Why Worry?

Worry is a creature that worms its way into the gut; it creeps up the chest, making it difficult to breathe; and then it gnaws at the nerves, fraying them, wearing them out. I had the unfortunate opportunity of reacquainting myself with worry early last Friday morning, when I roused myself slowly from heavy sleep to find 5 missed calls from an unknown number on my phone. A text from the same number revealed that its owner was the mother of a very good friend, and that this friend had just been in a violent car accident.


It was as bad as I imagined in my foggy 5-am mind. We had been drinking a little the night before and I had just arrived home and drifted off to sleep a couple hours earlier.

They found him along Katipunan extension, the car a total wreck, and him bleeding internally. He had been on his way back home to Pasig from a side trip to Fairview. The media and the police arrived before anyone else, and they took time to question him--on TV!--before calling for help. They took him first to Quirino Memorial Hospital, then transferred him to St. Lukes along E. Rodriguez. By then 1.5 liters of blood had escaped into his stomach and other organs. His iPhone and sunglasses were also conspicuously missing. The doctors told his frightened mother that his BP was down to 70/50 and that he had a fifty percent chance of survival. They proceeded to operate.

From the minute his mom called me until I finally saw him again almost two days later, there was a terrible knot in my stomach that would not unclench. I had forgotten, or perhaps didn't even know, that there was such a feeling. It is exhausting, it is hateful, and it was utterly relieving when I realized--after I saw that he was going to get better--that my friend had just miraculously survived. 

His car had hit the island in the middle of the road, flipped over, skidded across the street, hit one of the posts of an unfortunate establishment, and flipped right side up again. The vehicle's roof was almost kissing the dashboard: it was amazing that he had survived at all, much less have gotten through without any concussions or damage to his neck.

I think now that maybe worry is a creature that God or the Powers That Be send to remind us all not to take what we have for granted. It nibbles at and wears away our jaded dispositions until we find ourselves worried raw, thinking and feeling and living at the very edges of our skins. It makes us thankful when things return to normal, and it provides us--after the worst has passed--with a reminder of the danger of life and the shadow of death that lurks at every corner. I'm glad I worried, because now I can be relieved, and thankful. 

He's walking again, barely a week later. He even makes jokes and laughs at ridiculous "thriller" movies on TV. Let's hope for his sake the Lakers play another good game, shall we?