There was a KO, but not in Vegas

Guess who got knocked out instead of Pacquiao or Barrera. I woke up groggily Wednesday morning knowing I would surely miss the 11 a.m. flight to Manila and certainly the 10 p.m. one to Los Angeles, California where we were to board the American West plane leaving for Las Vegas after lunch. They would all surely leave me behind without compunction.

* * *

I had been looking forward to the trip for a déjà vu attendance at the sensational "Will to Win" Encounter between the celebrated Pinoy Manny Pacquiao and the vengeance-powered Marco Antonio Barrera. My packing was almost done, the pasalubongs for friends and relatives in both cities ready. But, God disposes, indeed. For sure no sensible airline would accept a long-flight passenger whose appendix had ruptured four days earlier but had stubbornly clung to denial, insisting it was only "butod," or gas pains. But ultrasound tests - two of them - betrayed me.

* * *

It was destined, I know. And my dear patron, San Lorenzo Ruiz, had something to do with it. It was on his feast Friday, Sept. 28, that I felt the twinges of pain in my tummy that grew progressively. At the STAR office by about 8 p.m., it had become unbearable, but I tried to convince my doctor (Renan Sanchez) that it could not be, nobody among my eight other siblings ever had appendicitis. He insisted on an ultrasound test which I ignored, until Monday morning when things got worse. Even then, I wouldn't accept the verdict, pleading with the doctors to just give me painkillers, I will fly back immediately after the fight and allow them to cut me up into as many pieces as they like.

* * *

The compromise was another test early Thursday morning, and this time they wouldn't let me leave the hospital anymore, and promptly scheduled the butchering. I was outvoted, and yielded gracefully (I think). Anyway, I had a very competent team of young, good-looking doctors who included my nephew Dr. Renan Sanchez and Dr. Alfonso Teorima as surgeons, Dr. Ramon Trocio Jr. as cardiologist, Dr. Wilfredo Banlaoi as anesthesiologist, Dr. Eugenio Fregillano, the much-trusted Dr. Leni Matti (ultrasound) and Dr. Mae Ann de Asis, who happens to be an obstetrician-gynecologist, but is also my niece.

* * *

Later they said it was miraculous the way I carried the rupture around for four days, even going to parties and to office till dawn. Oh, but they don't know San Lorenzo who must have interceded with the Good Lord and all my other favorite saints, to take care of this reckless character. Then, too, I was at the Our Lady of Mercy Specialty Hospital, which I had seen built and where my father had been hospitalized, sometimes for more than a month and we checked in and out for more than ten years. And, call me befuddled by anesthesia, but right after the cutting up, I dreamed that my father was sitting on the sofa at the foot of my bed, looking very young and handsome, and smiling broadly at me!

* * *

Despite the fact that I had sworn the STAR staff to keep my dirty secret, somehow word got around and I got calls and messages from friends and relatives from the U.S. and Canada and Manila. And some did come to the hospital, like Norma Regidor (now back in San Francisco), Dr. Luis and Letty Montero, Modi Sa-onoy, Ivy Visitacion and Dr. Ver Lacson, who had comforting horror stories about what happens to stubborn people with ruptures. But my surprise visitor and (may the others excuse me) and most appreciated, was Fr. Bernard Ybiernas, who announced at the door: "I never visit people in hospitals, but I have come to visit you!" and gave me his solemn blessings.

* * *

That must be another reason why I could watch the Pacquiao fight at the L'Fisher yesterday and make chica-chica with hosts Roseller and Ditas Ciocon and children, sister Delia Ciocon Granada, their aunt Nits Concha and other relatives later. I still need to apologize to my Australian friend Annette Jamison who was set to go to Las Vegas so we could meet, Elvie Ureta White who drove all the way from Montana to Las Vegas to "surprise" me, and dearest May Ann who changed her schedule to wait for me there. Well, it's no fault of poet Rudyard Kipling that I got derailed "On the Road to Mandalay."

* * *

Naughty Edouard Garcia texted me from Manila: Darling Ninfette, Wishing you the handsomest male nurse available!" I didn't tell him I had nice-looking docs with impeccable bedside manners, as he might decide to also have an appendectomy, with or without ruptures.*

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