A Great Medical Team.

I was so thrilled and touched to get a card in the mail from the SCI/D unit of the VA Medical Center today. But reading the messages in it made me cry because once again it brought back memories of the last eight months I had spent in the hospital with Ken.

It felt so nice however to know I am being thought of. I did not expect that the doctors, nurses, therapists and staff would continue to think about me after I left the hospital for good. Every single one of them had given Ken and I such wonderful care and support. I know that my life will forever be touched by everyone who cared for Ken, rooted and cheered him on.

FYI, Kenneth room has a virtual revolving door. If a nurse or aide leaves, another one enters to stay with him. He was on one-on-one watch 24/7. They were very patient with him even when he was difficult to deal with at times. Ken was a fighter. He fought hard to stay with me when so many odds were against him. And with the help of the SCI staff, he fought even harder.

I thank them for being there with me when I was scared and does not understand what was going to happen next. They showed me so much compassion.

Thank you so much guys!

Have I Told You...

Have I told you Kenneth had died?

No, I guess not.

Maybe because all I have done since he passed away is sleep and cry. I just don't know if life will ever have meaning for me again. I ached for Ken every day, and I still search for him at night, as I used to do when I would check on him. I talk to him sometimes, all alone, but obviously I don't hear anything back. I just want him back! And yet I know he will never be back. How do I move past this grief? How do I move on? I know I should have seen this coming, as his recovery was like an obstacle course in the past eight months, but I was woefully unprepared for this kind of loss. I think I didn't want to believe it could happen.

When I got home from the hospital after Ken died, I was overwhelmed with emotions. Grief - how could he be gone? And anger - how could he leave me? I was just about ready to renovate his bedroom! I was already planning for activities we can do together when he is finally released from the hospital. I am excited to hear his voice echo in our house again.

Right now our house felt empty. There are no other voices/sobs I hear but mine. I shed tears as I walk around the house knowing that I am now alone. We have spent only three years together, yet we created so many memories. Losing Ken had changed my entire life. I feel completely lost and totally uncomfortable making even minor decisions. Not that I haven't made decisions before. But... Ken was always there. And now he was not.

It has been a month to this day since Ken left me. The first week was mercifully numbing. Much of the time I sleep walked through the things I had to do. So numb that I was often completely unaware of what was going on around me. The next week I went from depression to panic attacks, back to depression to not sleeping, to sleeping too much, to never leaving the house, to not wanting to go back to the house. The weeks that followed were both utterly full and completely empty ... full of activity yet empty of life. I felt cut off from everything that I thought was my life. But there are preparations I need to do, people I need to talk to which somehow brought me out of my darkness, only to find myself standing alone and confused on some strange and unfamiliar shore, full of feelings and memories, but also feeling utterly lost. The town I have come to love suddenly look like a different place, often odd and distanced. I am are not sure how to cope with life in general, and sometimes I even wondered if I even want to try.

I didn't think it was possible to think about someone as many times a day as I think of him. I am missing Ken so much.

Yes, I will always miss him and I know that the sadness will remain forever. But he brought me so much joy also. I am grateful for the three years I had spent with him, that I was blessed with his goodness and love. I will always have that love.

I am grateful that he is resting now and has no more worries.

Goodnight Ken. Sleep tight.

"Time heals all wounds".

Sorry Mimi that I have not responded to your query right away. Maybe because I don't know how to respond to it. Ken's prolonged stay in the ICU told me he is not well, yet the doctor kept telling me he is getting better.

Every time I went to see him, I would see a figure which resembled a broken mannequin hooked up to machines - ventilators, IV, pick line, monitors that tracked everything from heart rate to oxygen flow. The ventilator breathe for him. Every breath, a rythmic thwop-whoosh-clunk in the quiet ICU room. All around him machines hissed and beeped. It's a sight so difficult to take in.

His recovery was extremely slow perhaps because it took them over a month to figure out that his pacemaker was infected. They thought that after they took out the bacterial growth in his spine, it will clear out. Staph bacteria is a nasty bug and Ken is in a lot of pain. Meanwhile as we wait for the staph to clear, Ken contacted another bacteria in his lungs, and since he had been lying in bed for so long he got pressure sores as well even when they have been moving him in bed every two hours. He did managed to get better after his pacemaker was replaced for the second time. He become responsive. I would talk into a microphone attached to his headphone because he had difficulty hearing and he would write his response on a white board.

His attitude seemed to change after that, and it is interesting to see how he started looking at hospitals much differently to the negative way he had looked at it before. Ken dreaded treatment more than illness itself but now he depend so much on the nurses and doctors and other hospital staffers. He now appreciate their presence and he realized that help is there if he suffers an illness and they will help him get through it.

I have been going to the big city with Ken whenever he has a doctor's appointment there, but we don't linger to go to other places in the metro, so I would say I am not too familiar with the area. At first I dreaded the thought of driving there every so often because of the traffic and the unfamiliar roads. But after over two months of confinement in the hospital, I soon learned to travel from our home to the hospital and back.

Mimi, I still worry a lot to this day. I don't know if Ken will be able to regain mobility of his legs. He had started rehab now, but starting slow because he is still very weak. It just hit me that when a spinal cord injury occurs, the life that was familiar, comfortable, satisfying and rewarding is pulled away, literally in the blink of an eye, and the life I know is gone forever. The good thing is, another way of life will start, not a life of our choosing, but one me and Ken must figure out how to live.

I am certain though that I won't let my husband spend the day wondering how in the world he is going to bear living life from a wheelchair. And those things that he were once passionate about will definitely not become painful memories of his past because I will make sure he will be able to do them again.

So, does time heal all wounds? I'm hoping that it does. Time though had given me a different perspective on how I view things. I believe, it make me more sensitive to the needs of my husband.

I am going back to the hospital tomorrow to see how he is doing.

My (birthday) wish.

As I opened my eyes, you were my first thought. I strained my ears hoping to hear the tv and be comforted that you were there watching the early morning news. For a few minutes, I let thoughts of you washed over me. I got out of bed, went into the kitchen and made coffee through sleepy eyes. How I wished you were there, sitting in your recliner, bright eyed without coffee waiting for me to make you one.

I then remembered it was Sunday. I loved Sundays with you. After getting your cup of coffee, you would go out to get your Sunday paper while I prepare your favorite breakfast of bacon and egg and toast. We always spent Sunday mornings poring over every bit of news around the state as you buy each Sunday paper in the store. Then in the afternoon we drive around the countryside.

I shuffled about the day, doing Sunday things - cleaning, doing laundry, weeding the garden and all the while wished I knew exactly what you were doing that very moment. Did the nurse came to your room to move you in bed? Are you awake and watching tv? Did your temperature went down because I knew it was running again last night. Are you still having pain or needing ice to moist your lips? I wished you remembered to pray.

A little while later, I sat down to watch T.V. I looked at the shows that were stored in your DVR and clicked M*A*S*H. An old episode came on that we used to laugh about and I wished you were here to laugh with me. I loved those moments as laughter was such a part of us. Now, it seems I don't laugh nearly as often, nor as hard. I wish to hear your voice again.

I had a few mouthfuls at lunch. I simply wanted to get through the whole meal as I had moments of missing you so badly, that I couldn't possibly eat anymore. Remember that time you cooked me duck for supper, even though you rarely cook? You were so impressed with yourself as you dished it out. You had every right to be as it was fantastic! Now, I just skipped supper since you were in the hospital- for over three weeks!

Evenings are never easy. There's hardly any light in the living room since you were gone because I don't like to watch tv there all by myself. I wish you were here so we can both watch our favorite shows like we used to.

Instead, I am sitting in front of my computer typing this.

I wish I wasn't.

I wish you aren't sick.

I wish you could come home soon, Ken.

Next question please.

My sister-in-law, in the picture above, asked me the other night what my plans were if Ken would leave me. That was just after we visited him at the hospital and saw how very ill he was.

No, don't panic. Ken is responding well after his operation and we are certain he will recover. We were just having a conversation about situations and were trying to figure out ways to avoid the same situation from happening again.

So there we were, seated in her luxurious living room when she blurted the question.

She was, of course, just asking an inevitable question. One that even she dreaded asking.

I honestly don't have an answer. Although I think I remember saying: " I don't know, because I haven't looked that far ahead."

Seriously, how does one deal with the thought of losing a partner? Perhaps some people would think that it would not make much difference to me since we were married for less than three years. But the truth is, loosing Ken is probably the hardest thing in the world for me. He is not just a husband. He is more than that. He is the love of my life.

He played a vital role for my happy existence.

My husband, faults and all, is truly a hero to me. When we met, I was going through a tough time in my life. Not only was I trying to recover from a marriage that was long over, I was also in a strange city learning to cope with a life so different from what I was use to. And Ken was so patient with me. He never pushed for more than I was ready to give.

He is a man of outstanding character. He is honest and he is trustworthy. He is funny and thoughtful and he is a good provider.

He is also very supportive of my goals and dreams. He even doesn't have to understand them. And he doesn't feel the need to make his hobbies mine, or vice versa. We share many things, yet we each have our own personal interests as well.

I knew I prayed for a man like him before I knew that one actually existed. Of course, there is no one perfect, but there is one who is perfect for me, and that is Ken. It occured to me that for the first time in my life, I have not had to settle for something less. I don't know if it was God's will, luck, or my own doing, but I really did end up with someone who is just right for me.

I may never know how I got so lucky, but I am very grateful.

So, what was the next question?

Brown is beautiful.

I have 3 days off from work starting today so it's nice to have a time to write a new post although I don't have an idea of what it will be.

It is raining outside. It is dark and gloomy and quiet.

It was so different from last week when the sun shyly and coquettishly re-emerged after winter. I saw several of my female neighbors lying outside by their front lawn in their bikinis. I saw two young males lying shirtless on the roof of another house. I saw a mother reading a book while soaking in the sun and another teenage girl mowing the lawn in a skimpy shirt and shorts. People here associate summer with sun-kissed skin that comes with it.

Indeed, Americans love the sun and a healthy tan. To them, brown is beautiful while white is... well, a pallor of death.

In contrast, we Filipinos considered the sun as the enemy to be avoided at all costs. Whenever it comes out, up went our protective umbrellas. In fact, people back home routinely insulted one another by observing that the other had gotten darker (“Umitim ka.”). What would have been the ultimate compliment for an American is for us the ultimate curse. The last time I visited my country I see whitening products everywhere. The harmony of ebony and ivory is now a promise from ebony to ivory.

This white thing was no joke. Every second ad showed miserable brown girls touched by the fairy god mother of whitening products to become happy, fulfilled white versions. A simple equation was evident: brown equals misery and white equals happiness. Do you know that it is a challenge to go to a store and find lotion that doesn’t proclaim its whitening properties? I can’t even watch TV without seeing a minimum of five advertisements proclaiming certain brand of whitening cream that will help one keep her boyfriend.

So you might ask, do I also have an affinity to white skin? YES!

Perhaps because to me white looks pure and reminds me of princess stories. But thinking about it now as I tinker on my keypad, I think my obsession with white skin is not a manifestation about my racial self-hatred or the desire to appear more Caucasian. I think it has to do more with social class. I remember having spent a lot of time basking in the sun when I was younger. I fetched water from a well back in Manarra. I helped my grandma tend our camote garden, fed our chickens, walked so many miles to the market, washed our laundry by the river or did the million other things under the sun. My skin got so dark that I feel like a lowly alipin sa gigilid (slave). When I attended school for the first time, I was fascinated with my classmates who have fairer skin. They looked rich and pretty. I can't be as white as them, so I befriended them. In time, and mainly from avoiding the sun, my skin get a little fairer but only to some extent. I know that my skin tone will remain the same in my life time.

Unless perhaps one is Michael Jackson. But that's a different story.

Please, Pass the Rice.

My uncle Butsoy cooked this yummy paella. Just one of the ways we can cook rice.

You see, there is this long running joke at home that I just laughed and shrugged off. But since Cedric came to live with us, the joke haunts us almost every meal time. In the surface it's hilarious, but deep down we know it is driving Ken crazy.

“We are having rib-eye steak tonight? So what will you have with it? Hmmm... don't tell me, let me guess... is it by any chance rice???" We know it is driving him mental because he would then ask “don't you eat anything else?”

How do you explain to a non-Filipino that we are rice eaters first, second and last. That rice is central to our lives. That it is normal for Cedric and me to demolished a 25 kg bag of rice in a month because we eat rice with everything. Rice with beef, pork, chicken, noodles, fish. We could even pile on one plate rice with pasta and bread and eat it in same sitting.

I wish Ken had come with me when I went home last March so he will see first hand the Filipino obsession with rice. It would have been fun to witness his reaction when he see more varieties of rice in the market than just about everywhere. He might be filled with disbelief to know that some of my countrymen would prefer to be paid with just rice. Give a Filipino some bread and they will still be hungry, give them rice and they are happy.

I remember those rare days when money were tight. My three boys had to do with eating a heap of rice with one puny stick of skewered burnt marinated pork, using a ratio of one tiny morsel of this dish with 4-5 tablespoons of rice. Sometimes it's two plates of steaming hot rice with microscopic menudo, shrinking sinigang and invisible adobo. They definitely have become an expert in stretching a single ulam to go with their rice.

I love rice, as any true-blooded Filipino does. I love garlic too. Although I don’t like it in my breath. But I like making garlic fried rice in the morning with my over-easy egg and bacon. And just imagine how Ken would roll his eyes at the sight of it. He prefer buttered toast with his egg and bacon. Of course!

When we go out to eat, most of the time Ken choose the venue because he wants to be served and waited on. But on occasions that he asked me to pick the place, I always picked the Chinese buffet because of the vast array of food and a choice of fried and plain rice. My son, like any typical Filipino would stacked his plate with two or three kinds of dish and a heaping mound of rice as if preparing for the Hunger Games. Ken could just shake his head.

My two other boys are no different. They prefer to eat in a restaurant that offer unlimited rice. They did not fret when we ate at a Kentucky outlet and all that was left in the bucket was a tiny chicken wing as long as there was still rice. They just pour gravy onto the rice and wadya know this thick brown goo had turned into an ulam(dish).

Gravy on rice? Ken, you gotta see this!