September 26, 2004. It was past 4pm. I was with my son, my brother and my three cousins and we were on our way back to UPLB from San Pablo. Curled up in the front passenger seat of our car, I was blissfully staring at the rice fields near the highway with nothing on my mind. All of a sudden, I felt my heart racing and my mind filled with anxiety. Almost instantaneously, there was this surge of overwhelming fear and I started to have trouble breathing. I was sweating and felt light-headed. There was pins and needles pain in my left arm and my chest felt like it was being smothered and I found myself gasping for air. Although it was a full-blown panic attack (which would become my worst to date), I didn’t push the shout-and-go-wild-like-hell button. I mean, yes, it was a panic attack but I tried to be relaxed. I remember casually telling everyone inside the car that I can’t breathe and that they bring me to the hospital. Calmly, I rolled down the window, turned the car stereo off and requested my son and my cousins to stop making any unnecessary noise. But inside me it was different— I was panicking and losing control. There was only one thing on my mind during that time: I was going to die. My son was in the backseat and I reached for his hand, maybe for the last time. Soap opera-ish you might say but hell, I don’t know how you’d react when you’re in that situation. Good thing we were only a few minutes away from LB Doctors Hospital when I had my attack but the town’s proverbial bumper-to-bumper had just started, all the more making me anxious.
After almost 10 minutes of struggling for breath, we arrived at LBDH. I stepped out of the car without any help, walked composedly towards the nurses’ station, told one nurse that I was having trouble breathing and went directly inside the emergency room without any assistance or companion and laid down on an empty bed— as if I’m not experiencing something serious. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion but inside me it felt like a stampede. One nurse asked me what happened while another one put tubes in my nose to supply oxygen and gave me a nebulizer treatment. Still, I had trouble breathing and my arms and hands went cold and numb. I never thought that it could really happen, but scenes of my life flashed before me. Mental pictures from my childhood until that afternoon all appeared above my head in split second fashion. Then I felt an unbearable fear. I’ve never felt so afraid like that before that a feeling of resignation followed. I saw the clock on the wall and said to myself, "So, I’m going to die at 5:25pm." The feeling of fear faded and was replaced by acceptance. I called my son to stand beside me, held his hand and told him that he be a good boy and that I love him so much. Everything that happened to me inside the hospital after that moment felt trivial.
After three days of confinement, the doctor said that I can go home and was advised that I undergo several physical tests to really determine my health condition. That night I thought about lots of things. But one thing’s for sure— it was just the beginning.
Isn’t it a wonder when there can be no hope, there is more than ever?
