AN OLD RUSSIAN folktale goes like this: a little girl fell asleep while her mother worked in the field, and when she woke up, she sleepily looked for her mom and eventually got lost. She wandered to a nearby village, and by the time the village chief found her, she was already crying and distraught. When asked what her mother looked like, she said, “My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Thus, all the beautiful women in the village were called, but none of them were the child’s mother. The women laughed, saying, “Of course we would know our own children.”
Then a buxom woman came rushing through the crowd, perspiration streaming down her face. Not exactly the most beautiful woman in the world, but when the child saw her, her eyes lit up in relief and joy. She melted in the woman’s embrace, and she proudly said to the people around them, “This is my mother. She is the most beautiful woman in the world!”
Delicate Pregnancy
This story came to mind when I gave birth to my son in 1999. It was a very delicate pregnancy, and my aunt who is an anesthesiologist made arrangements for me to give birth at East Avenue hospital, as she was on call at the Heart Center and couldn’t go far to attend to me during the operation.
The hospital was full. As I was wheeled into the operating room, I saw other mothers quietly enduring labor pains along the corridor, some even sitting on the cold floor.
After the operation, I and my baby had to share a bed with another mom and her baby. We asked for a private room, but there simply wasn’t any available. The ward had ten beds, all with two mothers and two babies each. Companions had to sleep under the beds on flattened cardboard boxes. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.
But then it also seemed like I was the only one who felt that. People around me were quietly asking about each other, mindful of the sleeping mothers who have just undergone excruciating pain.
“Kumain na ba kayo? May tinapay po kami dito.” (Have you eaten? We have some bread)
“Hay, nakaraos din. Nahirapan mag-labor ang anak ko.” (It’s finally over. My daughter had difficulty through labor)
“May ekstrang karton po kami dito, baka kailangan nyo ng pangsapin.” (We have extra cardboard boxes here; you might need one to sleep on)
Selfless Generosity
The next day, it was livelier. Moms were feeding babies, companions visiting neighboring patients to admire other babies, relatives and friends coming to visit.
My bedmate’s brother came with one of their friends. They happily surprised her with the news that they were able to find a big refrigerator box for a bed as well as a sturdy carton that could be the baby’s crib. They were all smiles as they talked about how handsome the baby was.
“Syempre gwapo ang apo ko. Mutya yata ng kambingan ang mama nya.” (Of course, my grandson is handsome. His mom is Queen of the goat farm) My bedmate’s mom beamed at her daughter and grandson.
My bedmate touched my arm. “Ma’am, na-caesarean pala kayo. Ako naman normal lang, kaya mauupo muna ako dito para makahiga kayo ng maayos.” (Ma’am, you had a c-section. I just had a normal delivery. I’ll sit on the chair for a while so you can rest properly) For some reason, she called me “ma’am” when at that moment I was the one who felt like she deserved all the respect. I tried to protest, but she and her mom wouldn’t hear it.
The husband arrived, fighting back tears. The nearby pharmacy refused to exchange the medicine he bought for their baby. It cost 60 pesos. They didn’t know where to get another 60 pesos to buy the correct medicine. My mom quietly gave 500 to them. They thanked us profusely, but their faces expressed relief and gratitude as no words ever could.
Two moms at the end of the room did not have any breast milk and their babies were crying. The nurses told them that they may have to buy some formula for the babies. My bedmate asked if she could feed them. She took the babies in her arms and fed them one at a time. I cried at the sheer beauty of this lady’s heart.
Beautiful People
My husband noticed that the other lady in the bed across from us was silently weeping, hugging a jar close. It was her stillborn baby. My mother went over. At the touch of my mother’s hand, she broke down in despair, clutching at my mom’s arm like a lifeline. She was beautiful and young. She said her boyfriend treated her like Ms. Universe until the pregnancy. He wanted her to get rid of the baby and tried to abort it to no avail. She tried her best to hold on but gave birth to a lifeless infant.
The rest of us were stunned at this young woman’s story. My mom prayed for her as she continued to weep, and we all prayed with them.
In my very short stay in that maternity ward, I had the honor of getting a glimpse of the lives of mothers and grandmothers, women who helped each other without any agenda, women whose strength allowed them to endure pain and hardship despite not seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, women who supported each other in joy and in sadness.
Women who, in my newly awakened eyes, were the most beautiful women in the world.
As the village chief at the end of the folktale said, “We do not love people because they are beautiful, but they seem beautiful because we love them.”
