The Hospital's Heart
- Jt Soriano
- Dec 5, 2024
- 25 min read
“Saan ka pupunta? Ang aga mo naman,” Reymax called out with a bit of confusion in his voice. “Nagre-relax lang ako.” With a tote bag hanging on my shoulder, I sat on the burgundy couch in the living room as my uncle, wearing a white undershirt and black slacks, was taking his time preparing for his special day. “Sasama po sa inyo,” I replied, reminding him. A gray backpack lay open on the couch, waiting for the clothes Reymax would put inside. His watch rested on the rectangular glass table. He roamed around, looking for all the things he would need, and then sat on the edge of the elevated floor to put on his black dress shoes.
“May Clorox ‘yung isa, pero magkapares naman ‘yan,” Marylou, his wife, uttered while handing him the pair of black socks, one with a noticeable bleach mark. Marylou carefully folded his cream-colored Barong and placed it inside a large ziplock bag. As Reymax stood up, I glanced at a framed portrait of him nestled on a floating shelf, surrounded by trophies and certificates — a prized addition to his collection, for on his neck hangs a hundred-and-seventeen-thousand-peso gold-gilded medallion.
Reymax grabbed a red jacket behind the wooden door slightly open, stuffed it into the backpack, and with a chuckle, he said, “repeat performance.” The quiet of the surroundings left as the music escaped from the 40-inch television the moment he turned it on. Scrolling through my phone, my peripheral vision caught sight of him taking out his wallet from the bag, his arm extending towards me. “Oh, baon mo,” he said. When I looked up, there was a five-hundred-peso bill between his fingers.
He sat at the other end of the L-shaped couch, put on his glasses, and started scrolling through his phone, too. After noticing what was playing on the television, he quickly switched the channel to a morning news program. News of typhoon Julian, an impeachment plan against the vice president of the country, and other local news filled the small but spacious enough living room. Suddenly, a gentle breeze wafted a strong, unpleasant smell through the open door. The dogs might have released something. It's now eight o'clock, and the sun had fully revealed itself, sending warm rays through the sliding windows.
Coming from the kitchen, my aunt had placed her steaming hot coffee on the table. Just then, my cousin entrusted her camera to me, prompting me to multitask. Thirty minutes later, “Intayon,” Reymax exclaimed. He turned off his phone, took out the red jacket, and wore it. Now carrying his backpack, he hurried out the door and went on to climb the ever-exhausting stairs.
A STEP CLOSER
The crisp Baguio air fuels anyone who braves its stairs, often daunting and seemingly unending, especially in the city’s neighborhoods. The stairs leading to Reymax's humble abode are no exception — people who visit for the first time consider it a rite of passage. But for Reymax, who has climbed these steps for the longest time, it's no sweat.
He walked slowly, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket. Pine trees and plants of all sorts lined the stairs. Houses, minuscule and immovable, sprinkled all over the mountains. He didn't utter a word, for his head was fixed on the motion of his feet as if focusing on something—one more steep hurdle. “Huh!” he exhaled, letting out a heavy sigh as he reached the basketball court, where the flat and narrow roads began to snake through the neighborhood and onto the major roads of the city. The human body can endure the discomfort, but it would find a way to be at ease. With Reymax, not with sweat, but with a deep “huh.”
After a moment of rest, he started walking towards his second home.
I've always known that my uncle is a good conversationalist, someone easy to talk with. This walk proved to me something — I wasn't mistaken.
Reymax saw his friend, Uncle Alex, near the waiting shed and immediately began a conversation. As their usual selves, they spoke in English in a rather funny way, like high school best friends trying to evade paying the fee for using Filipino in an English-only class. It started to drizzle, a sign that they should save their chat for another time. As Reymax went on, he passed by two people — one walking a dog and the other with huge tattoos. They exchanged nods, after which a motorcycle zoomed, its engine roaring. Reymax made a silly face, just like what the motorist had done—perhaps, a hand sign but instead with the face.
Ten minutes of walking led to the sight of the dump corner of the neighborhood. Uncle Francis was busy tending to a piece of garbage the collectors had left, his face twisted in frustration. "Hindi naman kinuha," Reymax muttered towards him. After a curve, a towering new building emerged, announcing its presence. It was not in my knowledge that the familiar building I lay my eyes on every day was the destination. My uncle pointed towards the building; the cement finish and windows bordered white stood out amid the greenery. “Doon sa fifth floor. ‘Yung bagong building,” he said with a hint of excitement in his voice. His expression changed when he realized there was no elevator. Laughter was shared, dismissing the anticipated tiredness.
As the building grew in size, Reymax encountered more people along the road. “May bago siyang motor oh,” he cheerfully uttered, looking at someone on a motorcycle who returned his smile. A lone runner appeared, prompting Reymax to tease, “Buti pa ‘to nakatakbo na naman.” A man, his long beard a striking feature, stood watch at the Barangay marker. "Morning, Sir," Reymax greeted, now standing at the foot of the five-story building.
THE CEREMONY
At the entrance of the building, a woman dressed in Filipiniana laced with indigenous textiles was talking on the phone. I knew we arrived at the right place. Climbing one hundred steps, a large hall decorated with Japanese-inspired embellishments appeared as the soft hum of a beautiful, flowing melody echoed through the walls.
Reymax walked towards the registration area, where one of the staff congratulated him saying, “Nakaaward si sir! Ang galing naman ni sir.” Reymax chatted with them for a while, laughing and smiling until he excused himself to change his clothes and put on his Barong. People started coming in, some with clear signs of exhaustion from climbing the stairs. To immortalize the moment, Reymax took photographs with colleagues and bosses, his face lighting up and eyes gleaming.
Near the stage of the high-ceilinged hall were three rows of round tables draped with a white tablecloth, the chairs covered in muted brown and gray linens. The event place could well be a ballroom. Everyone settled down as the program started, each waiting to be called on stage and be recognized. An event staff ushered Reymax from his seat to the side of the hall. On the podium, a woman was delivering an introduction.
“The HAP or Honor Awards program of the Civil Service Commission is a rewards and incentives program which aims to recognize government officials and employees who have displayed outstanding work performance,” she said, looking at her script.
Reymax crossed his arms and pursed his lips while looking intently at the woman, listening to every word.
The woman continued, her tone consistent, saying, “Dangal ng Bayan is conferred to an individual for performance of an extraordinary act in line with norms of conduct for public officials and employees, provided under Republic Act 6713.”
Reymax waited, his feet firm on the ground. Perhaps he was remembering the same actions he did a few days ago at the Malacañang Palace, how he shook the hands of the president and smiled in front of the flashing lights of large cameras. Just like what he jokingly said earlier — repeat performance. This time, in this familiar place, less extravagant than the palace but equally significant, for here lies his roots.
The woman called on the OIC Medical Center chief, Dr. Larry Haya, and the division chiefs to proceed to the stage to recognize the awardees. Reymax patiently waited. She carried on as soon as they reached the platform.
“Our first dangal ng bayan awardee is recognized for being a reliable nursing attendant, handyman, and health advocate all in one, saving our hospital time and resources for the equipment repairs and for helping dialysis patients with malasakit,” the woman uttered.
Reymax yearned for this moment — a point in time when his dedication to service, spanning a remarkable thirty-five years of hard work, would be applauded. He composed himself.
The woman, now raising her voice to elevate the energy, announced, “We are proud to present to you, Mr. Reymaximiano Aquino, nursing attendant II.” The hall rose to life as the sound of cheers and claps erupted from the crowd, as though the triumph of one was the triumph of all.
As the mood elevated, the instrumental music went louder. The rhythm jived with the heartbeat of the celebration. Reymax immediately went up to the stage, shook hands with the chiefs, and posed for the camera — in his right hand a trophy designed by the late National Artist for Sculpture Napoleon V. Abueva.
Reymax looked down on his left hand carrying the gold-gilded medallion inside the wooden box and beamed with a smile. The chief nurse, Joselito Datud, noticed, removed it from the box, and delicately placed the medal around Reymax's neck. Dr. Larry Haya lent a hand, fixing the medal’s lace. Everyone on the stage flaunted their brightest grins.
After a few more clicks and taps on his back, Reymax raised his two hands in unison, his left index finger pointing upwards — a universal sign of victory or a gesture of thanks to someone divine. As Reymax went down the stage for a photo, the woman announced that he would receive a cash award worth 200,000 pesos. Like a usual Filipino gathering, lighthearted jests and playful banter were thrown.
As time passed, chicken and salad were served in sturdy plastic containers. Everyone took photographs left and right, making the air perfume-laden as they roamed around — a stark contrast to the antiseptic scent of the corridors Reymax once toiled.
Many years ago, a young Reymax, wide-eyed and hopeful, had pushed a cleaning cart down the sterile aisles of the Baguio General Hospital (BGH).
A FEW STEPS BACK
Reymax opened an unfinished bottle of brandy, wiped the round dining table with a towel, and sat one monoblock chair away from me. His hands were ready to gesture along with the words he would utter. He poured a drink and tried to dig into his memory.
“Syempre as utility worker, parang sayo lahat,” he uttered with a bittersweet tone. His eyes looked away from me and straight into the darkness outside, as seen on the windows across him. “Messenger, housekeeping, ah hauling mga ganon ba. Syempre as utility worker, ganoon talaga, utility ka nga eh. Lahat ng trabaho na kaya mo…” he paused. “Gagawin mo,” his voice with a tone seemingly stating the obvious.
Housekeeping will always be in the picture, for it is the quintessential image of a utility worker — tirelessly mopping the corridors and sanitizing rooms. He explained how utility workers often served as messengers, too, delivering letters from one office to another. It’s silly that I thought of wolves when he mentioned “hauling” — I needed to clarify what it meant. As utility workers, hauling various items, from medicines to trash, is an everyday scene.
“Mabigat. As in mabigat,” Reymax recalled his experiences, nodding his head.
He later on became an acting supervisor in the utility department. With a minimal change in his workload, he oversaw job orders and other co-workers, observing how they cleaned wards and sometimes transported patients. The list went on.
With a background in electronics, Reymax aspired to become a biomedical technician, one who ensures the proper functioning of medical equipment. The stars sadly didn’t align in his favor as he fell short of getting his desired position due to a lack of certification. This didn’t hold him back, for he was full of spirit to obtain the needed National Certificate II. Eventually, this piece of paper landed in his hands, but it turned out destiny had other plans. When he received his certificate, applications for nursing attendants opened. He tried his luck, and there, he was welcomed.
Wondering how he could let go of his dream, the one thing he truly wanted, I sought answers to why he chose, if not settled with, this other path. Familiar answers escaped his lips, the kind most people say when prompted with questions about life decisions.
“Ayokong mapag-iwanan," he said as if dropping the mic. He picked it up and explained why. "Let's say from salary grade 1 to salary grade 6. Ang laking bagay. Bakit ka magpapaiwan sa salary grade 1? ‘Yung opportunity na malaking adjustment sa'yo, iga-grab mo,” he said while still using his hands to point from one direction to another. “Kase," he paused, choosing the right words to utter.
Taking it all in, I looked at him intently, understanding every bit of his words like they were coming from me.
He went on, proudly saying, “Alangan naman na kakayanin nila, hindi mo kakayanin?” A smile spread across his face. “Although may training ka sa ibang division, eh kaya mo namang gawin. So, why don't you apply?”
As a new nursing attendant, he struggled with patient care, so different from the daily interactions he had with mops, carts, and disinfectants — he now needed to bathe a baby. Assigned in a private room, encounters with demanding patients were a daily ordeal. Despite this, he always reminded himself that the aim is to give service.
“Serbisyo sibil,” he stressed, nodding his head.
The physical load of his new position was not so different from his prior work. “Kumbaga ‘yung vital signs, bed padding ng mga pasyente, parang ganon. Kung dati parang sa housekeeping nakatutok. Nakatutok ka na sa pasyente ngayon,” he said.
More than the care he gives patients, he also imparts health education, sometimes moral and spiritual uplift. He has even connected his life to them by donating his blood every three months. Unfortunately, for two years, he stopped due to a low hemoglobin count. Now, he's back on track and has donated his blood just recently.
Reymax poured a drink into his plastic drinking glass. With all the experiences laid on the table, I wondered how many patients turned into friends. As expected, he expressed an enthusiastic outburst. “Ay! Madami,” he uttered with a surprised yet ready-to-answer tone as if he was waiting for this query to surface.
“Almost, ah, let's say, sabihin ko sa'yo, hindi sa pagmamayabang. Ah, I can say…” he eagerly weighed the number, choosing a figure in his head. “70% kamo na lang,” he looked in my direction, then fixed his gaze back to the window.
“Sa unit namin, M-W-F, hanggang Saturday, pumunta ka sa unit, tanungin mo ang pangalan ko, either pasyente or watcher…” silence filled the air, waiting for what he would say next. He glanced at me, a silent understanding passed between us, and the exact same thing was heard. “Kilala ako,” he said with eyes beaming with pride and joy.
A long hush fell over the dining room again. “Because of communication, talking to the patients, talking to the watchers, so on and so on, maging friends mo sila,” he finally continued. “Matanda, bata, teenager, it doesn't matter.” He poured another drink, and the sound of brandy flowing echoed through the room.
Reymax was assigned to the Dialysis unit in 1994. In his thirty-five years of service, he spent twenty-five years here taking care of dialysis patients. To equip him with knowledge needed to execute the daily tasks in the unit, he underwent training at the National Kidney Institute for three months. The journey wasn't linear; a merger between the private and public sectors led to a restructuring of the unit, resulting in Reymax's reassignment to the operating room in 2015. Three years later, he returned to the familiar walls of his territory.
“Ah, dialysis ako ah,” he said without any hesitation when I made him choose between the two units he was assigned to. “Kase ‘yun ang expertise ko. May training ako doon,” his speech now slightly slurred, the alcohol slowly kicking in.
A nursing attendant in the dialysis unit should stick to a routine. For Reymax, it has been a routine that after arriving at the unit, he prepares all the needed things for the treatment—everything from the beddings and the patient’s seat to the disinfection of the machine and dialyzer and mounting of tubings and bloodlines.
Sunday is the only rest day. Because of this routine, it is hardly surprising that he made so many friends along the way. “Parang pamilya mo na,” his exact words.
Years have passed, and a lot has changed. The hospital floor, once a uniform expanse of red, now boasts white tiled floors. In the hospital compound, where Sayotes used to cover the landscape, piles of houses where most hospital workers live are now dominating the scene.
As Reymax aged, his dedication to his work only grew stronger. Now 57, he remains as eager as ever — one thing he could not erase. “Why? Hindi ko rin alam," he said, chuckling softly and, in one go, gulping down the brandy.
SECOND HOME
The hospital garden was quite empty on a Tuesday morning. Standing at the foot of the hospital flagpole, “ang aga mo ah,” a voice from my back startled me. A guy in navy blue scrubs and a gray jacket, his face having an imprint of a night shift, appeared as I turned my head.
“Oh, kuya,” I replied, acknowledging his presence. We descended the stairs and made our way towards the garden, looking for a suitable table where we could sit across from each other. A wooden picnic table came into view. Despite its proximity to the road where the sound of the morning rush could be heard, we walked towards it and sat.
Four years have passed since Nathan was hired as a nursing attendant in BGH — a mere fraction of his uncle Reymax's long tenure. Curious about his sentiments, I wondered how physically demanding the job was for him.
“Sa physical workload niya, as in talagang matataktak ka. Mabigat ‘yung mga trabaho. ‘Yung pagbubuhat ng pasyente, ‘yung pagtutulak ng oxygen, tas ‘yung mga linens namin marami. Tsaka ‘yung pag lakad-lakad,” he said, his lips quite shaking. Perhaps the question was an intrusion into his thoughts, revealing a vulnerability manifested through his lips.
Nathan is assigned to the operating room (OR), where his main tasks are transferring patients from the OR to the recovery room, preparing the room for the next patient, and sterilizing apparatuses through an autoclave, like a high-pressure steam cooker used to kill bacteria.
“Tas ‘yung tambak-tambak na linen na ginagamit tsaka ‘yung mga oxygen na pinapalitan. Tas parang kami, ‘yung sa OR kasi sampung rooms tas ichecheck mo lahat ‘yon. Papalitan mo ‘yun ng bago, lalagyan mo ng extra,” he uttered, his eyes looking straight at mine.
Given the amount of work needed to be accomplished, Nathan outlined their staffing schedule. He explained, “Sa morning kasi apat. Apat sila. Sa afternoon, lima kasi bale medyo mas mahirap 'yung trabaho sa afternoon. Tapos sa night naman dadalawa lang kami. Kaya natatambak sa’min lahat sa night ‘yung oxygen ganon, kasi wala na halos pasyente, bibihira na.”
“As in ‘yung tank ng oxygen?” I asked, perplexed. “Mmm, pinapagulong,” he replied with ease, far different from exerting effort to handle a tank. “‘Yung malaking tank ng oxygen?” I repeated my query, now adding more weight. “Mmm. Pinapagulong namin,” he said, repeating his answer with the same tone.
Emotional stress kicks in when everything becomes too chaotic. “Lalo na ‘yung sasabay-sabay ‘yung i-uutos sa’yo. Tapos sasabay din ‘yung kwan, ‘yung pinakatrabaho mo,” he said in several pauses, his lips still shaking. For him, stress manifests in various forms, be it physical, mental, or emotional.
In July earlier this year, Nathan took oath as a registered nurse. Despite an upgrade in terms of the physical workload and salary, he expressed his desire to take everything at his own pace. “Hindi pa ako napromote,” he uttered without a hint of sadness, instead a sign that it was, in fact, a choice. “Syempre alam ko rin sa sarili ko kung kailan ako magiging ready. Kasi meron, malaki yung pagbabago eh nung trabaho ko. Di naman pwedeng sumabak sa giyera na wala kang bala diba? he said, and for the first time, with a chuckle.
Sometimes, in the fleeting moments between life and death, when Nathan is transporting patients from the operating room to the dialysis unit, he’s able to cross paths with Reymax.
“As in tiwala lahat sa kanya ‘yung mga kasama niya. Tsaka active talaga siya pagdating sa work niya,” he uttered, based on his observation. A few meters away, the sound of a whistle could be heard coming from the parking lot as vehicles continued their way to their destinations a few minutes before the clock hits eight.
“Nakikita ko naman minsan nakikipag-tawanan siya sa mga watcher mga ganon, sa mga pasyente. Tsaka halos lahat ng nagdi-dialysis kilala siya. Kaya minsan, kapag umuuwi si tito may dala siyang prutas, meron pang minsan may nagbigay ng isda mga ganun,” recalling moments with his uncle.
The conversation flowed until the topic of the award surfaced. “Deserve niya talaga. Kasi hindi naman siya makukuha ng ganoon, na parang hinanapan sila ng proof eh, ‘yung mga nagnominate sa kanya, na ganito talaga ginagawa niya,” he said, seemingly well-informed about this feat. “Tsaka pangalawang nomination niya na ito eh, ‘yung una hindi ata siya nakuha. Pero manominate ka lang malaking bagay na ‘yun eh,” he remarked.
Nathan understood what he was saying — when I asked if he had aspirations for continued public service and eventual recognition, he answered with brevity and depth. “Sana,” he said, his voice filled with quiet perseverance.
Minutes passed, and our conversation halted as I needed to go somewhere. We climbed the stairs back to the hospital, a timeworn portico with whitewashed walls leading to its main entrance. As I stepped inside, I noticed green arrows painted on the white tiles, pointing in opposite directions of the hallways.
Nathan accompanied me as I didn't know the exact location. We turned left, and charts of different sizes appeared, hanging on both walls. In one painting, a woman dressed in a white uniform with wings filled with words such as "trust," "faith," and "love" was holding the hospital's logo in her hands. Above her head, it read, "All is Well." To my right was a wooden frame containing a scoreboard of the nursing services department. Looking further down the hallway, I caught sight of a green signage, printed on it the name of the person I needed to meet.
A few minutes before our scheduled meeting, I settled into a wooden bench on the second floor, a vantage point that offered a glimpse into the endoscopy unit, the operating room information desk, and the distant surgical intensive care unit.
A person in a cerulean lab gown walked past me as someone from the information desk shouted the surnames of patients in my direction. Pushing a grocery cart, a nursing attendant strolled down the corridors while another lugged a pile of linens on his shoulder with a placard that said EGD linen stuck to it. Everyone sitting with me was bowing. They could be praying. But some were busy using their cellphones, perhaps seeking solace in distraction. Glancing at the time, I stood up and dashed down the stairs.
The sound of a printer greeted me as I entered the Chief nurse's reception area. A digital clock, illuminated in red, adorned the wall. His secretary told me to sit as he was still talking to somebody inside. White walls, apple green curtains — the office was nothing unusual, except a carved head of a deer with pointed antlers hanging above the sliding door of the main office’s entrance and a small sculpture of a nurse wearing the Philippine flag as a cape, on her head a Christmas hat.
The secretary motioned me to enter. There appeared before me a sturdy-looking man in a white uniform, on his chest a pattern of yellow and green forming a rectangular bib-like design — a distinction from the regular nurses. Seeking more insight into my uncle's journey toward national recognition, I turned to Joselito Datud, his boss. Like a teacher to his student, Jing, as his colleagues call him, illustrated the daily errands of a nursing attendant.
“We have to mention first the regular job of a nursing attendant. Basically, ang mga nursing attendant dito sa Baguio Gen, they just take vital signs, they do errands, errands mean they bring linens, they get blood from the blood bank, they give specimens to the laboratory, and they get medication,” he said. “Si Reymax kase hmmm, I think he’s been here early twenties or late teens niya,” pausing for a while to recall.
A woman arrived. Jing introduced Sheryl Langaman, Reymax's sub-supervisor at the unit. Dressed in white scrubs, she sat across from me. Her uniform’s collar bore the same distinctive design. He continued, “‘Yun ‘yung mga regular job nila, but for Reymax, he goes the extra mile. A little information, taga-BGH compound siya, so if may need ang hemodialysis unit na extra help, even off duty or from duty, he is readily available. And you can feel na wala ngay alam mo ‘yon, hindi mabigat sa damdamin niya if tatawagin siya as on call.”
“Aside from that, he talks to our patients. Big factor kase when you talk with your patients. Big factor kase when you talk to the relatives. Alam mo ‘yun, pag may communication kase you feel more secure, and you feel more comfortable,” he uttered, his hands resting on the glass cover of the wooden table.
“At saka si Reymax sabi ko nga sa’yo, anong year siya nagstart?” he directed his gaze towards Langaman. “1987?” Sheryl replied, perhaps miscalculating it, adding two more years.
“Hindi ko alam kung late twenties niya ‘yun or early, hanggang ngayon. So, wala pang nadocument na nagreklamo sa kanya. Wala. you can leave the hemodialysis unit sa kanila, even they’re nursing attendants. Pag sinabi mong iprepare mo ang mga gamit, ready for, the whole unit yan ah not just the machine, the whole ward, he can do that,” he said, his words flowing one after the other. “The trust factor is nandon,” he added, nodding his head. Eager to hear more, I turned to Sheryl as she recounted the times when Reymax went above and beyond his role.
“Diba ‘yung sa machines natin, may talagang gumagawa, biomed, experts, pero siya kaya niyang gawin ‘yung ginagawa ng engineer, kase tinuturuan niya ‘yung sarili niya through sa mga experiences. Nagkukumpuni siya ng mga gamit…” she paused, looking for the correct word to say. She continued, her soft and low tone distinct of her, “mga dialysis machines, which is nakasave sa mga expenses ng mga request namin. So imbes na nagrerequest kami for another na bago, kukumpunihin niya.”
The hum of whatever machine filled the air. I was reminded of the red tubings I saw along the hallway ceiling, exposed to everyone's eyes. Sheryl added, “Nag-extra mile rin siyang mag-aral sa TESDA para mas lalong maenhance, hindi lang siya nag-stay as nursing attendant, nag-aral din siya para doon sa mga nangangailangan.” “That's on his own. Expense niya. Time niya,” Jing interjected. As I was intrigued whether Reymax also sought guidance from his peers, Sheryl said, “Siya ang nagtuturo sa mga kasama niya.”
Jing lamented the limited career progression of nursing attendants, noting that Reymax could have achieved a higher rank as a nursing attendant if only it had had the same career advancement as nurses who have seven ranks. “No, as much as we want to,” he said, with the thought of creating higher ranks for the attendants, a clear constraint of the system.
According to Sheryl, Reymax's nomination was borne out of his consistency at work. “Hindi siya nagli-lie low, kundi nagi-improve siya habang tumatanda siya,” she laughed. “Nauna siya sa akin. Kumbaga naging mentor ko rin siya, pagpasok ko ng dialysis. Sila ‘yung naging mentor, technician kase 'yung parang item nila noon diyan, nursing attendant technician, tinuruan din nila kami as nurses,” she added.
Even though not fond of awards, Jing thought that Reymax deserved to be recognized, noting that this was also a recognition of nursing attendants from a broader perspective.
"Kase, most of the time, when you talk about healthcare workers, dalawa lang ang papasok eh — nurse and doctor lang, right? Period,” he stressed. “But the backbone of those professions are the nursing attendants. Who does the dirty job? It’s the nursing attendant,” he uttered with a tone that hinted at countless repetitions of this sentiment.
Describing Reymax as an institution, both of them agreed.
“Pundasyon,” Sheryl said. “Pader,” Jing added.
More than two hundred nursing attendants are currently employed in BGH. According to Jing, the hospital doesn't have a problem with its attendant-to-patient ratio, given they have a 600-bed capacity at the moment. However, without additional plantillas, they might have a difficult time handling their 1,500-bed capacity target.
Despite the current situation being “doable,” Jing mentioned that nursing attendants face numerous challenges. “The influx of our patients kase in a ward, for example, in a regular ward composed of 40 beds, isang nursing attendant lang ‘yan in one shift. So gaya ng sinabi ko sayo, sinong kukuha ng gamot? Nursing attendant ‘yan. Sinong magche-check ng vital signs? Nursing attendant ‘yan,” he explained. He added that there’s a need for the nurses to empower their attendants by teaching them the underlying science of the procedures they do.
Giving a concrete example, Jing illustrated how crucial the work of an attendant is during simultaneous operations, especially when getting blood from the blood bank and delivering it to the rooms. “Pag may scenario na napagpalit ‘yun, mamamatay ‘yang dalawang pasyente na ‘yan. Kahit parang courier lang sila, tagakuha. It will also mean the patient’s life,” he said.
The hospital supports its attendants professional development through skills enhancements, especially considering elementary education is the minimum educational requirement. According to Jing, “A lot of them there didn’t reach college. So ‘yun din ang challenge namin sa nursing management on how to capacitate and empower our nursing attendants with that kind of educational background.”
In terms of benefits, Jing said nursing attendants receive everything covered by the Magna Carta for Health Workers, such as hazard pay, Philhealth sharing, sick leave, vacation leave, hospitalization, subsistence allowance, and clothing allowance. He added that they receive four to five thousand pesos per year for their clothing allowance, which is why they also have uniforms.
The Magna Carta of Public Health Workers was enacted into law on March 26, 1992. This document outlines all the rights and benefits a public health worker should be entitled to. Health workers should receive night differentials, longevity pay, and remote assignment allowance, among other benefits mentioned above. Several attempts have been made to amend sections of the Magna Carta, yet these are still pending in the committee hearings.
Asked whether these benefits were sufficient, he replied, maintaining his calm demeanor, “I think it is sufficient considering their salary grade, considering their educational background. Makakabuhay na rin ng pamilya. Kase, aside from that, they have some benefits outside what is prescribed by law. Meron silang Philhealth sharing din.”
Explaining Philhealth sharing, Jing said, “We have the insurance system Philhealth, ‘yun kukunin ng hospital ‘yun, sisingilin nila from Philhealth, tapos ‘yun it will become a pool. ‘Yung maiipon na pera doon, the management divides it among all employees. Ideally kase ‘yun, doctor lang dapat ang may Philhealth, pero ang gusto ng BGHMC lahat. So it helps them.” Apparently, Philhealth sharing depends on how the hospital allocates its funds and who it considers as eligible employees.
Jing continued, “And aside from that, if they get sick, I hope it will not happen often, it’s all for free. And they have to be seen by consultants, not just residents.” Sounding too good to be true, I asked whether they really don't have to pay for medication. “Yeah,” he stuttered, struggling to find the next word to say. “Free accommodation sa hospital, diagnostics nila, even the professional fee of the doctors.” One more time, I probed. “Everything," he said.
It is common knowledge that salary delays happen, especially in public institutions. Curious whether this holds true for the hospital, I broached the topic. Sheryl promptly responded to my query, dismissing the notion outright. “Dito sa’min hindi, wala,” She burst into laughter. “Kase may in-charge tayo sa mga ganyan. May office para diyan,” she added. Jing immediately affirmed her statement, saying, “Oo, pero wala.” “Pero wala siya, wala,” Sheryl echoed. “We… we receive our salary regularly, even the benefits,” Jing added.
A 2021 study of 1,557 LGUs revealed that, as of 2017, over half of these local governments failed to fully provide hazard pay, subsistence allowance, and laundry allowance to their public health workers, despite the provisions of the Magna Carta. Fortunately, Baguio City scored “excellent” under the external benchmark, which meant they performed equal to or better than the 2017 National Target.
Despite this, it is still worth noting that employee narratives differ from the numbers. Delays have happened, and allowances have sometimes not been given in full. To patiently wait has been their collective reaction. “Walang magagawa, maghintay” or “tiis-tiis” they say.
When asked if nursing attendants deserve higher salaries, Datud acknowledged the legal limitations. "That is what’s prescribed by the law kase," he explained. Probing further into the topic, I was intrigued by whether they advocate for increased wages.
“Ahh…” Jing started, Sheryl cutting him off. “Kaya ‘yun kinakwan na mag-aral sila, kase diba ‘yung kwan ng nursing attendant is elementary graduate ang pinakamababa, which is nakabase din doon sa salary nila. Ngayon ‘pag gusto nila ng mas higher na salary ‘yun. Ine-encourage nila sir na mag-aral para at least mapromote sila as nurse in the future,” she said, explaining the course of action one must undertake to get a higher pay.
Jing reiterated Sheryl's statements, agreeing that they should seek further education, given the career path of a nursing attendant is not lucrative. By choosing to study, Jing said nursing attendants could get the chance to “become a nurse, be promoted, and at the same time, the chance to go abroad.”
In 2023, the Workers and Employees Program (WEP) of the University of the Philippines College of Law crafted the Magna Carta of Health Workers (MCHW). This proposal was brought by the apparent exodus of health workers who seek greener pastures abroad — higher pay and more benefits. They forwarded that support personnel should receive a minimum wage of 40,000 pesos.
STEPS AHEAD
Everyone was enjoying their time chatting with their peers, while some were munching on the chicken and salad. Most of the attendees already left, but the music was still alive. As we walked towards the space overlooking the hospital buildings, I accompanied Dr. Jimmy Billod, one of the two Dangal ng Bayan Awardees from BGH — wearing his Barong in navy blue and red hues, his hair flowing down his shoulders.
With the hospital grounds spread out before us, I asked him what it was like to receive the award. “I felt very grateful lang and felt very blessed na somebody, I mean mataas na civil service commission is now recognizing what I’ve been doing,” he said, all smiles.
Dr. Jimmy Billod was born in Bauco, Mountain Province. As a gynecologic oncologist, he treats women with gynecologic cancer. This has been his advocacy since 2016. “I just probably inspired other people siguro or other colleagues, to move forward with regards to these advocacies, especially the cervical cancer prevention,” he uttered.
Dr. Jimmy added, his voice firm, “Sabi ko very grateful ako and fully blessed na nabigay sakin ‘tong award na ‘to. It would not really mean more offers or more patients siguro. I think it’s more of a challenge also for me to continue what I’ve been doing since 2016.”
He believed the award was enough to recognize his efforts, but he wanted his fellow health workers to receive the same. “We have a lot of employees na very silent workers. Which marami akong kilala. Sometimes, I really want them to be nominated, pero you need kase the consent diba for every nomination. So, parang ayaw nila,” he shrugged, a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
“I think ano ‘yun, number one is hindi nila kailangan ng recognition talaga. Ito ‘yung mga heroes na ano ah hindi natin nakikita, 'yung mga silent workers talaga,” nodding his head, proud of his fellows.
The Philippine healthcare system has a lot of issues, and sometimes, awards like these are being used to patch up real problems that should be addressed. For Dr. Jimmy, the Dangal ng Bayan wasn't a symbolic act. He reasoned that because of the multitude of attachments and even an investigation into one's personal life, the award wouldn’t count as a form of tokenism.
“So, pag sinasabi kaseng tokenism ‘yun, are you willing to undergo those investigations para lang mabigyan ka ng token?” He raised the question to the air. However, he continued, saying, “But you are right when you said na mas maraming problem ang ating public health system na dapat irecognize na ating government.
“Ang nakikita ko ngayon kase is mas maraming issues ang public health system natin, so I think medical doctors deserve better from our government. Ang daming hinaing ang ating medical doctors. So, dapat for us to be recognized really sa aming mga pinaghihirapan, ‘yun muna ang pagtuunan nila ng pansin. Kase it’s very difficult for us to do our best kung kulang din ang support from the health ministry,” he opined, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Before leaving, he carried his backpack and jokingly said, “Para akong nagrevalida sa questions mo.”
BACK HOME
The sun had nearly reached its peak when my uncle and I left the building. More people were walking along the road. Some were carrying their lunch bought from a nearby carinderia. Hugging four packs of food on my left arm, I listened to the sound of our steps. Minutes passed, and no one had spoken a word. As usual, he kept running into people he knew. Breaking the silence, he said laughing, “Kahit sino diyan kilala ako.”
We passed through the basketball court and down the familiar and ever-exhausting stairs. He opened the door, turned on the television, and changed his clothes. Once again, he now looked the way he always did, the Reymax known to his loved ones: a simple, family-oriented man, who we affectionately call 'Papa Rey.'
Life didn’t stop when Reymax chose a path he never knew he would traverse. Life actually began when he took that leap of faith, even though it was fueled by the pressure of being left out. Moments like these serve as a reminder of how far he has come, of how a young man stepped on a misty hill surrounded by pines with a future so uncertain.
“Kung alam ko lang na sa medical ako mapupunta, why not sabi ko nga eh. Sabi ko sana naging nurse na lang ako…”
“Pero hindi rin, wala rin, hindi rin naman tayo nagsisi kase hindi ko rin naman linya to eh. Malayong malayo sa linya ko.”
Reymax is proof that everything can be learned, no matter how long it takes or how impossible it might seem. With a heart dedicated to service, he was able to be a part of journeys of healing and hope, witnessing side by side the human frailty and desire to stay.
To be a Dangal ng Bayan awardee, one must stand out from the norm and extend service beyond average care. For Reymax, it was those seemingly small moments that created the most impact on his patients. The most extraordinary acts are often the simplest ones—always being punctual, connecting with people from all walks of life, and taking the initiative to lend a hand whenever possible.
The hospital will not beat without its heart.
Without nursing attendants, the country's healthcare system will collapse.
Indeed, Reymax, together with all the country's nursing attendants, should be rightfully called — mga dangal ng bayan.
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