Lanterns and Dextrose

12 – 25 – 08 4:30am, the numbers and letters read, unmoving against the LED of my wrist watch. I blindly searched for my pillow, wrapped myself in blanket, and decided to go back to sleep. I still had an hour and a half before I prepare for church. I faced my elder sister who was then sharing the bed with me. I felt uncomfortable and turned the other way. I tossed and turned on the available space that I could occupy, with my sister spread - eagled on more than half of our bed. I turned to face her again until I decided to sleep on my stomach. I buried my face on my pillow. I was having a headache – a bad headache, I should say. I went back to my original position and hugged my sister. That was when I felt like every joint in my body was in pain. I closed my eyes even though I really cannot sleep, no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t know what time dreamland welcomed me back.

The next time I woke it was already around 9:00am. There was a note attached to my sister’s pillow that read, “We already left. Tried waking you up but you won’t budge. You explain to mom later. Evil laugh.:)” by that time, everyone was already home after attending the Christmas mass. Although everything around me was a blur and nothing had changed since I first woke up at 4:30, I still got up and joined my family for breakfast. But I only drank water to quench my dry throat. I was on my third glass when I hear my mom say, “Ilang minuto kang nagdadasal bago kumain? Bilisan mo, baka ikaw ang maghugas nito lahat.” (How many minutes do you pray before you eat? Hurry up, or you’ll wash all of these.) I stirred and realized that everyone was staring at me. “Nilalagnat yata ako. Kaya di rin ako nakasama sa inyo sa mass” (I think I’m sick. That’s also why I wasn’t able to attend the mass with you.), was all I managed to say. When I was checked with a thermometer, it registered 39.3C. so I was forced to finish my food so that I can take paracetamol. My temperature went back to normal for a couple of hours but by 1:00pm, it escalated to 40.3C. what made it worse was that I was already developing rashes. So despite everyone having a great day because it’s Christmas, my parents rushed me to the hospital.

After a series of tests, my attending physician told us that I had dengue and that I should be confined in the hospital to receive proper medical attention. One twitch of my face muscles and the message was sent to my parents: “I do not want to stay here. Not today, nor any other day. I hate it here. It is Christmas and I want to stay at home – with you, with everyone.” But I only found my hands covered in my mom’s. I knew I had no choice. In a few minutes, I was wheeled in a private room, with dextrose, a dose of medicine, a bag of blood for transfusion, and other I-don’t-know-whats.

That night I fell asleep looking through the windows that oversee the residential area of the city. As usual, it was colorful and busy, compared to the dull color of my room, and the monotonous hospital routine, not to mention the people in white uniform that come in and go out of my room. I felt like I was a ghost – almost invisible under the white sheets that covered me from head to toe. I was not a teenager on a holiday escapade, but another patient wthat will add to the statistics of dengue victims in the country.

December 25 came and passed like it was just any other day of the year.

It was memorable not because it was my first time – and hopefully the last – to spend Christmas (and New Year) in the confines of a hospital, but because it was the saddest that I had so far. Maybe for some, this is not a Christmas that is worth remembering. I used to think the same way when my high school friend spent her Christmas day on an operating table. But when I experienced this, I realized that the memory of a ruined Christmas did not easily leave the system especially when that day was supposed to be a perfect one.