Bungad's story

PINOY KASI
Bungad's story
By Michael Tan
Inquirer
Last updated 01:49am (Mla time) 07/21/2006

Published on Page A13 of the July 21, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

ACTUALLY, this is my friend GP's (also known as Jepoy) story.

The other day he called me, not knowing where to start. "Tiny! He was so very tiny...," he began.

"Wait, wait," I tried to calm him down, and eventually I was able to piece his story together. He had just helped to deliver a baby! Mind you, GP isn't a doctor, a nurse, a midwife, or a "barangay" [village] health worker. The sister of his landlord, Jean, happened to be visiting Manila when she went into labor and ... well, I'm jumping ahead of the story.

It's one of those amazing tales of the city, "city" here being Metro Manila, and I thought of sharing it to remind us of the bittersweet realities of life in our megapolis. For a change, I wondered: If babies could think and talk like adults, what story would baby Bungad tell? Read on.

Sensurround

Nanay [Mother] and I had come to Manila to visit her brother. A few days at most, she told me. It was a long trip from Pangasinan, but then I got to travel First Class, complete with a waterbed and sensurround -- in the womb we don't see too much but the other senses are just so amplified. Bump, bump we went on the road, alternating with Nanay's heartbeat, "ti-bok, ti-bok, ti-bok," and with mine, which went full-speed, "bok, bok, bok, bok."

I figured we'd gotten to Manila when the noise levels went into a wild crescendo. I could hear the names of towns and cities being hollered, bus horns blaring away, music and sounds claiming to be music. I could hear babies crying, too, and I wondered what was in store for me once I joined them in the world out there.

The trip to my Tito Jess was bumpy again-gosh, Manila's roads are worse than the ones we have in Pangasinan province. I could hear the strong rain pounding on the jeep and I felt Nanay's anxiety as she made her way around.

Back home, I'd eavesdrop on her conversations with friends, and quite often they'd talk about how much easier each pregnancy becomes. This was her sixth, so her friends figured it would be a breeze.

Ha! If they only knew. In the womb, I had learned to read what my Nanay's feelings were, from her heartbeat, from her breathing. I felt it all: happiness of all sizes and shapes, including the ones Tagalogs call "nakakataba ng puso" [heartwarming]. When she felt it, I did, too, from inside her. Sadness, too, came in different forms: the sadness that came from hurting was the most intense, but the ones that came with little anxieties worried me, too, in the way they nibbled away at Nanay's psyche, at her soul, and mine as well.

A soul? Yes, at some point in the pregnancy, we feel it too-some people call it "ensoulment." I call it being wanted: It's an overwhelming feeling, the moment when Nanay acknowledged I was around. It was unconditional, but I could hear her as she would, over the next few months, sigh and fret about new responsibilities. I didn't feel I was less wanted, but I knew that Nanay, as any good parent should, was worrying about what my future would be.

And so the months passed, as I learned to figure out the range of human emotions and feelings. Early on, I learned, too, about hunger, about waiting ... and waiting, Nanay's own hunger pangs becoming mine, too, her heart at times taking a curiously different rhythm which I would figure out only later.

Sure, there were tranquil moments. Most of the time, I'd just stay put, serenely synchronized with Nanay's movements. Life's that way. A stressed life in the uterus, the scientists say, actually determines your predisposition to health problems later in life because your brain is always on red alert, always in a state of emergency.

Arrival

I'll fast-forward my story back to our visit to the big city. I'll admit there was a certain appeal to its chaotic din. As the days wore on, I figured, hey, how long am I going to have to wait before I see that exciting world?

One night, I thought, oh, no, do I have to wait till we get back to Pangasinan to be born? I want out. I want to see Manila, now already. So I began to push, tentatively at first, and then with more determination, you know like the way they knock on doors except this was the cervix. And Nanay would reply with her heart: "tibok tibok, bok bok." I knew she was apprehensive, and it made me feel guilty, but hey, this is Manila. If I wait till I'm born in Pangasinan, it'll be years before I see the big city.

I could hear Nanay talking, to herself, maybe to me: "It's not time yet. Not now. We can't afford to go to a hospital here in Manila." She wanted to cry out but held back, not wanting to alarm Tito Jess and the others in the house.

The long night wore on and the new day found Nanay unable to hold back. I could sense people rushing about, trying to figure what to do. I could hear the name of a hospital mentioned several times and that it'd take only five minutes in a taxi to get there, but no one seemed to have any money, not even for a taxi.

I was feeling really guilty now. If I had a cell phone I'd have sent a text message to Nanay and told her it was OK, we could wait till we got back to Pangasinan. But it was too late now, the bag had broken, the world was waiting for me.

"Oh no," I thought as I moved out into the world, a hand grasping my head. I could hear him. It was Tito GP, asking for help, asking what to do next and then talking to me. "You're so small," he said. "You're like a Pepsi bottle."

Then suddenly, pak!

"Hoy, quit it," I wanted to tell him, "That happens only in the movies. Clean out my nose and all this muck and I'll cry for you."

Pak! "Hey, quit it!" I had to summon all the energy to cry out, in Sanggolese, "Announcing the arrival of Batang Quezon City!"

Thanks

Of course, they didn't understand me, but I could feel everyone sighing in relief. There was more commotion as they prepared to move Nanay and me to the health center. I was still connected to Nanay because no one wanted to cut the umbilical cord. I could hear Tito GP going: hey, the kid was born at the "bungad" [threshold], at the doorway, let's call him Bungad, baby Bungad.

I was too tired to protest, just thankful I'd made it, thankful that Nanay was fine. I was famished and as I reached out for breakfast, I suddenly understood why Nanay's heartbeat sometimes went "tibukbuk, tibukbuk." She had a huge goiter.

That's why I'm writing this story for the Inquirer. I get Mike Tan's honorarium for today's column so I can get some tests at the Philippine General Hospital.

If I'm OK, well, this is just to remind you that for each birth in this enchanted disenchanted kingdom that's the Philippines, there's much to be thankful for, considering the odds we face for survival. I know this is only the beginning. For now, I guess I should be grateful, knowing they were probably kidding about naming me Bungad.

And boy, am I glad I wasn't born in a taxi. How do you think GP got his name?