Dogbert’s Whip

Growing up, I was always teased that I was adopted. I didn’t look like either my mom or dad, and at that time, my four other brothers had fairer complexions that contrast starkly with my moreno skin. To top it all, I was the only one in the family with chinky eyes. Until now, people would always ask if I am Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. I’d always tell people that I’m Viet-Cong; that a mysterious Viet-Cong hag left me in my parents’ doorstep in a basket a quarter of a century ago.

I’ve always envied my older brother Donny and younger brother Paul for their large expressive eyes that exuded a dark amber hue – an obvious hereditary inheritance from my mom. Even in school, my teachers would act as if they received the biggest shock of their lives when they learn about my siblings. “Magkapatid pala kayo?” they ask in a disbelieving tone.

Some of my relatives would convince themselves that I kind of looked like my dad, but their bubbles are quickly burst when they see my dad’s mirror image in my younger brother Alain. Andrei, the youngest boy in our brood, is also out of the question since he’s a cross between my parents with his large eyes and muscular legs (You should see my dad’s legs – they’re huge!).

It wasn’t until the birth of Danielle, the only girl in the family, in 1993 that I was finally convinced that I’m not the son of a Viet-Cong witch. See, Dane shares my chinky eyes and brown complexion. Apart from her eyes and skin color, however, Dane looks very much like my mom. It’s hilarious how my sister cries when she was a lot younger whenever my relatives tease her that she looks just like me.

As fate would have it, Dane and I are the only siblings in my family who inherited the dreaded “Aquino curse.” The Aquino curse for me is the hereditary skin ailment eczema. Every family in my father’s side would have a cousin who suffers from this ailment. Although eczema is not contagious, it nevertheless leaves its victims with scaly dry, itchy skin that can sometimes become raw and bleeding. I contended with eczema for two whole years in high school while convincing my peers that it won’t harm them. With aggressive steroid treatments, I recovered from it, although I still get outbreaks whenever I’m in contact with laundry detergents.

Being the science geek that I am, my bout with eczema led me to investigate my family tree in hopes of uncovering more dreaded ailments that may afflict me. After talking to oldies in my clan, I learned that my father’s side, the Aquino family, is originally from San Fernando, Pampanga. I was a bit disappointed since I was hoping to be related to Ninoy the famous hero. That would be way too cool if only Kris is not part of the equation. The carnivorous Aquinos, I soon learned, have suffered from various ailments that include hypertension, diabetes, stroke, and cardio-pulmonary diseases. With that, whenever an Aquino copulates with another, he sends his faulty genes to his offspring that would regrettably make the latter genetically predisposed to suffer ailments that have afflicted the former.

My mother’s side, the Paras family, has little knowledge about their lineage. All they know is that they’ve worked as farmers in Pampanga since time immemorial. And it showed. While most of the people in my dad’s side are borderline obese, most guys in my mom’s side are lean and broad boned. Looking at my own expanding waistline and thinking of my carnivorous ways, I’m almost always certain now that most of what I’ve inherited came from the Aquino side. Bummer.

Things turned to a skidding worse for me three years ago. At that time, I underwent a routine physical check-up for my employment as a Summer Intern for the company that I work for now. It was nothing fancy – just the usual blood tests, urine and stool samples, and the electrocardiogram (ECG) – and I was sure that being in my early 20’s, I would inevitably receive a pink slip for good health.

When the results came in about a week after my medical check up, the office nurse informed me that I was pretty much okay except for an unusual finding in my ECG. Apparently, there were abnormal beat patterns registered by my heart. Leafing through my medical history, it was evident that heart disease, hypertension, and diabetes were traced to various clan members. When I argued that I didn’t feel anything abnormal with my heart, the office nurse explained that it could be faulty voltage. But since the medical history of my kin is shady and since the company has a strong commitment to the health and welfare of all its employees (Summer Interns included), chances were not going to be taken. With that, she gave me a referral to the Heart Room of Makati Med for a 2D Sonar imaging of my blood-pumping muscle.

While waiting for my turn in the Heart Room, I witnessed people who were captives of their heart diseases and ailments. Most of them, young or old, looked emaciated and ashen-faced. Some were even wheel chaired into the Heart Room, and when their loved ones assisted them to stand, it was as if they ran a marathon already. Surrounded with so much misery, I couldn’t believe that I was spending time inside that lab. There I was, an otherwise healthy young man who spends a great deal of time climbing mountains and hiking for hours. In my Field Geology classes, I was almost always the first person to reach the summit of a hill. I had such a great enthusiasm for life and the outdoors, and the thought of me having a heart condition was simply far fetched.

Days after my ordeal in the Heart Room of Makati Med, I was sitting inside the office of my cardiologist, eager to learn about the results of the 2D Sonar. When I thought that everything was all right, the cardiologist mumbled three words that until now, sound alien to me.

“You have a condition known as mitral valve prolapse (MVP),” the doctor informed me calmly.

“Mistral volt prop what?” I asked almost with a scratch.

“MVP is a hereditary heart condition wherein the tissues that separate the ventricles don’t close to a proper shut. This causes blood in your heart to mix up, making you prone to fatigue, infections, and abnormal heart beats.”

“WHA-AT?!?” I exclaimed in disbelief. “I feel completely healthy,” I complained.

“Well it’s probably because you’re still young and live an active lifestyle. MVP is often asymptomatic, and would just hit you when you’re like around 40. In time, you’re likely to suffer cardiac arrest or heart failure unless you maintain a healthy lifestyle,” the good ‘ol cardiologist explained as if I was taking everything all too well.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” I asked with my head spinning.

“Spontaneous death,” she remarked. “But don’t worry; those instances are very, very rare. And actually, around 10% of the population, mostly women, suffer from MVP. So you’re not alone,” she remarked in a mocking cheerful tone that reminded me so much of Cruela De Vil.

After assuring me that I’m not really going to die anytime soon, the brutally frank cardiologist gave me the heath clearance so that I could start my work as a Summer Intern. “It’s just a desk job, right? It wouldn’t really stress your heart much,” she said as she handed the blasted piece of paper with a Jack Nicholson/Joker grin. Stepping out of Makati Med, I felt as if my knees had turned to Jell-O. I felt weak, and I couldn’t breathe well. “Oh FUDGE it!” I scolded myself. “Doctors could get it all wrong sometimes, you know.”

I kept my new found heart condition to myself all summer long since I didn’t want my parents to get worried. Once in a while, I even made fun of it. See, even if I always sucked in basketball, at least I have MVP now! It doesn’t matter if my dad was team captain of his high school basketball team, or if my middle name (Paras) and last name (Aquino) happen to be the surnames of popular PBA players. I have an “MVP Award” and nobody can take it away. Beat that!

Towards the end of my summer internship, I received a text message from my mom. Browsing through the text, I was shocked to learn that an uncle, my dad’s brother, had died of cardiac arrest. After the initial disbelief, I had a sudden realization that this MVP heart business is serious. Some people are just genetically predisposed to suffer some ailments. It sounds rather unfair but it’s how the world works.

I went home to Pampanga soon after to pay my last respects to my uncle. When I got to the funeral home, I realized that it’s like a family reunion. After chatting with my tita and patting the backs of my cousins, I scanned through the crowd and saw my mom seated in one of the benches. She signaled me with a wave as she bit through butong pakwan. After exchanging the usual pleasantries and kumustahans, my mom asked if there was anything new about me. For the next few tense minutes, I proceeded to inform her about my MVP, and all the things that the cardiologist has told me. Misty-eyed, my mom was shell-shocked, naturally. And it didn’t help that an uncle lay inside a casket a few meters from us. “But how did you get it?” she finally managed to ask me. “Oh that?” I blurted. “It’s hereditary so I pin the blame completely on you and dad.”

I was joking, of course. But then again, jokes are always half meant.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 30th, 2005 at 8:42 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.