Wednesday, June 22, 2005


is a comforting thing. you can lose everything, but thankfully, you can still hold on to your faith.

i remember watching tv one late night with A, i think it was 'emergency' on channel 7. the topic was faith healers. the sociologist they interviewed said that filipinos have this tendency to always concede their fortune and lives to a higher being--to saints and to God, that's why they readily believed whoever claimed to interceed in their behalf, because they wouldn't take responsibility to think and figure out things for themselves. A and i agreed it was a very keen observation, that it was copout fanaticism borne out of the filipinos' laziness.

but in these jaded times, i still would proudly say i have faith. there is a difference between fanaticism and faith. fanaticism is blind belief. faith, on the other hand, requires hard work. you do everything in your power to do your best, and when you've exhausted all efforts and you can safely say you gave it your all, faith then becomes the source of comfort and wellspring of strength. simply because i cannot imagine being thrown a rotten apple with worms after praying earnestly for food.

we lost the baby.

went to have an ultrasound this morning, and dr. alfiler did not find a hearbeat. the fetus was as big as expected, but there was a macro yolk sac, and no heartbeat. even without her saying anything, i could tell it from her face. she fumbled with the keys with one hand and held the transvaginal device with the other, and through it all she kept a blank expression, and avoided my gaze.

"we have a little problem," she said.

i suspected an understatement. i already expected the worst, and braced myself for it. "how's the baby, doctora?"

"the baby's as big as expected, but we have a macro yolk sac, and that is not a very good sign. the baby is supposed to get its nourishment from the yolk sac till the placenta is formed, but it seems it's not getting any, and that's why it's grown by two centimeters since the last ultrasound. and there is no fetal heart beat."

"so you mean to say the baby's dead?"

"i hesitate to give that conclusion. we need a second sight. it's our sop."

"how could it have happened?" numbly i asked. no tears, no emotions--at least not till later.

just before i went for the ultrasound, i was able to text A. asked him if he'd eaten lunch already and if we could meet for lunch. now, as i lay in the ultrasound booth with my feet still in the stirrups and with the knowledge that the baby i was carrying inside me was dead, i was rather undecided about how i felt. my phone's message alert went off, and i realized it must be A replying to my message. oh no, how am i going to tell him?


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