From a Bite to a Hospital Bed

By Gerard Reycel Briones

I woke up in a hospital bed in mid 2020, but it didn’t feel like waking up; it felt as if I was being pulled into a nightmare I couldn’t escape. The room's fluorescent lights blurring my eyes and feeling distant, as if I was underwater, the only thing I could make out somewhat clearly was my mom sitting beside me, noticing her face filled with worry. “It’s gonna be okay,” she says with a worried face, as she tries to force a smile.  My body burned with fever, like I was being boiled alive, the heaviness and unresponsiveness took over my body, as nausea and confusion twisted through me. As I look at the IV bag hanging beside me, my stomach drops. This was a constant reminder that something was wrong. A terrifying thought crossed my mind: “I might not make it.”

Time has lost all meaning as days stretched endlessly, each breathing moment filled with pain, exhaustion, uncertainty. Even the simplest task, such as getting up to use the washroom, was a battle. I had to constantly bring the IV bag with me, step by step, while I held onto my mom’s arms. It felt as if I was gonna fall with each step.

That first night, I somehow managed to fall asleep. It was the only moment when my fear was lifted, and I was calm, even if it was just for a few hours. When I woke up the next morning, reality hit me. I was still in the hospital. Still weak. Still unsure of what was happening. I was back to fearing for my life. Breakfast arrived quietly, and the nurse looked at me with a smile and nicely said good morning. The food was placed in front of me like it was just another normal day. The plate is filled with rice, vegetables, and some meat. I didn’t want to eat the vegetables, but I knew I had to. I forced myself to eat every bite, knowing my body needed it, even if my mind resisted. Every bite. The fear wouldn’t leave me. It stuck with me; it was tight and suffocating. I couldn’t get rid of the thought that my life is at risk.

But my mom… she never left. She stayed by my side, choosing me over everything-even her job. She slept with me through all this. She didn’t walk away, not even for a moment. My dad was also there when my mom couldn’t watch over me. It was rare though. She was the only thing that made me feel safe. Then the doctor came in. My stomach dropped. I already knew what was coming, and my heart started pounding before he even spoke. He pulled out a needle. I’ve always hated them, more than anything. Just the thought of it makes my stomach twist. When he was about to inject the needle through my veins, I turned away, trying to disappear from the moment, wishing it would end as quickly as possible.

But who knew what was gonna happen next was worse. My doctor had news to tell my mother and me… He said I have a disease. I was thinking that if I had COVID, the thought immediately made my heart sink. Then he said I got Dengue virus, a virus caused by mosquitoes. He also said this was the cause of my blood loss. The room felt colder and smaller after that. My thoughts spiraled out of control. Fear took over me completely.

“I thought… this is it.”

Days passed, but they didn’t feel like days. Time was a blurry, endless stretch. The same meals. Same walls. Same routine. Every day felt identical, broken occasionally by the sweet treat, and when SpongeBob was playing on the TV, it was enough to remind me that not everything was empty.

“Drink more water,” they kept saying.

So I did.

In the midst of all this, one night… I started to pray. At first, it felt uncertain and quiet. Like I wasn’t sure if anyone was listening. But I kept going. Every morning, every night, like I was holding onto something I couldn’t see. Then one day, my mom told me something I’ll never forget.

“Our whole family is praying for you. And the church.”

Something inside me shifted. It wasn’t loud or sudden. It felt real. For the first time in what felt like forever, my heart didn’t feel so heavy. I felt cared for and loved. Also protected in a way I couldn’t explain. It was like the fear loosened its grip, even just a little. Weeks turned into a month. And slowly, I almost didn’t notice at first, I began to feel a bit better. The headaches weren’t as sharp, and the fever didn’t burn as much. My body didn’t feel like it was weighted down by something invisible anymore. “I was still there… but I wasn’t the same. Another month passed, and everything felt different. It was like the shackles holding me back had finally broken off. I could breathe and feel again. I felt free. Then the doctor walked in again. My heart started racing, louder than anything else in the room. I didn’t know what he was going to say. Negative thoughts were rushing through my mind. “What if something worse was happening, and all this was just a placebo or something?” I didn’t know if everything I had felt-the hope, the progress was real. Expecting the worst…

Then he said it.

“Your blood levels were back to normal.”

Not just better. Normal.

He looked surprised. Even he couldn’t fully explain it. But I didn’t need an explanation. At that moment, everything became clear to me. All those prayers weren’t in vain. I knew. “God is real. And somehow… He saved me.”

A couple of days later, I was finally released from the hospital. Stepping outside, I felt the warm breeze and a deep sense of freedom and overwhelming gratitude that I was still alive. Relief washed over me, knowing I was in death's grip, but he released me. I still had to take some medicine prescribed by my doctor for a while to ensure a good recovery. This experience completely changed my perspective on life. I began to pray more than ever before and started going to church regularly, holding tightly to my faith. Even to this day, I can’t believe that I survived. I truly believe it was by the grace of God that I was saved. And that He still has a plan for me.

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