Day 26 - Last Day in Cabanatuan City

Its my last day in CC. I looked forward to this day the entire week. Tomorrow, I go to Manila to catch my flight to Boracay for one full week of R&R.

I went into mom's room this morning to give her a couple of those large tupperware storage bins. I encouraged her to use them to store all of the shoes, clothes, and "stuff" that she's accumulated over the years. When I mentioned the word "shoes" to her, she perked up.

"You want me to put the shoes in that bin?"

"Yes, take them out of the boxes and throw out the boxes. I think that they are getting moldy."

"But its almost Christmas...!"

This took me aback. Then I probed some more. "Do you give the clothes and shoes away to people at Christmas?"

"Of course!"

I recalled from various stories from my aunts that mom liked to give away clothes and shoes to random strangers in the market. The fortunate recipients would have absolutely no clue who mom was. They didn't know each other. Some gift recipients would bring the items to the family bookstore and give them to my aunt. They knew that mom was not "all together" and returned her property to the family.

Instead of discouraging her from giving away her stuff, I just let it go. If she derives some strange pleasure or gratification from giving away brand new shirts, shoes, and bags to the less fortunate in the market, then so be it. I did encourage her to share, though, with our family and with the help. Not quite sure if she processed that message as she started talking going into some weird dialogue about George Hamilton!

I asked mom if she had her birth certificate. I found out that I qualified for dual-citizenship and needed to provide mom and dad's birth certificates to the Philippine Embassy in DC. She seemed pleased that I considered dual-citizenship. She told me that she could bring me to Manila on Monday and that we could go to the immigration office together to process the forms.

I reminded mom that I would leave tomorrow for Borocay and that I wouldn't be here on Monday. I would be in Boracay all next week and then leave directly for the US on September 1st. This seemed to hit her like a ton of bricks. I've mentioned this to her repeatedly over the past week, but it wasn't until now that she realized that the time had come for me to leave.

"When are you coming back to Cabanatuan?"

I sensed that she expected me to come back to CC before leaving for the US.

"I'm not... I'm flying on September 1 directly from Boracay to Manila to the US... Is this ok with you?"

"I just want to check on you to make sure that you're ok... who are you going with? Are you going with friends?"

I mentioned Uli, the German kite boarding instructor on Boracay and played it off as if we were long-time friends just to give her reassurance. (In actuality, I would go to Boracay "cold-turkey" and play adventurer. I've never met Uli, and have only exchanged emails and text messages. I will entrust my trip to Boracay with his recommendations in exchange for Big Macs from the mainland.)

This seemed to satiate her... though barely. I could tell that she didn't want me to leave; that it was too soon. She asked me about her medications, the riseperdal, and Tess. I reassured her that everything is ok.

"I'll be back to visit. I promise."

"Ok."

I really look forward to the next time that I visit. I hope that she remembers my promise to her, and then sees that I've followed through with it. I don't want to give her false hopes. I want to give her something real that she will see for herself.

So here I am at the mall (yet again)... I need to buy a few things: lighter fluid (the windproof lighter that I purchased in MNL has gone kaput), a few liters of diet coke (trying to switch mom to something less sugary than Coke), and some liters of water (trying to get her in the habit of staying hydrated...)

My next post will be from Boracay.

Smoochies.

Ed

Day 25 - When Things Don't Go Exactly As Planned

I thought that yesterday's visit with the doctor would have been relatively uneventful. The doctor's clinic hours were from 10 - 2. We'd go there a little bit early since there tends to be a very long queue. We'd bring the Risperdal injection with us. We'd meet and greet, he gives the injection, and then the day is over. Come back in two weeks.

Not so easy.

Mom and I agreed to leave the house at 10:00AM to go to the hospital. I had forewarned her that there would be quite a wait, and she said that she was fine with this.

Per routine, Tess came earlier in the morning to give mom her meds and then headed to the market to open the bookstore.

Come 9:30, it was time to get ready for our tricycle trip to the hospital. I bought a special thermal bag to keep the Risperdal on ice. Given the waiting times at these clinics, I knew it would be best to keep this as cold for as long as possible. I searched around the kitchen, my room, and in the help's room for the bag. I couldn't find it. Ugh. I checked the fridge and discovered one of the Risperdal packs missing. An ice pack was missing as well. At that point I figured that Tess had packed the injection and brought it with her to the store. Fine. Not exactly what I would have preferred (I would have just kept it in the fridge until the last minute that we would depart for the hospital), but it would work.

Ate Flor, one of the house help asked me what I was looking for, and I described the bag to her. Suddenly, the whole house was looking for the bag, even though I had communicated that Tess probably had it. Flor showed me other bags that I could use, but they wouldn't work (and I didn't even need the bag anymore as I figured that Tess had it.) We'll wait for Tess.

I called the store to speak with Tess and confirm my assumption that she had the bag and the Risperdal. My aunt answered the phone. She confirmed my suspicions. She had also taken the liberty to call the hospital to schedule an appointment for my mom. (Its like a deli counter. You take a number... and then you wait.) Mom was #25... and the doctor hadn't arrived yet to see his patients. Check in again at 12pm. My aunt informed me that my mom doesn't like to wait and has a history of storming out before even seeing the doctor.

Great.

The previous week, I waited in line for almost 2 hours until I was able to see the new psychiatrist.

"Fine", I replied. "We'll go to the mall next to the hospital and kill time there."

After 10, I rounded up mom, hopped in a tricycle, and headed to the mall. We'd get a snack and wander around before heading over to the hospital. I explained the time-delay situation to mom, and she replied with her typical, "that's ok."

At noon, we walked over to the hospital and made a bee-line for the doctor's clinic. Dr. B shared an office with his wife; they both trained together under mom's old psychiatrist, Dr. R. Mom took a seat amidst the large crowd of waiting patients while I went to check in with the secretary.

"My mom is #25...", I told the secretary. She looked at her list and replied back in rapid-fire tagalog that my mom was not on the list.

"Huh?"

She asked me which doctor I'd like mom to see, the husband or wife. "The husband."
Again, in rapid-fire tagalog, she informed me that the wife was currently holding office hours. The husband had office hours at the same time in a hospital across town. (I'm impressed that my comprehension of tagalog has exponentially improved!)

She was kind enough to call the secretary for Dr. B at that hospital. My mom was #25 OVER THERE. I was at the wrong hospital. If I went to the other hospital around 2:00pm, the doctor should be ready to see mom. (When they say 2:00, they really mean 3:00... filipino time.)

Ugh. Great.

I extended my thanks to the secretary and collected my mom. I explained the mix-up to her and that we'd have to go to the other hospital around 2:00.

Mom had to pay her water bill for the house in Lexber. "Mmmmm.... ok." We had time to kill, so why not. We hopped into a tricycle and puttered away to Lexber. I never realized how FAR it was from everything. the tricycle driver didn't realize how far he'd be driving either (my mom just kept on telling him, "go straight, go straight..." not much information beyond that.) He compulsively checked his gas tank as we sputtered along (literally, opening the gas cap between his legs as we were driving.) Eventually, he had to stop and fill up the tank. Mom was surprised by this, but I told her, "uh... I think he is about to run out of gas." She didn't notice him checking his tank as I had.

We eventually reached Lexber after what seemed like an eternity crammed into the sidecar. I forgot my sunglasses at home, so now my eyes were red from all of the flying dust and dirt.

Lovely.

My mom asked the tricycle driver to wait for us (Thank God, as we were in the middle of no where... I didn't see any other tricycles.) The water bill transaction took all of 5 minutes. We were back in the tricycle headed home. Imagine a 20 minute tricycle ride; not exactly the model of comfort. At this point, my right arm was significantly darker than the left; I used my right hand and arm to hold on to the frame of the sidecar so I wouldn't be pitched out.

We killed an hour at home; retreated to our own rooms. Mom took a nap, and I read my book in AC-comfort.

Its 2:00. Tess is here with the injection. Its time to go. Our number has been called... #25.

Great. We're late.

I rouse mom from her nap, and the three of us cram onto a tricycle headed across town to the correct hospital. Mom and I are crammed into the sidecar; Tess sits side-saddle on behind the driver on the motorcycle. She clings to the bike with one hand, and holds the risperdal bag with the other. I don't envy her position.

This time, I remembered my sunglasses. The dirt and dust aren't as bothersome this time, but the noxious smell of fumes prevails. Oh well. You deal with it.

We arrive at the hospital, and check in with the secretary. We're next, so we take a seat on the benches in the hallway outside his clinic. The clinic is at the very end of the hallway which opens up to the dirt parking lot outside. An iron gate locks us in.

In the corner across from the bench is a trashcan with the remnants of someone's lunch. It smells. Flies are swarming everywhere, and I wave them away. F**king annoying.

Its f**king hot, and there are no fans. I'm sweating like a pig. Mom and I are seated and Tess stands next to us and fans us. I've learned that if you remain absolutely still, even if there is no breeze, you can deal with the heat. Just remain still, accept the fact that you're sweating like a whore in a church, and shut your eyes.

I turn to mom. "You realize that you're getting your injection today, right?"

"No, that's next week."

"Uhhh, no, your last one was on the 12th. Its two weeks later. You're due for your next injection."

"NO. Its NEXT WEEK."

In my pocket, I have a piece of paper from Dr. R.'s prescription pad. He made note that her next injection would be August 25th. I figured that the 24th was close enough. I don't pull this paper out, but save it for later. I go along with her. "Ok."

Mom is agitated now. She starts talking about a movie that I had never seen; she watched it this morning on TV. Uh oh. She's rambling. She asks me who is the governor of California.

"Arnold Schwarznegger. Have you seen his movies?", I reply.

"No."

I remembered her video collection. Among them include the Terminator and the Predator series. Yet again, I let it go.

Finally, its our turn and we're called into the doctor's office.

Dr. B is seated at his desk. Mom sits in a chair in front of his desk. I shake hands with Dr. B. and hand him mom's scripts from Dr. R, including the note that the Risperdal injection is due for August 25th. Tess and I have a seat in the background and watch mom and Dr. B engage one another.

What occurs over the next 15 minutes is what I think of as a "break-in" period for Dr. B. I met with him the previous week and explained my mom's condition. Now he gets to see it in person. He begins his line of questions.

Mom starts off with, "Let me explain..." and its all downhill from there. Tess and I sit back as if we're watching a movie. Dr. B tries to follow mom's line of conversation which meanders all over the place. I hear words like "him", "fifteen years ago", "US Embassy." She asks him if he knows Dr. so-and-so... and prattles on.

I feel kind of bad for him. He's listening very intently and tries to follow her conversation when its best not to do so. Let her go on.

Somehow, I'm able to facilitate an answer to a question that he's seeking. Yes, she's responding well to her current medications. No side-effects. Sleeping ok.

We get to the topic of the Risperdal injection. Mom persists that the injection is due next week, even though Dr. B presents her with Dr. R's notes for an August 25th injection. She is very adamant about this and will not back down.

I interject. How about if you have the injection next week? Say next Monday? (At this point its late thursday. She isn't actually due for the injection until Friday. Waiting one weekend doesn't hurt.) I emphasize the fact that it would fall under her parameters of "next week."

She quickly agrees. End of debate. That was easier that I thought.

The doctor sets up an appointment on Monday morning for mom to have her injection. It will be at 10:00am. No waiting this time. She's fine with this.

Appointment is over. Its time to go. Mom and Tess leave the office, but Dr. B wants me to stay to talk awhile. The door shuts behind Tess; I see Mom looking back and we make eye contact. The door closes.

"Is your mom always like this?"

"No." I explain how she had been completely lucid for the entire morning. She took a nap before this appointment, and now its as if she's kissed her own demented Blarney Stone. "Actually, this was her being good. She didn't become hostile or angry. I think she likes you."

We pick apart the whole interaction and conclude that her "wires are crossed." (No surprise to me.) She has a bunch of topics in her head, but the wires get crossed and the messages that she sends are garbled and intermixed.

He'll see her on Monday morning for the injection and will monitor her meds. That's what I want.

I pay mom's fees, and we all head outside the hospital to hail a tricycle. As we walk down the parking lot, I ask mom, "So do you like Dr. B?"

"Yes, he's alright."

That's a good sign... her way of signalling that she likes him.

"By the way, I paid your fee when we left. It will be P250 per visit ($50 USD.)"

She reaches for her wallet to pay me back.

"Nah, don't worry about it. Its my treat."

She laughed.

Day 23 - I hate Tricycles and Mom Update

I've come to the conclusion that I really hate tricycles.

They're ubiquitous. They spew fumes. They sound like lawnmowers. Thousands of them buzz around town like little ants in a colony.

No place is safe. They maneuver into the most ridiculously tight places among trucks, cars, and other competing tricycles.

For those of you that live in the city, there's always a constant hum in the background of cars and traffic. After awhile you become desensitized to this. Or at least you can seek solace in the confines of your own home.

For some reason, the buzz of the tricycle seems to constantly drill into your head. You hear it everywhere. My Lola's house has solid concrete walls... I'd venture to say a foot or less thick; but I can still hear the f**king tricycles buzzing past the house.

I drown out the sounds with tunes from my laptop or watch a movie.

The sound is always there.

I went to the bank early this morning to pay for my airplane ticket, so I hopped into a tricycle. Easiest mode of transport.

At a crowded intersection, an adjacent tricycle belched black smoke directly into my face as I sat in the sidecar. It made me nauseous and I wanted to hurl my morning merienda. I forgot to bring Mr. Hanky with me, so I had to cup my nose and mouth with my hands.
It was at that point that I made the declared that I f**king hate tricycles. They are the bane of existence.

I also hate the constant sense of pollution all around. Everything is covered with some layer of dirt either from the fumes spewed from the tricycles, jeepneys, and trucks, or from the dust that is constantly kicked up into the air by these vehicles.

Oh well, I just had to vent about how gross it is outside. I think its starting to grate on my nerves.
________________________________________________________

Mom Update

Mom's doing really well. She's fallen into her usual routine:

Wake up early (5:30 - 6am), shower, change, and then sequester herself in her bedroom. She'll typically spend hours and hours in there either watching TV or listening to the radio (both at very high volume, I might add.) One of the first evenings, mom blared Frank Sinatra... amazing. She just lies there and watches the TV/radio.

Mom eats, but on a very different schedule from the rest of us. She's typically 1 or 2 hours off from the usual meal time; she eats in the kitchen (better than eating only in her room), but she doesn't eat with anyone. At first it was disconcerting to the ya-yas, but I reassured them that this was ok. At least she is eating, which is important.

I made an observation before that mom can only focus on one thing at a time, whether that be watching TV, cleaning her room, doing laundry. She's oblivious to most others around her as if she's focused on a mission. Eating is a perfect example. My hypothesis is that she does not eat with the rest of the family because it would be too overwhelming to simultaneously eat and hold conversations with numerous people. Again, that's ok. Its one of the many quirks from her disease that we're all used to at this point.

This isn't to say that she totally ignores everyone. She says her simple hellos and goodbyes in passing in the hallway or in the kitchen. This afternoon, she hung her laundry out to dry (I think that she actually hand-washed her clothes in her room in a basin...) I came out to have a smoke and said hi to her... she responded back with a quick hello; she was very focused on hanging her wet laundry. Its all just very interesting.

I reminded her that we're seeing Dr. B, her new psychiatrist tomorrow morning and she acknowledged, "10:00am, ok?"

"Sure, that's fine."

She, Tess, and I will cram into a tricycle in the morning to go to the clinic. Looking forward to that ride.

We've kept the Risperdal in the kitchen refrigerator with all of the regular food. I bought one of those thermal insulated lunchboxes to keep the drug on ice when we go to the clinic. Much better than carrying that large, ugly, orange, styrofoam container. It looks like you're carrying human body parts around when you're toting that thing. I've thought about keeping the risperdal in the fridge in my mom's room, but have backed off of that idea. At least Tess, can keep track of the number of injectables in stock without having to invade my mom's space.
Tess comes at 8am and at 8pm to give mom her medications, and mom has complied. No worries there at all. The first couple of days, I gave mom her meds... I was overprotective and wanted to see her take her meds with my own eyes. I could tell I was stepping on Tess' toes as she'd show up to give mom her meds, but I'd tell her that I've already done so. I finally backed off and let Tess come and I don't want to take that away from her.

Earlier this week, I wrote down explicit instructions on index cards for Tess. I hate being the micro-manager, but want to ensure that a system is in place by the time that I leave. There were four different cards:

• The contact information and office hours for Dr. B.
• Instructions for managing the supply of mom's oral medications.
• Instructions for managing the supply of Risperdal injections.
• Tips on interacting with mom.
  

The last card was pretty interesting... I can give you an idea of what I wrote:

1. Mom can only focus on one thing at a time (TV, radio, meals, 1-on-1 conversations, topics, etc). Try not to overwhelm her with too much at once or else she'll become agitated and anxious.
2. Mom has set her own schedule for meals. She eats alone. This is ok, just make sure that she's eating regularly.
3. Coke is ok (my mom loves Coke) with meals, but ensure that she consumes water throughout the day to stay hydrated.
4. Mom has minor hallucinations. She may see/smell/hear/taste things that you cannot. Just go along with her and eventually the hallucination will pass.
5. Avoid disagreements with mom (even when she's wrong.) This will make her combative, agitated, and anxious. Just humor her.
6. Mom likes to talk about the following topics: royalty, politics, government, random people and places. Some memories may be false (places she's never been.) Just humor her.
7. Above all, make sure mom never runs out of meds. Make sure she takes her meds in the AM and PM. Escort her to her appointments with Dr. B. Keep a schedule for her Risperdal injections.
   

I stopped by the bookstore to give the index cards to Tess and to review them with her. The main reason for doing this at the store was to allow Tess to ask my aunts or cousins after I had left for help with translation (I wrote everything out in detailed English.) I was very concerned about her absorbing all of this information. Its a lot even for me to remember sometimes. Sometimes I'm afraid that she says "yes" and "I understand" just so that she won't disappoint me. So, I had my sister call Tess later on to check in with her, ensure that she understood the instructions, and clarify any questions she might have. This seemed to work and I feel confident that things will work out.


Until now, I haven't thought too much about mom becoming non-compliant... falling off the wagon, so to speak. I hate to think that it will happen again, but chances are likely that it occur. Statistics and her history are against her... but I really feel like she understands and comprehends the gravity of the situation because I came all the way to the Philippines to help her. I hope she tries her best.

I've set up the best system that I could... if things fall apart, then I'll just jump off that bridge when I get to it.

Day 21 - A Day in the Provicial Life of YodaBeesh

Things have settled into somewhat of a routine since I've returned with mom. Nothing spectacular to really write about.

Admittedly, life can get boring in the province, so I have some semblance of a routine.

Get up early to screaming puppies. Eat/drink breakfast/coffee prepared by the ya-ya's (our house help.) Read. Fall back asleep. Read some more. Shower. Go out and about (typically the mall to find an internet cafe, have lunch, and run random errands) and then go to the family bookstore. Go home for siesta. Watch a movie/DVD/VCD. Fall asleep again. Wake up for dinner. Read. Go to bed.

I have to purchase my ticket for Boracay. I've made the reservation already, but its odd... not like travelocity or expedia where you can just pay online. I made the reservation directly with the airline, Asian Spirit (http://www.asianspirit.com) and they told me that my payment options are to pay at their office (in Manila... not going to happen as I'm hours away), or pay at the local bank branch... directly deposit into their account and fax them the deposit slip with my confirmation number on it.

Weird, huh?

So I went to the bank today thinking that the process would be quick and painless. I was wrong.

You enter the bank, and one of many heavily-armed guards, typically carrying sawed-off shotguns or sub-machine guns, will hand you a number. You are frisked for a cell phone (cellphones off in the bank!) You wait for your number to come up on the "Now Serving" sign.

The guard gave me #42. It was at #78. I would have to wait for it to reach 100, then it would reset to 01... and you can figure out the rest. The bank was packed and the cashiers were painfully slow.

and yes... make sure to bring your lunch!

F**k that. I left. I couldn't imagine spending an entire day in the bank to make one deposit.

Looks like I will go to the bank very early in the morning (yawn) to get in line early. At least this time I will bring a book with me.

Love,
Ed

A Little Plug for Uli and Company at Isla Kiteboarding

These are the peeps who will take care of me next week: Isla Kiteboarding

In a very strange yet typical YodaBeesh-ish way I'm putting my week in the hands of strangers and fate. All I know is that I fly down to Boracay, meet Uli at the surf shop, and then he and his crew will take care of the rest. I seriously have not booked any accommodations... places down there should have special "walk-in" rates (fingers crossed...)

He only asks that I bring Big Macs from the mainland. I couldn't imagine a world without McDonalds... so of course, I will honor his kind request. Its the least I could do.

Pray that I don't break a leg or arm or ribs....

Another cool website is BoraKite.

YB

Whoa...! MORE PICS!

Some more pics for your viewing pleasure (because you can't get enough):



Even More of Ed's Philippines Pics

Enjoy!

Ed

Day 20 - Homecoming

Yesterday was an incredible blur.

I thought that discharging mom would be an easy task, and I was inevitably proven wrong.

My cousins picked me up from the hotel and we headed to the hospital. It was only 11:00. We were making good time. I wanted this to be quick, in-and-out, and back to Cabanatuan.

Tess and I went to Dr. R's office. I had to pay the balance of his professional fees, plus pick up the risperdal injections. For one reason or another, this turned into a long process. I think it felt long because I was in a hurry to get mom discharged. I wanted to get her the f**k out of the hospital.

The doctor wanted to meet with us... I guess some parting words of encouragement. Fine. Bless us and be gone with us. We had a good meeting... basically a re-hash of everything that had already been drilled into our heads at this point.... compliance, compliance, compliance.

Then he said, "I should be in the clinic around 1 or 1:30... I will say goodbye to you and your mom then..."

I said, "Ok" (even though I thought to myself, "Dude, we're going to be so out of here in the next 30 minutes.")

The secretary was kind enough to pack the Risperdal for us in a large orange styrofoam cooler with ice. Thank God for that. I didn't have time to pick up a cooler or ice, and thought that we'd have to stop at a supermarket on the way home.

Tess toted the cooler and followed me to the main hospital where mom was kept. At that point, we split up... I asked her to wait with mom in the Community Center, and I would stand in the long snaking line to settle the bill at the accounts office. (Of course, this office had to be in the hottest location of the hospital and I was at that point drenched in sweat. Even my heavy duty hanky was saturated.)

Tess came down from the Community Center about twenty minutes later with a slip of paper; I looked at the paper. Tess told me (in her broken English) that I needed to get a sign-off from the pharmacy and clear her account there as well.

What? Account at the pharmacy? How many f**king departments did I need to pay off?

I continued to wait in line as it was almost my turn. The cashier had recognized me from before. I told her that I wanted to pay off the balance of mom's account and presented her with the slip of paper.

She instructed me to go to the pharmacy to get their signature first and then return.

Excuse me? I just waited in line for how long and you want me to go to another line? The cashier gave me an empathetic look, but that was all. So, I instructed Tess to keep mom company while I ran over to the pharmacy.

I arrived in the pharmacy to meet another long snaking line. I conceded that this is the way of the Philippines. I was irritated, but had no choice. After about 30 minutes it was finally my turn. I said no words, but simply presented the discharge slip to the pharmacist. She'd know what to do with it.

Our transaction took less than 5 minutes. She checked mom's account on the computer, and then signed off on the discharge slip.

Back to the Cashier's Office.

The line was shorter this time, but I didn't care. I was one step closer to getting mom discharged from this hell-hole. We would have enough time to grab some lunch at Jollibee, her favorite place.

The cashier politely said, "Come back in one hour. The person responsible for discharging is gone for lunch."

I think I literally said, "Are you f**king serious? I came all the way from Washington DC to get my mother discharged and you're telling me to wait?!"

"Come back in one hour."

Ugh. Fine. One hour. There was nothing she could do about it, and nothing I could do about it.

I ran upstairs to the Community Center and the nurses buzzed me through the double doors. It was lunch time... the nurses already started serving lunch to the patients, and mom was queued in line. I briefed mom and Tess on the situation, and conceded defeat.

"Tess, let's go to lunch."

"Ok."

Jojo just managed to show up at the community center after parking the car so the three of us trekked to Jollibee with the large orange styrofoam cooler in hand. (I wanted to leave it at the center, but the head nurse suggested we take it because it had expensive drugs. Fine.)

At Jollibee... more waiting in line. It was peak lunch hour, we were at a large university. Of course, this place is packed. At this point I was numbed to the throngs of people, the laughing giggling school girls, people texting left and right. Just numb. I stood in line placed our order (which they subsequently f**ked up) and we ate our lunch.

Ironically, the process of waiting in line, ordering, receiving, and then eating our food took almost one hour. That's fast food in the Philippines.

I finished my meal ahead of Tess and Jojo. I needed a cigarette desperately. I didn't have any and could buy a single smoke from any of the street-side vendors for 2 pesos ($0.04.) In my rapidly developing, yet broken tagalog, I said, "Bumalik nako sa labas... Akin gusto ng cigarillo..." (I'm going outside... I need a cigarette.) I would return to the business office, and then meet them at the center.

After a long-needed soothing smoke, I went back to the cashier's office. This time, I waited in another line for "patients being discharged." Hmph. Ok.

Finally it was my turn. I presented the discharge slip to the accountant.

"Come back in one hour."

"Excuse me?"

"Come back in one hour."

In my head, I thought, yet again, "Are you F**KING SERIOUS?"

Fine.

I will wait one hour.

Right here.

In front of you.

Arms crossed.

Glaring.

And I did.

At one point, I went to the previously-empathetic cashier and asked her if there was anything that she could do.

"No. Please wait one hour."

I re-assumed my solemn, arms-crossed, glaring, peaceful stance in front of the discharge cashier as I watched them do whatever it was that they did.

During the waiting period, Tess stopped by to check in. Accompanying her was a cousin I met last week, Ferdie. He's a grad student at UST. I explained the situation and asked him (he understood and spoke english extremely well... enough to understand my rapid-fire explanation) to ask the cashier why they were so backed up. He returned and said that they were backed up with discharges.

I asked, "Is there anyone I can pay off...?"

"Mmm.... no. That wouldn't work here."

So, I continued to wait.

An hour had passed, and finally they called my mom's name. FINALLY. I grabbed the paperwork from their hands (it was a carbonized, dot-matrix, itemized print-out of her expenses.) The accountant then instructed me to go to the cashier to pay the balance.

Great. Waiting in another f**king line.

At this point, I was in "whatever"-mode. This line wasn't as long or torturous. I knew that it was the final hurdle (fingers crossed.) I handed the same cashier the discharge paperwork and even the exact amount of money-owed. She did her thing, handed back the paperwork, and I dashed off to the center.

I arrived upstairs to discover Tess waiting alone at a table. Dr. R was in consultation with a patient and his family at another table. The nurses waved me over and explained that Dr. R wanted to speak with us before discharging mom.

So he was right all along... I wasn't going to get out as fast as I had anticipated.

Long story short... the nurse brought mom over to our table, and we met with Dr. R. He checked in with mom... asked her what she will do when she gets home... will she stay compliant with her medicine...etc.

Yes Yes Yes Fine.

I could tell that she was anxious to get the hell out of there as well.

A final shake of the hands among all... we bid our farewell to Dr. R. Mom hustled back to her room to get her belongings.

Mom, Tess, and I walked to the parking garage where Jojo waited. As we walked outside, I looked over at mom and could tell from the look on her face that she was in no rush. She wanted to enjoy being outside and free.

Four hours later... we arrived in Cabanatuan, home sweet home.

I crashed big time and still feel exhausted from yesterday. Utterly amazing how taxed I feel.