The Good Egg

To classmates in San Beda Mendiola, he was"Itlog". Perhaps, it was due to his torso. Maybe, it was because he was not growing and it reminded them of an embryo. Well, he did seem as fragile.

Despite the demeaning moniker, Manny was quite popular. He had a knack for organizing class parties with the girls of St. Theresa's College Manila. His skill at making good connections even in high school was phenomenal.  

Fr. Basil Apostol, OSB

Manny and I had been classmates a few times through elementary and high school at the Benedictine school on Mendiola. He had his own set of friends and I had mine. However, it was always a pleasant encounter every time our paths crossed. We both shared a penchant for photography.

I came to know him better when he became my patient. He had become a Benedictine monk and was called Fr. Basil.  And he came to the clinic because he had grown tired of being rushed and confined to the hospital three to four times a year. The monks at the abbey could not understand why he often got sick and why he would not attend their community liturgical services. 

Basil had high blood pressure. He had an enlarged heart. He had problems with his spine. He had hyperacidity. But what distressed him most were his frequent panic attacks and depressive episodes. The monks would probably cite a number of saints who had similar problems. However, those saints probably did not have as many doctors as Basil did. He was never contented with consulting just one doctor. Ironically, he would stop taking the meds prescribed to him because of "intolerable" side effects. 

Even as a child, Basil was sickly. He was a complete orphan at an early age. He had one elder sister. And they had few relatives. It was Aunt Dolly, his mom's sister, who took him and his sister in. Many times, a maternal uncle would be called to school to bring him home. Uncle Pano would carry him in his arms as Basil gasped for air during his asthmatic attacks. Oh yes, Basil also had asthma.

I often wondered how he remained a priest. His illness and the cloistered monastic life were like yin and yang at odds. There was a time I advised him to quit. But despite the rigors of monastic life, he stayed on. And so his favorite expression, "Wow, pare!" -- and you must say this the way we did in the 70s --, is apt for the slow and tedious healing process that he went through.

Despite being sickly, Basil loved food.  And, his famed love for food made dining tables a pulpit where he welcomed everyone -- janitors, drivers, students, basketball players, batch mates, spouses (sometimes, paramours) of batch mates, balikbayans, business tycoons and politicians. He broke bread with all of them.  He carried on the renowned Benedictine hospitality albeit his unique gastronomy.  And, he would unabashedly share his hang-ups and foibles. In the best eateries in and out of town, his fellow diners would cheer him and ... uhh ... egg him on to health!  And, this time, he was endearingly called "Fads".

basil on my brother's big trike in california

I often scolded him about his weight and his unhealthy dining habits. My wife, who once thought of becoming a nun until I met her, had to remind me of how hellish life must be for those with these many illnesses and in religious life.  Joy, who is not only an acupuncturist and but a pathologist as well, is a pious woman who deeply respects the religious.  She told me to be more compassionate.  From being a patient, Basil became a good friend. 

And last May, Basil’s health significantly improved. His blood chemistry test results were all normal. And he finally agreed to take low dose Fluoxetine. He tried it anew with the supervision of a psychiatrist. And, he started to say Mass more often. He spent more time with his fellow monks. And, for the first time, he was religiously attending all the games of San Beda's NCAA basketball team without the usual entourage of either a doctor or a nurse and a troop of moral supporters. But for some mysterious reason, another condition appeared.

Basil developed an acute thyroid condition. His weak and enlarged heart started beating fast. An endocrinologist was called in. I was worried as I explained to Basil that Chinese Medicine considers the heart a fire organ. He was in a volatile situation. Still, I hoped he would get well.

Fr. Basil and my wife Joy

Basil's death was sudden. It was like a validation of how unpredictable God can be.  On that fateful day, he even felt well enough to watch and celebrate the resounding victory of San Beda's NCAA seniors' basketball team over Emilio Aguinaldo College. He ran for the abbey entrance after alighting from the van to bring in the news. He even had four types of "sisig" for lunch. Those with him claimed that he just tasted a bit of each but it appeared though that he hit the tipping point. 

That evening in the prayer room of the abbey, Basil suddenly collapsed. His heart just stopped. He died praying with the religious community that he committed himself to. He died practicing the very rubric of Benedictine life: embracing his monastic life, in stabilitas (stability) and in oboedentia (obedience). He was a good egg. And, God's plan for Basil had finally hatched.

fr. rafaelito and the rest of the benedictine community officiating a funeral mass for fr. basil

note: fr. benabarre asked me to write this piece for the alumni newsletter during one of his visits to my clinic. and being 99 years old, he probably will forget about it, i thought. a few days later, fr. pael, the acting abbot, sent me a private message on fb asking me to write the article.  (pael is one of the three priests our batch in high school produced. )  and, so i took it on.  but i also took some liberty in describing how fr, basil died. technically, he died a few days later.  the monks rushed him to the emergency room of a nearby hospital where he was "revived" from a state of 0/0 blood pressure and zero pulse -- a state that had lasted beyond five minutes before the intervention, according to accounts.  and so, he remained in a state of deep coma until his death on july 26, 2014.
by the way, on his return visit to the clinic, fr. benabarre reminded me about the article he asked me to write the week before.  that man is amazing!