Stare, gawk, ogle

Stare. Gawk. Ogle.

That’s all Aires and I do when Heaven Czar is sleeping. He’s asleep 22 hours a day. Now that’s a lot of staring, gawking, and ogling.

My wife and I just could not believe that our son is finally here with us. Only a few weeks ago, we were near the end of our limits when we suffered pitfall after pitfall. Aires’ blood was clotting again. Her natural killer cells were hyperactive again. Her placenta was aging fast. The baby could be born earlier than planned.

No matter how hard we tried to prepare for his coming, Heaven Czar came like a thief in the night, like the gentleman caller whom the maidens waited for, like the falling star in a sea of crystals. Technically, he still should be inside his mother’s womb today. But Heaven could not wait any longer.

We could not wait either for his baby milestones. I gawk at him for a long time, hoping that I could catch the very moment he fixes his stare back at me. I am still a blurry image to him today. But I am counting the days till he is able to see faces more clearly.

What do we see when we stare, gawk, ogle at Heaven? We see his pointed nose. We see his chiseled chin. We see his rosy cheeks. We see his pronounced forehead. We see his long eyelashes. And the ears, what big ones he has! We see a great looking infant.

I don’t care if people say that parents simply see the best in their babies. Isn’t that what all parents should be able to see? See the best in their children. At birth, we see the best in their infant features. We see their best moves as they grow older. We see their best traits as they begin school. We see what they really are best at when they reach puberty. We believe in their strengths and acknowledge their weaknesses.

But that’s still years away for our dear Heaven. For now, let me be content in staring, gawking, ogling at our little miracle. Indeed, seeing is believing.

Naddy or nanny-daddy

My friends call me the male nanny. Children --- babies to teens --- warm up to me quite easily. During family and office out-of-town trips, I would be found taking care of the kids, playing with them, feeding them, and tucking them to sleep. Friends, colleagues, and relatives quipped that I would make a great father someday.

That someday has finally come.

When I learnt that Aires, my wife, was at last pregnant last January, I began reliving my nanny days. I summoned my paternal instinct. I invoked my daddy vibes.

When I first heard the heartbeat of the baby inside Aires’ womb, I shed a tear or two. My heart raced just as fast as the pulse beats emanating from the ultrasound machine.

When I first saw a complete scan of the baby inside Aires’ womb, I waited with abated breath the doctor’s verdict. Our baby is a boy and he is one lean mean fighting machine.

When I was told that Aires may have to deliver earlier than planned, I tried so hard not to crumble under all the anxiety. I lifted everything up to God.

When Aires told me that fateful midnight of 26 July that her water just broke, I had to be strong for Aires and for the baby. There was no room for second-guessing, and no space for second thoughts.

When Heaven Czar was born, I knew that my someday has finally come. I have always believed that fatherhood is in me. I touched Heaven for the first time when he was still inside the incubator. I caressed him, believing that my warm touch could heal. I took pictures of my son, slinging away, no holds-barred. I tried to be the source of strength for Aires who faced quite an ordeal, what with all the medications, injections, and anticipation.

I was not perfect. I had several slip-ups along the way but I was learning. Heaven did not just fill up a gap. He completed us. My dream to be a father has finally come. But the journey is not over.

My guy friends welcomed me to the club and asked if I was ready for many sleepless nights and cranky mornings. But I don’t know how much sleepless could it get in the coming nights.

Heaven Czar is only two-weeks old. So far, Aires and I get at least six hours of sleep every night, with at most three breastfeeding gaps in between. We would wake up every two hours to breastfeed Heaven. We are slowly getting the hang of it.

Thank God also that Heaven is not cranky at all. He occasionally lets out a grunt but he seems perfectly content, swaddled in comfy blankets, breastfed at the right time, and making poo-poo and wee-wee quite frequently.

And when I change his diapers, I cannot help but smile. The nanny is finally a daddy.

Perfect

There’s no such thing as a perfect thing.

But breast milk is simply perfect. Just ask our neonatologist, Dr. Mian Silvestre. Just ask Heaven Czar, our son, maybe years from now. Heaven was born prematurely at 31 weeks and 6 days. He had to be placed inside an incubator for one week. He could have stayed there for a longer time had it not been for his mom’s lifesaving gift --- Aires’ breast milk.

Nobody could really explain why. But a mother’s breast milk for her premature baby contains the most astonishing components that will help the baby survive. And that milk is uniquely made for each baby.

We only needed a few drops of Aires’ colostrum to sustain Heaven in the first three days of his life. In fact, we only needed to give him about 0.1 cc for every two hours. This amount increased as the days passed. Heaven was fed through a gastric tube.

But perfect as it is, giving breast milk to a premature baby is a labor of love. Aires expressed milk. It was painful at first but when we saw how such little intake helped Heaven achieved great strides, Aires endured the pain and soon after, her regular milk started flowing.

Just before Heaven reached his one week milestone, he was out of the incubator and unto Aires’ bosom. It was magnificent to see Heaven finally get breastfed.

But everytime Aires and I put Heaven to her breast, we struggle to get the perfect latch. Successful breastfeeding relies on the right position and the perfect latch. The baby’s mouth should be wide open, lower lip covering most of the aureola, the chin touching the breast, the nose tilted up. Only with a perfect latch can we assure that Heaven gets his perfect food.

Now, that is perfection at its finest and purest.

God's plan

The priest came in and consoled me. “Be strong. God may have other plans for your baby and for your family.”

I politely told him that he may have mistaken me for someone else. Heaven Czar, our son, is doing just fine.

At the Neonatal Intensive Care Unite, next to Heaven was another pre-term baby inside an incubator. The baby’s young mother, barely 20 years old, sat still, silently crying. Her newborn was dying, primarily due to complications with the baby’s heart. The baby’s sex, I heard, was also unsure. The baby was born without an identifiable genitalia.

The priest was there to baptize the baby. The parents decided to have the baby discharged from the hospital and await the baby’s last moments in the company of loved-ones.

A nurse aide was helping Aires express breast milk for Heaven. Yesterday, Aires expressed about 0.8 cc of colostrum. Heaven was given 0.1 cc every hour since last night. We experienced firsthand what breastfeeding experts and advocates have said all along: Just a few drops in the first few days is enough for your baby’s tiny tummy.

All night long, however, Aires became feverish. It was another sleepless night because the fever reached 40 degrees. Everybody believes it is because of the un-expressed milk in Aires.

So while the young mother next to us was coming to terms with her child’s farewell, Aires sat there, silently enduring the pain of expressing her life-giving gift.

The priest started the rites. The nurses and doctors stood as witnesses. We all joined in the prayer. Aires was expressing milk. I stood praying, beside Heaven, stroking his tiny fingers, telling him that indeed God has big plans for him. Saying farewell this early, I firmly believe, is not one of them

From rupture to rapture: Our Heaven on earth

“I think my water bag just broke.”

My wife, Aires, mumbled, shortly after midnight of 26 July, Saturday.

Clear fluid gushed out from Aires, trickling down her legs. Clinically, this is called a rupture. To us, it was simply unexpected. We just came from the hospital a day earlier following a treatment and consultation with our reproductive immunologist, Dr. Ed Lim, and were told to get ready for our baby’s arrival in the first week of August. Our Heaven Czar was only 31 weeks and 6 days old. We were hoping to welcome him on his 33rd week.

In 2006, Aires was diagnosed with exhibiting an anti-phospolipid antibody syndrome (APAS), a condition common to women who often miscarry or have difficulty getting pregnant. This condition is characterized by the hyperactivity of anti-bodies that make the placenta, the baby’s life support system, incapable of sustaining a full-term pregnancy.

Since January --- when Aires and I first learnt that she was finally pregnant (after six long years), we have been on a rollercoaster ride --- replete with syringes and needles, tons of tablets, and bucketful of blood, sweat, and tears.

We were plotting out our next steps when the rupture came. We tried valiantly to stay calm as we scrambled for our stuff and hit the road en route to the Manila Doctors’ Hospital. We live in the outskirts of Metro Manila and the drive to the hospital seemed long and endless. At 1 am, Aires was wheeled into the delivery room. An early rupture of the amniotic fluid bag would mean possible infection for Aires and the baby. Hence, pregnancy books recommend delivery of the baby within at least eight hours after the rupture. Aires was given antibiotics to prevent any infection.

But Aires could not deliver just yet. She needed transfusion of “freshly squeezed” human plasma, platelets, and red blood cells to counter the anti-coagulant medicine, Heparin, which was in her system for the last eight months. This drug helped prevent blood clotting to ensure that Heaven would get a steady supply of nutrients through Aires’ cardiovascular system.

We had been planning our strategy for selecting ten Type O blood donors all week long and requesting them to donate a few bags of their blood, maybe on August 2. Our doctors preferred fresh human blood over frozen stock.

But at 1 am, our plan went down the drain. Where on earth could we get at least eight donors in the next eight hours?

The next eight hours became a tactical drill. At 5 am, I started calling up friends and loved ones, waking them up from their fitful slumber. “Hi. Sorry to call this early but Aires and I need your blood. Please go to the National Blood Center at 8 am for the blood screening. Blood letting will be done at around 1 pm.” The blood center of the Philippine National Red Cross, about 10 minutes away from the Manila Doctors’ Hospital, performs a more efficient blood letting system called Apheresis, which leads to higher yield from fewer donors.

My brother, Jay, a topnotch UP professor, was at a party with former students that Friday night. He came to the center with four potential donors at tow. My cousin, Ramir who was already on our list, rushed all the way from Cainta to Manila with two other potential donors. My brother-in-law, Kuya Archie, requested his wife’s uncle, Tito Roland, to give his fair share. My high school bud, Adam, made several calls and asked an office colleague, Richard, to proceed to the center. Melissa, another high school friend, promised to drop by before going to her 10 am presentation. My parents came with two potential donors, Greg and Wendell.

My other brother-in-law, Kuya Lon, called up two friends. Another cousin-in-law, Minmin, was on her way. My friend, Osmond, asked his brother to rush to the center. But these four potential donors could not make it in time for the 10 am cut off.

So, before the screening cut-off time of 10 am, we had 12 potential blood donors, good enough considering the frantic turn of events. We needed six donors who should pass the rigorous blood screening test. But the pre-screening test of donor viability whittled down the list from 12 to six. We had to cross our fingers that all these six viable donors would eventually pass the test.

Waiting for the results of the test was a test of patience. Every hour, I would call the delivery room to check on Aires and the baby. How uncomfortable it must have been for Aires to be lying down there at the pre-labor room for such a long time, not knowing what was happening with the blood letting ordeal.

At 2 pm, I was asked to go back to the hospital and stay outside the delivery room. Our ob gyn, Dr. Gigi Martinez, informed me that she would open up Aires at around 6 pm. The next few hours were all about “Where is the blood?”

I waited outside the delivery room for any word about Aires’ condition and any update from the blood center. Keeping me company were Osmond, his wife, Bing, and their daughter and my godchild, Nina.

Aires’ mom and brother were saying the rosary at the private room we reserved for our stay in the hospital.

At 4:20 pm, Kuya Archie delivered the “freshly squeezed human plasma, platelets, and red blood cells” to the hospital. I waited outside the delivery room, with my digital camera. We expected a nurse or an orderly to summon for us to give the camera so that the most awaited moment would be captured on digital memory --- our Canon moment!

True enough, at 4:50, a nurse called out for me. My heart leapt. This is it! Our Canon moment is finally here. The nurse ushered me in to the delivery room’s reception area only to be told to rush to the newborn viewing area across the hall because our Heaven Czar was already born and was being attended to by our neonatologist, UNICEF breastfeeding advocacy partner, Dr. Meann Silvestre.

He’s here? I was stunned in disbelief. He’s really here. There went our most awaited Canon moment. But who was I to complain. All that we could say was “Thank you, God!” We finally made it --- Aires, Heaven Czar, and me --- with the help and prayers of all our loved-ones, friends, and newfound friends who willingly shared with us their gift of life.

Our ob gyn said that Heaven was a tiny big boy. For a pre-term baby, he looked big, with an Apgar score of 9.9. She said that Aires is okay and needed to stay at the recovery room for four more hours.

At the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), we saw Dr. Silvestre prepping up Heaven. An hour later, Heaven was placed inside an incubator, his “space pod”, where he would stay at least for one week until he is ready to breathe on his own. Dr. Silvestre informed me that Heaven’s lungs have liquid that needed to be suctioned out in the next few days. Other than this, Heaven is well on his way to becoming a healthier baby, especially with Aires’ breast milk.

Aires and I visited Heaven at the NICU on his “day-sary” to celebrate his first 24 hours. He was asleep, and would occasionally let out a grunt. We talked to him and waited till he opened his eyes. He did after several cooing. We finally got our Canon moment!

Dear God

Dear God,

Heaven Czar is now almost 30-weeks old. In five weeks, he will be in our arms finally. But Aires’ strong immune system is again going overdrive. She is producing antibodies which make her placenta go old so fast that it is no longer safe for Heaven to stay in his mom’s womb.

We are now at the hospital again. Aires has to undergo another round of the intravenous immunoglobulin treatment. For almost 10 hours, Aires is hooked to a machine that controls the flow of the drug. 25 grams of this drug is needed to temper the immune system of Aires.

Next week, Aires will also need to undergo another round of lymphocyte immune therapy. We asked our Ateneo friends to donate their white blood cells for this treatment. This therapy will also help temper her immune system.

Please give us the strength to go through all these again. Please give Heaven a fighting chance. Please make him ready for the world outside the womb. Please help Aires become a rightful vessel for Your miracle.

Your will be done. Amen.

The good parents

Aires’ friends from the Ateneo recently threw her a baby shower get-together.

It was a night for the couples. Ruby and Mannix Evangelista came. Elsa and Vince Magtibay came. Vhangie and Alf Quemada came. Jacque Aguinaldo and Wilmer Sabaria came. (Well, everybody wished Jacque and Wilmer came as a couple.)

Ruby was games mistress and ruled with an iron fist. She came prepared with props and prizes and rules she created along the way.

They gave us gifts for Heaven Czar. But the most valuable ones were the lessons they shared about marriage, parenting, and children. Here are the best tips we have ever heard from friends whom we have known from our teener’s years at the Ateneo.

Vince: Your faith will see you through.
Elsa: Give what is the best for your child.
Ruby: Say what you feel.
Mannix: Know your priorities.
Vhangie: You feel what your child feels.
Alf: Each child is unique.
Jacque: God knows what is best for you.
Wilmer: There is always time for change.

Indeed, God knows what is best for us. He made us wait this long and let our friends get a head start. Aires and I listened to their stories and wondered what stories and lessons would we share next time. In the meantime, their stories give us a living narrative of how to become good parents.

Lost and found

I am good with directions. I can easily find my way to an unfamiliar destination. I can also find my out. I make a good cab driver, my wife Aires once quipped. I am not afraid to test unknown streets and curves. If I get lost, I just roll my window down and ask politely for directions.

I also follow directions really well. I can be left alone to decipher how to set up a new software or how to build a book shelf.

But recently I made a big boo-boo with directions. Of all things, it had to be with a new prescription for Aires. Our gynecologist asked us to buy a skin patch. The patch has nitroglycerin which dilates blood vessels allowing better blood flow. It is usually for patients with heart problems but, for Aires, it is meant to regulate the blood flow from her cardiovascular system into the baby’s own system.

One late night, Aires asked me to read the directions. I got one patch and took off the protective covering and attached the patch on Aires’ tummy. For three nights, I did the same routine. The patch wouldn’t hold for a long period of time. Aires soon found out that I did something wrong. I was attaching the protective covering and not the adhesive patch that contained the medicine.

My only excuse? I was so sleepy that night when I read the directions that I got it all mixed up. My other excuse? Sorry, I am just human, still prone to make mistakes, no matter how great I claim to be with directions.

But Aires lost a little faith in me. She now double-checks everything I do when it comes to her prescription drugs. It may take some time again to get her confidence. But I believe she will believe in me in due time.

I got lost. I would find my way back home.

The waiting game

My wife, Aires, reached many milestones in her life this year.

She finally got pregnant. She finally finished reading a novel. She finally YM-ed her friends. She finally realized that her husband (that’s me) really loves her. She finally learnt that God never forsakes. That He simply waits for the right time to give you the right wish for the right purpose.

Aires says that her life has been a life of waiting. Waiting for real friends --- when she was in grade school. Waiting for a head start after college. Waiting for a satisfactory career. Waiting for the right partner. Waiting for the chance to celebrate motherhood.

She would be the first to admit that patience is not her virtue. She does get cranky if she doesn’t get what she wants. But when she reflects on how she waited for the finer things in life, she realizes that she is indeed patient.

Today, she still gets cranky but she has finally learnt to count her blessings, the small triumphs, the inconspicuous milestones. She is preparing herself for the milestones that Heaven Czar, our first born-to-be, will achieve. In the meantime, the waiting continues.

Aires

isang palaisipan
marahil
bulong ng hangin
sa kislot ng ulap
sambit ang dalangin
takot kilalanin
kahit ngayon
kipkipin

isang bugtong
pasakalye
litanya ng ale
sa takda ng orasyon
sambit ang dalangin
tiwalang didinggin
kahit bukas
manimdim

palaisipan
bugtong
takot
tiwala
ngayon
bukas
lagi kang
mamahalin

My heart

Once I drew a heart
With a pastel chalk
A perfect shade of red
With gentle contours.

But the color didn’t last.
The heart faded away.

Then I drew another heart
With a child’s crayon
A pointed tip of red
With bolder strokes.

But the crayon broke.
The heart looked empty.

Then I drew the last of hearts
With my own blood
What a mess I made
With crimson drips.

The bleeding didn’t stop.
The heart was wounded.

But at last, now, I have my heart.

Heaven on earth

From head to toe, Heaven is doing well.

Aires and I are amazed at the images we are seeing. The sonologist probes and probes, finding the best view to check if our baby is doing well. The procedure is called congenital anomaly scanning, done through trans-abdominal ultrasound. Such a scary term for such an amazing test!

The doctor walks us through the scan for almost an hour. He shows Heaven’s head and face. Heaven’s eyes are complete. So are his nose, lips, and ears. And he yawns! What a sight!

The doctor searches for Heaven’s hands. They are a bit hidden. The right hand is touching his right ear. We count his fingers with anxiety and excitement. He has five fingers in both hands!

A few adjustments here and there and we see his pulsating heart. No heart hole, check! We see his diaphragm. His lungs are forming. We see a gastric bubble, what is to become his stomach. We also see his kidneys.

The doctor measures his leg bones, the femur. The length of this bone, plus the size of his head and torso will estimate his gestational weight. He is now almost half a kilo.

The doctor moves the probe and searches for Heaven’s weenie. We see it and the doctor freezes the image and keys in the letters B-O-Y. There’s no mistaking now. Heaven Czar is indeed a boy.

We see his feet and count again. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 toes. Complete, check!

The Doppler test follows next. This test measures blood flow to the brain, heart and kidney. Everything is okay. Heaven is getting all the nutrients he needs. His development is within the range expected for his gestational age of 24 weeks or six months.

After the uncertainty in the first three months of the pregnancy, seeing Heaven through this ultrasound keeps our hopes up high. Our Heaven indeed is here on earth.

It takes 12

"You are always smiling, Nilo."

I was scurrying along our office corridor one day, hopping from one department to another, when I bumped into a colleague. I said sorry and blazed to my next destination. I heard her holler at me, "Great that you are always smiling, Nilo!"

I looked back at her and smiled again. I moved on with my day's hustle-bustle sked, still remembering what my colleague said.

Why do I smile a lot these days?

There are many reasons to smile and be happy despite the never-ending assignments and tons of work. I am happy because I will be a father very soon. I am happy because Aires and our soon-to-be first-born Heaven are doing well. I am happy because my work team will be finally complete soon.

Experts say that it just takes 12 facial muscles to smile and only 11 to frown. What's one extra muscle to show how happy you really are. So, smile and spread the cheers.

Heaven is waiting

It was a toss up between the sky and the heaven.

On April 18, my wife, Aires, and I had one full day with our gynecologist and immunologist. We first went for our ultrasound. We were very anxious to know if our firstborn will be a boy or a girl.

Our doctor exclaimed: “May lawit!” (Something’s dangling). Our baby’s a boy. We will christen him, Heaven Czar.

He is truly a gift from heaven. Czar is to honor, Aires’ father, Cesar, whom we all believe interceded for us when he went to meet our Maker about 10 weeks before we learned that Aires was finally pregnant.

Were she a girl, she will be named Skye Czarina. But for now, Heaven Czar sounds really fine.
Our trip to our immunologist also brought pleasant news. Aires’ immune system was in check. Her numbers read A-ok.

This Sunday, we heard a solemn mass at Christ the King church. In the Gospel, Jesus said to his apostles: I am the way, the truth and the life. In his homily, the priest said that “Heaven is waiting for all of us.” Christ the King. Heaven. The signs are there telling us that we made the right choice.

Welcome, Heaven Czar.

Whew! What a week!

What a week it has been!

I am currently the lone communication specialist for our country office. My former boss was transferred to China. A long-time colleague migrated to Canada. A reliable consultant finished his contract. I was left to manage three big projects for the time being.

My new supervisor and a new recruit will report in mid-April. I have a new technical assistant who is still on part-time. Our program assistant fell sick on Monday and requested to go on leave.

Monday was post-Holy Week but there was no time to take things easy. I was immediately on full gear preparing for a big outdoor launch event (Children Against Violence campaign) on Tuesday. I was not worrying that much because we got an agency to help us out. But when I could not locate my agency account executive, I went into panic mode. She was stranded in Boracay and could not be reached by phone. My yellow stress ball became handy. Just when I felt doomed on Monday night, I got a call from my AE. I was saved and assured that the Tuesday event would be a blast.

Tuesday came and I was in high spirits. I went early to the site to see how things were being set up. There were minor slip-ups but I was pretty confident that the afternoon event would be again a blast. Lunch time came and I had to scurry away to a lunch meeting with Gary Valenciano, our ambassador who would perform and speak at the event.

Two hours passed and I started receiving panic calls from the event site. Things were not yet in place. I took all in stride, knowing that these things do happen. The event started and we were going smooth sailing when I learnt that a big technical boo-boo was waiting to ruin the event. The sun was so bright that afternoon that the projector could not lucidly project our stunning audio-visual presentation and TV ad. Now that is something that I could not take in stride. The faux pas ruined the event, at least by my standards. The event still went well despite the major glitch. But I was totally frustrated.

I was tired but I had to wake up early on Wednesday to go to Pampanga for a presentation about the rights of indigenous children to an audience of leaders and teachers belonging to various indigenous groups. I aced my presentation but while I was presenting, my wife, Aires, kept texting and calling because she felt something painful in her womb. When I finally read her messages, I asked my driver to go super-speed. We bridged Pampanga and Marikina in just a little over one hour.

I watched over Aires that night and spent Thursday morning with her. She may have had cramps but thankfully there wasn't any bleeding. I had to report back to the office because of all our deadlines.

Friday was a day of donor reports and work plans. I had four donor reports and 30 work plans to complete. But I had to admit to myself that I could not finish everything. So when the day ended, I finished one donor report and all work plans.

Whew! What a week it has truly been. Looking forward to our Monday's date with the ob-gyn. Here's hoping that it will jumpstart my next week into a different kind of high.

We survived

We survived.

Two months ago, our pretty normal lives went haywire when we learned that Aires was finally pregnant. On January 23, we were told that she was already on her fifth week, that we needed to fast-track our immunologic treatment, that we needed all the prayers and help we could muster to save the pregnancy.

Each trip to the gynecologist and immunologist was a date with uncertainty. We hoped for the best and braved for the worst. Aires and I prayed and asked for God’s blessings. We lived one day at a time.

We are on our 14th week, officially entering the second trimester. The ultrasound results and the immunologic findings were all okay. Our baby is hanging on for dear life. Our baby is developing properly. Our baby is out of danger.

But we are not letting our guards down. We will still be vigilant. We will do the right things. Get rest. Eat right. Exercise.

I promised Aires and our baby that I would hit the gym and get back in shape. I do want my first-born to feel safe in my arms and be consoled that I will be healthy as he or she grows up. Now, that’s another story worth telling.

In the meantime, allow us to thank all those who donated their blood, who said their prayers, and who wished us the best. To all of you, thank you very much. We are extremely glad to tell you that with your help we survived.

Believing in young men and women

“How are you, young man?”

Today I pay tribute to a man of wisdom, to a man who for the past four years have called me “Young Man”. He would offer his outstretched arm and give me a firm handshake and ask “How are you, young man?” But never with a hint of disdain or lack of confidence.

My age has never been an issue with him. He gave me tasks that demanded immediate action. He sent me to very challenging assignments. He straightened me out when I needed one. He gave me a pat on the back when deserving.

Dr. Nicholas Alipui became UNICEF Philippines’ country representative in 2003. He came from a very successful tour of duty in Kenya where he brought free education to children. In the Philippines, he became the voice of breastfeeding.

He was the voice of children and young people.

Dr. Nick was recently appointed as the Director of the Programme Division of UNICEF in New York. He assumed the think-tank post. He would help set the direction of UNICEF globally.

He will have his hands full. He will have a lot on his plate. But he will surely make a mark as our new global Programme Director. I will always remember him as the leader who believes in young men and women.

The good news

And finally the good news!

We went back to our immunologist last Friday. We again waited for over two hours for our turn. It was already 8 pm when we were ushered into his clinic. We were anxious to know what the blood test results for the week were.

Our doctor poured over the numbers in front of him and drew a big smiling face. “For a change,” he said, “I have good news for you.”

All the parameters read A-ok. No infection. No rejection. No immune system on overdrive. The baby is hanging on strongly. The placenta is strong enough to feed him or her. All we have to do is to make sure that Aires eats right. Gestational diabetes may set in and a high sugar level may pose several risks to the baby and to Aires.

Aires was given a prescription for amino acids, the stuff bodybuilders use. She needs all the proteins in the world to help our baby develop into a fine, little person. She was also put on a one-week sugar monitoring regimen.

Today, Aires is 12 week pregnant. Almost eight weeks ago, we fidgeted for every test we took, for every blood donated, for every ultrasound taken.

Every night, we whisper to our baby. Hang on tight. Just a few more days till the next week. Just a few more weeks till the next month. Just a few more months till the next trimester.

Let the good news roll one after the other!

A world of possibilities

Today, I see a world of possibilities.

It’s possible for a child from a rebel village to go to college. It’s possible for just one health worker to help wipe out measles in three barangays. It’s possible for the Kabihugs to work in farms without being exploited. It’s possible for a girl victim of incest to deal with the trauma and carve out a safer tomorrow. It’s possible for a child offender to have a second chance.

Seeing possibilities, instead of impossibilities, is one of the most important lessons I learnt as a member and program coordinator of the PETA Metropolitan Teen Theater League (MTTL) --- a group of young high school and college theater artists.

I was young, unafraid and determined. My youthfulness was not a limitation. It was a possibility.

I was only 16 when I committed to work as a young artist-teacher for high school students. I was also tasked to guide an urban poor community theater group called Tanghalang Batingaw in Bagong Barrio in Caloocan City.

I was only 20 when I became MTTL program coordinator. I taught English at a private high school in the mornings. In the afternoons, I would visit other schools talking to school principals, drama teachers, and theater guilds.

The 1990s was a time of uncertainty for the MTTL. There was little funding. Many schools that were active in the 80s dropped out from the league. But when two Palanca-winning plays, “Ambon ng Kristal”, and “June at Johnny” were staged for MTTL’s new batch of core group members, the league had its second wind. There was no turning back then.

It became possible for young theater enthusiasts to have their own brand of creative arts. To this day, the MTTL remains as PETA’s instrument in upholding the right of young people to participate critically in decision-making. PETA-MTTL offered young artists like me then the possibility to become a genuine “artista ng bayan.”

I am no longer very active with PETA. But I am not giving it up. I still see another round of possibilities for me to find my roots again and re-live my younger PETA days.

Get in line

We have a new work sked. Check in at 8:30 am and check out at 5:30 pm.

On color-coding day (Coding ako pag Tuesday… croon… croon), I checked out whether I could check in on time if I leave Marikina for Makati after 6 am.

It was only 6:30 am when I reached the commute terminal but the scramble for a shuttle ride to Makati was already unwieldy. There were already seven lanes of commuters and counting. I usually boast that patience is a personal virtue. So I waited patiently, for 30 minutes in fact. But I got giddy when the clock hit seven.

So I skipped the line and hailed a jeepney to Katipunan. I would just take the LRT to Cubao and the MRT to Makati.

Lo and behold! It was line galore that day. Get in line to get inside the station. Get in line to get a card. Get in line to wait for the train. The MRT Cubao Station was the worst. Commuters ---yuppies, hippies, and all --- ditched the line and wrestled their way through the next train.

I took the train to North Avenue just to find a spot inside the MRT cabin going back to Makati. I passed by Cubao again and saw eerily the same scene --- a lot of shoving and cursing.

Buendia Station was no different. Endless lines of people for a shuttle ride. Endless lines of people for a jeepney ride.

I remember a college professor who said that Filipinos disdain falling in line. She called it our racial memory of oppression. Deep in the recesses of our brains are imprints of the Philippines’ experiences of oppression from colonizers. Fall in line to get inside a Spanish fortress. Fall in line for a ration of porridge. The Bataan March of Death. Fall in line to die.

I don’t want to die. But I will still fall in line. Only when required.

In the meantime, I will clock in at 7:30 am and clock out at 4:30 pm.

Clenched fists in the streets

Clenched fists and all. I was in the streets when workers asked for a wage hike. I was in the streets when the U.S. bases were pulled out. I was in the streets when Erap was ousted.

I was young, unafraid, and determined. My voice and a thousand others’ were heard in the streets.

Today, the youth are again in the streets. Many of them are calling for the resignation of the President. All of them are demanding for the truth, for justice, and for change.

Last Friday, I was just a stone’s throw away from the huge crowd that gathered in Makati. But fatherhood beckoned. I had to rush home to attend to my pregnant wife. I listened to the radio about the throng of protesters who were intercepted at the express highways. I heard the news about how different sectors would come from various entry points, and at the strike of five in the afternoon, would walk toward the Ninoy Aquino statue. I heard about the No-Fly-Zone directive. I heard about a black clutch bag left unattended near the rally site. Operatives inspected and found wires and an old cellular phone inside.

I was not there at the interfaith prayer rally. But I prayed really hard that night. I prayed for a better society where my child can grow up, full of hope. I would really hate to see my child protesting in the streets 20 years from now --- clenched fists and all.

Let the fist-clenching begin and end in the womb.

Rainbow

Unbelievable! I saw a rainbow today.

Doubly unbelievable! I saw a rainbow today arching over Makati.

I was feeling a bit anxious again about my wife’s pregnancy. We had our regular visit yesterday to our immunologist. The blood test results indicated no infection. But Aires’ antibodies are still on overdrive, suggesting continuous rejection of the pregnancy. To add insult to injury, our doctor revealed that Aires inherited a mutated gene from both her mother and father that makes her blood prone to clotting. The only way to control this during the pregnancy is to increase her current dosage of heparin (an anti-coagulant). From 1 cc per shot twice a day to 1.5 cc per shot twice a day. From a small regular syringe and short needle to a stouter one with a longer needle.

Syringes and needles were in my head when I saw the ROYGBIV. Only the rainbow’s ends were visible over Makati. The whole arc was hidden by the city’s smog. But those short curves were bright enough to snap me out of my melancholy.

Rainbows do appear after the rain. We all have our own rainbows. They just come in different colors, sizes, and surprises. It’s a stunning red when you finally finish a report good enough to secure a funding donation. It’s a bright orange when you finally find a document that has long been missing. It’s an effervescent yellow when you get that promotion you’ve worked so hard for. It’s a lush green when you get a vacation leave approved. It’s an immaculate blue when you get people to agree with you. It’s a unique indigo when a satisfied colleague or client says thanks to you. It’s a vivacious violet when you learn that you will be a father soon.

I have started counting my blessings early this year. Instead of moping and sulking about unfinished tasks and imperfect outputs, I watch out for small wins. Like the blood clot that is now under control, like the heartbeat of our baby, like the infection-free blood test results, and like the next day that brings us closer to the next week.

Just look up. Your own rainbow may just be over you.

Ask, seek, knock

"Ask and you will receive. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door shall be opened unto you." (Matthew 7:7)

For this is the power of prayer.

And so we asked, sought, and knocked on His door. We prayed really hard. Let the clot in the uterus decrease. (Medically, it is called a subchorionic hematoma.) Stop it from encroaching into our baby's life support system inside the womb of Aires. Do not let it reach the source of our child's nourishment. Moderate its greed.

We went to our gynecologist to see how the baby is doing. We waited almost two hours for our turn. Aires was anxious. She clutched her rosary and prayed for yet another miracle. If the clot grew, Aires would be admitted to the hospital anew for an emergency intravenous immunoglobulin treatment. She would receive 50 grams of an intravenous drug that would temper her natural killer cells --- her defense system that has kept rejecting this pregnancy. This treatment normally lasts for more than 10 hours.

If the clot did not grow nor shrink, we would need to do another ultrasound after three or so days.

If the clot got reduced, Aires and the baby would be out of danger.

The ultrasound results came out. We heard our doctor say: "The clot has organized." We did not know at first what she meant. In plain speak, it meant that the clot shrunk and no fluid was seen near the baby. It simply meant that God once again answered our prayers.

It is now up to us to do rest.

Joke... joke... joke!!!

Today, I said sorry to a colleague for a joke I made a few days ago.

I gave a very animated presentation. But before I went straight to my presentation, I tried to write albeit spontaneously in my mind a big bang opening. It was a joke about how excellent the local codes for children of Davao and Bohol were that other local government units copied them word for word. I said the joke in front of my officemates, knowing that it would bring the house down. Everybody indeed laughed. But somebody in the crowd took offense. The joke was not about her. It was about two provinces that were very far from where we were. But the joke hit her hard. Helping governments craft local codes was her project after all.

My colleague confronted me after my presentation. I said sorry then. I did not mean to put her project in a bad light. And I said sorry again earlier today.

This week, a local governor said a joke about the President. He called her the “luckiest bitch.” His remark became the global quip of the day. The opposition saw the opportunity to argue that even the President’s allies have a low regard for her.

In last week’s televised confrontation between ZTE-NBN witness Jun Lozada and the President’s men, Jun joked about feeling like a contestant in the TV game show, One vs 100. He also joked about the President’s men wearing suits while he was only in a white shirt. The President’s men were offended, saying that their coats and ties had nothing to do with the issue at hand.

I said sorry to my colleague. The governor said sorry to the President. Jun did not say sorry to the President’s men.

We say sorry for having blurted out jokes if we do not mean to offend. We do not say sorry when the jokes are meant to be, as a saying goes, half-truths. Hillary Clinton did not say sorry when she called Barrack Obama’s campaign a “change copied from Xerox.”

But if I were the President, I would be really furious if I were called a bitch.

Whistleblower to the whistleblower

Just before Erwin Santos confessed about Jun Lozada's shady practices in the Philippine Forest Corporation, he called Jun his friend. His eyes flickered. He paused for a second. His tears began to fall.

The camera slowly zoomed in, close enough to capture that one drop, crossing Erwin's cheek. If it weren't for the words etched at the corner of the screen (LIVE NEWS), I would have thought I was watching another soap opera.

The show is called Boses (The Voice). It aired amidst normal TV programming and was bannered as an important announcement. It aired, (Surprise! Surprise!), only on the government-controlled TV stations.

Erwin said he had nothing to gain. He simply wanted to tell the truth. What was his information? It took him almost an hour to share his story. At the end of it all, it all boiled down to this --- that Jun as PhilForest head practiced nepotism (Jun assigned a younger brother a supervisory post in the company), and defied procurement regulations (Jun arbitrarily awarded hectares of government land for farming to allegedly 20-30 friends or relatives).

Erwin admitted that he was hurt when Jun called him Judas for allegedly turning over critical documents to the National Bureau of Investigation. But he was not doing this confession to get back at Jun. He was doing this for the truth.

Erwin was interrogated by "Kuya Mario". I do not know anything about this Mario guy but if the government hopes to make Erwin the whistleblower to the whistleblower, the TV set up should have been different. Sure, Kuya Mario has the broadcast voice but his questioning was aggressive. He sounded that he was ready to pounce on Erwin, and pulverize him to smitherins.

A TV screen was in the background, showing the title card of "Boses". A series of silhouttes acts as the title card's branding. The use of silhouttes evokes anonymity. It appears shady to say the least. Which is what Erwin's whistleblowing sends accross --- simply shady. Close-up please.

The drive home

How many times have I driven home as if travelling through the Twilight Zone?

I see the road. I see other cars. I see other people going home. I am also going home. But I seem to be heading somewhere else. My mind floats. I think in pictures. Stories and what-if scenes fill my head.

This happens usually when I am troubled.

I feel anxious about my wife's pregnancy. Aires is now almost 10 weeks into her pregnancy. Our child is now officially a fetus. The heartbeat is amazingly fast at 190 beats per minute. The fetus is okay.

But there is a slight problem. The ultrasound shows a formation of a hemorrhage between the lining of the uterus and the sac that protects the fetus. This is called a subchorionic hemorrhage. The formation is actually a collection of dead tissue cells. It is officially a blood clot. If the clot crosses the placenta that provides nutrition to the fetus, the baby will be in danger.

Now there is nothing slight about this problem at all. This new information is troubling. Aires has been put on a strict bed rest regimen. She may need to undergo another round of immune therapy treatment to reduce the clotting.

All these got me a trip to Twilight Zone. The drive home on that day we learnt about this subchorionic hemorrhage was eerily long and slow. Just like this journey of hope. Long and slow.

Dear God... Help us get home safely.

Touch me not

In 1886, Filipino national hero, Jose Rizal, wrote the novel, Noli Me Tangere and sparked a revolution. The title may be translated in Filipino as Huwag Mo Akong Salingin. In English, Touch Me Not.

In 2006, American inventor, Jeffrey Han showed his digital technology to the world and sparked a revolution in media reporting and forecasting. This time, it is all about touching.

Computer whiz Han perfected a multi-point interactive touch-screen technology and sold it to CNN in 2007. This year, CNN unveiled its “Magic Wall”, a giant TV screen showing graphs, charts, maps, and data on the ongoing American election. Think of it as a really big iTouch. CNN anchor John King navigated the screen with his fingers. He adjusted pie charts, zoomed in and out of a map from a country view down to household clusters, and made bold predictions on who is leading and who is trailing behind.

This is indeed the power of information at your fingertips.

Han’s company Perceptive Pixel developed this technology called the Multi-Touch Collaboration Wall, after years of research. Han was a researcher at the New York University. A simpler version of the Magic Wall is available for US$ 100,000.00.

The multi-touch technique finds its roots in 1982 with multi-touch tablets and screens. Apple tried to register the word multi-touch as part of the iPhone trademark in 2007.

It took over two decades before the multi-touch technology gained its rightful place in our computer era. Thanks to a very young researcher named Jeffrey Han.

Jose Rizal's Noli started the downfall of the Spanish reign in the Philippines. Whose reign will end with Jeffrey Han's Magic Wall?

Blow your whistle

When it comes to whistling, I am a late bloomer.

No matter how hard I tried to blow through my pucked lips, no sound would come out. One of my brothers once joked that all I needed to do was to blow a whistle to learn to whistle.

The word "whistleblowers" used to describe British cops who would blow their whistles upon seeing someone committing an offense. Today, the word refers to those who expose an anomaly in organizations or governments.

Whistleblowers played crucial roles in history. Watergate. Enron. Pfizer. Washington sex scandal. Those who blew the whistle so to speak became celebrated. In the Philippines, whistleblowers are commonly looked with suspicion. Mary Rosebud Ong spilled the beans on Senator Ping Lacson, and did not get any product endorsement. Acsa Ramirez, a lowly cashier, implicated Landbank executives in a multi-million tax diversion scam and was named a suspect by no less than the President herself. (She was acquitted a year later.) Ilocos governor Chavit Singson's testimony on Jueteng-gate led to Estrada's downfall but his heroics failed to win him a seat in the Senate.

Whistleblowers in the Philippines are often pictured as lacking in credibility. They are considered traitors, sourgrapes, and equally guilty of the offenses they exposed.

Strangely, though, ZTE-NBN scandal whistleblower Rodolfo Noel "Jun" Lozada, Jr. appears to be gaining what other whistleblowers failed to achieve. Credibility in the eyes of media. Therefore, credibility in the eyes of the public.

He may have achieved this status because of his consistent, unshakeable statements. "Paulit-ulit na po tayo. Pero uulitin ko pa rin po." His meek countenance and his unabashed crying bouts. "Ayoko na pong umiyak." His humble remarks. "Ako po ay isang promding Instik." His witty retorts. "Hindi ko po alam kung bakit pilit akong kinakabit kay Joey (De Venecia). Ang tanging pagkakatulad lang namin ay pareho kaming nakakalbo na." He presented himself as somebody who is not clean, who has done wrongdoings, who has a genuine fear for his life, who has nothing to gain, who did not want his life to be disrupted, who cannot tell a lie under oath.

The Senate blue ribbon committee investigation had a totally different ambiance with Jun Lozada around. The Senators appeared sympathetic. Those who tried to rattle Lozada like Enrile and Santiago were generally courteous. Only Joker (who happens to share the President's surname) lost his cool with Lozada.

This drama will continue to unfold and hug airtime and print space. The plot will thicken and have its twists and turns. Is he a sinner or a saint? A hero or just simply stupid? Will his story aid legislation? What laws will come out of this investigation? Will we finally have a Whistleblower Protection Act?

Or will Lozada's whistleblowing be like mine? Timid. Futile. Simply ka-pffft.

(For an interesting read on whistleblowing in the Philippines: http://www.rvr.aim.edu.ph/quartely%20report/mcravol18.pdf)

Type "O"

I used to be hemophobic. I cringed at the sight of blood, real or reel. Truly, unmanly, you may say. Blood was my Kryptonite.

But, when my wife, Aires, needed white blood cells for her lymphocyte immune therapy treatment. I became more than a man. I was Superman. Aires was my Lois Lane.

I can now look at this life-giving substance called "blood" without feeling dizzy or nauseous. Knowing that my own blood will save Aires and the growing life in her womb, in an instant, changed how I looked at this bodily fluid.

Human blood is technically a tissue. Understanding what it is made up of allows me to appreciate this wonder. Plasma, red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets --- all can still be broken down into proteins, salt, and of course, oxygen. All these make up human blood.

The way we look at things changes because of the context (My wife is pregnant), the motivation (Donating my blood will make this pregnancy a success), and newfound knowledge (Blood is a complex substance that is life-saving).

As an Irish hero once said, "Blood is a cleansing and sanctifying thing."

My blood type, by the way, is "O".

Miracle baby

I believe in dreams. I believe in miracles.

My wife and I learnt that she was finally pregnant. We had been trying for the last six years. The news came unexpectedly. It took Aires two pregnancy kits to believe. It took me just one. Just one look at the second strip of pink of the first tester --- I believed.

This is a difficult pregnancy. Aires had to stay home, away from crowds. Pills and injections everyday. She knows that this is one chance we cannot just take to chance.

We did everything. She went under the knife. So did I. She took fertility pills. I had my vitamins. We prayed a lot. We danced in Obando. We went to pilgrims. Always believing. Never losing hope.

We are still doing everything to keep this pregnancy going. Our baby will be born in August. We know that he or she will be one healthy baby. To others like us, believe. In dreams. In miracles.

All bark, no bite

I miss having a dog. I had a trustworthy one when I was in my teens. Her name was Bubbles. She was the ultimate poster dog, fluffy, white, and adorable. Bubbles died in 1993 and left her genes to a new generation of fluffy, white, adorable pet canine. Bubbles' puppies all became reliable watch dogs. They were sentinels, keeping guard--- day and night.

Theorists use dogs as a metaphor for mass media. Media perform the function of a watch dog. But who's watching over media is an entirely different animal. In the past months, the two media giants made television their fight cage --- they growled at each other, barking ferociously. What a dog fight it has been! The ratings war has taken a totally different meaning.

But like many of their soap operas, the drama has gotten so sickeningly spoilt. So what do you do when you see two dogs fighting? Keep a safe distance.

I do miss my dog Bubbles.

Wear a jacket

Today is dress-down Friday. It is time to be laid-back and comfy.

I wore a UNICEF shirt, cool Memo pants, Bench military belt, and a pair of Gola sneekers. I was asked to do a TV interview for Studio 23's News Central about UNICEF's partnership with Starbucks. Starbucks launched in 2005 the SparkHope project helping nine day care centers in very far Philippine villages. My colleagues required me to wear a UNICEF shirt.

Friday, UNICEF shirt, and casual wear sounded really fine. But my fashion guru, my wife Aires remarked early in the morning: "Wear a jacket." My guards were up instantly. I needed the UNICEF shirt for branding purposes on the nightly TV news. So why would I wear a darn jacket? "Wear a jacket," she repeated. "I don't need one" was my retort.

But why did she insist for me to wear one? My guards were up because "Wear a jacket" may mean "Hey, dude, hide your flabs." "Wear a jacket" equals "Cover your imperfection." I admit I was a bit irritated.

On my way out of the house, Aires asked: "Why are you grouchy?" I said I was not.

In my office, I saw my vintage "Vietnam War" inspired jacket, the one she gave for my birthday. One look at this earthy-colored jacket, I was grouchy no more. "Wear a jacket" may also mean "Cover yourself with my love." Aires once said: "You look cool in this jacket." And so I wore my vintage "Vietnam War"-inspired jacket, felt Aires' love, and went to my interview.

I took off the jacket when the interview started, and rattled on about coffee, planners, and day care children. I wore it once again after the interview ended.

Friday, UNICEF shirt, and a vintage jacket to make me look cool. And a really cool Starbucks 2008 planner. How can it go wrong?

7 things to do today

I went back to work today for the first time this year.

Over the holidays, I swore to myself that I would do things differently this year. Go to work early so I can leave early. Clean up my desk so I can work more fluidly. Set up small goals and count small wins so I can give myself a pat on the back.

I did just that today. I went to work early. I cleaned up my desk. I listed down the seven tasks I needed to do. With a red pen, I marked each accomplished task with a vibrant OK! I ended up doing 10 OKs!

Oftentimes, we are easily overwhelmed by the big assignments. We forget that big things are actually made up of small things. It helps to know that 10 OKs for a day is one big OK!!!