Vacation, All I Ever Wanted?

      The question is usually posed just as I have stuffed an entire sleeve of crackers into my mouth at the same time, right smack in the middle of my favorite Filipino tradition, meriyenda. It usually comes towards the end of the typical "get to know you" conversation, and in English, would go a little something like this: "So, what's your guys' vacation like? You get to go home for a couple of months at the end of a year or what?" Anyone who has served or is currently serving a 2 year or 18 month mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints knows why, at this point, I am trying not to spew my 'Rebisco' crumbs all over the living room in a fit of spontaneous laughter. "Vacation?! What the freak is that?!" It's a very reasonable question for Filipinos, since a great number of them have worked abroad, and almost everyone knows someone who is working in another country. They go mop floors for an oil tycoon in Saudi Arabia (careful to do their rosaries in secret, mind you), or dote upon the children of anal retentive factory owners in Hong Kong, get a couple of months vacation, and then come home, double the size of their house, and buy smartphones for all of their children. The idea that I would leave a place like the United States of America, be separated from my family and friends for two years, and work 16 hours a day for no pay seems ridiculous to them. And can I be honest with you, my dear friends and faithful readers, and say that I have had my weaker moments when the very same prospect seems just as preposterous to me? Well this week, in a very strange and twisted way, I got exactly what I secretly and guiltily wished for.
        On Wednesday afternoon, we got a text from the Elder Lasay (one of my Zone Leaders) asking if Elder Talines and I would mind to come and work in their area that evening, because Elder Wooden (Lasay's companion) was sick. I am slightly ashamed to publicly admit that I refused, because we have a KILLER dinner appointment every Wednesday. Every week, Sister Banzali cooks sizzling heaps of my favorite Filipino dish, sisig, and I gobble it down like nobody's business. So I was reluctant, and not knowing the gravity of Elder Wooden's illness, MIND YOU, graciously (if tactlessly) refused. She made dinakdakan as well, so I have to say I made the right choice.... I figured Elder Wooden probably had the runs or a slight fever or something, and would be just fine. And I stuffed my face like a champ. When I awoke on Thursday morning, however, I had a rare pang of conscience.. So I grabbed the phone and texted Lasay to inquire about Wooden's condition. I was informed that he was "dito sa hospital, St. Paul, at pakidala n'yo ang Mcdo breakfast kabsat, gutom na kami dito talaga!!!" So, just like that, I had a friend who was in the hospital, and three more who were very hungry. And nothing is worse to a Pinoy than being hungry. So I got Elder Talines up to speed, and we rushed to McDonald's, and then to St. Paul's Hospital, the fanciest hospital in all of Tuguegarao. And to my more faithful readers, yes, it was much nicer than Peoples' Hosptial #2 in China. An obnoxious guard at the reception informed us that St. Paul's was an "environmentally friendly" hospital, and would we kindly take our fast food out of the convenient plastic bags and precariously balance it on various parts of our body up three flights of stairs, like complete idiots. I wanted to say something about the probably dozens of garbage fires burning in the immediate vicinity, but my name tag automatically identifies me as a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and does wonders for me when it comes to biting my tongue. We arrived at Room 3004 to see Elder Wooden, an incredibly healthy, physically fit, indefatigable missionary debilitated on a hospital bed with an IV in his hand. It was real weird. So I dislodged the rice packs from my elbow crevice and immediately started asking questions. He may have been laid up, but Wooden's relaxed attitude and optimistic spirit were both still fully intact. No one had any idea what was wrong with him, but he was having excruciating migraines, rashes and whatnot, and I won't go into medical symptoms in a blog, cause that's all kindsa gross. Suffice it to say, he was feeling terribly, and no one quite knew why. Elder Cruz and Elder Dulaca had stayed the night in the hospital with him, but were too busy devouring their Mcdo breakfast to contribute any information. So it was determined that Elder Talines and I would relieve Dulaca and Cruz, and take their places at the hospital. All Elders, with the exception of Wooden, of course, had very clearly slept in awkward positions on the floor for incredibly short amounts of time.
        Nurses of various attractiveness came and went, drawing blood, and bringing terrible food, but no news, good or bad. This went on for the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon. I was the official English to Tagalog translator, holding a cell phone in each hand, one to keep in touch with Sister Carlos and the doctors at St. Luke's in Manila, and the other was pretty much to inform Elder Berends of all the crazy exciting hospital stuff that was happening. The four of us eventually realized how bored we were, and also that it was the peak of NBA season, and with a simple request to President Carlos that was immediately approved (complete with a "thanks for asking," might I add) we were moved to Room 3015, which was equipped with a glow-in-the-dark crucifix, and....A TELEVISION. My non-Mormon chums may at this point be wondering what the blast is so cool about a TV, or why on Earth we had to ask some strange man called "President" whether we could watch television. Well, along with a litany of other rules, all designed to help us focus on our work at hand, television is forbidden for missionaries. For those that think this is strict or strange, you're preaching to the choir. But to tell you the truth, there is great wisdom in it. When I was teaching English in China, I discovered the wonders of pirated DVDs that could be had for a whim, and I bought them like they were going out of style. I'd take my stash to my apartment, shove it in a laptop, lie on my bed, and veg. After seven hours of Seinfeld, I would look up at the ceiling and wonder why the blast there was a filthy Cold War era table fan bolted right next to an exposed fluorescent lightbulb. And then I would rub my eyes and remember that I was in China, literally living out my dream of living abroad. Pangs of guilt swept me every time. On a mission, the work is not only important, but in our view, it is crucial. So complete focus is required. That's why I can't watch TV. Or Skype you, or get on Facebook, or email on a day besides Monday, etc. But today, the proverbial forbidden fruit was plucked from the tree and handed to us, in the form of a remote, 93 channels, and literally nothing else to do. And the four of us, tentatively at first, but itching with curiosity nonetheless,  gobbled it up. We spent hours on the Basketball Channel, game after game after game, which was awesome at first. But after awhile, even the most die hard sports fans had grown bored (which meant that I was over it about 2 hours before that). Reluctantly, Elder Lasay and I peeled ourselves from the room and went to get Mcdo takeout for the second time that day. We had the foresight to stop at the nurse's desk (with melting McFlurries precariously perched on our index fingers) and ask just where the blast Elder Wooden's test results were that we should have had, like, nine hours ago. A male nurse nonchalantly handed us a piece of paper that indicated Elder Wooden, the extremely kind, perfectly obedient, unconquerably optimistic missionary, (who was, may I add, going home in three weeks) tested positive for typhoid fever. We were shocked. We walked into the room, and were greeted by an excited Elder Wooden, clueless to the exotic disease currently destroying his insides. "Hey! Guys! Just this once..... Look! AMERICAN IDOL!" We managed a weak chuckle, set the food down, and left the room, talking in Tagalog in hushed whispers in the hallway. We also intensified our conversation with Sister Carlos, who told us to do whatever we had to do to get him the best possible care as quickly as possible. We had a lot of phone calls with Sister Carlos, who gave us info from the Manila doctor, and that information was translated into Tagalog and relayed to a nurse, who then relayed it to Wooden's attending physician, who quickly grew weary of taking advice from a snooty White doctor in Manila, and stopped taking our calls. Sister Carlos told us not to tell Wooden about the typhoid, but just to take everything in stride for the time. Elder Lasay and I walked down the stairs, past the environment police, and out into the hospital parking lot, sitting down to catch our breath on the edge of a fountain bearing a statue of St. Paul, complete with a sword. We talked about Elder Wooden, and had the age old conversation of just why on Earth bad things happen to good people. Even us Mormon missionaries were unable to come up with an answer. All we could do was scratch our heads, wait, and do the best we could to make sure Wooden got better. And in three weeks. We also determined to tell him the bad news, but were both afraid to do it.
         We gathered our courage and went upstairs again, to find Wooden fast asleep. This spared us the trouble of telling him the bad news, but obviously did nothing to put our minds at rest. We watched a bit more TV, knowing that it would be 4 months for Lasay, 7 for me, and like 22 for my comp. We talked and joked a little bit, and then gave up on being awake. After that, we knelt, individually, in prayer. Wooden's health was our primary concern. It was comforting to know that President and Sister Carlos were doing the same thing, as well as a few other missionaries that had been kept in the loop on Wooden's condition. Then I folded my shirt into a crude pillow, wrapped myself in a sheet, and spent the night rolling from one uncomfortable position to the other on a cold tile floor.

            When we "woke up" the next morning, it seemed as though Wooden's condition had improved, and he informed us that his head was feeling a lot better. Due mostly to the fact that he wasn't in the fetal position in obvious pain, we believed him, and a second typhoid test was run. The nurses, likely having overheard our   conversations in the fully tiled, extremely echoey hallway the night before, were unusually attentive. And then the doctor, to her eternal credit, licked her wounds of offense and came around to offer the first good news of the past couple of days: Wooden's second round of tests had come back negative, for typhoid, dengue fever, everything. She wrote off the whole ordeal as a virus and authorized Wooden's same day release. For the first time since the night before, we were all able to breathe. I'm going to try to not be cheesy as I explain what I consider to be a small miracle. Most may say that medicine deserves the credit. Others would chalk it up to the religious icon on our wall. And I have to say that faith did help. Our prayers for Wooden's recovery were wholehearted, but Wooden's prayers for his own recovery had the incredible power of being backed up with two years of wholly devoted service to God. His prayer was one offered from a faithful servant, who could speak confidently with his Father in Heaven, knowing that he had not once, in two years, taken a vacation. His devotion is a great example to me and to the rest of us, and helps to silently remind me that two years is not such a long time, and that I will never regret devoting myself to Someone who has given everything to me. "For every thing there is a season"- and this is the time to work. Yes there was a brief, blissful window of time where I got to sleep on the ground with a bunch of my friends in a strange place, and feel the power of holding a television remote, and it was fun, but that's not why I came to the Philippines. Day after day, I have the far greater privilege of seeing the hand of God change my life and the lives of others. And that beats the crap out of Seinfeld.