While I was rummaging through my office stuff as preparation for our transfer to a lower floor, I saw an old photo. It was a picture of me, Marie, Cita and Jane taken on the eve of Jane’s brain surgery in 2003. It brought back sad memories of a dear friend who had already departed.
A note made by Jane at the back of the photo said:
“Nyt before d operation (14 May 2003) w/ my officem8ts…and
“Kirk”...my favorite stuff toy…”
In the photo: Marie, Jane, me, Cita
Jane was diagnosed of brain tumor in April 2003, though the doctors determined it was benign. I could still remember Jane being so brave about it all. I was telling her of my own experience when I was myself operated back in 2000 for meningioma. I kept telling her to be strong and everything’s gonna be alright the next day, as it was for me.
Her operation was successful. However, as consequence of the tumor that beleaguered her brain, she would have to learn to live a life with severe headaches and seizures. Jane had to regularly take medications to prevent her from having seizures. Just missing one piece of that medicine would mean definite seizure for her. Our common friends have seen her bouts of seizures and they would cry over her during those moments. I haven’t seen her on any of her seizures, but I guess I would have panicked as well.
Last year, Jane’s brother died due to a kidney failure. Jane called me the night her brother died and she was crying. All I could do was utter words of comfort but I know I couldn’t take away the pain she and her family are experiencing. Her brother’s death made Jane realize even more how vulnerable she is herself of her own illness. She was afraid to know the truth that’s why she refused to have her regular checkups with the doctor.
By the time she had to see the doctor because of unbearable headaches, it was when she knew the tumor grew back. I think it grew double than it was the first time. She felt so sad about it. She didn’t even want to tell her parents about it. But her parents noticed her failing health and her frequent headaches.
One day she told me that she had to take an MRI for a further check but she had no budget for it. I told her that as a regular employee of her company, she can’t admit herself in the hospital so that her company’s health insurance will cover her MRI exam. After that I haven’t heard of her. It turned out that she went home in Bataan and eventually she had herself confined to the hospital when one time she refused to wake up. Her mom recounted to me that she was trying to wake Jane up but she wouldn’t. Her tumor had affected her brain to the point that it was already swollen, resulting in her comatose-like condition.
We visited Jane in hospital sometime early this year. It was one of her countless admission to the hospital. She was in the ICU of a Bataan hospital. I could not recognize Jane as her face and body were swollen from the medications administered to her. She also had a lot of rashes as a result also of her medicines. It was an entirely different Jane. We had to take turns to try to talk to her. When one of our friends was whispering to her ear and told her that we were all there to see her, her tears were falling even if her eyes were closed. She was in such in a desolate state.
The first of May I received a phone call from Jane’s mom. I was nervous as I thought I knew what it was about. She was sobbing while telling me the news: Jane has died. It was really heartbreaking.
I could not imagine that she’s really gone. I have lost a dear friend. We had shared so many ups and downs in our lives. I think there was no day I haven’t thought of her since she died. Everytime I pass by Max Brenner in Greenbelt, I would remember the dinners we’ve shared over happy and sad stories. Just even seeing the Greenbelt façade brings back memories of our short but meaningful friendship. It feels like she’s still alive, only we’re not seeing each other.
But at least, she’s no longer suffering.
