BY: Dr. Ria Pinlac – Maslog
As I sat by my father’s bedside on March 12, 2026, I couldn’t help but think of the fragility of life. Tatay Dodong, my 90-year-old father, was in the intensive care unit, fighting a battle against pneumonia. I – his doctor, caregiver and daughter – had made the difficult decision to forego intubation and opt for non-invasive ventilation, prioritizing his comfort over aggressive treatment.
I thought I was strong.
But looking at him, surrounded by tubes and wires, was a struggle. Lisud diay nang magpaka-isog ka sa iyang atubangan apan sa imong pag- gawas sa ICU, mubahâ imong mga luha. The ICU became his home for 10 days – days that seemed to be controlled by the sword of Damocles, eager to fall any minute. All the while, I was torn between wanting him to receive the best care and wanting him to be free from the pain and discomfort.
Decisions had to be made. Tears fell as I re-inserted his nasogastric tube, my heart aching at his muffled pleas to go home, especially when he said: “Ibta na kana dai!”
As a doctor, I’m trained to be composed in the midst of grief, to maintain a professional facade even when my heart is breaking. But the truth is, no strong person could endure the sight of one’s father going away for good. This is a kind of pain that cuts deep, a wound that will take time to heal. Or will it really heal?
I remembered the countless times he and Mama Lourdes had put my siblings and me first, sacrificing their own needs for our well-being. Now, it was our turn to return the love and care. Yes, I am a doctor, but I knew I was not just treating a patient; I was taking care of the most valued person in my life – my beloved father.
As the night wore on, I reflected on the cycle of life. Our parents give us life, and we give them our love and care in return. It’s a simple yet profound truth that I was living out in that ICU room.
At dawn on March 13, 2026, Tatay Dodong’s battle came to an end. And with all the effort I could muster, I held his hand, and whispered all words of love and gratitude as he took his last breath. In that moment, I knew that our love had transcended the boundaries of life and death.
If only I could rewind time, bring him back to life, and hold him close. If only I could momentarily lose sight of stethoscopes and tubes and wires, forget the drama I participated in for 10 days, and just be his little girl again, sitting on his lap, listening to his stories.
Your time has come, Tatay, and I surrender all these to the Father’s will above. I’ll let you go, but the memories will be kept forever.