On the evening of December 30, 2010, I found myself listening intently to the news about a mother and son from Quezon province who sought revelry and gifts but ended up with misery and pain.
Every year, many less privileged Filipinos come to Metro Manila during the Christmas holidays hoping to join the feast and plenty and per chance return to the province with just a little more than they came with.
This practice of “Pamamasko” or soliciting gifts or cash from generous relatives in the City has been in practice for decades, but on this particular Christmas, five-year-old Justin lost more than he hoped to gain.
While visiting relatives in Novaliches, Justin enjoyed everything he could not have in the province. He had just finished lunch with his relatives and decided to check out all the firecracker explosions outside. It was too much temptation considering there were barely any fireworks where he lived. His parents were poor and to top it off, his father had epileptic seizures.
So there he was enjoying the fireworks from a distance. He was just an innocent bystander, too young to participate. Sadly, tragedy often always picks out the innocent. An exploding firecracker propelled a small piece of foreign object towards Justin, hitting him in the left eye. The debris or shrapnel cut across the lens of his eyes.
He eventually landed in the East Avenue Medical Center in Quezon City and that was where Sol Aragones of Channel 2’s TV Patrol picked up the story. As it turned out, Justin and his mother had been in the hospital for several days, barely able to feed themselves, much less buy the necessary medicines or the P10,000 plus to cover the eye surgery.
Much later that evening I found myself drawn by an irresistible force to bring as much food as I could for Justin and some cash. Somehow it simply seemed to be the right thing to do considering all the food, the gifts and the goodwill I received during the Christmas season.
So there I was at East Avenue Medical Center, a hospital that brought back a few memories, most of them unpleasant. The last time I visited the place was a trip to the morgue to accompany a family friend whose son committed suicide.
Last I heard the hospital management was bravely trying to rebuild and regain what used to be a reputation as a decent middle class hospital. On that evening, not only did I meet Justin, I also had an “experience”.
Upon entering the hospital, the struggle to rebuild its stature was evident. Security guards ran a tight watch and limited who could enter the building and for what purpose. It almost looked like a scene from the NAIA.
The lobby was simple but clean. The place had the feel of an emerging provincial hospital and as I found my way to the elevator, I was surprised to find that there was actually an elevator operator on duty.
Once I got to the sixth floor where Justin was located, I immediately knew that this was the “poor people’s” ward. The beds had no linens, on this cold December night, there were no real blankets and the rooms reminded me more of the morgue than a place of comfort and healing.
No I don’t blame the hospital or the government for these conditions, I’ve long accepted that they only make do with what they have.
I eventually found Justin and his mother, we spoke briefly then I gave them the bag of goodies and the cash. As I left I intentionally studied the floor, the rooms, the nurses station and then headed for the elevator.
That’s when I learned that in order to use the elevator you had to knock or rap the door for several minutes, so I took the stairs. That’s where I discovered the better side of the hospital, presumably the pay wards. Apparently there has not been enough money to fix the entire hospital.
In fact you had to walk about a hundred meters all the way behind the hospital just to take a leak.
That visit stayed with me all through the New Year, up to now.
I often meet people, companies, or organizations in search of a “good thing” to do. People trying to find the meaning of life, companies seeking a CSR or corporate social responsibility project. So many people talk about building homes, planting trees or doing medical missions.
Perhaps, if you happen to be one of those people “in search of…” you might want to consider working with government hospitals and clinics that are in bad need of equipment or as simple as repainting.
Imagine how much warmer and kinder Justin’s ward would have been if it had been painted by kids his age? Imagine how much safer they would have felt if he stayed in a room for children instead of sharing it with adults with every imaginable disease?
I think that poverty is not about money. Rather it is about some people having so many unused or useless things, needed by people who have no choice and nothing to use.
Instead of just reading this article, I challenge you to actually do something about it. Do an inventory of the things you don’t need or have too much of. Sell them or give them away and then use the proceeds to brighten up a room or someone’s life. With a few friends, a few retirees, or just enough caring people, you could paint “A Canvas of Compassion”. God bless you for doing something about it.
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