April Fools’ Day

The first of April will no longer be an April Fools’ Day, for us, at least. I think there are no other blog titles that can suffice for what I will share this time; so be it.

I am also not sure if my readers (if any) have already found this blog. The previous domain has expired, and I haven’t announced in my socials that I have a new domain. I guess it’s safe to write our story here.

Yes, it was 7 months later. Am I okay? Have we moved on? No, we’re not okay. No, we haven’t moved on. I’m not even sure if I can finish this, but maybe starting to write about what happened will help with healing and moving forward.

Disclaimer: This is a long post. A very personal one. It’s not as detailed as it should be, as we were nine in the car, but just a glimpse of what happened focused on my husband and our son.

**Please don’t mind the grammatical errors and lack of subheadings. I’m sure this will be an emotional post, and I won’t edit it anymore.

…

“Mom, matulog ka muna,” said my husband. I don’t sleep on short trips; I try not to. But at that time, I obliged. It was a sunny afternoon, and the car’s air conditioning hypnotized me to sleep—deep sleep. He’s not the one driving, and he slept too.

The next thing I heard was people screaming. I heard my brother calling our older brother, letting him know we were in an accident. We were nine in the car. Everything’s blurry.

Then I saw our son on the car floor. His foot was sandwiched between the seats. I can’t remember if he’s crying, just calling me, “Mom, mom…” I pulled his foot out and saw that his leg bones were deformed but no bones broke through the skin, he was supporting it with his hands. Help came, and I handed him out to someone outside the car.

“Malala ‘to! Lagyan mo nang balot ang ulo,” said a bystander. I didn’t get what he said immediately, as I only saw my husband’s back. Someone gave me a shirt, and I wrapped it around the area they were telling me about. I still haven’t seen how serious the wound was.

An ambulance came, and they assisted me to go outside the car. When I got down, my eyes wandered, looking for our son. He was sitting in the gutter beside his injured cousin, holding his broken leg. When they finally pulled my husband out of the car and onto the stretcher, one by one, we hopped on the ambulance. My husband first, my mom (who was also wounded and disoriented), me, and then they handed our son over.

That was the longest trip I’ve made; it seems like forever.

I informed my siblings and closest friends about the accident while on the road. They didn’t believe me at first; who would believe me? It was April Fool’s Day, April 1, 2023! So, I took a photo of my husband and sent it to them.

While in the ambulance, my husband’s struggling and would like to stand up. He was disoriented. I think he didn’t realize the accident’s severity, as he was only complaining that his head hurt.

When we finally came to the hospital, we were immediately brought to the ER. My husband was in a different area, and I haven’t talked to him since. I was so focused on attending to our son while my whole body hurt. Our son was on the hospital bed, and I was in a wheelchair. My shaking hands were covered with blood, my feet and body were full of bruises, and I felt as if I’d been beaten all over.

But that didn’t matter; I was shocked and haven’t cried since. All I knew at that time was that I had to be strong—or look strong—in front of our son. I cannot break down, as he needs me.

Our son, who was so brave, became impatient as the doctor wasn’t in yet. He’s worried about me. He’s worried about his dad. He was aware of what happened but was confident that everything would be okay once the doctor came in. Looking at him, I can only think that I hope he recovers from it all. The broken leg. The trauma. Everything.

When the doctor came, he asked for the X-ray result and ordered our son to be transferred to the OR so he could put a cast on it. The doctor said that his lower leg bones were fractured obliquely, but they would heal themselves since he was only 6 years old; there was no need for major surgery.

While all this was happening, I hadn’t had the time to check on my husband. At that time, I thought it was only a wound on his head that could be sutured. I thought everything would be well.

Hours later, I was told that my husband had to be in the ICU. They showed me his open wound. And the CT scan shows all his facial bones were broken. I can’t remember what happened next or what my reaction was. It was too much to bear; my brain compartmentalized and focused on my son’s healing. I’d like to think that it was only a dream or an April Fools’ Day prank. But it’s not.

Everything went by so fast. Hours. Days. My son was discharged, and so were our other family members. I don’t know how I survived; my body ache was too much, but I am still so full of hope that everything will be well. With the exception of my husband, my sister and her husband (who were also hurt in the accident), and an aunt who’s helping us, everyone returned home.

I was informed that my husband’s skull injury had to be operated on to lessen the chance of infection in the brain. I signed. The day before the operation, his last words were, though mumbled, “I love you.” And that was the last thing I ever heard from him.

The day after, he went out of the OR, unresponsive.

Comatose…

GCS score was 3, which was the lowest, meaning he was not responsive at all.

I haven’t cried much in the last few days; I kept it all in. All emotions, all doubts—everything—I kept it all in. But at that moment, when his doctors said they could not continue with the operation because he went unresponsive in the OR, I lost it. All the tears and emotions that I kept inside exploded. His doctors, like 4-6 of them, and other staff were standing around me, trying to explain what happened. I sat down outside the operating room. Bawling. I was crying it all out, not minding those who were around me.

He’s not dead yet. I’m keeping my hopes up. As he always says, “Walang weak sa pamilyang ito!” We can still survive this.

I was notified that his GCS score had increased by 2 points. I’ll accept any sign of healing. I smiled a little.

But the next thing I knew, his neuro-specialist was letting me know that he was already brain-dead. There’s no chance of him recovering at all. Though we can keep him on life support, he will no longer wake up.

My world stopped.

She asked if I’d like for my husband to be revived if it comes to that time already, or just finish his medications and let him pass in peace. I chose the latter. Why will I let his body suffer more if he can no longer breathe on his own and is already brain-dead? I can’t let them inflict more injuries or bruises on his body anymore.

Lots of questions popped in. I’d like to blame someone. But who’s to blame? It was an accident. No one liked it that way.

Maybe it’s God’s plan. It is God’s plan. What else is there to believe in?

What will I say to our son? How will we ever make it in this world? Why him? Why not me? God, why?

Our previous conversations about him wanting to rest forever made sense.

Was he preparing me? Did he know that his days would be over?

How will we ever live without him?

Nine days after April Fools’ Day, I received the dreaded phone call…