Commitment

In serving each other we become free.
– from the motion picture First Knight, starring Sean Connery, Richard Gere, and Julia Ormond

"So JB, what do you plan to do now?"

"You really want to know?"

"Sure. Why not?" James savored the crisp feel of the ice-cold Corona down his throat, straight from the bottle JB has handed over. How the hell does he get hold of stuff this good? Hell, no surprise, JB is JB, he observed. The beer was always good – and usually expensive – in JB's posh condo unit in Ortigas.

"I'm setting up a clinic in Ilocos, but I'm not sure just where yet."

"Vigan, where your grandma's from? Or Laoag, near Izzy and Mel's pharmacy?"

"No – I was thinking more of Sinait, Gabu, Calayab, Bangui, or some other town away from the city."

"You already own a hospital," James pointed out, lighting up a West Ice bummed from JB. The story went – not that JB could ever be bothered to talk about it – that on his twenty-first birthday a sixty-percent chunk of the shares of the hospital his family owned were transferred to him. It was because of this story that many stereotyped him as the typical spoiled rich kid who wasted time and money living for the present, as his future was already assured. Being friends since high school, James knew better than to think that, but baiting JB was irresistible.

"So?" JB exhaled finally. James shrugged. "You could just set up a practice there."

"And get richer?" There was a hint of annoyance in JB's voice, now isn't that right on time? James thought. "Shit, man, I don't need the money. I've already got lots of it."

Most other people would have been discomfited by this matter-of-fact, even brash, statement, perceiving it to be arrogantly made and obnoxious – James, naturally, did not, and waited for more. Again was the loud exhale, and JB continued, "You know how many people need medical attention but can't afford it at the rates they charge now?"

"I have a pretty good idea," James replied, "I saw a lot of it, even after I left the Left."

"And right the Right?" JB needled, his typical sarcastic humor surfacing. "And do a little boogie and turn around?"

James snorted, then pressed seriously, "Really, JB, what are you saying, pare?"

"I want to feel like a real doctor."

"You are a real doctor. You just passed your boards."

"Okin-inam, James, aginta-tanga ka metten," JB swore. "You know what I mean..."

"Yeah, I do," James laughed, then asked soberly, "When did you decide this?"

"Remember, back in Bio, when I used to join a lot of medical missions? I wasn't a med student yet, but I volunteered and I got to go. At first, it was because of the chicks who went..."

"So what else is new?"

" 'Tang-ina, pare, don't interrupt, kin-inana..."

"Okay, okay. Go on. What happened?"

"So, I saw how difficult it was to get meds, even just vitamins, for medical missions. Free kasi yung meds, pare – nobody wants to give things away for nothing. I went to the hospital, got the free samples from the med reps, even convinced some of them of them to give more than just samples. For free, even." JB had a wicked grin on his face.

"How did you do that?"

"Easy. They know who I am, right? I just made sure that they felt as if their competition seemed to be on the right track, and that they had to go the extra mile. 'Tang-ina, man, they all wanted an account in the hospital."

James grinned. "And the one who got the contracts was?"

"The one who charged the least, siyempre, pare. Screw 'em all," JB laughed, and clinked bottles with James, "all they think about is money."

"So what happened in the missions?" James asked, knowing that in this story lay the answer. JB shrugged, but on his face was pride.

"Okin-inana, pare, do you know how good it feels to be helping people? I wasn’t even a doctor yet, and all I did was give out the meds that the doctors with us prescribed. ‘Tang-ina, they were calling me ‘dok’, and it felt good.” JB paused, inhaled deeply from his cigarette, and continued, “Those people in Irisan changed my life.”

James shook his head, his disbelief giving way to admiration. JB took a long pull on his bottle. “See, that’s why I didn’t waste my years in med school. I went to VMU because I was unknown there; I didn’t want doctors kissing my ass just ‘cause I own a hospital. I wanted them to teach me how to practice medicine the right way. I wanted so badly to be a doctor, that day in the Irisan dumpsite, and now…” he shrugged. “It’s like keeping a promise.”

“So why open a clinic? Why not enter government service?” James asked, knowing the answer. JB practically spat. “They don’t want rich people working in a health center… nakababain kanu. Besides, have you seen the kurakot in provincial health centers?”

“Yeah. The budget for medicines becomes shopping money for the mayor’s mistress; the ambulance is never there ‘cause the governor’s son and his friends have a drinking session at the beach or something,” James agreed snidely. “For official use also gamin.”

“Right… panunuotem, James. If I set up a satellite clinic of the hospital in the province, I can get funding from NGOs. If I don’t get funding, I still have my own money. What will I spend it on – cars?” JB said. James grinned. “Of course.”

“I can already spend on cars. I want to do something good, not just for me, but for other people,” JB retorted. “Maawatam met, ket.”

“You’re the only doctor I’ve met who wants to do that, pare,” James observed.

JB shrugged, “That’s because I’m the only one you met who doesn’t worry about money, pare. Most doctors have lots of debts to pay off after graduation, internship, residency… they can’t stop thinking of where to get the money to pay all of those off. They work to get rich quickly, then after a while they forget that they’re supposed to help sick people get well. It becomes a high-paying job, just like a being a mechanic for Team Ferrari. Why bother with Sarao jeepneys if you’re paid that high?” JB asked rhetorically, disappointment in his voice. He gulped down some more beer, and then shrugged. “You can’t blame them, though. Still, ah, if this keeps going, pretty soon the only people who can get well are the people who can pay well.”

A pensive silence ensued as the two young men watched the traffic below. James stabbed out his cigarette on the stone ashtray. “What have your folks said about this?”

“They don’t know yet,” JB replied sheepishly, as he crushed out his smoke under a heel. He straightened up, then said determinedly, “They will understand, pare.”

“Ah.” James let it go. Chuckling, he said, “ ‘Tang-ina. Julius Brandon Beltran, M.D., him with the hospital, the fancy 4x4, in Abercrombie and Fitch threads, out in the barrios in the service of the people.”

JB laughed. “We all have to grow up sometime, pare.”

“I never figured you to be a barrio doctor, JB. Living in the province, being paid for your services with rice, live chickens…”

“… sayote, patatas, lubias…” The two young men grinned at each other.

“… while your classmates set up dermas or plastic surgery clinics, with aircon rooms full of clients who want lipo or skin peeling or a nose job…”

“… while I take care of some farmer’s kid’s flu or chicken pox…”

“… maybe even save a life. Maybe two. Or more, even. Cool.”

“Here’s the plus, pare,” JB said, clinking bottles with his friend, “those doctors will never receive the kind of gratitude that goes up to the eyes, the kind of thanks I saw that day in Irisan. For me, I’ll know that I’ve done something worthwhile with my life.”

“And that’s enough, right?”

“No, pare, that’s the only thing that’s important.”