Call me ‘Braveheart’
I just survived a quadruple bypass on Sept. 27. An unthinkable heart operation performed on me, a biker who rode his saddle three hours a day prior to the detection of blockages in his major heart arteries.
From the time the obstructions were discovered on Sept. 12, my cardiologist at St. Luke’s Global, Dr. Leni Iboleon-Dy, prohibited me temporarily from biking because I was a “timebomb waiting to explode.” My heart surgeon, Dr. Ramon Diaz, confirmed it by saying, “Yes, you are a ticking bomb.” I could die anytime.
What prompted the angiogram that detected the blockages? An abnormality in my ECG was detected when I did my stress test at the hospital on July 19. Everything was caught because I had a cardiologist who was empathetic and thorough. She always wants the best for her patients and my TLC from her was extra special because we became friends since 2014, when I became her patient. We clicked right away when Dr. Leni told me in one of my consults with her: “I believe in miracles.” But three years after consulting with her, I stopped seeing her for seven years. The disciplinarian in her emerged as she took me back under her wings in early 2024.
In the same vein, I knew I was in good hands with Dr. Mon as my surgeon when he told me “I’m on my knees, deep in prayer, the night before the surgery. I’ll pray for you, Bum.”
I was wheeled in at 6 a.m. to the OR by family and friends while we were all singing “Happy bypass to you,” complete with balloons, to the amazement of the nurses at the station. All faces were lit up, hopeful. I managed to mutter in the OR Padre Pio’s prayer: “Pray, hope and don’t worry,” while clutching an image of him, two rosaries from my SVCC students slung around my wrist. I managed to pray the Memorare. Then I said, “Stay with me, Jesus.” And to honor my late parents, I declared my love for them and asked, “Nay, Tay, samahan po ninyo ako.”
Off-pump CABG
For three hours and a half, Dr. Diaz, with a battery of doctors at the operating room, performed on me an off-pump CABG (coronary artery bypass graft) surgery. He is one of the very few who does off-pump surgery in the Philippines, but he is known for his uncompromising speed, skill and efficiency.
Off-pump CABG, or beating-heart surgery, according to online sources, is “a type of coronary artery bypass graft surgery performed without stopping the heart or using a heart-lung bypass machine, which stabilizes the heart and uses special equipment to bypass blocked arteries.”
The doctors on board did exemplary well as I opened my eyes less than 20 minutes after the bypass surgery, a feat, a record at St. Luke’s, according to the doctors. The first thing I said when I was extubated in a jiffy after I woke up was: “There is a God.” Then I proceeded to sing “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid. And less than 24 hours after the surgery, I could walk around the coronary care unit where all the nurses performed more than what they were expected of for three days I stayed there. Every nurse who took care of me at the CCU made me feel he or she was caring for a family member with sincere encouragement and world-class skill. Four days after, I could dance to “Golden” in my hospital room after my rehab at St. Luke’s gym that included walking on the treadmill and riding the stationary bicycle!
The stationary biking almost brought me to tears. How!
‘We’ll ride again’
I took it to heart when I was told I had to stop biking for a while. Biking was my life. After the death of my mother in 2023, I was happiest on my saddle.
On Sept. 14, my late father’s 90th birthday, I put my bike in the bodega for safekeeping. Hanging my bike on the garage was in itself a heartbreak. But I was a good soldier. I had always been known to follow my doctor’s advice. “We’ll ride again,” I whispered to my red bike, like a lover taking a sabbatical from the relationship. “I’ll just get well.” I was still in denial.
The day I hung my bike was the day I started to process my thoughts. Total humility seeped in. I was a strong body with a clogged heart. Asymptomatic was the word used by my doctors. No physical signs or symptoms that I had a heart ailment.
My physical outlook—a 53-year-old man full of love and life, whose ultimate Disneyland was the saddle of his bicycle that he rode every day to the lake to watch the sunrise, to rice fields to ogle majestic sunsets, to old churches—belied the verdict. But the blockages in my arteries were real. I was told by my cardiologist I could perform physically well, including navigating three floors to reach my classroom—without shortness of breath or panting—because my collateral arteries were formidable support…for the meantime.
“It’s because of your collateral arteries,” explained Dr. Leni. Collateral arteries are supporting arteries to the major arteries. In time, the cardiologist said, the collateral arteries will give up. That’s the deadly bomb.
Carrying the deadly bomb within me, so to speak, did not stop me from asking God for his generosity and mercy. I asked family and friends, even my students and strangers, for prayers. Even the Assumption High School Batch ’79 was praying the nightly rosary for me! What stuck with me the most was Fr. Dave Concepcion’s homily about Padre Pio’s teachings: “Worrying is worthless.” My prayers as the day of my surgery drew closer became less perfunctory as they became like salve to my soul. I could talk freely to God now. I now had a clear understanding of the journey I would take. I was ready. My conversations with God made me aware that I would survive.
Two days before my surgery, I was blessed with a clear understanding of my situation when I talked for hours on the phone with couple Sheila and Ricky Paras. Ricky had a quadruple bypass at St. Luke’s Quezon City in November 2019. He made me feel that it was a gift from God that my blockages were detected while I was still strong. He preempted me with the things I would see, feel and experience post-op. He also assured me that, as what my doctors told me, I would not feel a single thing while being operated on. After the talk, I was more than ready for my “close-up.”
The bomb that was ready to explode was defused, so to speak, on Sept. 27, under the OR leadership of Dr. Diaz. I was given a new lease on life, a blessing from God, aided by the genius of man. My niece Paula, a nurse and my primary caregiver post-op, calls me now: “Braveheart.” Every night before we all slept in my hospital room, Paula, my youngest brother Rod, my best friend Christine Dayrit, my sister-from-another-mother Jan Chavez Arceo, and my can-do-it-all assistant Yaya Liza Alcantara would call me that: Braveheart.
Thank you for all your prayers. Your pleas and whispers to God gave me a brave heart.