Ang ganda mo, Lea

Zaldy picked me up early in the morning at the hotel and accompanied me to Candelaria to visit Mamang, my maternal grandmother.

Auntie Eying had prepared a meal of shrimp, fish, and rice. Zaldy and I had the fish and rice, but neither of us touched the shrimp. I'm allergic to shrimp and he claims it's high in cholesterol. I had mango for dessert (yummmmm) and Zaldy declined.

Then Auntie Eying and I headed off to the hospital. Mamang started getting faint around lunchtime. We thought that she just got too excited because I was arriving. I hadn't seen her since she left the US a couple of years ago.

When we got there, she had a line of dextrose attached to her right arm and another line from a tall tank of oxygen to her nose. I noticed how skinny she was, even through her loose clothes.

The hospital is rundown. The "private room" is empty except for the two hospital beds, a plastic cupboard, a small fan, and a metal rack. The window panes are broken, the bathroom is dirty with no bath tissue or soap, and ants are crawling all over the sink.

We sat and talked with her a bit. Her voice is as strong as usual and she's very lucid. She asked about my mom, and I told her that she's in Oregon with my youngest sister who's about to give birth. She remembered that I was purchasing a condo and I told her that was the reason I was here. I was trying to explain that I was trying to get my deposits back because they breached the contract and didn't accept my new offer.

Auntie Eying was going in and out of the building trying to get her cellphone to work. And when she came back in, Mamang told her in Ilocano to stay awake and watch her die. We laughed and joked that we'd be keeping watch for years.

At one point, I was sitting on the empty bed and Mamang was lying on her side facing me. Her eyes were barely open. I thought she was napping, but, out of the blue, she said, "Ang ganda mo, Lea." (You are beautiful, Lea.) Just like that. And suddenly I felt teary-eyed. I moved close to her bed and told her I had to lose weight and all that. I remember her saying that when I was a teenager and I had my hair pulled back. It took me by surprise then too.

The hospital doesn't serve food either. So Auntie Eying had sent Mamang's helper Marie to get her lunch. When Marie arrived, we sat Mamang up, but her chest pains became more severe, so I helped her lie back down.

Later, a very young Dr. Duque came in to take a look at Mamang, and he explained what was going on. Mamang is severely anemic and so her heart is working extra hard to pump enough blood through her body to deliver oxygen. That's causing the chest pains. He said that he'll be back on Monday afternoon with an shot of a formula that helps create red blood cells, but it takes two weeks to take effect. But at least we won't have to do transfusions all the time.

I had heard of that chemical before in business school, but I can't remember the name now. I just remember that it starts with an "e". It was used on race horses, and, illegally, by cyclists to boost their performance.

Meanwhile, Auntie Eying had sent someone to buy blood units from the Red Cross. They were out of blood units. They would have to be bought from a private hospital tomorrow. A nurse also gave us a prescription of nitroglycerin for her chest pains, and all the nearby pharmacies are out of it. Auntie Eying will be sending someone to Iba to get blood units and get the prescription filled.