#FaithJourneyInTheTimeOfPandemic – Light in Darkness

“When he has regarded the prayer of the destitute, and not despised their prayer.” – Psalm 102:18

We had cocooned ourselves as best we could from the dreaded virus. Our family strictly followed the quarantine rules. In the beginning, only my niece, the holder of the quarantine pass or more popularly known as the “alay”, would go out to buy essentials. I would ferry her to and from the village gate and, as the CQ eased, would drive her around. I hardly ever got out of the car except to go to the bank. My son and my father NEVER EVER stepped out beyond our gate for 4 and a half months.

It was a peaceful, secure lockdown. My son worked from home while I used the time to grow. I learned iPhone photography and how to pray the rosary in Italian. I took up painting again and revived my blogs. My family must have gained a few pounds because I had time to learn new recipes and even tried my hand at baking. I was blooming where I was planted and even sowed a few seeds as I was invited to speak on solo parenting at two online gatherings. I thought that was my pandemic story. But I was so wrong.

On July 28, our cocoon was ripped apart. My almost 90-year-old Papa suffered a stroke. We rushed him to the emergency room. The nearby hospital triaged him inside our car in their driveway despite his life-threatening condition. We were told he was 5^th in line for the ICU and will not be admitted unless there was a room available. Since it was critical that medicine be administered immediately to Papa, my cousin’s husband told us to bring him to the hospital where he was holding clinic at the time.

By God’s grace and the help of my cousin’s doctor-husband, Papa was given life-saving treatment. But there was still no ICU room available. I thought he was 6^th in line but apparently, I misheard that. He was 26^th in line and people ahead of him had been in the ER for about a week already!!! Papa had to stay in the ER until a room was available – not in a cubicle but right smack in the center of the critical care room in front of the nurses’ station. From our cocoon safe from the virus, we were thrown into a place teeming with Covid patients. The passage from the Apostles’ Creed “descended into hell” became a reality for us.

My cousin Jong, a doctor in the U.S., told me not to stay in the ER as much as possible for my own safety. But I had to keep looking in on Papa because he was being a handful to the ER staff who were overwhelmed by the volume of patients already. Added to the threat of Covid infection was the discomfort. Chairs with butt-unfriendly seats were the only ones available to sleep on in the ER. Occasionally, I would sneak out to the hospital lobby where there were cushioned benches and the calming image of Our Lady of Guadalupe to grab some sleep at night.

On the third day, we ascended…not out of ER hell yet but, by God’s grace…to a curtained cubicle. Every time I would enter the critical care room to go to Papa’s cubicle, I’d hold my breath for fear of inhaling the virus. The curtain separating us from the Covid patient (just my suspicion because of the plastic tent on the bed) in the next cubicle was not very reassuring. I watched in horror as the other bed partly pushed through the curtain and into our cubicle as they were moving the patient out. That fear combined with the hard chair was enough to keep me sleepless that night.

In one of the Breakthrough modules for handling anxiety and depression, Bro Arun Gogna told the story about a sick man who puts a chair beside his bed where he “seats” Jesus to have a conversation with Him every day. I thought of doing the same thing since I couldn’t sleep. Taking the other chair that I use to prop up my feet, I asked Jesus to sit and talk to me. I was surprised by how easy that conversation began. It was like I had a close friend sitting right there beside me. I would ask a question or say something, and He would answer right back. I can’t remember everything that we talked about. All I remember was His comforting presence. When I told her about it, my cousin and bff Belle said maybe it was because most of the conversation was just meant for me.

There was only one part of our conversation I do recall. At one point, I lamented, “But Lord, why do I have to go through this hell? Does it have to be this scary, this difficult, this dark?” Then He answered, “Remember that painting of the cactus bud you just finished? Remember how the whiteness of the bud only stood out when you got the dark background right? IT IS ONLY IN CONTRAST WITH THE DARKNESS THAT THE GLORY OF MY LIGHT CAN BE FULLY APPRECIATED.”

I was stunned! That painting was the hardest to make in my paintography series. It was based on this beautiful photo taken by Paolo Salanguit, son of my caring group head Myrna. Myrna had sent it to our group chat with a very inspiring caption that moved me to immortalize it with a painting.

“First time ever that this old hopeless cactus plant bloomed. Pao and I were amazed. Truly God’s promises never fail even when we feel hopeless at times.” - Myrna

But it was so hard to paint! First, the pressure. The photograph was so skillfully taken, so much better than any of my amateurish efforts. I needed to give it justice. Next was my skill level. I had only taken up painting again during the lockdown after decades of non-practice and there was so much I had to re-learn. It took four attempts with different media and a whole lot of research before I could get the effect I wanted.  

First attempt using wet on wet technique with watercolor

I failed miserably and didn’t even have the heart to finish it.

Second attempt using watercolor pencil

Please note from my other paintings that I hardly put a background. That’s because I’m not confident with my skills yet. I’m afraid of botching up the painting when I’ve gotten the flower to my satisfaction already. I was unhappy with the light background of this one.

Third attempt: watercolor-ed paper sculpture on handmade paper

My son Jaffy suggested I try doing it in mix media. Since I had this handmade paper in the right color, I cut out the flower from the second attempt, did some paper sculpture on it and proceeded to assemble it. I was still dissatisfied as the delicate play of colors on the left side of the background was lost.

The finished painting using watercolor pencil

Perseverance is a virtue – I finally got it on the fourth try. The lightness of the bud stood out when I made the background dark enough.

Truly, God’s glory becomes more brilliant when it is placed in stark contrast to the darkness of our trials.

The darkness:

Papa stayed in the ER for 5 days surrounded by Covid patients. He was swabbed because the hospital assumes everybody is a suspect. If you were admitted for some other ailment, then being confined in the same room with positive cases surely upped your chances of making their suspicion true. The scary thing was sometimes I would catch him with his face mask off. I, too, was barely protected with just a face mask and face shield as compared to the medical staff in complete PPE.

Just as he was about to be discharged, he had a fever and was swabbed for a second time. The wait for the result was agonizing as I feared for my own condition as well and for my family at home who might have been exposed with my comings and goings from the hospital. Tests showed he contracted pneumonia and was infected by bacteria that was resistant to regular antibiotics (one of the residents described it as a super bug). These could have been hospital-acquired which can happen with prolonged confinement.

There I was, again, feeling barely protected from the virus and the bacteria when all the medical staff were required to enter Papa’s room in PPE. My trauma was intensified by the fact that my husband’s final cause of death was hospital-acquired sepsis and not the injuries he got from his accident.

To make matters worse, I was locked down in the hospital for a whole week without a reliever because of the MECQ that was re-imposed after the medical community called for it.

The light:

Despite the exposure, Papa tested negative for Covid twice. After 14 days of self-quarantine from the time Papa was discharged, I also did not exhibit any symptoms; neither did my son, our designated driver to and from the hospital, and my niece who attended to us at home.

Despite being 26^th in line for a room, he was moved out of the ER after 5 days. Furthermore, he was not moved to the ICU (expensive!) because his condition had improved or to a private isolation room (more expensive!!) because he was Covid-negative. It was a miracle that a small private room (affordable and just what we were praying for!!!) became available.

Despite the odds because of his age, Papa survived the stroke and is ambulant with the help of a walker (lent by Oying Isidoro, a brother from our Feast family whose recovery from his illness is an amazing and inspiring story). Added to that is his speech which is no longer slurred. Instead of continuing his speech therapy, we make him lead in praying the rosary every day.

God’s grace was evident in the overwhelming moral and spiritual support from family, friends and my Feast community even if they were given mostly online. I could sense heaven caving in under the barrage of prayers when the miracles came one after the other.

God hears the prayer of the destitute. In these trying times, never forget that. His glory will shine through this darkness.