Just Another Lockdown Love Story

 

April 2020, a New York City hospital, Emergency Department

“Hello, nurse, may I speak with my mother Marcia Thomas, please? My name is Braden Thomas. I am calling from London. Please, please do not hang up on me!”

This was just one of the many calls I received that day from family members trying desperately to reach out for any news about the patients in our care. Covid-19 was at its peak, and visitors were restricted in our ER, unless the patient was in imminent danger of death.

The staff had been fielding calls from families who were unable to stay with their loved ones at the bedside. It was a warzone, and we were the warriors trying to save the patients. But the families were anxious, helpless, and despondent for updates about their loved ones.

This call was different. The caller’s voice was a deep baritone with a British accent, and he spoke with an anguished tone. It was an overseas call that was forwarded to the landline near the nurses’ station in the ED. His mother was lying in Room 2 in isolation.

Mrs. Thomas was admitted to the ER last night after she complained of shortness of breath while visiting her younger sister in Manhattan.  The 78-year-old former teacher had lived with her grown children in England since immigrating there in her teens.

I was done giving my report for the night shift charge nurse. All I could think of was to take off my scrubs, clean up, sanitize my things, and then go back home. I needed to sleep; I needed to come back tomorrow for another heartbreaking day of patients getting sick with Covid-19. I had to come back to help my team care for patients who were struggling to breathe and stay alive. I had to be there to help intubate the patients, to give them a fighting chance against this dreaded disease that came from nowhere.

I was tired, but the voice touched me. I thought of my own parents back home in the Philippines (thankfully safe in isolation), so I couldn't transfer the call to the night charge nurse, who was busy fielding other calls for help. He was calling from England and wanted to speak to just anybody about his mom. I decided to go beyond that—one last task for the day. I donned my isolation gown again and entered Room 2.

Mrs. Thomas was breathing better on high-flow oxygen. She was supposed to be going to an admission bed, but there was no available inpatient bed. She would not have recognized me with my mask, face shield, and surgical cap, but she smiled when I spoke.

“My sweet nurse Adriane, I thought you left for the day.” She remembered my “shining almond-shaped brown eyes” because I spent a few minutes comforting her when she became tachycardic from her panic attack.

I brought my personal phone with me so that she can FaceTime with her son. The other iPADs were being used to arrange FaceTime conversations with other families. I had my cellphone enclosed in clear plastic. Just before I entered the room, I gave the son a quick update on her mom’s status as per the doctor’s notes. I did not think of privacy violations; this was a distraught son who needed some news. I told myself it would be the last time I would use my personal phone in that way.

“Well, I have a surprise for you, Mrs. Thomas.”

The phone rang on cue, behind me, and I brandished my surprise.

The look on Mrs. Thomas’ face when her Braden appeared on the screen was priceless. I steeled myself from crying. The night before, I had an emotional phone call with my Nanay and Tatay in the Philippines. I was worried about them and bemoaned the fact that I live another world away from my family. 

Mrs. Thomas motioned for me to look at the phone screen. Her son Braden’s gray eyes twinkled back at me, with relief in his eyes at seeing his Mum still alive.  Dark brown hair, five o’clock shadow, aquiline nose. All he could see of me was my eyes behind the mask and the face shield.

The call only lasted 3 minutes; Mrs. Thomas was tired. That was my last good deed of the day. The patient was waiting for her inpatient bed.

The next morning, I received a text message from Braden Thomas.

“Can I call you, please? I can’t get through her new floor.”

I debated whether to respond. I had a full load of patients, and I just got relieved for lunch break. My nurse manager pushed me out the door; she wanted me to take time to breathe.

I took a quick bite of the sandwich sent for the staff by a nearby restaurant, but I was worried about Mrs. Thomas. I detoured back to 9^th floor where Mrs. Thomas was admitted. I was able to get a quick update from her nurse. Mrs. Thomas was sleeping after a difficult night, but she was doing better. Her vital signs were good, and her oxygen saturation remained high.

I ran to a small park near the cathedral, located just one block from the hospital. The hospital staff had been using it to get some much-needed fresh air, away from the misery and helplessness of fighting a virus that was unknown to all. The employees were socially distancing from each other, even in the park, sitting several benches apart.

I called Braden, mindful of the 5-hour difference between New York and London. The 12 o’clock sun shone brightly as I sat on a bench in the secluded park. Braden answered on the second ring, “Thank you, Adriane, for calling me. I am so worried.” He turned on the video call.

Braden’s face lit up when he heard my news about his mum. His beautiful gray eyes teared up, as he visibly trembled, then shook his shoulders to control the rush of emotions. I took my mask off to wipe my eyes and nose as well.

Braden blurted out, “You have the most beautiful brown eyes, Adriane”. We both blushed, and he stammered an apology. “Oh, so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward.”

I just smiled. I felt self-conscious, so I was thinking of how to end the conversation.

Probably sensing my discomfort, Braden smacked his forehead comically, “Duh, please don’t hang up yet, Adriane. Sometimes, I’m a klutz.” He cleared his voice and earnestly added, “I just want to express how grateful I am for your help with my mum. It must be difficult to be harangued by desperate sons like me. At this time, you and the other healthcare workers are the heroes the world needs.”

I looked up at the clear, blue sky above. It looked like a typical day, but inside the hospital, it was a frantic shift as the staff raced against time to save the patients.

“It is overwhelming sometimes.” My voice broke.

“How do you cope? Do you want to talk about it?”

I did not know how I managed to unburden the deep, aching sadness in my heart. His words opened the floodgates of emotion. I cried for the loss of my patients, and even some friends who succumbed to the disease. I told him of my parents in the Philippines, who quarantined themselves in the province, with only my brother’s family to take care of them.

My roommates, who were recruited by the hospital a few years ago, like me, try to comfort each other. The first time we talked about our patients, we all ended up crying for several hours. The trauma was affecting our mental and emotional health. To survive, we had to forget the horrors we witnessed at work. When it got too much, the nurses agreed on the phrase "I need my five minutes"; that was our cue that we needed time to cry, sometimes in the lounge, sometimes in an empty office.

It was with an unspoken agreement that my friends and I focused on different distractions after that. I binged on K-drama and music videos from my favorite supergroup, BTS. My friend Ella became obsessed with plants; we called her “plantita”. June started running through the deserted Manhattan streets. She said that she’s running away from Covid-19.

“Adriane, you don’t know me, but I feel I know your heart. You have a great deal of love for your patients. Please consider me a friend. Call me whenever you need to talk.”

Braden was like an unpaid therapist, offering words of comfort and support. It has become a weekly ritual. He worked remotely at home as a computer analyst, so his hours were flexible. He couldn’t travel to care for his mom in New York; the world was on lockdown. He was my lifeline when I needed someone to just listen.

That was five years earlier. Over the years, we continued talking over the phone.  Braden’s mother survived her Covid-19 ordeal and opted to relocate to Florida with her sister.

Today, I call London my home. I have my one-year-old son and three-year-old daughter cuddling next to me, while my husband Braden is cooking his specialty Pork Sinigang, which he learned from me. He is a much better cook than me.

Oh, he's also a BTS fan like me. Life Goes on.

Alone on New Year's Eve

 

New Year’s Eve, New York

"Jenny, please, can you come in to the ER?". An urgent call from her frantic supervisor roused Jenny from her bed and derailed her New Year’s Eve plan to brave the throng of New Yorkers in Times Square to witness the ball drop with her friends.

Jenny was supposed to spend this New Year’s Eve with someone special. She thought Reese would break through the defenses she had put up, but just last week, she finally conceded that their relationship was not meant to be. Dr. Reese Walton had pursued her for about six months, but it looked like he had just given up. Maybe he could not understand her reluctance to open her heart again. Just when she had decided to accept him, she heard that his ex-girlfriend had claimed his attention again.

Her whole family lived far away in the Philippines, so she always made sure she spent the holidays with friends. They were all in their mid-twenties, all single and enjoying the freedom of youth. The pangs of homesickness are better dealt with when amongst friends.

Two of her co-workers had figured in a minor accident but could not make it for their shift. And since she was single and lived alone, she was the most obvious choice for her supervisor to cajole into submission.

Jenny, once again, was alone on New Year’s Eve.

At 5pm, the Emergency Department was bursting at the seams. The masses had descended upon the ED with a spectrum of complaints ranging from minor in-grown toenails to major gunshot wound traumas. Patient volume was high; there was no open stretcher in sight. It used to be that the presence or absence of stretchers lined up in the hallway leading to the ED spelled the difference between whether the ED staff would have a good day or not.

Well, it looked like the neighborhood drunks decided to spend their holiday in our ED. Free meals, a clean stretcher, and an occasional smile from a pretty nurse. And a chance to blow off the excess alcohol through their system, out from the cold winter streets, in the sanctuary and warmth of the ED.

Jenny had often joked that one could get drunk passing through the hallways just from breathing the off-gases from the inebriated patients as they kept a cacophony of snores through their stay. The nurses had given up trying to undress these patients; priorities made them concentrate on the truly sick, especially when they were two nurses short. And besides, all that was needed was time… when these patients wake from their drunken stupor, they demand to be released back into the streets. The ED was a merry-go-round for those who could not get rid of their addiction to liquor.

A patient caught Jenny’s attention. He was usually a happy drunk, not shy in expressing his appreciation to the female form by way of wolf whistles and suggestive remarks. Now, he laid back on the stretcher and accepted the intravenous with no protest at all. Jenny whipped out her ever-present penlight and shone it on the patient’s eyes.

A frisson of fear snaked down Jenny’s spine as she saw the unequal pupils, one sluggish and dilated. True enough, a quick CAT scan revealed a huge subarachnoid bleed. The patient was quickly rushed to the OR. Whew, another life was saved. But looking at the mass of humanity in the crowded waiting room, it would be back-breaking work for this busy New York City ED personnel.

Resigned to the long night ahead, Jenny worked with the other triage nurses until about 1000 pm, and all was quiet in the triage area. The EMS crew had hunkered to their station to watch the ball drop…until the next 911 call.

A transport clerk brought an old woman to the triage area. Denise guided the woman to a triage chair. “I found her wandering in the lobby. Couldn’t understand what she’s saying.” She whispered to Jenny, “I can smell alcohol on her.”

The woman looked Asian, probably in her 70s. Clutching a big bag close to her chest, she shook her head when Jenny asked her questions. She was well-groomed with sensible shoes and a thick wool coat but was reeking of cheap beer. With tears in her eyes, she presented a worn picture to Jenny. The sepia picture showed a young couple holding hands amidst a backdrop of what looked like a Chinese temple. The woman was dressed in a dark-colored cheongsam, while the man‘s attire looked like a loose-fitting, light-colored shirt with an upturned collar.

Jenny commandeered a Chinese doctor to interpret for the patient. When asked about the alcohol smell, Mrs. Chen looked embarrassed but finally admitted that she bought a pack of beer from the grocery so that she could sleep through the night. She spilled the first can of Heineken all over her clothes. She started to feel dizzy, so she left the beer pack to a group of homeless men on the streets. But she felt disoriented on her way home and was picked up by a passing EMS van. She managed to get out of the gurney and walked out to the hospital lobby.

According to the translator, the woman’s husband of 55 years passed away about six months ago, and she lived alone in her house. Mrs. Chen had always been independent, but during the holidays, it was their tradition for their close-knit family to spend New Year’s Eve together. Mrs. Chen had expected a call from her two children who lived in New Jersey, but when no call came, she decided she did not want to spend her New Year’s Eve alone.

The woman continued to reminisce about the good old days with her husband, and she started to cry miserably. Her sobs filled the small private room. The doctor was called to the Trauma Room at that time, and Jenny was left alone with the woman. Unable to comfort the woman because of the language barrier, Jenny just patted Mrs. Chen’s frail shoulders. Jenny knew too well about holiday blues.

Because there was no social worker on duty then, the hospital administrator volunteered to find help to locate Mrs. Chen’s family. The patient could not remember her children’s and friends’ phone numbers. At that time, it looked like she needed to remain in the ED.

It was already 11:30 pm. Almost time for the ball drop. The table at the employee lounge was heavily laden with ethnic food, and the TV played the pre-show celebration in Times Square. There was excitement in the ED; half the staff gathered in front of the TV to wait for the countdown. No EMS crew stayed around. All the admitted patients had gone up to their floor beds. The doctors had discharged most of the patients, except the drunks… and Mrs. Chen.

The administrator returned the good news that NYPD had gotten Mrs. Chen’s family’s telephone numbers. They had been frantic about locating their mother, who had initially told them she was spending her holidays with friends. The sons would be coming to pick up their mom after midnight. Mrs. Chen looked relieved that her family had located her but admitted her disappointment that she would be away from her family at midnight.

It was Jenny’s meal break, and she should have been in the employee lounge joining the festivities, but she took two plates of food to share with Mrs. Chen. She did not want Mrs. Chen will spend New Year’s Eve alone. Two other nurses followed her to Mrs. Chen’s room. As the TV screen in her room displayed the revelry in Times Square, Mrs. Chen happily ate the food that Jenny brought.

11:59 pm. Sixty seconds to go, the glittering Waterford crystal ball had already started its 77-foot descent. Mrs. Chen clapped her hands in delight as the nurses counted down.

“Ten…nine… eight… seven… six… five…four… three…two… one. Happy New Year!!!!”

Jenny hugged Mrs. Chen and pretended she was her mother back home. A flood of emotions gripped Jenny as the two women shared their loneliness. The older woman reminded her of her mom- talcum powder and cooking oil.

Jenny missed her mom terribly and wished she was with her own family celebrating the season noisily as her big family always did. Their house would have been filled with relatives enjoying a sumptuous meal after a night of fireworks display. The Filipino New Year celebration was always boisterous. During the holiday season, Jenny feels homesick for the familiar comforts of home.

The old woman’s eyes filled with tears, but she was smiling this time. “Xie-xie”. Thank you in Chinese.

Jenny was thankful for the chance to help Mrs. Chen and, even for a minute, just hugged someone who reminded her of her mother. She didn’t spend her New Year’s Eve alone after all.

She responded with “Salamat po.” Thank you in Tagalog.

Happy New Year!

A new year had just begun. At one o’clock in the morning, Jenny made her way to her car, resigned to the idea of spending the first day of the year sleeping off the loneliness.

Reese came up behind her, armed with a bouquet of flowers.

“I’ve been calling you since last week, Jenny. Why are you avoiding me? he sounded tortured.

“Just leave me alone, Reese. Stay with your ex.”

At the confused look on Reese’s face, Jenny exploded in anger and recounted all the stories she had heard of the reconciliation between Reese and his former girlfriend.

Reese vehemently denied all her accusations and proclaimed his love for Jenny. It was there, in the middle of the deserted parking garage, with fireworks in the background, that he hugged Jenny tightly. His voice quivered when he said, “Believe me, Jenny, it’s you who I love.”

Here was a successful man with everything going for him, but he opened his heart to her. With tears in her eyes, Jenny hugged him back and kissed the man she loved.

She thought, "I’m not alone after all."

LOVE POEMS #2

 

Note: 

In my nostalgic mood, I found some long-hidden juvenile attempts at poetry during my angst-filled college days. So innocent, right?
A disclaimer, not everything happened in real life. Peksman.

All Gone

I’m back, but what happened?

Are my eyes deceiving me now?

Is my heart telling me something I did not want to know?

The smiles, the laughter, the peace, the contentment.

All gone.

Now, there are doubts, insecurities, and conflicts.

I searched for things familiar and joyful.

All gone.

Our worlds are different now.

 

 

 

On the Beach

The blue water lapped on the shore

The tide brings home a school of bubbles

If only I could capture the white foams inside a bottle

For me to watch over and over again.

If only I could hold the breeze from the sea

To remind me that I am whole again

Even though you are no longer here.

 

 

Three people

Two loving one. One loving two.

Three very lonely people.

 

 

 

 If I Should Love Again    

If I find someone new

He will not be like you.

If my heart opens up again

It will not be for someone like you.

 

 

 

Too Late

I’m not sorry that I loved you.

I just wish the knowledge of it did not come too late. 

I cannot take back the pains I have given you.

Now that I found out I love you

You’re no longer around to know that I do.    

 

 

Photographs

From among faded photographs…

I picked yours out and felt the need to cry.

 

 

Following My Dreams

It’s been good while it lasted.

Exhilarating, exciting, electrifying.

Until we have to part ways;

Now, I have to follow my dreams far away from you

And now it is melancholic and heartbreaking.

What will the future bring?

 

 

I am Woman

I am strong; I am a daughter raised on resilience and faith

I grew up with laughter and with a grateful heart

I am blessed. I am strong. I am Woman.

So, move along. 

I do not need you.

I am over you.

 

 

Sorry

I never meant to hurt you

when all you’ve done is think of countless ways to make me feel special.

I have been so callous, so heartless in my desire to avoid loving you.

 

Life

Through life’s many seasons

I’ve lived, and I have loved

With all the happy reasons

Got rid of the cloud.

I’ve sailed through sunny days.

Enjoyed the rainy days, too.

Traveled to so many places

And oh, loved them so.

 

 

LOVE POEMS

 

Looking back at poems I've written during the 80s... those bittersweet romantic times of love found and lost. Some maudlin sentiments.

Like the birds in the clear blue sky

I falter, yet never stop to fly.

Met a man, held eyes with him

I blushed and remembered feelings long forgotten

Something like ... deja vu.

Oftentimes...

I would catch myself staring blankly

And I would remember far beyond in time

Of wondrous moments, of that beautiful feeling

And oftentimes...

I would reprimand myself for being such a sentimental fool.

I wish you never loved me

I wish you never even cared

And at times, I wish we'd never even met

For dear friend, it hurts to say "No"

And to know that things just couldn't be so.

I barricaded myself with insurmountable walls and built gates so high

Not wanting someone to break through my defenses...

So afraid to be exposed and let the world see...

the nakedness of my spirit, the vulnerability of my soul, the weakness of my emotions

I don't want to be hurt again.

I found you

You found me

Why is it we found we're not for each other after all?

If I meet someone... how could I tell him that I have no more love to share?

How could I admit that all these emotions have been drained from me?

Sometimes

I dream of chasing rainbows

But they would disappear once I'm on the verge of touching them

And I would then dream of you chasing me offering a plate of little rainbows

I would then turn my back and continue chasing my own rainbows

And when I wake up

I think of you and me.

ROMANCE INTERRUPTED

 

1983

I was just 23 years old, still wet behind my years, new to the US, and simply put, innocent to the ways of the world.

Dr. L was a blue-eyed blond doctor who moon-lighted every other weekend in my hospital. With his Nordic good looks, he probably had a girlfriend in every hospital he worked at, but he was the first ever non-Filipino male who caught my attention. My other friends said that he was a snob with a God complex, but for some reason, he was always nice to me.

One day, I was waiting for my turn at the cafeteria and pointed out the french fries to the cafeteria worker. From behind me, Dr. L chuckled and said, “I like french fries, too”. Who’d think that such a simple sentence would make me stammer and render me blubbering like a fool?

My heart fluttered. I was not good at small talk. I did not know how to flirt. My friends later told me that my face was flushed. I did not know at that time that some of my friends witnessed the tableau from their table.

Then, as bad timing as it can get, Dr. L’s pager beeped. A code arrest in one of the skilled nursing units. Romance (and lunch) interrupted. He looked at the soda can that I was holding, and with a sheepish smile of apology took it from me, sipped from it, returned the soda can, and said, “Thank you.”

Woah! What else can I do but give the soda can back to him and say “Take it”. He winked at me as he ran towards the code.

I don’t know how I should have handled it like a more sophisticated woman would do, but his gesture was a sensual and intimate action that I was too naive and uncomfortable to respond to. I thought, “Dalagang pilipina ako!”, a typical conservative Filipina.

Truth be told, a tiny wild part of me swooned.  But, in all my innocence and probably due to my unfamiliarity with modern courtship, I convinced myself the blatant flirting was disrespectful.

I gave him the cold shoulder the next time we met in the ICU where I worked. In my mind, he was a gigolo. When he invited me to dinner, I told him a lie, “I have a boyfriend back home. I'm engaged.”

 

2010

In my interview for a nursing director position in a New York hospital, the Chief Nursing Officer wanted me to do a Meet-and-Greet with the Chief Medical Officer, but he was out at an educational conference at that time. I was surprised to hear that the CMO was "my" Dr. L.

The internet search yielded a recent picture of Dr. L. He still sports the same round-rimmed glasses, older but still has a boyish charm that had captivated me all those years ago. I was sure that he now had a family of HIS own. I was now happily divorced myself.

On my first day at my new job, I was sitting by myself in the cafeteria, when somebody joined me at my table. There he was, Dr. L, with his soda can, "We meet again."

Surprised, I stammered, "You remember me after all these years?"

He grinned at me. “Of course, you broke my heart."

My eyebrow raised. This time, I am now mature and sophisticated, no longer that innocent girl who blubbered like a fool.

He said, "I read your resume and knew it was you. I see that you still like French fries.” His ringless hand gestured at my plate. 

Dr. L sat down and smiled his most engaging smile, and I was lost. 

THE END

Nina- If I Should Love Again

Clay Walker - I'd Love To Be Your Last

(Author's note: Year 1983 happened. Year 2010 is just a dream.)

"IT'S NOT GONNA HURT"

 

(Author’s note: I heard a cute nurse-paramedic love story on Delilah’s syndicated radio show on my way home. So, here’s what I “imagined” the story to be. I wrote this in less than 2 hours, lol.)

 

“It’s not gonna hurt”, that’s what the nurse told me when I came to the ER after an injury on the job. You see, I was a paramedic, and I had a massive crush on the nurse Liza.

 

I don’t know how it happened, but Liza started to matchmake me with her friend Rose. Probably because Rose was also Irish like me. Probably because Liza thought I was too tall for her. She called me “Giant Finn”. She was 5’2” to my 6’, but she could handle the rowdy patients just with her look. 

 

I fell for her as soon as I saw this cute Filipina nurse finagled her way to squeeze her diminutive self among the burly security officers to jab a quick sedative on the arm of an agitated patient. And then, she proceeded to organize the officers to hold the patient while she masterfully restrained the patient to the stretcher.

She was a marvel to watch; a Wonder Woman in a sea of patients clamoring for attention. She was kind, compassionate but tough-as-nails when needed. 

 

As paramedics assigned to this Level 1 trauma hospital, our crew quickly developed a great camaraderie with the ER staff. We worked together on gunshot wounds, stab wounds, accident patients, heart attacks, seizures, and the often-rambunctious intoxicated patients. 

The single males in our crew had our favorite nurses. Liza was well-liked by all, but soon, my comrades noticed that I was sweet on Liza.

 

Liza’s pixie face, pert nose, jet-black hair, those dark-brown almond eyes that were always smiling. She captivated me.

 

For whatever reason, Liza thought I liked her friend Rose. Whenever they were in Triage, she would send my ambulance crew to Rose. It was starting to be awkward since I suspected that Rose liked my partner instead.

 

But I held off from pursuing Liza, mainly because I was tongue-tied in front of her. This giant Finn was intimidated by this tiny dynamo.

Until the day I came in as a patient.

 

When the EMS dispatcher sent my paramedic crew to assist a BLS team with an agitated patient, we grappled with the emotionally-disturbed man who was brandishing a baseball bat. I was able to grab the bat away from the patient but pulled my shoulder in the process. Due to the adrenaline rush, I didn’t even feel the pain until somebody bumped into me. I almost fainted from the pain.

 

Liza was the trauma nurse that day. Her eyes showed concern when she saw my shoulder deformed and how I was groaning in pain. She immediately called the ED attending to order pain medication STAT. Dr. Lim said, “Finn needs his left shoulder reduced. Let’s prepare him for moderate sedation.”

My arm was in a sling. But the throbbing pain was almost too hard to endure. Liza tried to distract me with her witty banter. She teased me. “Now you know that you cannot just wrestle with your patients like that. Who do you think you are? Hulk Hogan?”

 

When Liza saw my right arm with the bulging veins, her eyes went round with delight. “Yes, I love bulging veins, especially as all my other patients earlier were difficult sticks.”

 

“It’s not gonna hurt,” Liza promised before she inserted an 18-gauge needle into my antecubital. But I screamed in pain. She had smooth hands, but I was afraid of needles (even though I love inserting IVs, go figure). I jerked my injured shoulder in anticipation of the pain from the IV angiocath piercing my skin.

 

Liza stayed with me during the shoulder reduction. After giving the analgesic and the sedation medications, she held my hand with her left hand while writing on the moderate sedation sheet with her right.

 

I did not remember much during the procedure, but I felt groggy after. I later learned that the doctor had to administer Narcan to reverse the sedation because it took too long for me to come out of my narcotic high.

 

The x-ray confirmed that my left shoulder went back to its socket. But the ED attending and the resident who assisted with the procedure both gave me teasing looks before they departed the room, with me still holding onto Liza’s hand.

Just before Dr. Lim left the room, he jokingly told Liza, "Don't forget the foley catheter". I am sure I turned red as a lobster, but Liza was furious and embarrassed, which of course resulted in more chuckles from the departing doctors.

 

Liza turned to me and, with a confused look on her face, asked me, “Finn, you just blurted out when you were coming out from sedation that you like me. Is it true?”

 

I grinned sheepishly, “Liza, it was always you.”

 

And that was ten years ago. “So, Delilah, can you please play a song for us for our nine-year wedding anniversary?"

 

 

THE SOLDIER AND THE NURSE

 

Part 1- THE SOLDIER, THE NURSE, AND THE SKYLINE PIGEON 

November 2011

He had only one eye. And he was my real big crush as a 19-year-old student nurse in a military hospital in the Philippines.

It was our group’s clinical orientation at the Plastic Surgery ward. The patients in that unit usually stayed longer than those in the acute surgical units as they awaited reconstructive surgeries and rehabilitation treatments.

The horrors of war with the insurgents in the Southern Philippines rendered the soldiers with varying degrees of disfigurements, limbs lost, and faces marked with the weapons of war. They had barely survived their physical injuries but their emotional scars ran deeper. Most of the soldiers were mostly the young recruits who had been ill-prepared in battle warfare. Their lives were forever changed.

The clinical instructor warned us that the patients were eagerly anticipating the new batch of student nurses that were assigned to the unit, each one of them ready to move on to their new crushes. In other words, the new group of nurses was “fresh meat” who brought much-needed excitement and distraction to the soldiers from their otherwise boring and mundane existence.

Our tasks included dressing changes and wound and stump care. Our most important mission: is to provide cheer and hope in a unit full of men depressed by inactivity and uncertainty. The student nurses were the “happy pills.” We were the bright points during the patients’ stay in the hospital.

Mr. Bernabe cautioned us against being too friendly with the patients and that we should accept their fawning praises with a grain of salt. Any nurse caught accepting the advances of the soldiers would be suspended. And so, on our first day at the unit, we armed ourselves with our professional smiles and our firm but polite “Sorry, I can’t go out with you. I have a boyfriend already.”

My first assignment in the Treatment Room started auspiciously as the grouchy regular nurse whined about the endless tasks that she had to do. Mr. Bernabe placated Lt. Morales by assuring her that “Miss Cerrudo will take over the dressings today. So don’t worry. I will be supervising her.”

Not surprisingly, my first three patients all tried to pepper me with personal questions about my “boyfriend”. Just as I was ready to call for the next patient, I heard someone ask my instructor who was at the door to get the regular nurse instead. He was a little sullen and did not want a student nurse tending to his eye. I felt my ears getting red as he questioned my instructor about my skills. Bless his heart, Mr. Bernabe vouched for my academic knowledge and technical prowess.

At that moment, our instructor was summoned by another nurse to another treatment area. Despite my earlier resolve, I was fuming mad and intended to give the rude patient a piece of my mind about his pissy attitude. I was tired and did not appreciate how ungrateful that yet-unknown patient was.

I remember feeling a jolt of awareness when the patient came into the treatment room. He appeared awkward and uncomfortable. As I stood there in silence, he softly muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Psychology 101 made me realize that his gruffness was because of his sense of vulnerability. It must have been difficult for the man to be looked at, not with interest but with something akin to pity. Suddenly, I felt ashamed for not understanding so I nodded my acceptance of his apology and gave him a welcoming smile.

“Sammy” was a soldier whose left eye was enucleated from an injury on the battlefield in Cotabato. My assignment was to change the dressings on his empty left eye socket.

As we locked eyes, a shy smile broke into his dark, handsome face. His beautiful brown right eye was fringed with the longest lashes I’ve seen on a man. His strong jaw, aquiline nose, and full lips gave him a rakish but totally masculine look.

He sat dutifully on the chair as I stood over him and gingerly unwrapped the dressing over his left eye. A look of pain and embarrassment crossed Sammy’s face as he sat exposed with his hollow left eye socket.

As I ministered to him, he observed me closely, searching my face for any sign of revulsion. But all I felt was a deep respect for the soldier and the man. Like all the other soldiers in the unit, Sammy had sacrificed his future in service of country.

A warm feeling suffused me as I watched him watching me. My cheeks felt warm and my heart palpitated. I was perplexed that I felt both relief and sadness when I finished the job. Sammy thanked me quietly. We both smiled at each other.

As we settled into the unit's routine, our instructor allowed the nurses to engage the patients in free-wheeling but good-natured group discussions. The unit seemed more alive. Because the patients were forewarned that they would lose privileges if they disrespected the nurses, they were all on their best behavior.

My interactions with Sammy were limited to the dressing changes and the vital signs-taking. We were aware of each other. It was an exhilarating feeling for a 19-year-old girl. Distracted by his proximity, I almost shot the mercury from the sphygmomanometer.

He always managed to stay back in line for the daily dressing changes. As my last patient, he was able to linger a few more minutes in the treatment room and he began to open up about his wait for his prosthetic eye. As with all the other soldiers, he was not bitter about his injuries, and he was still committed to serving in the military. Sammy confided his dream of finishing his engineering studies. He also ensured that I looked at his good side during our conversations.

In one of the treatment sessions, Sammy caught me humming the song “Skyline Pigeon” by Elton John. We shared a laugh as he corrected me when I mistakenly called it “Turn Me Loose.” It was a sweet moment. It was also the first time that I felt sad that our time together would soon end.

On the last day of our month-long clinical rotation, the patients gave us a surprise party. For a month, we distracted them from their mundane worries, made them laugh, and gave them hope. We were appreciated for the excitement we brought to the unit.

Sporting a black patch over his left eye, just like a handsome pirate, Sammy brought out his guitar and sang “our song.”

Turn me loose from your hands
Let me fly to distant lands
Over green fields, trees and mountains
Flowers and forest fountains
Home along the lanes of the skyway


The song is about a man’s yearning for his freedom; of flying toward his dreams. But I was the one flying away. As a young nurse, I was on the verge of a future in the United States. I wanted more, not only for myself but also for my family. Somehow, Sammy understood.

Sammy’s voice soared earnestly. “Skyline Pigeon” is not a love song but it felt like one to me. I felt a lump in my throat. We’ve never talked about our feelings, but the song told me that he was letting me go. Then he winked at me.

Saying goodbye was difficult. Maybe his friends maneuvered it, but we found ourselves alone in the treatment room. He confessed that he was falling for me, but that he did not want to hold me back. I had told him before that I was planning to go to the States. It was not the right time for any romance.





That was more than 25 years ago. And today is Veterans’ Day. Maybe that’s why I remember him now, the soldier who sang an Elton John song to me.

Coincident or not, actor Sam Milby appeared on my TV screen. The aquiline nose, the strong jaw, the full lips, and the incredibly beautiful eyes fascinated me.

The resemblance to Sammy was so uncanny. I hurriedly paused the videotape I was watching. Crouching in front of the TV, I put my hand over Sam’s left eye, and imagined the soldier Sammy with his eye patch and it felt like I was transported back in time to that military hospital.

I wonder where he is now, Sammy, and his Skyline Pigeon.

Part 2- THE SOLDIER, THE NURSE,  "KUMUSTA KA?"

April 2012

"It's more fun in the Philippines," the tourism banner proclaimed. As I walked through the Ninoy Aquino airport, I wondered what my two-week vacation would bring.

I have gone back to the Philippines for short vacations over the years. Of course, vacations always excited me, but this time, I was coming back for several reunions. The grand family reunion, the college and high school reunions. Like going back in time, to recapture old memories with family and friends.

The past was coming back full force with all its memories. We have led separate lives and gone on to different pathways, but we were ready to reminisce our younger years. Frankly, I was apprehensive about who I will be seeing after all these years.

And through my college friend Althea who's now the Chief Nurse in the military hospital where I was once a student, I have also been slated to speak at an Emergency Preparedness symposium. Just a few months ago, I reconnected with Althea through Facebook. The miracle of social media. Reach out and touch someone.

Coming back to the hospital where I first met Sammy, my one-eyed soldier. The one who sang "The Skyline Pigeon" to me when I was a 19-year-old student nurse, twenty-five years ago.

On a cold November day in New York, six months ago, nostalgia crept in as I watched a Sam Milby film on TV. The Filipino actor's uncanny resemblance with Sammy made me catch my breath and I felt my heart flutter, as it did when I took care of Sammy in the Plastic Surgery ward.

Was it because it was Veteran's Day that I started to reminisce about my Sam Milby look-alike soldier?

Sammy's left eye was enucleated from injuries sustained on the battlefield in Southern Philippines. But despite the injury, I felt drawn to this handsome young soldier, his good right eye as beautiful as possible, even made more special because he lost his left eye in service of country.

Although nothing untoward happened during my clinical rotation at the Plastic Surgery unit, there was apparent awareness of each other, an attraction that never had a chance to prosper. I was a nursing student, and he was a patient. Our worlds were not supposed to come together.

Just before my month-long clinical rotation was finished, Sammy confided his feelings for me, but he conceded that I needed to follow my American dream. Much as I was enamored with him, I realized that I had to leave.

Because I wanted to explore the world and because I wanted more for myself and my family, I said goodbye. Just like the skyline pigeon in the song that he sang to me. And so, in a few years’ time after graduation, this skyline pigeon flew away to the distant lands. I have never heard from him again.

And now, I'm back at the same military hospital. It was ironic that Althea worked there now. Two days ago, we sat together at our college reunion and talked about my presentation. I attributed her exuberance to the upcoming event at the hospital that she had organized.

I have been teaching emergency preparedness to my nurses in my hospital in New York. My audience today will be a combined group of nurses and doctors. I will be sharing my knowledge gained from years of disaster management classes and actual experience volunteering as part of the Medical Reserve Corps and a few disaster relief groups in Haiti.

The hospital had a facelift. Now, another impressive building stood on the right side of the big compound. A full-service hospital with 1,000 beds to serve the injured soldiers; it is now a modern, fully-equipped hospital; so different from the quaint hospital I knew 25 years ago.

I smiled at a group of student nurses who passed by me. They looked immaculate in their nurses' uniform and starched apron, white nursing caps, and dazzling white shoes. I heard them chattering about their new assignment and their cute clinical instructor.

I remembered my student days; those carefree days, of new discovery, new experiences, and budding love. With our stiff aprons, blue and white sheer sucker uniforms, and white nurses' caps, we breezed through the years with carefree equanimity and optimism, fully aware that the real life of nursing would be a lot different.

Then, an image of Sammy as he surprised our group with a song at our going-away party brought a sensation of regret for that interrupted romance. He had a beautiful baritone voice, haunting in its earnest sincerity. I guarded the secret of my feelings to this man and only wrote about our story in a blog, many years after the fact.

I met Althea in the hospital lobby. She looked different from the happy-go-lucky student nurse I knew. Tall and slim, she looked authoritative in her military uniform. I forgot she's now a Lieutenant Colonel; all the servicemen bowed in deference as she passed, and they eyed me, a stranger, in my power suit and high heels.

I caught my image in a mirror. Not bad for a 45-year-old, but too old for these servicemen. With my short hair with brown highlights, and my trim body (thanks to the Zumba classes), I looked years younger, modesty aside.

But I didn't come here looking to flirt with anyone; I had been divorced for ten years and the memory of the heartache was enough to turn me wary of romance. My son was still in 2nd year of college, majoring in Biology, my future doctor. He was unable to come for vacation because of school.

Althea and I walked down the long corridor leading to the Administrative Offices when her cell phone rang. She excused herself and moved a few feet away to accept the call. I entertained myself by looking at the massive murals of Philippine landscape that adorned the hospital walls.

"Hi, Jo." I knew the voice, but I didn't turn around right away. I was sure I just imagined it; that I was so caught up in the emotions of my return to the hospital that I would conjure up the voice that had filled my dreams in the past.

He cleared his throat, and I turned around to face Sammy. After all these years.

If this was a movie, this would have been in slow-motion. I looked up to his face as he towered over me. And I whispered his name in recognition, "Sammy."

His expectant face lit up as if he was holding his breath and did not want to assume that I would recognize him. He gave me a most beautiful smile. Breath-taking.

The years had been good to him. He looked as handsome as I remembered him. He still had an eye patch on his left eye, but the same beautiful, long-lashed brown right eye twinkled in amusement at my startled gasp. What was it with that pirate look, I thought. It gave him a dangerous, exciting look.

Sammy stood tall and distinguished-looking in his military uniform. A full-fledged colonel. We both said the words, "Kumusta ka?" And we just stood there looking at each other. All those years apart, all we could say was "Kumusta ka? (How are You)".

We both chuckled, and then he softly hummed the song by Nonoy Zuniga; a whimsical take of that awkward moment when former lovers meet after years apart. and they both become tongue-tied.

Kumusta ka?
Ikaw ay walang pinag-iba,
Ganyan ka rin nang tayo ay huling magkita
Tandang-tanda ko pa habang ako’y papalayo,
Tinitingnan kita hanggang wala ka na
Kumusta ka?





A whirlwind of emotions kept me speechless. My heart was beating fast, and I felt like a nineteen-year-old again.

Althea's sense of timing was perfect and prevented me from embarrassing myself with a senseless remark. She came back from her phone call, and, without any sign that she noticed anything unusual at the sight of us just staring at each other, introduced me to the Chief Medical Officer of the military hospital, Colonel Dr. Samuel....

Sammy nodded to me, shook my hand, and whispered "Later." It sounded like a promise.

I did not know how I managed to go through my one-hour lecture. The auditorium was filled to capacity with nurses from the different units in the hospital, as well as a good number of medical doctors. Teaching came naturally to me, and pretty soon, I engaged my students in my presentation.

I was supposed to spend lunch in a small catered affair at the administrative offices together with the rest of the speakers, but I was ushered by Althea's secretary to a waiting Mercedes outside the lobby. Sammy was in the driver's seat. He had changed to a crisp, nicely-pressed Barong Tagalog in deference to the hot weather.

Inside the air-conditioned car, Sammy's smile made my heart melt as he said, "Welcome back, Jo."

“I asked Althea for the privilege of your company, Jo. “, he explained. “I hope it’s okay with you.”

I nodded my agreement, secretly doing a high-five in my mind. I fumbled with my seat belt and he reached over to attach it. My cheeks felt hot at the closeness, but I maintained a calm facade, despite my turbulent emotions.

Surreptitiously studying his profile, I decided that with his salt-and-pepper hair, his firmer jaw, and his air of confidence, he looked more like George Clooney now. Gone was the self-consciousness of his younger years, when he was still a man coming to terms with his injury.

He looked like a man secure in himself, who had achieved far beyond any other man in his league. He wore success like a second skin.

The years apart fell away as we slipped into the easy conversation that we've always had when I was the student nurse and he was my patient.

Sammy told me that he went right to medical school after being discharged from the hospital. He had been outfitted with an artificial eye but did not feel comfortable with it, and instead opted for an eye patch. He recounted that he had never married; had two long-term relationships but had never married, although he has two grown-up sons who both finished college.

It felt natural to talk to him about my own life, and my failed marriage. He seemed to enjoy my stories about my close relationship with my son. The ride to the restaurant seemed short, and we were both reluctant to leave the car.

I could not remember much about the restaurant, except that it was quiet, with subdued lighting, and that we were seated at a secluded table with a grand piano at the side. It was romantic.

The food was excellent, but we hardly touched it. There was an undercurrent of excitement that brought a flush to my cheeks. Was it because he kept looking at me with such fierce yearning? Or was it me looking at him with hungry eyes?

After the dessert, Sammy pulled out a bouquet of roses from an extra chair. Did he order it in advance? He tentatively reached for my hand. I was surprised, but I did not pull my hand back. I was past the age of innocence, and I welcomed this new beginning.

We were being swept by a force much stronger than ourselves. I felt powerless to resist the pull of his smoldering eye; I just felt that the moment was right and that twenty-five years apart had just vanished, and we were at an important crossroads of our lives.

"I have been waiting for this moment, Jo. I never thought I would ever see you again." Sammy's sad smile brought me back to my clinical rotation in the Plastic Surgery unit when he sang Elton John's song to me.

He continued, "I'm good friends with Althea, but I never knew that you were classmates until she started talking about your college reunion. I discreetly asked her about her classmates, and then saw an old picture of you on her Facebook account."

I couldn't help laughing at that, and we soon were doubled up in laughter as he recounted also joining FB just so he could browse my own account. He had conspired with Althea to invite me to the Emergency Preparedness symposium.

I feigned annoyance, "Hmmph, I should have made my FB setting private."

He snorted at that, "I also found your blog post about me."

I must have looked shocked at his revelations, because he looked alarmed, probably thinking that he had pushed the limits. I was just completely overwhelmed, but I reassured him by squeezing his hands. All those feelings had rushed in, but I was excited at the chance to be with him again.

Sammy stood up and led me to the piano. As we sat together at the bench, he asked, "Remember this?", and proceeded to play "our song."

Elton John's song is not a love song, but at that time, just like it was twenty-five years ago, My Skyline Pigeon felt like an expression of love that could not be denied anymore.

I felt tears falling down my cheeks. Here I was, sitting beside this man, and I did not want to fly away again. After all these years, our shared passion came back unbidden. I had survived being alone for many years; my friends had often complimented me for my strength against adversity. I was at peace and happy being with my son.

I had resigned myself to a lifetime of being alone. But until now, I never realized that I had an empty space in my heart. I thought I would not feel loved again. I had long ago given up hope that I would find the courage to fall in love again.

Here was our second chance at happiness. What was important was that we found each other after twenty-five years. It was destiny.

As he sang to me, Sammy's face looked radiant and full of love. The magic enveloped us, and I did not care that we were a middle-aged couple and that we lived several continents apart.

After the last note, Sammy tenderly dried my tears and held me close. And then, he kissed me. It was meant to be.

I thought, “Oh God, please, do not let this be a dream.”

PART 3- THE SOLDIER, THE NURSE, AND TWO WORDS

We kissed. It was twenty-five years later after we first met, and thankfully, it was not just a dream.

Sammy tenderly held my face as we kissed. I felt like precious china in his embrace. My tears continued to fall as I was overwhelmed with gratitude for this moment that had brought us together. I felt him tremble as he controlled his emotions.

We did not stay long at the restaurant. He brought me back to the hospital and gave me a private tour of the place where we first met. My friend Althea, the Chief Nurse of the hospital who arranged the emergency preparedness symposium, was unreachable (by purpose, I'm sure), so Colonel Dr. Samuel drove around the huge campus to give me a funny and entertaining narrative of the changes in the landscape.

I used to be a student nurse, but I flew away to the United States to fulfill my American dream. He was my one-eyed patient; a victim of the wars in Southern Philippines. We never spoke of our feelings about each other until the last day of my clinical rotation; but there was an undeniable attraction, that just could not be fulfilled at that moment in time.

He went on to become a medical doctor in the army. He continued to serve his country and helped the soldiers that he still is. Sammy recounted that I served as his inspiration to move to the medical field. Despite being devastated by my leaving, he took comfort in the fact that I cared for him, even for just a short time.

We spent the rest of the day together, driving through Makati and Intramuros. I ditched my blazer and bought some cheap sandals from a sidewalk vendor. Sammy changed into a simple t-shirt. Pretty soon, after Sammy had safely parked his Mercedes in a hotel parking lot, we opted out of fancy restaurants.

We were like any other couple strolling hand-in-hand along the boulevard. We sat close on a bench and watched the famous Manila Bay sunset, talked, argued about politics, and laughed at each other's jokes.

Dinner was Chicken Joy, fish balls, and halo-halo. Cheap date, but the best I ever had. Priceless.

I pushed back all the other concerns, and all that mattered was that moment. I went into his warm embrace willingly; basking in the upsurge of emotions. We just held on to each other; fearful of being brought back to the reality that in just three days, I would be going back home to New York.

But reality stinks. I had to go back home to New York, back to my 20-year-old son who still needed my presence. Although he was preparing to go into medical school, I still needed to guide him as he transitioned to his own adult life. Sammy thought I was staying for a month as I had posted on FaceBook, but I explained to him that my plans had changed because my son had to transfer to his new dorm in a week.

He drove me home and met my mother, who eyed him with suspicion.

"He looks like a movie star. Even with just one eye, and his grey hair, he would still get all the girls. Have you not learned from your no-good ex-husband.?", my mother asked right after he left.

In two days, he had totally charmed my mother. Sammy came back the next day and brought all of us in the family to his house in Tagaytay. He was a humble man, despite the opulent surroundings and his well-furnished mansion.

Up there in the mountains, away from the teasing eyes of my family, Sammy spirited me away to another secluded place. We shared sweet kisses and fierce embraces.

He pulled out an old picture; it was a group picture of my classmates and me looking towards the make-shift stage when the patients in Sammy's group gave us a short program. I was at the center of the picture, in profile, my long hair pulled back in a ponytail and my lips curled up in a smile.

"I took this picture, and it has been in my possession for twenty-five years." he sighed. "I knew you had your dreams to follow. That's the only reason I did not pursue you after you left."

He said, "Last November, I woke up from a deep sleep, and as if somebody was calling me and touching my face. For whatever reason, I remembered the picture I have of you."

I gasped. I told him, "It was November of last year on Veteran's Day when I watched a Sam Milby movie. I paused the film, covered Sam's left eye, and thought of you."

Sammy hugged me close, and we both shivered at the strange coincidence. I believe that it was Divine Providence. Running his hands on my hair, Sammy confided that he prayed and asked God to help him find me.

"I found you; I will never let you go again."

And yet, I went back home to New York, back to my son. Sammy could not come to the airport because of a hospital emergency. On the phone, I said goodbye to him, my voice cracking with emotion. He was trying to tell me something but the sounds of the planes flying overhead drowned out any more conversation. I never even got to tell him that I love him.

Today... June 2012

I walk down the aisle with my handsome son escorting me. He tells me that I have never looked better. All around me, my friends and family smile and applaud; all sharing in the joy of this blessed moment.

I am marrying Sammy twenty-six years after I met him.

Unbeknownst to me, Sammy and his two sons followed me to New York after my vacation and met up with my son to ask for my hand in marriage.

My son arranged for me to meet him at the Roosevelt Tram station on Roosevelt Island, only to surprise me when he arrived with Sammy and his two sons. And there we were, just the five of us, up in the air in the tram when Sammy proposed to me.

Just as I have written in another blog post (where Sammy took the idea), the glorious orange, red, and purple colors of the sky over the East River on one side and the Manhattan skyline on the other side provided an awesome backdrop to the proposal.

I jumped in delight and the tram swayed in agreement. The four men all paled and grabbed the side rails inside the tram. Just after I said a resounding "Yes," all four men had tears in their eyes. It was perfect.

And here we are, back in the Philippines for the grand day. The chapel is bedecked with flowers. My friends had gone crazy; they've been waiting for this as a payback for those wacky bridal showers I have thrown before. So, why are they all wiping tears as I march under the outstretched swords of the military guards?

My groom, the colonel, the chief medical officer, and my one-eyed soldier is waiting for me at the front of the chapel. Although we had only been together for a short time, I am certain that he had never looked better. Tall, and fit with salt-pepper hair and his left eye patch. My handsome Sam Milby/ George Clooney soldier. His full-dress white military uniform commands attention; his insignia gleaming on his shoulder board. He is a prince. Mine.

His beautiful smile makes my heart sing. I want to run towards him; he's just a hop-scotch away but decorum insists that I march along with my handsome son. Besides, haven't we waited all these years already, so I can wait for just a few more minutes. We have the rest of our lives to spend with each other, but would one lifetime be enough?

The minister delivers a great sermon. I try to hold back my tears. But then I see the choir members crying.

Now, it's time for the wedding song by the soloist. To my surprise, the minister hands a microphone to Sammy.

My eyes widen in alarm that Sammy will sing "My Skyline Pigeon" here on our wedding day. It is a special song for us, and will always be "our song," but even I feel that it would not be appropriate for a wedding song.

Sammy winks at me, and as he holds my hand, he makes a promise with this song.

"I Do." Two words that seal the deal. And on this hour, I am being wed to my prince charming, who had held me in his heart and in his mind all these years.

I say "I do" for all the right reasons, for all the beautiful things that have happened to me since we've found each other, for these wonderful feelings of being cherished for who I am today.

I do want to spend the rest of forever with my soul mate. To discover more of the man that I love. I do want to make up for the lost time, not really regretting the years in between because I am today for what I've gone through. I do, because he makes me deliriously happy.

And so we will love each other, for all eternity, more than twenty-five years.

THE END

Part 1- Actually happened. I did not have any contact with Sammy at all after we parted ways.
Part 2 & 3- Just a figment of my very bold imagination. What if? LOL.