Bitter Medicine

"Though bitter, good medicine cures illness. Though it may hurt, loyal criticism will have beneficial effects." —Matthew Prior on Medicine

When I was little, my mother loved sewing our clothes in the manual singer sewing machine that my grandmother gave her. Though a "colegiala" and a distinguished high school principal, she was lacking in the imagination department. (peace, Mommy!) She just sew plain shorts and sundress that's easy to make; or maybe because she was so busy too in her profession that she had to sew in whatever time she can spare to do them, thereby choosing the simplest patterns. (Whew!)


I remember the sundress she sewed for me, it was not that pretty, but it was comfortable. That was the dress I was wearing the night I had that bloody encounter with my cousin Rosalie. While we were waiting for the block rosary to start, we were playing a game called GABI'T ARAW or "night and day". The mechanics of the game focused on the position of the slipper or shoes as it lands on the ground after throwing it in the air. The top was the day and the sole was the night. Divided into the night and day groups, you chase your opponent or the opponent chase you, depending on whether the shoes was in the day or night position.


I was in the day group while Rosalie or Osang, as we fondly call her, was in the night group. The shoes landed upside down, so we had to chase those belonging in the night group. But Osang thought it was the other way around so instead of running away, she chose to chase me instead, which brought a head-on collision. I remembered how my head hurt after that and when I tried to touch it, I felt something wet. Then I wiped it with my sundress, and I saw blood. There were lots and lots of it so I yelled, "Tita Nerre, dugo (blood)!"


They had to bring me to my godmother, Ninang Tita, a midwife, so she can take care of the cut. I was so afraid of my mom for she might spank me, that while my Ninang Tita was stitching my eyebrows without anaesthesia, I did not cry one bit.


I remember my mom crying after seeing me. I thought she cried for 2 reasons: 1, that I had to have a scar in my eyebrows, and 2, our budget that time did not include provision for medicines. We did not have insurance in the Philippines.  Doctor visits, medicine and hospitalization were payable when due.


I cannot forget the medicine I had to take. It was Sumapen, a bottled pink powder that has to be diluted in water. I can still remember how bad it tasted; so bad, that mommy had to chase me all over just so that I will take it.


The next time I saw Osang, I looked at her head. She had nothing on it, no bruise or bump to show she was hurt by our collision. I remember teasing her how hard her head must be, for mine had to have stitches and she had nothing, real nothing in her head!


Several months later, I was eyeing the fruit of the siniguelas tree in our front yard. They are ready and ripe. But the tree had no branches to climb on. So I got a long bamboo stick to use; still, it won't reach. Then I had an idea. I started throwing the stick upwards aiming at the fruits. At first, I did it right. Then later on I got careless that I forgot to move away, and the bamboo stick landed right in my nose, I was lucky it missed my eyes.


I had to be treated again at the clinic, and they put bandage on the bridge of my nose which they have to secure with plaster forming an X in my face. I cannot forget my cousin and neighbor Gary's reaction when he first saw me with the bandage. He called me "Lastik Man". Mom was mad at me again, for she had to chase me anew so I will be able  to take my medicine. Yes, it was the same pink-colored, foul tasting Sumapen. Just my luck.

Until now, I still don't like taking medicines. They always are my last resort. 

The art of medicine consists of amusing the patient while nature cures the disease-Voltaire