Filling the Hole in Karen’s Heart · by GK Limcangco





Good or bad, we will all walk away with something. Regardless of whether it’s a loss or a gain we will never be the same person again.

April, 2007, my family and I went through one tough experience that took every ounce of our strength and every inch of our faith to survive. I have to say that this was the most emotionally draining time my family and I had gone through.

At birth, my sister Karen had a tiny hole in her heart. The doctors said not to panic and that she would eventually outgrow it. My parents took their word and Karen lived a healthy life until one day, at 30 years old, she was bothered with a sudden shortness of breath. She took this as a warning sign and saw some doctors in Manila. She was diagnosed with congenital heart disease, one doctor said that she had a big hole in her heart and it will be fatal. This came to us as a big shock. We had no idea that her condition was so serious. If the surgery isn’t performed within two months, she’s was not going to make it. My family then decided to see another doctor in Manila and my sister’s next diagnosis was that there was no hole. Obviously confused, we had to see another doctor who then told my sister to go to Canada where we would have better treatment.


In Canada, Karen finally got a clear answer on what was wrong with her. She had a hole in the back of her heart, it was so big that her lungs were already affected, but if they were to perform surgery on her, her lungs would explode from the pressure. This was very complicated; besides the fact that she had congenital heart disease she had pressure in her lung, which had to be lowered before they could finally close the hole.

Without any alternative options, Karen had to go in for the surgery regardless of the high pressure in her lungs.

My parents flew into Vancouver for Karen’s surgery and on the first day it went well. I remember it very clearly I came from work and brought flowers which I wasn’t able to give her. Karen was already complaining and my dad was complaining that she was complaining, telling her “Huwag kang makulit.” (“Stop being pesky”), everything seemed so normal that day. The next day was different. The hospital room seemed to have a black cloud on top of it and my parents’ mood matched it. I knew right away that something was wrong.

This was the beginning of a very exhausting two-month emotional roller coaster. There were complications after my sister’s surgery. Her fragile body was not used to having a smaller hole in her heart (the doctors did not close the hole entirely) and her lungs were definitely reacting negatively. Each day at the hospital was like going into a battlefield. Karen was fighting for her life.

In that two-month time, I kept my usual routine. I went to work everyday although I felt like a zombie, so consumed with thoughts of Karen. There were some good days. There were times where I would go to the hospital and I would see my dad and Karen’s friend Frank, smiling with their eyes and I would immediately know that she was improving. Although there were the tough days when my mom would be missing in the ICU and would be found in the hospital’s tiny chapel doing her 3-hour novena, then I would know that my sister was not winning the battle.



My younger sister Krisna was not granted a Canadian visa and was left in the United States but the doctors wrote a very disturbing letter to Immigration saying that she should be allowed to enter Canada since Karen might not survive. Krisna was allowed into Canada and it was bittersweet to have all of us together. As a family, we haven’t been together in a year and it was really sad to see each other that way. My relatives in Vancouver were also a big help. They were with us in the hospital and tried to be there for us all the time. It was really hard to find the strength during this time. Going through something like this allows you to appreciate everything that you have. How you deal with this kind of situation will test the person you are and as a result will form the person you will become.



My dad and Frank were the first ones to understand the medical apparatus hooked on to my sister. The numbers on the board would tell you how well she was doing. If her oxygen level is higher than her lung pressure then it’s very good, if not, then it’s bad news. Everyday we looked up at that board like people gambling or looking at a scoreboard, wishing to get the right numbers and if the numbers were bad, the machine would make this sound, it became the sound of death for me and I cringed every time I heard it. On good days, I was hopeful. I would look at Karen and it would seem like she was just sleeping minus all the tubes. My mother and I would help the nurse put lotion on her or brush her hair. Other days I just felt awful because she looked like she was having a really bad dream, I wanted to help her but there was nothing we could do. I was just plain scared and cried much of the time.



Karen had three really bad days. These were days when she had cardiac arrests. We all thought that we’ve lost her. I was there on one of those occasions. Her nurse was looking nervously at the board and I was hearing the “sound of death” louder than ever. He called the doctors and in no time, I heard “Code blue” on the hospital’s paging system and a group of doctors rushed in the room complete with the defibrillator used to resuscitate patients. I was standing there stunned and I froze, I didn’t know what to feel or what to think. I was just void, standing there watching my sister flat-line. I started to cry and this lady, God bless her, embraced me. I didn’t know who she was, her husband was in the ICU next to my sister but she gave me comfort when I needed it most.



We eventually had this small support group in the ICU. We saw the same faces everyday the same doctors and nurses who would look at us sadly when Karen wasn’t doing well. The hospital staff was amazing but the patient’s families were unforgettable as well. These people were going through what we were going through and we understood each other. There we were in that small waiting room, we swapped stories and cheered for one another, we hoped that we would all hear some good news. We prayed for each other’s sick loved one. Everyone was praying in their own way, the news reached Manila and our family and friends, people from the BCBP and everyone else back home who knew about my sister’s condition started a prayer brigade.

After 6 weeks in a coma, my sister finally woke up. She was in shock and didn’t know what was happening. It took awhile for her to figure out what went on but when it finally dawned on her, she cried. The doctors and the nurses who know and heard of her in the hospital called her the ‘Miracle child’. Karen still had her tubes on her and she couldn’t eat or drink, she was in pain but knowing that she was given another chance to live, surely all those things didn’t matter. She worked hard to learn how to walk, talk, and write and slowly she was getting her strength back.



My sister still has scars from the operation, which now tell the story of the fight she won. She is a better person now, even better than the person I knew before the surgery. She is stronger, with a deeper faith, and always values life and the people around her. Now Karen is a firm believer in miracles, because if it can happen to her, it can happen to anyone.

Letter to the Editor
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Hello 101,

I’m GK Limcangco. I’ve been living in Vancouver for 3 years but I’m originally from the Philippines. I used to be a writer back home but it’s hard for me to get into that industry again since I’m not educated here. I fell upon your website and I have to say that your magazine is really something else. It’s worldly, interesting and talks about things that matter. I want to contribute this article to your magazine. I’ve written this after an ordeal that took place last year. I would be very appreciative if I’m able to share this experience with everyone.