After witnessing what happened to me last April 4 and learning that I have MVP (mitral valve prolapse), our office’s Regional Manager, Sir RGQ, offered financial help and decided that I should be immediately sent to a certain hospital in Cebu City to see a cardiologist. He recommended one, his wife’s cardiologist who used to have MVP, too. I could tell he was concerned of my condition and I appreciated it much. Really.
When I had my check-up, my doctor indeed referred me to a cardiologist, hence I told her about my boss’ plan.
I had my first glimpse of a real urban place last Thursday- fast life, fast cars, wide highways and flyovers, towering buildings. Tacloban, the city where I work at is very much different to Cebu. I still love my quiet hometown.
On Friday morning, along with my mom I went to the said hospital. Unfortunately, the doctor whom my boss recommended was out of the country. But then, another cardiologist for the meantime took her place. He told me that those attacks that were happening to me were called hyperventilation syndrome. A condition in which you tend to breath too fast thus resulting to excessive oxygen intake. It’s not life-threatening. The attacks can only last for a short period of time. There are no medications, just my confidence that I can overcome whatever may happen to me. Yet still, a big question lingers on mind. How can I able to live a normal life if these attacks continue to happen? I was a bit frustrated, but then again, what can I do? I should be thankful instead that I still live.
Later in the afternoon, my mom and I went to see an aunt (who’s also my godmother) together with his son. She treated us to this Italian restaurant called Sbarro. But something I dreaded happened to me while we were there. The veins in my forehead were moving wobblingly again. I suddenly had palpitations. My whole body was shaking and was numb and stiff. I couldn’t breath. It was a very nasty feeling. The next thing I knew, a man I didn’t recognize was holding my hand. I suddenly realized he was there to rescue me. I heard him saying he was an EMT. He was doing something so that I could be able to talk. I was opening my mouth and exerting effort to talk but nothing would come out. He really handled the situation very well like a pro. A paper bag was passed and he told me to breath through it. Inhale..exhale.. he gently guided me. We repeated the process until I started to feel better. While massaging my hands, he told me to squeeze his hand, too. I was able to, and there he knew I was already doing well. He asked for my name again, and this time I was able to utter it. I saw him point a finger upwards and asked, “How many fingers am I holding up?” I answered,”One.” We both chuckled. He said he’d only leave if I assured him that I was okay. I told him I was. He gave me a high-five and left with a calling card and told us to call him if we needed his help.
Again, I am indebted to my boss and to all, most especially to God. And to that certain Mr. Reynaldo D. Abad, the EMT who rescued me, I really never had the chance to thank him. I hope I can thank him someday.
my cacophonies... 