My feet were dragging me up each step of the fluorescent lit stairwell of this hospital in the south where I was about to see HIV patients who are confined in the wards. “I can do this,” I whispered to myself, as I had been doing this for years now. However, it was different. Totally different.
I remembered how Dr. C, told me and Doc, the Care Manager of Project Red Ribbon how their patients are still dying even though they have the antiretroviral medicines and that there are medicines for opportunistic infections. We were at the hallway of the second floor of the hospital where the biggest HIV and AIDS Treatment Hub was located. I remembered the look on her face and the pain in her eyes when she said that to me and Doc. I felt her, the quiver on her voice though with a softness only a child would know from a mother, like she was raising in doubt though with compassion.
I kept on scrambling up the stairwell. Each step was like a feeling… a thought… “Would I be able to help them?” “ I am the right person to do this for them?”
It was just a week ago that we planned this activity. A family support group. For parents, siblings and partners. It was a proposition of Dr. C, an intervention perhaps to help the loved ones of their patients apprehend what is going on, to get a grasp of the reality that enshrouded the patient. “Maybe, just maybe, they would know what to do with the situation, after this”, said Dr. C.
Group therapy is not new to me as I am an occupational therapist who used to handle these therapies in psychiatric wards and family counselling climnics. My adeptness was deeply rooted from the education from the university and my experience from my internship. I recalled that I really loved doing group therapies… examining behaviors microscopically with no pun intended, knowing how apply interventions, and helping to change behaviors through behavior modification techniques or other psychosocial modalities that were taught to me by our mentors.
“A few more steps and I will be there,” I told myself. I know I had committed myself to this for the love of the advocacy. I know I had to do this as like what Doc had mentioned to me, it is really necessary for these loved ones to understand, and to feel what is not expressed by the human soul.
A few days ago, Dr C was already encouraging people, the care taker- family members and the care givers to join the activity. She texted me that she was already looking for a room on the second floor of the ward, accessible to all the participants. “Better be in this area in the ward so our particpants won’t be hesitant in attending even for a while.”
Finally, I reached the second floor. It wasn’t as lit from the fluorescent bulbs anymore as the clear glass windows were open, illuminating the entire corridor in the ward. I kept on trudging, waiting for a familiar face to show up.
Doc was at the end of the hallway and after a tight hug, which we always do when we see each other, I was led to a single-patient room. It was semi-dark, with a bed and a sofa. It was an empty room for an in-patient. Dr. C showed up shorty and greeted me and Doc, basically welcoming us even though we have been going in and out of the hospital for years now, visiting patients with AIDS, giving the Project Red Ribbon care packs to confined patients, or just giving a caressing tap over a shoulder of somebody needing someone just to be there. A thousand times, we have visited this ward, remembering the cries of love ones when their loved ones die, the smiles of patients when they receive our care packs of love, the parents running after us asking for medical assistance for medicines and laboratory tests, the child who we kept on coming in and out of the hospital and now in school. I remembered all of these as these indeed are essence of our Foundation, the heart and soul of my advocacy.
At the strike of 1:30 pm, our participants came in the room. Nine attended the family support group. It got crowded in the small room, but somehome cozy. It was solemn at the start, all the participants dressed in their house shirst and shorts, with a look of confusion as to why they were there in the first place.
Dr. C talked and explained briefly what the activity was all about. I am a talker so after Dr. C left for her rounds, I started the group therapy. I introduced myself and Doc and asked each one to introduced themselves. The composition of the group was varied. There were mothers, sisters, a partner, an uncle, a brother. They were silent, and not uttered a word after introduction.
To break the silence, as I know that we need to do something for them to project their feelings and emotions, I pulled out sheets of paper and pencils and slowly, like a breathe of sof, gentle air, I asked them to write a missive to his or her son, brother, nephew and partner. Each one got their share of paper and pencil and started scribbling. I told them there is no time limit and no limit of lines or words to write on the paper. I took out my Bose player and played “May Bukas Pa” (There is tomorrow).
I heard sniffing. Not from the participants intially but from me. As I heard the music, I saw myself on my deathbed in September 2011 while I was having labored breathing because of my pneumonia. I shouldn’t be crying anymore, I told myself, but I was transfixed by these people, and they brought me back to that room in The Medical City where I got confined. Though very different from a government ward, I felt that it was the same. Same hospital, same doctors, same feeling.. the feeling of remorse at first, the feeling of confusion.
Doc tapped me on my arm, then I realized everybody was looking at me, waiting for my next instructions. I turned down the music up to almost inaudible. I started to ask each of the participants to read out loud what they wrote.
The mother started first. Confident and strong like when she entered the room, she started with a strong voice but the message was very soft, like a feathered-pillow. She read out the name of her son in the letter, telling him that no matter what happens, he will be there for him. All the words and sentences were all about love and acceptance. I felt a tinge in my heart.
Next, the brother talked. He said that his brother never told him that he was gay, but they already knew. They knew, yet they never asked. They treated him the same as everyone else in their family. And they loved him. He said in his letter that it was painful for him to see him on the bed withering in pain, embarrassed to even look at him even though they were showing that they were there for him. He talked about love, about family and togetherness in each fight, especially this faight. I felt his love.
The uncle started talking. He said that he was never close to his nephew but he was a teacher and being a teacher, he can hear and understand his students. He read his letter and said that he understood what going through his nephew mind even though he wasn’t talking. His pain was as loud as a thunder, hes aid. At this time the mother started balling. I almost let go of of a tear that I was holding in my eye.
The partner started talking. He said he already have forgiven him and he has also forgiven himself for cheating on his partner. He said he will be there for him despite of everything that had happened between them because they had loved each other ever since and any challenge they face, as long as they are together, they can overcome.
The reading of letters continued for an hour. Each of the participants expresssed their acceptance and love. It was an overwhelming feeling, a miracle of love, I should say.
“Now, read that to your son, brother, nephew and partner all that you have read to all of us,” I said . “You have in your letter a great remedy to heal someone’s soul who is scared and embarrassed to tell all of you of who he is and who he has becaome because of HIV. Looking at your loved one and not HIV, accepting him or her as who he or she is the most important thing that you can share. Love and acceptance matter.
We all ended up hugging one another. We all became one family.
Outside, I hugged Dr. C. I walked away with a happy heart.
Sometimes, the question of what to do is answerable by love and acceptance. With HIV, what matters is looking at the person not the HIV. We all can look beyond. We all can surpass any challenge. All we need to do is to open our eyes and hearts, to love and accept..
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