Last Friday was just another bad day.
I woke up at around 4 am, waiting for my mom’s call to get up and get ready for the prayer meeting. But when she called, I knew exactly we would not be able to attend the prayer meeting.
I got a towel to cover my self and ran toward the nearest neighbor who owns a car. In my mind, I was praying that nothing will happen between my run until we finally reach the hospital. I was yelling at the doorstep of my neighbor, asking for help, pleading that they move a little bit faster so we can bring my pop to the nearest hospital.
Mom carried pop to the vehicle and off they went to the hospital. I changed my clothes, got my phones, a scarf, a wallet, our keys, and rode the bicycle to the village’s gate and hailed a jeepney. By the time I got to the hospital, the same procedure was being done—suctioning fluids from my father’s lungs, injecting dextrose and setting up the life ventilating system (respirator) and getting the oxygen tank ready.