The Real Gifts
501st’s Philippine Outpost and Black Pearl Philippines at PGH
By Regina Layug\
TB-1870
Philippine Outpost, 501st Legion
It was the most difficult thing for me, to see those children so frail and tiny, yet still managing smiles at our outlandish selves. Even now, weeks later, it is painful for me to recall that day, and yet I am glad we were able to go there and give them a reason to smile.
It was thanks to the efforts of Karen Kunawicz of Black Pearl Philippines, and her coordination with Nyx Martinez of Fun-Day-Tion, that we were finally able to make our first hospital visit. Nyx regularly organizes activities for the cancer patients—both outpatient and in the free ward—of the Philippine General Hospital (PGH) in Manila, and she was so happy that we pirates and troopers wanted to help out. We even brought 501st activity books for them, and the pirates had foam swords and treasure-laden eggs to distribute. Nyx brought gifts to distribute at the free ward.
It was a Thursday in busy December 2007. TK-1330 Oneal Rosero and I traveled with TI-2821 Ron Rosero, and arrived at PGH early to find parking and scout the place. Ron and Oneal both went to UP Manila, so PGH was more or less familiar to them, despite all the changes in the years since they were in college. We walked to nearby fast food joint for a quick breakfast, and soon TD-8108 Jerome Ang, and later the pirates, arrived. Nyx showed us to our dressing room, and amid laughter and excitement, we troopers and pirates changed into our costumes. We had our own Jack Sparrow—Karen’s cousin, Hank Palenzuela, who seems more like Captain Jack than Johnny Depp himself—and in all about six pirate wenches—Lynn, Monique, Wawi, Jovan, another Lynn, and of course, Karen.
Even as we took turns taking the elevator, and waited for the whole entourage in the lobby, people were already stopping, turning and pointing at us, stunned, smiling, laughing. A few children shied away in fear, while most happily reached out and giggled as we held their hands and played with them. Many mistook our costumes for God knows what other characters, but it was all just fun. This was before we saw the cancer patients.
Nyx led us first to the Christmas party for the outpatient kids. Already they were smiling and shrieking, and hugging us as we walked by, waved and said hello. But that was just a teaser. We were going to visit the free ward first.
Through the myriad hallways, doorways and arches of PGH, we were guided by Nyx, her family and the pirates to the pediatric cancer patients' free ward. Almost immediately the staff assaulted us and begged for pictures, wielding cameras and phones, taking turns in front and behind the lens. Then we saw the kids.
I don't know how other people might write about cancer-stricken children. I certainly can't, not without my heart breaking, tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, and an ache in my weeping heart. It's so bad that even now I have to stop and do something else, to give me time and a chance to breathe! Only this way can I write about those dear little ones.
Tiny babies, the length of their whole bodies no longer than my own arm, their small arms wracked with tubes attached to machines bigger than they were. Small children who should have been out on the street playing, or in school, learning ABCs and arithmetic, were instead lying here, smiling at our white armor and the colorful pirate garb, laughing as they got their gifts and activity books, but you could still see they were weak and frail. Their mothers and fathers—even grandparents and siblings—seemed relieved and their spirits lifted by our presence. Happily, they persuaded their fragile children to get up from their threadbare beds to accept our simple gifts. Gently they raised a son or a daughter's arm to shake the hand of a passing troooper. Many a pirate stopped at a bed or two to play a short game with a child who could not even muster the strength to get up to play or pose for a picture.
Never before had I been so glad to have my helmet on. Not only was the sight of it my Christmas gift to these children and their families, but it also served to hide my tear-streaked face. As we waved at each child, posed for each picture, we later on agreed that it was all we could do to keep our sobs quiet under our helmets, our chests heaving with tears that we could no longer hold back.
Alas, the pirates were not so lucky, for their hats and bandannas covered only their crowns and their hair, but not their faces. They were perhaps braver than we, for choking back their tears, stifling their sobs and mustering beautiful smiles and Christmas cheer as they greeted patients, families and ward staff alike. ‘Savvy,’ Captain Jack Sparrow could be heard exclaiming. Hank later told us how hard it was to stay in character while there was a lump in his throat.
But bravest were those children who still found the strength to rejoice in our visit, despite undergoing pain and illness we couldn't even understand.
We were overwhelmed, and the children looked tired, and we were sweltering in our costumes. So after all the gift-giving, games, hand-shaking and picture-taking, we all waved a tearful goodbye to the kids in the free ward, and found our way back to the dressing room. Pirate and trooper alike had to sit, take a sip of water, and take a moment to breathe after our emotional visit. Soon, we were all ready to party with the outpatient kids.
The outpatient Christmas party had its own program, and we costumed characters were the finale. We mingled and made merry with kids who, though ill, were strong enough to stand and walk, to wave and to dance, to sing and squeal with laughter. They examined our costumes, touched and held and smelled each piece of armor and cloth, and asked so many questions. I had my voice amp on, and every time I answered their questions, the next question would be, ‘Are you a girl?’
As if they knew to cling to the joys of life, they literally clung on—to all of us! With curiosity and amusement, many kids would wrap their arms around each pirate and trooper, and it was all we could do to get away for a while so we could sing them a Christmas carol! Well, the pirates sang and we hummed over our voice amps. The children clapped and danced, and those who knew the songs sang along. And a suspicious number of them seemed to be loitering near us as we sang, as though lying in wait!
Turned out they were waiting for me. The host thanked us, and everyone said Merry Christmas, and she told the kids to say goodbye. But it seemed they didn't want to let us go. Perhaps five of them—probably more; it's hard to count when you're wearing a helmet—grabbed hold of me and encased me in a bear hug to rival all bear hugs. Even as I waved and tried to inch my way through the mass of affectionate children, they hung on and inched right along! It was funny and overwhelming to feel so loved and wanted, when in fact we were the ones who were there to make them feel that way.
I think I had children with their arms wrapped around my waist, my legs, my knees, even my arms when i tried to nudge them away. I couldn't walk for fear of crushing a child underfoot! One pirate, Jovan, came to my aid; she managed to extricate my hand from one child, and slowly guided me towards the door. But alas, there was no escaping the children! As I was led inch by precious inch to the door, the kids all inched along, giggling with me as they held me captive. I heard someone say they were getting everything on video.
Soon I was extricated from the mass of children, and once I was out the door, they swarmed the next trooper, TK-1330! But I believe it took the pirates less time to rescue him from the loving kids. We were safely escorted to our dressing room, where we laughed over the sweet children and remembered the dear ones in the free ward. Lynn showed us the video of the kids inching to the door with me, much to everyone’s amusement.
Though we had gone to PGH to give the pediatric cancer patients the gift of Star Wars and piracy, it felt more like they’d given us the precious gift of life. In the rush of the gift-buying, the frenzy of the parties, and the madness that we have come to associate with Christmas, it’s easy to forget the important things. These kids reminded us all that what we really need is to take what joys we can from our all too short lives.
So we should be the ones to say thank you. Thank you to the pediatric cancer patients at PGH, love, the pirates and the troopers.
By Regina Layug\
TB-1870
Philippine Outpost, 501st Legion
It was the most difficult thing for me, to see those children so frail and tiny, yet still managing smiles at our outlandish selves. Even now, weeks later, it is painful for me to recall that day, and yet I am glad we were able to go there and give them a reason to smile.
It was thanks to the efforts of Karen Kunawicz of Black Pearl Philippines, and her coordination with Nyx Martinez of Fun-Day-Tion, that we were finally able to make our first hospital visit. Nyx regularly organizes activities for the cancer patients—both outpatient and in the free ward—of the Philippine General Hospital (PGH) in Manila, and she was so happy that we pirates and troopers wanted to help out. We even brought 501st activity books for them, and the pirates had foam swords and treasure-laden eggs to distribute. Nyx brought gifts to distribute at the free ward.
It was a Thursday in busy December 2007. TK-1330 Oneal Rosero and I traveled with TI-2821 Ron Rosero, and arrived at PGH early to find parking and scout the place. Ron and Oneal both went to UP Manila, so PGH was more or less familiar to them, despite all the changes in the years since they were in college. We walked to nearby fast food joint for a quick breakfast, and soon TD-8108 Jerome Ang, and later the pirates, arrived. Nyx showed us to our dressing room, and amid laughter and excitement, we troopers and pirates changed into our costumes. We had our own Jack Sparrow—Karen’s cousin, Hank Palenzuela, who seems more like Captain Jack than Johnny Depp himself—and in all about six pirate wenches—Lynn, Monique, Wawi, Jovan, another Lynn, and of course, Karen.
Even as we took turns taking the elevator, and waited for the whole entourage in the lobby, people were already stopping, turning and pointing at us, stunned, smiling, laughing. A few children shied away in fear, while most happily reached out and giggled as we held their hands and played with them. Many mistook our costumes for God knows what other characters, but it was all just fun. This was before we saw the cancer patients.
Nyx led us first to the Christmas party for the outpatient kids. Already they were smiling and shrieking, and hugging us as we walked by, waved and said hello. But that was just a teaser. We were going to visit the free ward first.
Through the myriad hallways, doorways and arches of PGH, we were guided by Nyx, her family and the pirates to the pediatric cancer patients' free ward. Almost immediately the staff assaulted us and begged for pictures, wielding cameras and phones, taking turns in front and behind the lens. Then we saw the kids.
I don't know how other people might write about cancer-stricken children. I certainly can't, not without my heart breaking, tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, and an ache in my weeping heart. It's so bad that even now I have to stop and do something else, to give me time and a chance to breathe! Only this way can I write about those dear little ones.
Tiny babies, the length of their whole bodies no longer than my own arm, their small arms wracked with tubes attached to machines bigger than they were. Small children who should have been out on the street playing, or in school, learning ABCs and arithmetic, were instead lying here, smiling at our white armor and the colorful pirate garb, laughing as they got their gifts and activity books, but you could still see they were weak and frail. Their mothers and fathers—even grandparents and siblings—seemed relieved and their spirits lifted by our presence. Happily, they persuaded their fragile children to get up from their threadbare beds to accept our simple gifts. Gently they raised a son or a daughter's arm to shake the hand of a passing troooper. Many a pirate stopped at a bed or two to play a short game with a child who could not even muster the strength to get up to play or pose for a picture.
Never before had I been so glad to have my helmet on. Not only was the sight of it my Christmas gift to these children and their families, but it also served to hide my tear-streaked face. As we waved at each child, posed for each picture, we later on agreed that it was all we could do to keep our sobs quiet under our helmets, our chests heaving with tears that we could no longer hold back.
Alas, the pirates were not so lucky, for their hats and bandannas covered only their crowns and their hair, but not their faces. They were perhaps braver than we, for choking back their tears, stifling their sobs and mustering beautiful smiles and Christmas cheer as they greeted patients, families and ward staff alike. ‘Savvy,’ Captain Jack Sparrow could be heard exclaiming. Hank later told us how hard it was to stay in character while there was a lump in his throat.
But bravest were those children who still found the strength to rejoice in our visit, despite undergoing pain and illness we couldn't even understand.
We were overwhelmed, and the children looked tired, and we were sweltering in our costumes. So after all the gift-giving, games, hand-shaking and picture-taking, we all waved a tearful goodbye to the kids in the free ward, and found our way back to the dressing room. Pirate and trooper alike had to sit, take a sip of water, and take a moment to breathe after our emotional visit. Soon, we were all ready to party with the outpatient kids.
The outpatient Christmas party had its own program, and we costumed characters were the finale. We mingled and made merry with kids who, though ill, were strong enough to stand and walk, to wave and to dance, to sing and squeal with laughter. They examined our costumes, touched and held and smelled each piece of armor and cloth, and asked so many questions. I had my voice amp on, and every time I answered their questions, the next question would be, ‘Are you a girl?’
As if they knew to cling to the joys of life, they literally clung on—to all of us! With curiosity and amusement, many kids would wrap their arms around each pirate and trooper, and it was all we could do to get away for a while so we could sing them a Christmas carol! Well, the pirates sang and we hummed over our voice amps. The children clapped and danced, and those who knew the songs sang along. And a suspicious number of them seemed to be loitering near us as we sang, as though lying in wait!
Turned out they were waiting for me. The host thanked us, and everyone said Merry Christmas, and she told the kids to say goodbye. But it seemed they didn't want to let us go. Perhaps five of them—probably more; it's hard to count when you're wearing a helmet—grabbed hold of me and encased me in a bear hug to rival all bear hugs. Even as I waved and tried to inch my way through the mass of affectionate children, they hung on and inched right along! It was funny and overwhelming to feel so loved and wanted, when in fact we were the ones who were there to make them feel that way.
I think I had children with their arms wrapped around my waist, my legs, my knees, even my arms when i tried to nudge them away. I couldn't walk for fear of crushing a child underfoot! One pirate, Jovan, came to my aid; she managed to extricate my hand from one child, and slowly guided me towards the door. But alas, there was no escaping the children! As I was led inch by precious inch to the door, the kids all inched along, giggling with me as they held me captive. I heard someone say they were getting everything on video.
Soon I was extricated from the mass of children, and once I was out the door, they swarmed the next trooper, TK-1330! But I believe it took the pirates less time to rescue him from the loving kids. We were safely escorted to our dressing room, where we laughed over the sweet children and remembered the dear ones in the free ward. Lynn showed us the video of the kids inching to the door with me, much to everyone’s amusement.
Though we had gone to PGH to give the pediatric cancer patients the gift of Star Wars and piracy, it felt more like they’d given us the precious gift of life. In the rush of the gift-buying, the frenzy of the parties, and the madness that we have come to associate with Christmas, it’s easy to forget the important things. These kids reminded us all that what we really need is to take what joys we can from our all too short lives.
So we should be the ones to say thank you. Thank you to the pediatric cancer patients at PGH, love, the pirates and the troopers.
