I'm Catholic. But not a very devout one. I used to be when I was younger. How could I not be? The Philippines is a Catholic country. My family is Catholic. I attended exclusive Catholic schools from nursery onwards. A good majority of my friends are Catholic. There is no escaping Catholicism when you're born in this country. Over the years however, I've become a lazy Catholic. Don't get me wrong, I've never stopped believing in God - in all three forms of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I believe very much in Mama Mary and in Sto. Nino (I daresay all Cebuanos do). I believe there are saints and that we all have souls. I always pray each night before going to bed. I admit to occasionally falling asleep before finishing my prayers and maybe even altogether missing my prayers on some nights but my point is I'VE NEVER STOPPED BELIEVING IN GOD! What I have become however is a lazy "church-goer". I can't remember too the last time I went to confession. Yes i'm guilty of being remiss in my Catholic obligations. I've sort of just settled to my bedtime prayers as my way of communing with God....until diabetes struck my little boy.
When i heard the endocrinologist say there is no cure for type 1 diabetes and that it's a condition my 23-month old son has to contend with for the rest of his life, my instantaneous response was, "F**k you! I want another doctor!" These words stayed inside my head though. It wouldn't have been fair to say it out loud to the nice doctor. It's not her fault Noah has diabetes after all. And with the shortage of pediatric-endocrinologists here, i couldn't risk pissing off the best of them. Besides, no words would’ve come out even if i tried. I was literally speechless with shock.
So while holding down Noah in the emergency room bed so that the people who couldn't make his illness go away could stick him with needles and hook him to machines and draw blood from his little arms again and again and again for all sort of tests that (again) would not lead to a doctor's prescription that would make him well but simply confirm that he is indeed unwell, I, the lazy Catholic was quick to remember my God. Shame on me to run to Him so quickly now that Noah's in trouble. But when science has no answer, who does one turn to but God?!
It’s been many months since that night my husband and I rushed Noah to the emergency room. And I have prayed to God in so many different ways - almost like experimenting which kind would work. Strange. How a desperate woman, a desperate mother tries to deal relentlessly with a God whom for a single moment I truly hated when I felt He had turned a deaf ear towards my plea - a single plea really: Please heal my son.
My prayers started out as cries for help: Dear God, please heal my son. That became a mantra in the emergency room and the whole week we stayed at the hospital - from the Intensive Care Unit and then to the regular room when Noah’s “sugar” (Capillary Blood Glucose or CBG level), as we simply refer to it now at home, had stabilized. When we had checked out of the hospital and returned home with Noah still a diabetic, it dawned on me I must have done something terrible to merit this punishment inflicted on my son. So I changed my prayers to, Dear God, I’m sorry for all my sins. I’m sorry for no longer attending Sunday masses and other holy days of obligation. I’m sorry I haven’t heard confession in years. I’m sorry for whatever it is I did that truly pissed you off! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. This pleading for forgiveness so Noah would get well did not last very long either. It didn’t take very long for me to return to my senses. God is not a punishing God. That much I believe in. And even if he were, he would never use an innocent soul to make a tarnished one like mine suffer for my sins. So, I resorted to bargaining. Dear God, take away all my fucking hair (I had developed alopecia just a month into my second pregnancy and just two months before Noah was diagnosed). I know I’ve been bugging you for months now to put a stop to my hair falling out but I take that all back now. You can kill every fucking hair follicle in my body, just take away Noah’s diabetes. MAKE HIM WELL AGAIN! At this point, I was truly truly consumed with anger. I honestly considered offering my soul to the devil, if only i believed in the devil. But I didn’t. And I still don’t. Well, God didn’t take away all my hair either. He took a lot of it, that much I can say. But not all. I just decided to shave the rest of my hair off to bring home a point. I can live without my hair (I didn’t think so before Noah got sick) but I don’t think I can live and stay sane knowing what my son has to deal with for the rest of his life. My husband and I then brought Noah to healing masses. At this point, I was already beyond desperate. I really just wanted to try out anything to make God listen to me. With every mass, I hoped for a miracle but at the same time I feared disappointment. And obviously, every healing mass ended in disappointment. But NOT QUITE.
You see, over these difficult months and over the many prayers stated in so many different ways, I have finally come to see that I have always had that miracle staring me at the face every single day: Noah. Through his daily ordeals, my little boy has stayed happy. He has stayed playful and fun. And he has been very brave. He doesn’t mind “prick time”. It didn’t take him very long to get used to his daily multiple insulin shots. And at two and a half years he has learned to set up his own “kikay” kit (that’s what we call his diabetic paraphernalia) himself. Lately, he has begun to push the insulin pen dial when it’s time for his shots. And he’s now showing signs of being able to recognize a hypoglycemia (“sugar” levels going too low when he doesn’t eat enough after his insulin shots) when it’s starting to happen, “Mama, prick time. Noah cold” That’s what he tells me when he feels “low” while touching the back of his neck to let me feel he’s starting to get cold sweats. Or he simply says, “Mama, milk!”, and lies down on the bed waiting patiently for me to get him his milk. When this happens, I want to shoot myself in the head for not anticipating and therefore preventing the hypoglycemic episode, for miscalculating his carb consumption and not correctly predicting the time for his next meal or snack. But my point is, Noah is coping! and coping faster and sooner than I had expected. He’s coping better than my husband and I are coping. Most of all, he’s alive. And he’s healthy. I cannot ask for anything more.
And so these days, when I pray, I pray for FAITH. Faith can move mountains, they say. And I believe it does. I believe FAITH will make Noah tame his diabetes. He will eventually beat it. I believe God will grant Noah a miracle - if not the miracle of healing, then the miracle of living a full life in spite of his condition. I will never understand why Noah got diabetes. And I no longer struggle to. All I ask from Him is Faith: Faith that EVERYTHING will be alright.
When i heard the endocrinologist say there is no cure for type 1 diabetes and that it's a condition my 23-month old son has to contend with for the rest of his life, my instantaneous response was, "F**k you! I want another doctor!" These words stayed inside my head though. It wouldn't have been fair to say it out loud to the nice doctor. It's not her fault Noah has diabetes after all. And with the shortage of pediatric-endocrinologists here, i couldn't risk pissing off the best of them. Besides, no words would’ve come out even if i tried. I was literally speechless with shock.
So while holding down Noah in the emergency room bed so that the people who couldn't make his illness go away could stick him with needles and hook him to machines and draw blood from his little arms again and again and again for all sort of tests that (again) would not lead to a doctor's prescription that would make him well but simply confirm that he is indeed unwell, I, the lazy Catholic was quick to remember my God. Shame on me to run to Him so quickly now that Noah's in trouble. But when science has no answer, who does one turn to but God?!
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| Noah in the ICU |
It’s been many months since that night my husband and I rushed Noah to the emergency room. And I have prayed to God in so many different ways - almost like experimenting which kind would work. Strange. How a desperate woman, a desperate mother tries to deal relentlessly with a God whom for a single moment I truly hated when I felt He had turned a deaf ear towards my plea - a single plea really: Please heal my son.
My prayers started out as cries for help: Dear God, please heal my son. That became a mantra in the emergency room and the whole week we stayed at the hospital - from the Intensive Care Unit and then to the regular room when Noah’s “sugar” (Capillary Blood Glucose or CBG level), as we simply refer to it now at home, had stabilized. When we had checked out of the hospital and returned home with Noah still a diabetic, it dawned on me I must have done something terrible to merit this punishment inflicted on my son. So I changed my prayers to, Dear God, I’m sorry for all my sins. I’m sorry for no longer attending Sunday masses and other holy days of obligation. I’m sorry I haven’t heard confession in years. I’m sorry for whatever it is I did that truly pissed you off! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. This pleading for forgiveness so Noah would get well did not last very long either. It didn’t take very long for me to return to my senses. God is not a punishing God. That much I believe in. And even if he were, he would never use an innocent soul to make a tarnished one like mine suffer for my sins. So, I resorted to bargaining. Dear God, take away all my fucking hair (I had developed alopecia just a month into my second pregnancy and just two months before Noah was diagnosed). I know I’ve been bugging you for months now to put a stop to my hair falling out but I take that all back now. You can kill every fucking hair follicle in my body, just take away Noah’s diabetes. MAKE HIM WELL AGAIN! At this point, I was truly truly consumed with anger. I honestly considered offering my soul to the devil, if only i believed in the devil. But I didn’t. And I still don’t. Well, God didn’t take away all my hair either. He took a lot of it, that much I can say. But not all. I just decided to shave the rest of my hair off to bring home a point. I can live without my hair (I didn’t think so before Noah got sick) but I don’t think I can live and stay sane knowing what my son has to deal with for the rest of his life. My husband and I then brought Noah to healing masses. At this point, I was already beyond desperate. I really just wanted to try out anything to make God listen to me. With every mass, I hoped for a miracle but at the same time I feared disappointment. And obviously, every healing mass ended in disappointment. But NOT QUITE.
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| The Bald and the Beautiful |
And so these days, when I pray, I pray for FAITH. Faith can move mountains, they say. And I believe it does. I believe FAITH will make Noah tame his diabetes. He will eventually beat it. I believe God will grant Noah a miracle - if not the miracle of healing, then the miracle of living a full life in spite of his condition. I will never understand why Noah got diabetes. And I no longer struggle to. All I ask from Him is Faith: Faith that EVERYTHING will be alright.
And now I can see, everything is beginning to be.
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