The rebirth of a dad
MANILA, Philippines – Today, my father turns 135 days old. He started counting on his 62nd birthday, the day he was given his second life. The counting was inspired by a poignant story shared by National Kidney and Transplant Institute (NKTI) executive director Enrique Ona of one his transplant patients who continues to count the days since he had a kidney transplant. Dr. Ona smiled, “It’s funny, because whenever I see him, he would start our conversations with a number. His transplant was many years ago. I think he was counting over 4,000 days already. Last I heard, he was writing a book.”
During our consultations with Dr. Ona about my father’s kidney condition prior to his transplant, the astute doctor generously shared heartwarming tales of individuals overcoming physical and emotional adversity, selfless souls willing to donate to save the lives of their loved ones, and the beautiful stories of renewal and rekindled faith. “In my years at the NKTI and more, I’ve seen countless miracles happen. There are so many beautiful stories already, so many. And they’re all very heartwarming, very special.”
Of course, to me, none is more special than my own dad’s story. Because though it may not be as compelling or as melodramatic as others, it is our story.
All his life, Dad had always conveyed an image of being a strong and able father. So when he got sick, he didn’t take the news well.
My father has a long history of heart problems. He had a mild heart attack in the early ’90s, is diabetic, and worse, a victim of self-medication. A couple of years ago, he was rushed to the hospital when he became unconscious and fell. His kidney had started to fail and had to be dialyzed immediately. His creatinine shot up to 14 (the normal level is one). Since then, my dad has needed thrice-a-week dialysis.
One time, he went to the doctor complaining of sleep irregularity. When they saw his ECG, he was not allowed to return home. Apparently he was having a series of small attacks that he didn’t even feel. No difficulty of breathing, no tightening of the chest. Nothing. A series of tests showed five blocked arteries in his heart compounded to zero-functioning kidneys. He had to undergo a quintuple bypass.
He grew very depressed. I don’t know what goes on a man’s head when he contemplates his mortality. But I could feel his pain and disappointment as though he was blaming himself for what was happening. The last thing he wanted was for us — his grown kids — to see him frail and ill. He repeatedly told us, “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Bouts of depression. Fear. Denial. He had it all. His greatest struggle was amassing the courage to fight his illness. Throughout this time, he just wanted to give up. It was a very morbid and difficult time.
For the first time in my life, I saw my dad as a real person — with all his flaws and weaknesses — not just an image of this perfect man who has been my pillar of strength throughout my life. For the first time, I saw my dad cry. “Malalaki na kayo. Okay na mom nyo. Pwede na ako umalis,” he often said. I knew he was afraid but just couldn’t show it. I knew he wanted to live but was indulging in too much self-pity. I knew he wasn’t ready to go even if that’s all he talked about.
He refused to undergo the bypass, which was necessary before doing the transplant.
When we were in the hospital alone, a daughter asked her father: “Why do you want to die, Dad? Don’t you want to see my kids grow up? Isn’t that enough reason to want to live?” He sobbed, turned to me, and said, “I love you, anak. I will do it.” Yes, there is nothing my father wouldn’t do for me.
Dr. Antonio Sibulo, my father’s doctor and one the country’s best cardiologists at St. Luke’s Hospital, assured my dad that Dr. Rommel Carino was one of the best surgeons in the country. As the operating room team arrived, Dad clenched my hand as my brother kissed his forehead. He summoned Mom and hugged her. There were no words.
And no words were spoken for the next four hours as we waited on Dad’s surgery.
Dr. Carino called, and reported that everything went well. Dad woke up half an hour after the bypass, and was already doodling three hours later. His recovery couldn’t have been better. Days later, Dr. Sibulo okayed his release and was very positive about Dad’s full recovery and rehabilitation.
But Dad went home with a heavy heart. He still had to undergo dialysis thrice a week. He tells us it’s one of the most depressing places because you imbibe all the problems you hear: people who can’t find a kidney, can’t afford dialysis, can’t live a normal life because they’re strapped into a machine three times a week, four hours a day.
In his own words, Dad felt useless. He had no life.
My dad had three options for a kidney transplant: my brother, me, or a brain-dead donor. My brother has a medical condition, so he’s out. I was healthy and willing but my dad violently refused. The only other option was a donor.
As a family, we troubled over this for the longest time. Just how do you begin to find a kidney?
My best friend Pinky Tobiano was instrumental in delivering our miracle. During a family gathering, she had a long talk with my dad. After all, battling a life-threatening disease is something she’s been through, as a cancer survivor. Anyone who knows Pinky knows she is one of the most generous persons in the world. “Tito, what do you want, I’ll buy you na lang a gift so you won’t be sad.” My dad smiled, “I don’t want anything Pinky. I just want a kidney.” For the first time since this entire ordeal, I saw hope in my dad’s eyes, and genuine enthusiasm for life.
That’s how Pinky brought Dr. Ona into our lives.
Aside from being the executive director of NKTI, Dr. Ona is highly respected and one of the pioneers of kidney transplant surgery in the Philippines. And NKTI is the best hospital I have seen for the technology, facilities and quality of service.
Through Dr. Ona, we were led to the Human Organ Preservation Effort (HOPE) by Dr. Reynaldo Lesaca where Karen Pilar generously assisted us. Let’s be honest: your first thought is, how do we get ahead on the waiting list? This is the Philippines, after all. We wanted a kidney, and wanted it ASAP. Of course, it doesn’t work that way.
Dr. Ona asked politely: “What makes a person a priority case over another? How do you level the field?” He went on to discuss kidney ethics, kidney care and transplant awareness, and the total ban on foreigners becoming organ donation recipients.
He also emphasized how kidney transplant awareness needs to be strengthened through more vocal advocates. I think AIDS is a terrible thing, but how many people in the Philippines actually die of AIDS versus how many people die of renal failure?
Later, I promised God, if my dad received a kidney by some miracle, I would tell his story and keep true to my promise to do my part in raising awareness on renal failure.
A day before my dad’s birthday, my mother received a call from HOPE at 4 p.m.: “You may have a kidney.” They said they were just running tests to check if my dad was a match. At 7 p.m., there were four candidates left. At 8 p.m., they told Mom to bring Dad to the hospital. At 10 p.m., Dr. Cecille Manalo and Dr. Ona’s team had checked on my dad. He entered surgery before lunch of his birthday, and in about two hours, Dr. Ona called to tell us that the operation had gone well.
By the time we were allowed in the ICU, singing “Happy Birthday” together with the NKTI nurses and staff, my dad had one thing to say when our eyes met: “Anak, I am so happy.” He looked at my mom and smiled, “Thank you.”
These days, my father’s a new man. A happier man, and definitely a better father in more ways than he can imagine, because he’s more honest, less reclusive and emanates a much more positive vibe. His physical healing paved the way for his emotional healing.
He awakes every morning thankful for another day. He ticks off another box in his calendar and laughs, “Anak, tomorrow, it’ll be 136.”
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June is National Kidney Month. For more information on the National Kidney Month activities, visit http://www.nkti.gov.ph.
