They say the body keeps the score.
And mine had been silently tallying the weight of every uncried tear, every skipped meal, every sleepless night soaked in survival.
I was living alone in Manila, in a cramped apartment near Ayala. The walls were pale and the ceiling fan made too much noise. But it was mine. No curfews. No judgment. No mother breathing down my neck.
Just work—and promotion after promotion.
Manager. Senior. Regional.
It was all I had. All I let myself have.
I stopped cooking. It felt like a waste of time. I didn't even own a rice cooker. Why would I, when a pack of chips and a can of soda could keep me functioning long enough to finish another report, close another deal, win another client?
Every day blurred into the next.
Breakfast? Cola.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7WBB5pZSG6
Lunch? Chicharon and Mentos.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ2hFz57gxb
Dinner? Skyflakes if I remembered.
Some people self-harm with razors. I used overwork and neglect.
And then, one day, my body gave up.
Collapse.
It happened in the middle of a client call. My laptop screen started swimming. My hands were trembling, and my chest felt tight.
I thought it was panic.
Until I stood up—and everything went black.
Makati Medical Center. White walls. IV drips. Cold sheets.
I woke up to the beeping of machines and the soreness of reality catching up.
The doctor told me it wasn't just exhaustion.
I had developed Chronic Kidney Disease. CKD.
Stage 4.
"Ma'am, you need dialysis."
I blinked at the ceiling and tried to remember the last time I drank water.
No one came.
I hadn't told anyone. Not even EJ. Not my mother. Not Isabel. Not my father. Certainly not Christian, Jeth, or Dominic.
Because I already knew what they'd say:
"Kaya mo 'yan."16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZK0nkldHkZ
"Bakit hindi ka nag-ingat?"16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpTWrRnrCR7
"You did this to yourself."
And they would've been right.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrxygWOnazE
But also wrong.
Because I didn't do this to myself out of laziness or defiance.
I did it because I didn't know how to slow down.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUmsbQBBVty
Because I'd been wired since Grade 4 to believe that if I stopped running, I'd become nothing.
Enter: Tedd.
He walked in with calm hands and tired eyes.
A nurse. Not young, not old. Just... steady.
"Hi, Ma'am Jaimie. I'm Emerick. But everyone here calls me Tedd."
He took my vitals. Asked me how I felt.
I said, "Like I've been hit by a truck."
He smiled. "That's the dialysis starting to work."
I wanted to cry but I didn't. I didn't know how anymore.
Later that night, when I vomited all over myself mid-session—it was Tedd who came in.
Not a tech. Not a janitor. Him.
He didn't flinch. Didn't sigh. Didn't wrinkle his nose in disgust.
He just rolled up his sleeves, wiped my mouth, changed my gown, washed my arms like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, humiliated.
He looked at me—not pitiful, just human.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyxv24dqgO9
"Ma'am, you don't need to apologize for being sick. You're not the first. You won't be the last. But I'll be here for this one."
And he was.
Every session.
He checked in. He sat beside me during the longest hours. He adjusted my blanket when I was shivering. He turned off the lights when I said the hospital was too bright.
Not once did he ask where my family was.
Because he already knew.
I used to think sickness was the end of strength.
But that year, lying in a hospital bed with half my life strapped to a machine, I learned something else:
Sometimes it's okay to let someone carry you when you're too tired to stand.
And sometimes, the people who stay...16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKbCKHTdakb
are the ones who didn't know you before the breaking,16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡklYBrp69bZ
but love you better because of it.
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxocVnml3gB
