Post Sinovac Imbroglio (Last Part)

Previously on Post Sinovac Imbroglio (First Part)

So I was prepared to pursue the path of self-isolation if that would spare my loved ones from the virus. I was completely sold to the idea that I caught it sometime before the jab and the vaccine simply triggered the infection. The Weatherman was suggesting that I should see a doctor - his doctors - just to be sure. But I told him that in doing so, I would have to tell where we have been and the activities we did. I might put a lot of people in an inconvenient position.

Eventually, we warmed to the idea of consulting the Favorite Aunt first. She is a doctor, after all, and all the medical emergencies in the family had to go through her. So I called her on the third night and told her all about my symptoms - from the mild fever, to the red spots appearing all over my body, to the thin layer of pus already forming over the part of my skin that I scratched and scraped aggressively the past few days. She asked if I was experiencing something else. I assured her that I had no cough, nor sore throat, nor had difficulty breathing. Based on my account, she said that my Psoriasis might have been infected, so she prescribed antibiotics and antihistamines just to keep me from mutilating my skin.

She was right.

Two days later, the fever was gone and the red spots I have been seeing would ripe into purple rashes that leave a stinging sensation when the skin is triggered. The Dermatologist I consulted explained that it might be directly linked to the vaccine as there were documented cases of people experiencing the very same side effects days after taking the jab. She prescribed that I double the dose of the Levocetirizine that I was already taking.

When Sinovac was introduced in the country last summer, I was one of those who spoke strongly against getting it. I even said that why should I get the vaccine from the country where the Pandemic started. I was called out for that statement, of course. But my sibling, in her desperation, volunteered herself to be one of the first to be inoculated. So was the Favorite Aunt who took the jab ahead of everyone.

Their side effects were very minimal.

A month later, my mom received her complete dose and aside from falling out of the bed (because she was too sleepy to see where the pillows were), her side effects were inconsequential. Sure, there were doubts about the efficacy of their vaccine, but the other doctor friends on social media were insisting that the best vaccine is the one that is available.

Soon after, I was telling friends and loved ones to take Sinovac. Even the Weatherman had completed his two shots.

So when I took it months later, my faith was unshakeable. I even brought my brother-in-law and the kasambahay with me to the vaccination site so they can have their first dose too. They experienced no adverse reaction, unlike me, whose case was different. There was even a point where the Favorite Aunt and I were having second thoughts of getting the final dose as its effects on my body might be worse. On the fifth day after the first symptoms appeared, however, the rashes began to disappear. My limbs also no longer feel like it was hacked into pieces every time I had to limp all the way to the bathroom to pee. And while the body still reeled every time the nerves flare up and the stinging and itching sensation force me to run to the nearest scratch post (which is usually the corner of the wardrobe), there was no denial about my recovery. 

The end is in sight.

Barely a few days before my second week of inoculation and I was completely healed. We still do not have any explanation as to why my immune system had gone berserk upon receiving the inactivated virus (it was my first time to experience such adverse side effects from a vaccine) but the Favorite Aunt was confident that Sinovac was effective. Even the doctors she had to consult herself said the bodily reaction was within the threshold that I was allowed to take the second dose...

...a decision that has now become a life or death matter given the arrival of a much more potent variant from India.

Three days from today, I am set to receive the last dose of the China-made vaccine. Though the side effects are still unknown, I am somehow relieved that I have learned enough not to panic like what had happened during my first ordeal. 

The Perversion of Information

Back when the internet was a passing fancy and everyone had to connect to the "worldwide web" through cumbersome means like a dial-up connection, we thought we were seeing the beginning of a revolution; that finally, the free flow of information will allow for equal access to knowledge, and that, ignorance will somehow be contained.

Boy, we were so wrong.

Twenty one years have passed since the threat of the Millennium Bug was proven to be a hoax and here we are, still in need of fact-checking resources. Websites like Snopes and Fake History Hunter are on the constant lookout for viral social media posts as they are likely infecting the internet with inaccurate and often exaggerated historical accounts and disproven urban legends. Theirs is a constant battle, a never-ending warfare to set things straight and weed out tall tales from scholarly-verified facts. And in a time when digital lies and propaganda could shape the outcome of election turnout (like what happened during the last 4 years under Donald Trump), their presence proves more valuable than ever.

If only such gatekeepers could really compete with the spinmasters.

As it stands, Snopes and their associates are bound to lose as it is easier to peddle lies than embrace truths. Inaccurate historical accounts like the one shared on the photo appeal more to human nature as it is sensational, even scandalous. When you apply the sensational and scandalous and weaponize them into perverted knowledge like anti-vaccine, critical race, and flat earth theory, the result is having a group of people whose ignorant and toxic beliefs poison the collective conversation. 

And it is getting worse every year.

They say lies when told over and over eventually become truths and with truths often assaulted these days, it is just a matter of time before the more discerning among us finally succumb to whatever belief a groupthink dictates.

Post Sinovac Imbroglio (First Part)

At first, there was the well-documented heaving of the arm - the part, at least - where the needle had pierced the skin. Forced out from the syringe was a vial's worth of re-engineered proteins, proteins that form a part of the viral molecule that has been turning our world upside down for almost two years now. I would have believed that it was the first step in achieving immunity and we were, for our part, have announced that I have taken the jab to the collective joy of everyone. But it was just the beginning. The agony would happen a day after the lull of the body had finally put the mind at ease.

On the third night, my body felt like collapsing unto itself. Muscle aches and soreness kept me from getting out of the bed and the cold hands and feet have succeeded in generating enough body heat that I had a mild fever before I've gone to bed. 

The next morning, the symptoms have disappeared, except for the sudden flaking of the skin where psoriasis has gnawed steadily into my left leg. I even had enough strength to go out of the house and had the car's registration renewed. But all those struggles to walk to the nearest ATM booth a few blocks away from the LTO office might have taken a toll. It didn't help that instead of going home to recuperate, we drove to Farmers Cubao to buy some flowers for the Weatherman's sister. She was celebrating her birthday that day.

So I limped all the home from the parking lot with a body pulped and shivering from the cold. Before going to bed, I took a Paracetamol in anticipation of the onset of fever. That evening, my temperature shot beyond 39.0 degrees celsius. 

By then, all symptoms point to the dreaded Covid virus. My chest was heaving. I had difficulty breathing. To make sure I was within the threshold, I held my breath for at least 15 seconds before pushing the air out my lungs. Lower than that count would mean I was running out of oxygen. To protect my family and to put to rest their suspicion, I just step out of the room for bathroom breaks and meals. Only the Weatherman stayed with me throughout my ordeal.

The next day, my skin began turning crimson red and it was very difficult to get out of bed. I moaned in pain every time I tried to get up. My left limb felt it was hacked in two, and all those aggressive and often violent skin scratching had infected my psoriasis. I had to drag my left leg across the hallway and into the master's bedroom toilet to pee.

On the third day, anxiety began to cloud my judgment. The only thing missing from the list was a bad cough or a mild sore throat. Had the symptoms of Covid continue to present themselves, the plan was to gather enough strength, make the most daring and outrageous drive to the Weatherman's house in General Trias in Cavite to isolate and keep my condition a secret, except to my mom. 

Who would have thought such a bold plan to protect me, and my loved ones backfire spectacularly right before my eyes?

- to be continued -

Taal

Trigger Warning/Dream Sequence

Taal had a violent eruption. It took place late at night, around 9 or 10 pm. I recall how the sky was full of stars. There was no moon. Then, in the direction of the volcano, we could see magma oozing out of the crater. Minutes later, black plumes signal a more violent pyroclastic ejection. The explosion was so strong and so powerful, I wasn't able to move from my spot. Since I was in a hilly position, I could see everything reaching us within seconds:

Volcanic rocks flying in every direction.

Clouds of hot gases that could sear every living thing to cinders barreling over like a tsunami on the loose.

In that dream, I think I was one of the dead. Prior to being rudely awakened from my sleep, I saw two women, talking to each other. I do not recall what they were talking about, but seeing their surroundings, vegetation have somehow returned to the grayed out landscape. In front of them was a pink ancestral house, its wooden carapace still caked in ash.

End of dream.

The Barbie House

 

Previously on L'Heure Bleue: Preserver of Worlds | The Barbie House

"Kuya pakibaba yung dollhouse at yung maleta ko mula sa taas"

It was my sister who sent the message over Facebook Messenger last week. My reaction: Seenzoned. Disinterest had kept me from sending an affirmation.

A few days later, my sister sent another message.

"Yung dollhouse naibaba nyo? Ilang araw na ako kinukulit ni Castro." 

Castro is my sister's third child, which, unfortunately, I wasn't able to introduce in previous entries given my absence in Blogging.

At this point, my answer was "no." I knew the rickety house would collapse in less than a day if you leave it at the mercy of toddlers (the younger siblings) and youngsters (older brothers). Rough hands, clumsiness, and crude playstyle would simply break the remaining brittle links that connect the plastic components together. 

I also had no faith that it can be set up inside my sibling's small room. Lack of space has always been a problem at home and having that pink plasticky house placed on the ground would simply add to our burdens. I spoke these thoughts to my mother, and she supported my arguments. 

My decision was final.

But this wasn't what I told my sister. 

You see, she was supposed to leave for work-related activities in the province. She would be gone for a week and would have to isolate herself elsewhere for another week once she returns. Her distance and absence would mean telling her that I would take out the wretched toy from the overhead cabinet. In reality, no Barbie House would ever be reassembled. I would simply say we couldn't make it stand and it would put the idea to rest.

But Castro was also persistent, and although the 3-year old artistic child wouldn't pester me about the toy, like children of his age would do to their uncles, he would ask my mother about my plans of letting him play with the house.

Then came the news that my sister's work-related travel was canceled because of Covid19. 

Friday came and I had an out-of-town excursion set the next day. Our destination had a poor Globe signal and this would mean being gone without any form of communication to check the folks back home. To keep everyone preoccupied in my absence was at the top of my head. Better to keep them busy rather than finding out who picked fights and who got into trouble upon my return home.

And so I flipped around and asked the Hermit (our household helper) to bring down the Barbie House and just let my sister assemble the structure. It would be a great bonding moment for the kids, and should the house not stand, it would be easy to convince everyone not to bring the toy out - ever again.

Before leaving the house the next day, I took a small carton box out of my cabinet. It's tiny,  human-like replicas I lodged between the educational toys on the top shelf of the children's bookcase outside my room.

The dolls belong to me - a remnant of an age where boys were frowned upon when they chose to play with girls' toys. Those dolls are for my nephew, who wanted to play with the dollhouse - like it was meant to be his toy.

---

As it turned out, the Barbie House was almost never assembled. My sister had to put adhesives just to put the pieces together. She said, it took her 2 hours to make the brittle structure stand and not wobble. She even wanted to adorn it with fairy lights to cap her achievement.

When I checked out Castro when I returned home, he was already playing with the dollhouse along with the Barbies I left behind. Contrary to expectations that he would simply groom the dolls, he was actually hosting a "tea party," with the rest of the figures - from Peppa Pig to Paw Patrol invited for the "housewarming."

And for a brief moment, what I saw was not my nephew but another kid, from another age, who would sneak out and play with the dollhouse in secret. Unbothered by what other kids or adults would say, he would immerse himself in his world, weaving fantasy stories that he still remembers to this day.