"Ugh" and Chicago Winter

You could say I am looking for sympathy. I have been feeling, well, no English word describes it accurately, so let me use the catch-all, "Ugh,” short for the Ilocano term, Garadugod.

A few blogs ago, I wrote about my two harrowing days in the hospital for medical tests due to tummy troubles. I thought that would be the end of it.

I was wrong.

Over two weeks after medication, the "ugh" persisted. So my doctor advised a CT Scan, with contrast (whatever that means).

Before the procedure, I was told to drink 1000 ml of water with an odious taste. "Dye," the little young lady said in a sweet voice. It was another "ugh."

"Ugh" got ughier and ughier inside the CT Scan room. It was as cold as winter in Chicago.























No blanket was thick enough to keep me from shivering. And the little young lady asked permission to pierce me with a humongous needle. She didn't make any headway—not until three tries later. "Ugh. Ugh. Ugh."

"I am sorry, ma'am." she said repeatedly, but because my tongue—like the rest of my body—was frozen, I couldn’t utter one word. The procedure was quick, no more than twenty minutes, but the "ugh" of fear was ten times longer.

In that all white, sterile room, I asked God for grace—not a dollop, not a glob, but a drumful into which I could be dunked.

"You will feel a warm sensation when we pump the dye in," a masked young man with twinkling eyes said. "And that will taste like rusty steel."

"But nothing to worry about, ma'am, that is normal," the little young lady added.

Through their voices, I heard God's reassurance, and yes, sympathy: "Just as I was I with Moses, I will be with you . . ."

And so He was, even as I stepped out of Chicago winter into Manila summer.

Tomorrow—when the results come in—is another day.