Dengue kills

Here's forwarded e-mail from a friend. Natalie is the daughter of Ed Feist, a former client of Basic FCB and a good friend of my late father. My condolences and prayers to Mr. Feist and his family.

Many a grim tale has been told about the dreaded dengue. Here’s another one, as shared in an e-mail:

This evening, we attended the wake of Natalie Corrales Feist, only 17 years old. Her mother Rosa is the sister of Pilita Corrales and her father Ed Feist is the head of a big pharmaceutical company in Manila.

Natalie was studying in Australia and had come home to Manila to spend the Christmas holidays with her family. What started only as a stomachache progressed to malaise and fever that turned out to be the deadly dengue fever which snuffed out Natalie’s life in such a short time. Natalie was an only daughter and the youngest of three children. It was indeed so sad to witness the grief, the sadness, and the pain of losing such a wonderful daughter and so pretty at that. The priest saying Mass also mentioned about another young girl of 15 who also died recently.

A couple of years ago, my nephew who was only 28 years old and was to be married, also died within a short time after he contracted dengue. He was an only son.

Dengue kills. Let us not wait for it to get out of hand and claim more young lives. As my own small contribution to help increase people’s consciousness of this disease, allow me to share the warnings below. Many people are not aware that in their own homes, there are dangerous places where mosquitoes breed.

Please take note:

• The bromeliad plant has beautiful flowers, but they are deadly, because in between are pockets that collect clean water, which is where the dengue mosquitoes breed. If you have them, get rid of them or place them in pots so that after watering them, the pots can be turned over to remove the excess water. I have noticed that along Ayala Avenue in Makati and other roadsides, the bromeliads, which are very colorful, are often used by landscapers to brighten areas, etc.

The landscapers must be discouraged from using these plants, especially when they are planted in the ground, because they can cause an epidemic, as what happened in Cebu many years back. It was discovered that these plants were the culprits.

• Those that have bamboo fences placed over their concrete fences (as in many subdivisions) must see to it that the top is covered, because the bamboo crevices hold water and again become breeding places for dengue mosquitoes.
• I have just read on the Internet about a tip that was given at a recent gardening forum. Here it is:

Put some water in a white dinner plate (I suppose a small white platito will do) and add a couple of drops of Lemon Fresh Dish Washing Liquid. Set the dish on your porch, patio, picnic table, park bench, or other outdoor areas. I’m not sure what attracts them — the lemon’s smell, the white plate color, or what. But mosquitoes flock to it, and drop dead shortly after drinking the Lemon Fresh Dish Washing Liquid and water mixture and usually, within about 10 feet of the plate.

Try it, it works just super! It may seem trivial, but it may also help control mosquitoes around your home (especially in areas where the dengue- and malaria-carrying mosquitoes have reached epidemic proportions). It’s safer than mosquito coils ... no offensive odor and harmful fumes, no risk of fire.
This is all I can say, which may be helpful in controlling the rise of the deadly dengue mosquitoes. Let us all try to do our part in our own homes and surroundings, so that by doing so, we can lessen dengue’s breeding places and save more lives.

Isabel F. Guevara
Magallanes Village, Makati City

In sickness and in health (Part I)

Gabi has been sick on and off for the last couple of months.

It all started early December 2007. Patty, Gabi and I treated ourselves to a weekend stay in Renaissance Makati (formerly New World Hotel). It was our wedding anniversary and we had reason to celebrate. We originally wanted to run off to a beach resort. But just the thought of organizing the logistics of a road trip discouraged me from pursuing the sun and sand idea.

The Renaissance seemed like a good choice. It had broadband in every room so I was happy. It's right in front of Greenbelt and all the shops and restos we QCers hardly get a chance to visit and so Patty was happy. It had a nice pool ("Two pools, Papa!") so Gabi was happy.

I had a Plan. Everything was scheduled, down to the last minute. Patty was to drop me off in Jupiter St. for a 1:30 pm meeting, check-in at the Renaissance and then walk on over to Greenbelt 1 to buy tickets for that evening's performance of Repertory's Fiddler on the Roof. Dinner and drinks in Casa Armas was to be the night cap.

Gabi was to spend the night in his Wowa's house and follow first thing the next morning. After buffet breakfast, we were to spend the whole morning in the pool. Lunch in Emperor Court before checking out at 3 pm.

We never got to follow the schedule. On our way to Casa Armas Patty already got a call from her mother. Gabi it seemed was not feeling well. He was matamlay.

"Of course, he is!" was my instinctive reply. "He misses us!"

Turns out he was ailing from something more than papa and mommy homesickness. Mother-in-law dutifully reported his true state of health at 6:30 am the next day.

"He made suka twice last night and his poo poo is wet."

Now we were worried. We got Gabi on the phone and asked him how he was.

"Fine... But where are you, papa? I thought we were going swimming. I want to be with you and Mommy," was his weak reply.

"Come on over then, anak. Elias and the black car will pick you and yaya up and you can come here."

Patty and I quickly shifted to Plan B. The morning swim was definitely out of the picture. We went to Mercury and bought what we thought was needed: pedialyte, bottles of mineral water, fresh juice and a thermometer. The plan was for Gabi to be at our side so that we could assess his condition ourselves and then call his pedia for advice.

Gabi was asleep when the car drove up the hotel driveway. And the yaya was drenched in vomit.

I took him in my arms and we hurriedly brought him to our room. He was definitely matamlay. And was obviously in some sort of pain.

"Ouchy my tummy, Mommy," he didn't have to verbalize.

Patty quickly tried to cheer him up. "Look, baby," pointing at the complimentary fruit basket in the room. "Want some of your favorite oranges?"

"Yes, Mommy. I want." His face lit up at the suggestion of food.

And he quickly devoured three small slices.

We gave him juice to drink but he wanted water instead. He finished a whole bottle. We took his temperature. No fever but higher than normal.

It was then that we tried to contact his pedia. We sent her a text message. To both cell numbers she left in her calling card. And the long wait began.

Meanwhile, a somewhat revived Gabi sauntered to the window and saw the pools on the roof deck a few floors down.

"Two pools, Papa! Two pools. Let's swim!" he gleefully proclaimed as he scampered for his swim suit.

Patty and I just stared at each other. How do you tell an obviously sick child that he couldn't swim even if he was looking forward to family time in a pool much bigger than what we had at home?

We eventually came up with a rather foolish compromise.

"Okay, anak. We will swim. But only for a while. Because you're sick," was my Solomonic reply.

"I am not sick! Let's go."

Besides, the pedia had not replied yet. So might as well let Gabi have his cake.

So off to the pool we went. And had fun! For an hour, we played and laughed in the water.

We went back to the room, took quick showers, packed our stuff and informed Front Desk of our early check out. We had hoped that by the time we were on our way home in the car, we would already receive the pedia's instructions.

She never replied.

We got home, put Gabi in bed and shifted to Plan C. We called ER in Medical City and asked the resident pedia for advice. We were told to bring Gabi to the hospital for assessment. They would then text his pedia for instructions.

Huh? Text her? We already did! And we tried to call her but she wasn't picking up!

Did the ER have a special phone to contact Gabi's doctor? Much like Commissioner Gordon's red hot line to Batman? No use using the bat signal either. It was the middle of the day and the bright sun would have blocked off any SOS signal.

Time to shift to Plan D. I texted MY doctor, a cardiologist in Cardinal Santos who was my primary doctor and good friend.

He replied within 5 minutes.

"Bring him to St. Luke's. Not to the emergency room. Too much paper work. Straight to the lab and ask for a CBC. Bring urine and fecal samples too if you can. Do it at home so Gabi does not have to wait too long in the hospital. Have the tests done and bring Gabi home immediately. Just go back to get the results yourself. Have the pedia resident in ER interpret the results and then call me."

Huge sigh of relief. At least I now knew what to do.

We proceeded with Plan E and followed my doctor's instructions to the letter. I ended up going to the hospital four times that same afternoon. Once to bring the urine sample. Once to bring the fecal sample. And once to get the results. Gabi only had to go once, to have his blood taken for the CBC test.

That was gut wrenching.

Being a diabetic, I get to have blood extracted at least once every three months. And my stomach still turns and my heartbeat increases whenever I see the needle.

Gabi was very brave. He cried when he saw the needle. Mommy held his other arm and gently suggested that they sing the Moon song (Moonriver which is Gabi's favorite).

"No, Mommy, I want to count."

So count we all did as the lab nurse stuck the needle and drew blood.

"1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5..."

It was all over before the mandatory 8 count. Boxer Gabi who has always been a Manny Pacquiao fan won his first fight! By knockout too!

I returned to get the test results later that evening. My doctor had already called earlier to remind me to text him the results once I get them.

"Nothing to worry about", he said, a few minutes after I sent him the results.

"Continue with the fluid replacement regimen. Watch out for the signs of dehydration. And bring him to his pedia first thing Monday."

Relieved and suddenly exhausted, I said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving and drove home to be with mother and child.

I fell asleep right away. But not before already plotting Plan F...

More on Plan F, G and H in a later post.

When backs break

We all know by now of the untimely death of Australian actor Heath Ledger of Brokeback Mountain fame.

It’s truly tragic. And sad. May God bless his soul.

And although reports on the circumstances of his death remain at least for now speculative, what’s sadder is that he died from an apparent overdose of anti-anxiety pills.

I have always been against these types of drugs. Drugs that psychiatrists prescribe. And mainly because I almost got “hooked” on such anti-depressant drugs myself in the late 90s.

I was going through a major crisis in my life. I felt that everyone was ganging up on me. To quote the Paul Williams song, it was “you and me against the world.” Except in my case, there was no “you.” Just “me” … and not just “sometimes” but all the time.

Family, friends and my former significant other tried to help. But I refused to be helped. I chose to remain at home, with only my dog as company for most of the day, and spent the time staring at the wall or mindlessly playing computer games on my Mac SE.

There were no affordable broadband internet services back then. And no Facebook. Nor blogspot. There were no available online distractions to keep my mind away from my worries. Worries which at the beginning may have been real but which soon evolved to exaggerated and even imagined levels.

I was convinced into seeing a psychiatrist. Who immediately prescribed drugs whose names I can no longer recall.

I took the drugs. And got immediate relief. I was so “out of it” that I couldn’t even remember that I had issues to deal with. The drugs were definitely a narcotic. A temporary respite from the problems of this world.

But my worries never went away. Especially when the “high” wore off. So I became dependent on them. I was an addict.

And so instead of helping me deal with my problems, I ended up having an even bigger addiction problem. And did my original worries disappear through therapy and medication? No, things got worse. I lost my job. I lost all my money. I lost my significant other. And now I was a druggie.

It was my late father who eventually helped me snap out of my chronic depression. He distracted me. Gave me new responsibilities. Gave me time. Gave me other things to think about.

And he made me see beyond myself. He made me see that if I longed to be loved, I had to de-focus from my own selfish self and selflessly focus on loving others. Most of all, God, who is Love Himself.

“Mahalin mo na lang,” was his favorite saying. Focus not on what others are doing to you. Focus on what you can do for them. Not an original thought definitely, but it’s a certified depression buster.

I finally got rid of my depression blues when my father suffered a heart attack and eventually died in 2000. Even in sickness, even in death, he was teaching me that Charity was the best path to a depression-less life. It’s a difficult road, yes. But to struggle, to persevere on this track, despite the bumpy road, will surely lead all of us to where we are all meant to be. In heaven, with God, where we will forever be free of all worries and issues.