my wife.

If you know Friends Comics and is interested in revisiting the past, visit http://mhphs92.blogspot.com. I started posting scanned pages there. Join me in my time machine! I assure you it will be a very interesting journey!

 

Teaching as a Nursing Profession

I was not into teaching until my alma mater hired me as a part-time clinical instructor last semester to handle third-year nursing students. I had my doubts at first, as to whether I will be an effective teacher or not, since I know that teaching in a hospital setting is a lot different from teaching inside a classroom. It is very different from having your students seated on rows, than having students who are walking around the hospital, performing health-risk, if not life-threatening procedures. And that my professional nursing license is at stake every time students take care of real-life patients.

 

Following up nursing students inside the hospital was not really new to me. I handled foreign nursing students when I was in the Middle East. Patients there were quite demanding, and meticulous, and so I learned how to make sure that the students were knowledgeable of the procedures they were performing even before going to the bedside, otherwise I end up being reprimanded by the patients themselves.

 

I had three groups last semester, most of them were fresh from high school (meaning, not second-coursers). Some were still having doubts as to whether they should continue with their nursing course or not. Some were just influenced to take their course by the people who are financing their studies. Some were just plain pasaway.

 

After finishing the first semester, I learned a lot of things about clinical teaching. First, I realized that even if my job as a teacher should focus on making sure the students gain enough knowledge during their clinical exposure, it is still the patient lying on the bed who should be my utmost concern. Before making any procedures to the patient, I should make sure that he is comfortable and that he is confident with his caregivers, even if they are just students.

 

I also learned that student nurses can be taught self confidence by actually making them perform procedures by themselves (with supervision, of course). I sometimes get doubts as to whether I should allow the student to perform the activity or not. But by initially assessing the student’s knowledge on the procedure, I get enough trust on the student that he will finish the task successfully. And by making him actually complete the job, he builds the confidence necessary to gain the patient’s trust.

 

Lastly, I learned the value of sharing knowledge to the people who are thirsty of it. It is indeed a privilege and honor to be part in molding young minds who will become professionals someday. When my students thanked me after their clinical rotation ended, I felt that they gained a lot of knowledge and skills, and that I made my own contribution in uplifting the standards of the nursing profession.

 

I should say that I enjoyed my stint as a clinical instructor. The experience was worth it.