By Wawel Mercado

I didn’t quite fathom the depth of our marriage vow until after almost a year of being married to my wife, Mila.  I met her at Basic Advertising where we were officemates.  Later on we became very good friends, and that friendship eventually paved the way for deeper affection.  We decided to get engaged.

Long before our marriage, Mila would go on yearly prayer retreats.  The year before we tied the knot, she wrote in her retreat journal her vision of family life which was very similar to mine: that our family would be like a small church, a community of love where, by loving our children, we could teach our children the love of God and bring them closer to the Father.

Our first born

And so we got married on January 2, 1996.  Within the first year of our union, Mila gave birth to our firstborn, Mary Therese Milagros Ann.  I was with Mila throughout her fourteen-hour labor, never leaving her side for one minute, as I wanted to witness this miracle called life unfolding before my own eyes.  It was a normal procedure.  Mila was in great pain, but it was nothing unusual for a woman giving birth for the first time.  Mila was admirable in the way she embraced the pain of childbirth silently, squeezing my arm tightly each time she would have a painful contraction.  Finally, the doctor laid Therese on Mila’s chest for the first time, during which she exclaimed, “Ang sarap ng may baby!” That was the last pleasant image I saw before I left the delivery room to have my first meal after the 14-hour fast beside my wife.

Sudden twist

I had dinner in the hospital room reserved for Mila’s postpartum recovery.  I deliberately ate quickly as Mila had made me promise not to be gone for too long.  I left the room immediately after the meal, and as I was on my way back to the delivery room, I almost ran into a crew of resident physicians rushing to an emergency case.  As I neared the delivery room, I was shocked to see that it was to my wife’s room they were headed!  I was told that Mila’s vital signs had regressed and her blood pressure had dramatically dropped so they had to revive and stabilize her by hooking her up to a respirator and transfusing vital fluids and blood.  They suspected that she was bleeding internally.

The doctors told me that we should pray hard as we could lose Mila that night.  I was in a daze, not fully understanding the chaos around me.  The last thing I remember hearing was an instruction for me to look for a priest so that Mila could be given the last rites.

At around two in the morning of October 21, Mila was finally taken to the intensive care unit.   After five-and-a-half hours, the team of doctors had done all they could to stabilize her, and it was now up to Mila to pull herself through.  So they encouraged me to pray that Mila would survive those crucial hours and that she would eventually wake up from her coma.  Thankfully, after forty-four days of her being confined to the hospital, I was able to take Mila home on December 5, 1996.

Trapped and caged

By some miracle, Mila was able to regain consciousness.  Although her neurologist declared her out of a coma, she was a far cry from her normal self.  She was blind as a bat, mute and had no purposeful movement in any of her limbs.  The only part of her body she could move deliberately was her neck.  That fateful episode at the delivery room had made my beautiful bride a quadriplegic who now suffers from “spastic paralysis due to severe brain damage and irreversible profound neurological defects”.  Simply put, Mila has lost the most basic functions like speaking, eating, walking, going to the bathroom and grooming among others.  That meant she would become dependent upon round-the-clock nursing care for the rest of her life.  My heart was literally torn into pieces at the sight of my wife reduced to a helpless and unresponsive state, just a shell of what she used to be.  I was dejected, angry, disillusioned, grieving, desperate, anguished.  But I was determined to help my wife regain whatever it was she could.

My Brother’s Keeper

Besides the medical and therapeutic care that my wife required, I was also aware that more than anything else, my wife needed me.  I quickly learned everything necessary to take care of her, even without the help of a nurse.  I read what I could on alternative treatments such as acupuncture, pranic healing and herbal medicine.  I made the work of Mila’s many doctors easier by preparing a written report of her condition each time she was due for a check-up.  I made sure that her medications were kept at a level that would not damage her internal organs.  And because Mila had lost most of her functional abilities, I also had to learn how to take care of her as if I were taking care of an infant.

Out of place

Going out was difficult at the beginning, so we limited our trips out of the house to Sunday Mass, where we suffered through the humiliation of people staring at us all the time. Our old friends, not knowing how to approach us, would turn their heads away so as not to make eye contact.  We felt ostracized and rejected, outcast because we were no longer normal. In time, motivated by the desire to vary Mila’s environment beyond the confines of home, I started taking her out with me to the grocery store, to the mall, to movie theatres and restaurants.  We were hard-pressed, though, to find places that were wheelchair-friendly, places that conformed to the mandatory wheelchair access provided by law.

In time, when I had to go back to work, I had to hire professional nurses in three shifts.  Mila needed round the clock care because of her feeding, medications, suctioning and diaper changes.  It was important though that I knew the care routine by heart so that I could personally train the new nurses whenever one would leave for a job abroad.

Moving on Together

But perhaps the most important aspect of caring for Mila was providing her with the spiritual nourishment that she needed to carry on with perseverance, strength and faith amidst the difficulty of her physical condition.  Given the tragedy of her state, we instinctively turned to our Blessed Mother for consolation and comfort.  After all, when the hurt is deep, and when things are beyond our understanding, nothing is more soothing than the warm bosom and melodic lullaby of your own mother.  We sought our Blessed Mother’s comfort by praying the rosary together as a family every day.  This was the first thing I did as soon as I got home from work.  We also helped Mila with morning and evening prayers.  We would read Scriptural reading for the day in the morning, and before sleep, I would lay down beside her so we could pray as a couple, I would also read to Mila to put her to sleep.  I chose inspirational books, books on miracles, books on sufferings and books on the lives of the saints, all in the hope that by reading these, Mila and I would understand the mystery of suffering better and consequently align our sufferings to the redemptive mission of Jesus Christ.  I also looked for a place where we would not attract attention, a place where we would not encounter the curious staring eyes of strangers.  I felt it was important for us to be able to attend Mass each Sunday in a solemn way like a normal family, not wary and uncomfortable because of the stares that people would give us.  Finally, I found a community that we could be part of, a community of the sick and the mentally handicapped, so that we could find strength and support with “people of our kind”, with people who, like us, have to go through the rest of their lives burdened with illness.

Two ‘babies’ to care for

To add to the responsibility of caring for Mila, there was another person to care for at this time who was just as helpless as Mila – our baby Therese.  When Therese was a few months old, I left her under the care of a very faithful, gentle and loving yaya.  I must admit that in the first years of her life, I had devoted most of my time to Mila and had completely delegated my daughter’s care to my sister and Therese’s Ninang An, my mother, my sisters-in-law and her Yaya Niknik.

What pained me most at this time was to witness Mila being deprived of the chance to take care of the child that she had longed to care for, to embrace and to love.  This is what Mila had dreamed of having all her life.  But now her brain injury had robbed her of this chance.  It was also equally painful to see Therese growing up deprived of the love and care of her real mother. Mila was such a loving person.  I am sure that Therese would have benefited greatly from her company.  But as Mila stabilized, I began to get to know my daughter better and became more active in her care-giving.  I would bring her to school in the morning and pick her up in the afternoon.  I would attend her PTA meetings and bring her to a fastfood restaurant for a sundae or a Happy Meal.

Today, Therese has grown to be a very loving four-year-old.  Already, she helps in her mother’s care by helping change her diapers or wipes her mother’s mouth when she drools.  I remember an old African saying that it takes a village to raise a child.  When I worry that Therese is growing up without a mother, I remind myself of this saying and keep in mind that it is indeed a village that is raising my child.

Of course, Mila and I wouldn’t have endured everything if not for God who has kept our heads above the water throughout the years.  Eleven months after the tragic incident, I learned about a healing place called Bethesda.  Dr. Corrie Martinez, a neurologist, told me that this place where healing love and peace can be found.  I took Mila there and instantly, I felt that my wife and I belonged there, that we would find God in that place.  Moreover, it was in Bethesda that we were given the chance to be instruments of healing ourselves by serving in the Healing Ministry.  In Bethesda, the Lord has used our presence to touch people, that despite the absence of physical healing, our love for each other has allowed others to experience and witness the healing love of marriage.

Salamat sa Kerygma