Part 1: The Accident, The Ambulance, and The Very Long Wait to Nowhere

If the universe wanted to teach me a lesson about marriage, patience, and why Mondays are cursed, it picked November 24th to drop the entire curriculum on my head.

It started like an ordinary rainy Monday — the kind where you wake up, stretch, and immediately feel irritated at your husband. For the past week, Ralph had been glued to either his computer or his phone, deep-diving into U.S. political threads like he was preparing to run for Congress. Meanwhile, our 16th anniversary was two days away, and we hadn’t had a proper conversation in… I don’t know… nine presidential administrations?

So yes, I was in peak passive-aggressive mode. I even removed my wedding ring and kept it inside my crystal box like some dramatic telenovela character. I was sure he wouldn’t notice. He was too busy saving America from itself. Although I did put it back on after an hour. I felt naked without it on.

I worked a few hours in the morning, then crawled back into bed the moment Ralph got to his computer. By the afternoon, it was drizzling, so naturally I watched The Notebook and let the universe know that I, too, can be emotionally unstable in the rain.

Meanwhile, we were waiting for my nephew Gilbey and his hired help to pick up the mountain of construction materials outside our gate — materials accumulated because we recently got our main house’s entire roof replaced with new sheets and purlins.

As I was preparing to get back to work, I happened to glance at my external monitor showing the CCTV… only to find a tricycle driver casually loading our plywood onto his tricycle like he was at Triumph’s with a personal shopping list.

I screamed from the bedroom. He kept stealing — faster.

Ralph, now officially pissed, bolted out of the room. I honestly thought he was going to get Jenjen to deal with the thief because Jenjen is very popular in our street.

By that time I was no longer glued to the CCTV. The drizzle turned into rain. Then I heard the screaming. Not angry screaming. Not heroic “HEY YOU STOP!” screaming.

It was Pain screaming.

Jenjen yelled for me to run outside and help. And there he was — Ralph — sprawled on the wet ground, left ankle twisted in a way that should be illegal, bone pushing upward like it was trying to escape his body.

He slipped in the wet tiles as he was heading toward the gate.

Instant panic mode. Instant crying mode (for him). Instant “WTF is happening on a Monday” mode (for me). Jenjen and I dragged Ralph from the outside to the doorway just to get him off the rain.

I called 911. The rain got heavier.

THE AMBULANCE EXPERIENCE AKA: WAITING IN STYLE

The ambulance arrived in about 30–40 minutes — which I guess is fast if you’re ordering a pizza, but not so much when your husband’s ankle looks like a pretzel. They immobilized him, but they didn’t even ice-pack his leg. I noticed it but figured maybe they had some medical reason like “Sir, your wife is watching, so we’re going to pretend we know what we’re doing.”

Ralph has the pain tolerance of a baby gecko, so every tiny movement had him screaming like the world was ending.

And then?

They… parked. For an hour. At our gate. Just vibing.

They explained they needed to coordinate with hospitals first and — shocker — no one was answering the phone. Not Riverside, not anyone.

The paramedics politely dropped the bomb:

If you went by taxi, ma’am, they would take you in immediately. It’s only ambulances they don’t want to accept without coordination.

Oh. So we were suffering because we followed the rules.

Had I known, I would’ve booked a Grab Car and thrown Ralph in the backseat like a sack of rice.

After multiple apologies and my blood pressure tap-dancing on the ceiling, they finally found a hospital: South Bacolod General Hospital & Medical Center.

THE “MINOR ROOM” AT SOUTH BACOLOD GENERAL HOSPITAL

South General placed us in what they call the “minor room,” which is apparently their version of a… holding area? Emergency room but without the emergency?

Someone finally applied an ice pack (thank you, random staff who heard my irritation through my “calm” voice). Ralph screamed the whole time because he’s Ralph.

They did an X-ray. The doctor confirmed: fracture.

But they had limited ortho options and suggested we transfer.

Meaning: This hospital can’t really help you. Good luck somewhere else.

They couldn’t even facilitate the transfer since Ralph was never admitted. So we were now DIY-ing our own medical evacuation.

Ken arrived. He went to different hospitals begging for ER acceptance like it was a casting call.

Someone recommended STYX ambulance, which we ended up booking.

South General charged almost ₱5,000 for…
• 1 X-ray
• 1 ice pack
• and letting Ralph scream in their minor room

Love that for us.

STYX TO THE RESCUE… KIND OF

STYX arrived, and Ms. Alu — bless her soul — told me no hospital was accepting more ER patients. But she kept calling her contacts until we finally got one: Bacolod Adventist Medical Center (BAMC).

So off we went.