“The Babsoy & Mommy Show”: A Silver Linings Story (Part 1 of 2)

When the Dean of the College at the university where I teach asked to see me one day, I promptly showed up at her office and sat by her desk, watching her efficiently shuffle papers. She had only one question, “Professor Musni, why aren’t you attending the faculty retreat?” When I told her I had better things to do with my time, she said, “I am requiring you to attend. You have grief written all over your face. I already paid all your fees for the retreat. Attend or else.” So, I attended the retreat. Thank heaven, it was a silent retreat. I’m not the type who sits with people in a circle and shares personal feelings—that’s just not me.

During the retreat, we were told to talk to ourselves instead of to each other. Our facilitator told us to talk to God. Me being me, I naturally resisted. I had nothing to say that He didn’t know already, after all. On the third day of our retreat, I found myself alone in the chapel. I just stared at the altar with no particular focus until I finally heard myself whisper, “I asked you, remember? I asked you to heal her. I told you I’d forfeit everything you had to give me. I’ve never asked you for anything ever. I asked you to save her but you didn’t.” I remember I started to cry; as in really cry. I realized why I hated the idea of going on retreat. I detested the word “retreat”. Two years before, that word wasn’t even in my vocabulary. It was always forward, fight, hold on, no surrender.

My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. She endured a mastectomy and chemotherapy and stayed cancer-free until sometime in 2006 when a bump on her head turned out to be another tumor. My sisters and I immediately went into battle mode, fully knowing what lay ahead. For four months we fought in high gear at Cardinal Santos Medical Center in Manila; Linear accelerator treatment for her brain tumor and then more chemotherapy for the cancer in her bones. Retreat was not an option. I quickly learned the ropes of being a primary caregiver. The day Dra. Tiambeng told us that we had to stop chemo, she took me aside and asked if I wanted to talk to her some more. I politely refused, saying I had to attend to my Mom. My Mom’s reply to the bad news was simple- “Let’s go home.” I brought my Mom home to Davao in February 2007. My Mom loved being home. Home was her safe place. Every morning she would announce “The Babsoy and Mommy Show now signing on”. The “Babsoy and Mommy Show” had lots of segments. We had our “Gourmet Portion” where she would ask me to describe the food with as much detail as possible so she could imagine the taste since she said everything tasted like cardboard. There was our “Deal or No deal Portion” for when I would haggle the number of pills for her to take at a certain time, since there were just too many to take in one sitting. I would go, “Six pills and a scoop of ice cream?” at which she would squeal “Deal!” fully knowing that there would be seven or eight more an hour later which would go nicely with a popsicle. Then there was our “Guest Portion” where she would see her daily visitors for an hour or two or linger over lunch with one of her sisters before she would give me a look that was my cue to announce that it was her nap time. The afternoons were the best, my favorite segment of The Babsoy and Mommy Show, our “One on one portion”. Every day she had a story to tell, the stories of her childhood and our family. The day would end at around 8pm when I would tuck her into bed and she would ask, “Is everybody okay na?” and I would tell her not to worry about anything because we would see her through just like we did before. She would smile and thank me, remind me to call my sisters to give them an update and announce, “The Babsoy and Mommy show now signing off.” After which she would take her rosary and pray till she fell asleep. My sisters came home a few days before Easter 2007. She called us her “Dream Team”. Mom was completely bedridden by this time but she continued to say she was feeling as well as ever. We checked her into the hospital the day after Easter when I noticed her abdomen was starting to swell. Dra. Abarquez took me and my sisters aside in the hospital and presented us with the need to decide on advance instructions. The words “Do not resuscitate” went off like a loud gong in my head, I couldn’t hear myself think. I broke down and lashed out at my sisters for even considering that option. I even told my Ate not to approach me with the DNR papers I needed to sign, threatening I would surely tear them to shreds. A few days later my Mom went into the ICU. The Babsoy and Mommy show continued, only this time it was my turn to tell stories because they put an intubation tube to help her breathe. I told her that she had to get well because Lolo and Lola would be worried, that everyone was rooting for her and that the ICU was temporary. To this, she would pat my hand and nod her head. Sometimes I would walk in on her gesturing with her hands as if talking to someone and then shaking her head. When I would ask her what she was doing she would pat my hand and close her eyes. (to be cont.)

(Written by Fe Monique Tagaytay)