One day, an angel was picking gold nuggets scattered around Heaven. God was watching the angel, and decided he wanted to share the gold with human beings. Out of sheer love for his creatures, he commanded the angel to get on a cloud and hurl the gold nuggets toward earth, where they made their way into the homes of families God had personally chosen. The nuggets came into the possession of mothers, but not in the form that glittered. God transformed each piece of gold into a human life, one that was more special, one that was to be cared for with more effort, and one through which the vocation of motherhood was to be realized even more.

The story of the gold nuggets, of course, is pure fiction, and has no scriptural basis whatsoever. However, it does provide another perspective to the matter of having mentally or physically handicapped babies born into the world, or of some people developing anomalous conditions. Caring for a special child is just like caring for any other child, but with the consideration that the child will remain one for the rest of his life.

For Lourdes Ramos, a full-time homemaker, it was the anticipation of her son’s future that helped her overcome the initial regret of bearing a child that displayed signs of retardation. Rainier Andre, the youngest of three and now seven years old, didn’t learn to walk until he reached the age of three.

“At home he would just sit up and drag himself backwards. Sometimes I had to carry him. And he couldn’t talk either,” recalls Mrs. Ramos from one of the classrooms of the Bridges Foundation, a school for special children where her son is currently enrolled in a speech development class. The thirtysomething mother hopes the training will soon improve Rainier’s conversation beyond his present monosyllabic utterances.

The idea of raising a special child daunted her at first, but concern for her son’s future eventually took over the ill feelings she was starting to have. A pediatrician, diagnosing Rainier with a “Global Delayed” condition, advised Mrs. Ramos to enroll her son in school, which would help hone mental and psychomotor skills—which Rainier needs to develop—as well as other potentials the child had, at a faster pace.

“You know, there are positive and negative sides to having a special child, but if you’re going to dwell on the negative, a special child is going to feel like a burden,” the mother muses as Rainier and his sister are engrossed in some giant Lego blocks.

She goes on to relate Rainier’s unique traits (“malambing at maaalalahanin siya”) (“he is affectionate and thoughtful”) and fondly tells of how the child is particular about the cleanliness of the home. Finishing a meal, for instance, is instantly followed by bringing plates and utensils to the kitchen, which he dutifully does while urging siblings to follow suit.

Brown-eyed Rainier can be a little impatient sometimes at play, according to his mother, but not even that poses a problem.

“You have to have patience in caring for a child who’s different from others—that’s what I can tell other mothers in the same situation.”

There’s the need for both discipline and affection, too, as raising any child requires, to ensure proper development. One cannot do without the other.

Mrs. Ramos also stresses the need to help the child develop his personality. “To do that, you have to take time to educate the child, to train him.

“But of course, the best is love,” she continues. “After all, he’s a gift from God, so give him the affection and attention he needs. He’s just like any other child who needs these things.”

Since it’s summer, 11-year-old Francis is on vacation from school and thus has more time to spend at home and help his mother take care of his youngest sibling, a three-week-old infant. Otherwise, he plays around the house, sometimes on his own.

“Tatlo ang anak ko, puro lalaki, at si Francis ang pinakamatanda (“I have three children, all boys, and Francis is the eldest”),” says Mrs. Norma Romo, who accompanies Francis to school daily during the regular schoolyear. “Normal na anak naman ang trato ko sa kanya, normal ang childhood niya.” (“I treat him like a normal child, his childhood is normal”)

Francis was born with Down Syndrome, a condition characterized by mental and psychomotor impairment, short stature, large tongue, and Mongolian-like eyes. Right away, he demonstrates the openness and affectionate disposition that people with Down Syndrome tend to have. He listens with a gentle smile during the interview, coming over a couple of times to hug this writer from behind, borrowing pen and paper to scribble his name, and snuggling up to his mother.

“Masaya naman siyang nakikipaglaro sa ibang bata diyan (“He happily plays with the other children there”),” a soft-spoken Mrs. Romo says. “Ayoko nga siyang i-enroll sa special school dahil baka mas mabagal siyang matuto e.” (I don’t want to enroll him in a special school because he might learn at a slower pace”)

She enrolled Francis at the Legarda Elementary School when he was eight years old, and has been accompanying him everyday to his afternoon classes. He presently studies Math, Pilipino and English.

Francis is special in more ways than one. According to his mother, he has appeared on television several times after her sister brought him over to the studio for an audition. “Lumabas siya dati sa ‘E Kasi Bata!’ at sa isang TV series. Matagal na din siya doon, mga two years.” (“He appeared in ‘E Kasi Bata!’ and in a TV series. He’s been there for a long time, around two years”)

At this point, Francis shyly gets into the ubiquitous Macarena dance routine after some cajoling. His mother, 36, quietly watches with a smile, then says, “Gustong-gusto niyang manood ng TV. Sa umaga ‘yon ang ginagawa niya, kung minsan tinutulungan niya akong mag-alaga ng bata (He likes watching TV very much. In the mornings, that’s what he does, sometimes he helps me take care of the baby”),” and relates how Francis playfully teases his siblings and mimics his mother’s words to the babies.

She also allows her special child to go out on his own once in a while to buy softdrinks from a nearby sari-sari store. “Hindi ako nahihirapan sa kanya, madali siyang alagaan. Parang normal na bata ang trato ko sa kanya.” (“I don’t have a hard time with him, he’s easy to care for. I treat him like a normal child”).

When Cielo turned 20, Mrs. Tessie Yap intensified her petitions for her daughter, enjoining her family to do the same, knowing that Cielo’s affliction with cerebral palsy from going beyond 20 years old, according to the doctor. In August, Cielo will be celebrating her 32^nd birthday.

“I attribute it to the care given her,” says Mrs. Yap, a mother of six. “Cielo’s intellectual capacity is something like that of a two-year-old. She cannot talk and she cannot move on her own. She just lies there. She really needs somebody to take care of her on a 24-hour basis. And I’m so lucky to have a nice yaya (nanny) to help me.”

With five other children to rear, giving Cielo the special attention she needs was quite a task. Given our society’s endearment to household help, though, Mrs. Yap found valuable assistance in the reliable helpers she hired.

The mother, of course, trained them herself, teaching exercises and special feeding requirements that were a daily routine, explaining how Cielo’s occasional tantrums ought to be dealt with, and above all, demonstrating the patience that caring for a special child like her daughter required.

“I can understand how some yayas or even mothers can lose their patience once in a while,” she says. “That’s why I don’t stay away and travel for too long a time—just a few days at the most, and rarely—and leave Cielo to the care of her yaya. If I can become impatient with my own child, how much more somebody—no matter how endeared she has grown to Cielo—who is just assigned to do the work? It’s hard for the helper also.”

Cielo perks up at the sound of music, which she has grown accustomed to even during her waking hours (“she starts to cry when she wakes up and the radio’s off”). She is wheeled around the house everyday for a couple of hours, and doesn’t like it when the wheelchair halts for even a moment. And because she cannot consume solids, her meals pass through the blender. Needless to say, taking care of her has its special demands.

“Well, it’s a matter of attitude really,” Mrs. Yap offers. “Whatever God sends you, accept it with an open heart because he trusts you…and he will really help you.”

She relates having a chat with a priest years ago—one who displayed such cheerfulness and understanding for her circumstances—who helped transform her outlook into one of optimism regarding the demands of being a mother to Cielo.

“He told me this: ‘You are very lucky that God entrusted you with an angel. He knows you can take care of her.’ And that helped me see things differently.”

Despite the change of heart, Mrs. Yap is not about to say that she’s overjoyed with her child’s handicap. “I think people will call me ‘plastik’ (hypocritical) if I say that I’m happy because I have a special child,” she says with a smile, “but really, it’s in the attitude.”

This outlook apparently affected the rest of the family, for it has woven special ties that now bind them more closely. “I think Cielo drew us more closely to each other because everybody was responsible for her. Everybody took care of her in his own way.”

Just the way to treat gold nuggets that one would chance upon.

The Evening Paper, May 1996

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