I am at that age when many people I know, contemporaries as well as older relatives and friends, have passed on. Death is an inevitable part of life. Some say it ends life; others, that it leads to better, eternal life.

I almost lost mine to Covid-19. 

For two days I had fever approaching 40°C. After getting a routine swab test just because I wanted to get lab tests done at a nearby hospital, I tested positive for Covid. My parents reported my case to officials of our barangay, who decided that, so as not to endanger my senior folks, I had to be admitted to the Manila Covid-19 facility, a structure made up of shipping container vans converted into wards for patients.

That was in 2021. None of us in the family had been vaccinated yet. I, for one, was not part of any priority group, and the first batch of vaccines was just about to be administered in the Philippines. 

By then, my fever had subsided. As I packed my bag for a 2-week stay, as advised by the health officer, my feelings oscillated between psyching myself that it was just like any other trip I would take and wondering if it was the last time I would be packing my bag—or seeing my parents.

An ambulance arrived at my house. As I stepped inside, I found at least four other persons present. We sat side by side, as though in a school bus, as the ambulance zoomed onward to collect three other persons before we headed to the facility. 

Admission

When we got there, I could barely lift my bag. I needed help getting down from the ambulance and up the few steps into the facility. As I waited to get my X-ray done, as well as all the preliminaries required for admission, I had difficulty breathing. 

It was a new feeling, unlike having to catch my breath after intense aerobic exercise. I did everything I usually would when I needed to breathe in, but I did not feel air entering my lungs. 

Once admitted, I was assigned a bed in Ward 10 that was more than 10 meters away from the toilets. I found that I had to get up and start walking long before I actually needed to use the toilet because the time and effort required to lift myself from the bed and walk the distance were so great. I had to regulate my breathing to keep myself upright and moving forward. I thought: When was the last time I paid any attention to how I walked? It must have been when I was a child and learning to walk.

That night and many successive nights, I lay in bed, tears streaming down the sides of my face, and telling God that I was ready to go. I had the gall to tell the Creator that He could take me, just please make sure my parents were spared.

Since the pandemic started, I had formed the habit of attending daily Mass online. The Covid facility had a good wifi signal, so I was able to continue that habit. They also played the Divine Mercy Prayer every 3 p.m. on the TV sets that dotted the ward. 

Singing praises to Nature 

All around us, I could see the greenery of Luneta through big windows. From my bed, if I craned my head a certain way, I could see a statue of San Lorenzo Ruiz, one of my patron saints, standing under a huge tree. I had not known there was one there.

I spent much time during the first days just looking out the window as the colors changed at dawn, at the tree branches that swayed with the breeze, at the birds and dragonflies and butterflies that flew past, and as the sun sank low, signaling the end of each day—another day that I had survived.

I did not lose my sense of taste or smell, thank God. We had regular meals brought to us and sometimes, a friend would have food delivered for me. The package would undergo screening and disinfection before arriving at my bedside.

The doctors, nurses, and support staff at the facility were all very compassionate and helpful; they encouraged each of us to get healthy. 

Almost daily, there would be someone released from confinement. But there was one woman who stayed in bed in all the three days that she was there—and then she was gone. According to the murmurs, she was transferred to a hospital.

There were many senior patients in my ward. But once, there were a mother and her son, all of three years old. He even celebrated a birthday there. The nurses brought balloons, gave him a cake and a small gift. We all sang The Birthday Song.

Recovery and release

On the fifth day of my confinement, I could feel sure signs of recovery. I no longer had fever, I could breathe better, and I could walk around more easily. I resumed performing some basic yoga breathing and stretching techniques on my bed. Soon, I was able to move along to the daily Zumba classes they flashed onscreen.

Patients were informed of their release only the night before, after which they had to accomplish the paperwork.

I did not know when I would be cleared to go home. I prayed to St. Pio of Pietrelcina, to whom I started a devotion as the pandemic started, that I would be released on his feast day, but it did not happen. I thought my discharge might occur on the feast day of St. Lorenzo Ruiz, but I was still in the facility when it came around. 

But one fateful night, I received the paper that we were all awaiting. I filled out the form and discovered that I had recovered from pneumonia in my lower right lung.

I left the facility on the feast of the Archangels with a piece of paper stamped with a dry seal and issued by the City of Manila health services office. stating: “Certification: Covid-19 Survivor.

Since then, I have been pondering why I am still on this earth. I have tried to live life more simply and to do more good things. I try to live from day to day and to make sure that the people I meet will feel God’s love through me. I am not always successful: There are times when I am grumpy and impatient. But I try. Many times, I manage to make random strangers smile at my greeting.

I was certified as a “Laudato Si Animator” on the 10th anniversary of the Laudato Si encyclical issued by Pope Francis. It is an endeavor very close to my heart because I have always felt a close affinity with nature. I hope that through my volunteer activity of providing ecological education to children, I can contribute to caring for our common home in the places that I stay. 

My first activity was with 21 children, aged 7 to 13, from low-income families in Manila. My interaction with them in the course of an afternoon left me thinking that as long as they carry their strong concern, their malasakit, for the environment, there is hope for the world.

Read more: A poetic documentation of the Philippine Covid-19 experience