How Chin-Chin survived an inferno part 1
By Angela Blardony Ureta
The Philippine Star 01/01/2007
photo by Martin Arnaldo
From between her cracked and blistered lips, a faint yet courageous voice rang inside the hospital room: "Ang puso ko’y nagpupuri sa Panginoon/ Ang diwa ko’y nagagalak sa aking tagapagligtas…" It was close to midnight on Dec. 24 and at a very intimate Christmas Mass celebrated by her bedside, Chin-Chin Gutierrez offered a hymn to the Christ Child, the same canticle sung by Mary of Nazareth after she submitted herself to the will of God. Around her, the small gathering composed of a young Carmelite friar, her uncle Choy Arnaldo, her cousin Martin, and this writer marveled tearfully as this brave young woman gathered all her strength to thank the Lord for all the great things He has done for her – only days after surviving a devastating fire that consumed all her worldly possessions and seriously threatened her own life.
A little after 3 a.m. on Dec. 20, the Gutierrez household woke up to flames that rapidly spread all over their house in Loyola Heights, QC. It was the only home Chin-Chin ever knew. Her grandfather, Solomon Arnaldo, purchased the house in the ‘60s after retiring from his post with the UNESCO. At the time, his only daughter Cecilia (who was to become Chin-Chin’s mother) was a young nun with the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. A decade later, Cecilia left the convent following a serious injury, returned to her father’s house and eventually married botanist Hermes Gutierrez. It was that same home that lovingly welcomed Cecilia’s first baby, Carminia, a beautiful child who became the apple of her widowed grandmother’s eyes. The delighted family fondly called their newborn "Chin-Chin," an Italian toast that means "cheers to life."
Chin-Chin lived all her life in that spacious house, surrounded by a garden of thick foliage and a serenity broken only by the music from grandmother’s piano. Even after making her own money as a sought-after advertising model and film actress, it never occurred to her to leave the nest she shared with the two most important women in her life – her Lola Nena and Mama Cecilia. In 2001, the matriarch Constancia Arnaldo died peacefully in Chin-Chin’s arms in that very same house, which her granddaughter lovingly maintained through the years as a shrine to her ancestry.
It wasn’t even daybreak when the fire started. Chin was the first to be roused from sleep after hearing noise coming from the vacant room across hers on the second floor. When she opened her bedroom door, she was greeted with fire rapidly eating up the walls and ceiling, spreading fast to the stairs. Instantly, she thought about her sick mother sleeping peacefully downstairs with an oxygen tank. Finding that the stairs were on fire, she did not hesitate to jump from the banister to get to her mom as soon as she could. She crushed her left heel and hurt her lower back but she did not feel the pain just then.
Hurriedly waking up their three helpers, they tried to salvage what they could of the burning house but their pails and hoses were no match with the monstrous flames that had entirely eaten up one side of the house. She then instructed them to drop everything and help her carry her mother out. The doorways were already blocked with flames so they broke the sliding door leading to the patio, with Chin-Chin using her bare hands to push away the many fallen pieces of wood and metal barring their way, shielding her mom with her own body. She safely steered even the panicking maids out of the house and was the only one among the five members of the household to sustain serious burn injuries.
When they got into the street, musicians from the nearby Circus Studio heard their pleas for help and drove them to the hospital. By that time it was too late to save anything. They escaped death with only the clothes on their backs.
In less than two hours, nothing remained of Chin-Chin’s material past. The house was razed entirely to the ground. Even the two vehicles in the garage were burned beyond repair. By daylight, only the trees in the garden remained, standing slightly bowed like lonely sentinels grieving over the loss of all that is familiar to them. And perhaps, weeping at the fate of the veritable diwata who has cared for them with sincere affection over the years. Whether in malice or ignorance, people have whispered about Chin-Chin "talking" to trees. After the tragedy, the fact that the trees were left unscathed – and therefore effectively containing the flames from reaching the neighbors – bore silent testimony that they made sure to be there when she returns.
Looking back, it was a virtual nightmare. I remember receiving a hysterical call from Chin-Chin’s personal assistant, Lanie, informing me that their house was on fire and that the Gutierrez mother and daughter were rushed to a nearby hospital for burn wounds. At first, I thought it was a bad dream. Realizing that it wasn’t, I rushed to the emergency room of Medical City in Ortigas to find Chin being treated for second degree burns in various parts of her body, while Tita Cecile was sent directly to the intensive care unit.
When I first saw Chin, it was as though she was being crucified. Blood gushed from the palms of her outstretched hands as doctors hurriedly cleaned and dressed the second-degree burns that scorched her from her fingertips to her wrists. The soles of her feet were also bleeding from multiple blisters after having run barefoot to the streets. Her left heel was bruised and swollen from jumping over the banisters of the second floor (where her room was) to get to her bedridden mother sleeping at the ground floor. (There were two oxygen tanks in her mom’s room and Chin was especially concerned that the heat might cause them to explode.) Her lips were bleeding too, cracked by painful blisters that also scorched her nose, chin and cheekbones. Her hair was singed at the edges. I could still remember the smell of burning hair that permeated the room; in fact, I could still hear the sizzle from the still burning strands which the nurses doused with a damp washcloth. Through her tears and the gut-wrenching pain in her burning skin, Chin-Chin managed to smile weakly at me.
"I’m okay…" she whispered. "Si Mommy nasa ICU. Puntahan mo naman please." I went and checked with the attending physicians: her mother’s vital signs were dropping rapidly. The deep bedsores from being bedridden for two years also ran the risk of infection. The open tubes in her body for feeding and dialysis had to be cleaned right away as they were clogged with soot, while her lungs were monitored for smoke inhalation.
"I love you Mommy, be strong"
I caught up with Chin as she was being wheeled out of the X-Ray room. By this time, the news had hit the early morning TV and radio programs and my mobile phone began to ring incessantly with calls and text messages from family, friends and colleagues in media.
Meanwhile, informed that her mother’s heart rate was dropping, Chin-Chin insisted on having her stretcher wheeled to where her mother was. Tita Cecile’s eyes were open but stared blankly at the ceiling. Her limp body was attached to several machines to keep her organs functioning. She could not move her head and could not see her daughter lying in the bed next to her. With all her remaining strength, Chin-Chin called out to her mother: "Ma, I’m here… I’m right beside you Mommy. We’re in the same boat now. But we’re alive. Be strong Mommy. I love you! I love you…"
Within minutes, Chin was brought up to her own room while her mother was moved to the ICU in the hospital’s main building. They have not seen each other since. Even after she was already able to sit up, doctors have prevented Chin-Chin from venturing out of her room, as her open wounds were very susceptible to infection. Their only form of communication to date is through the messages Chin-Chin recorded on tape, which would then be played to her mother, who shed copious tears yet was unable to utter a single word. Suffering from kidney failure due to diabetes, this year alone saw Tita Cecile in the ICU no less than three times, the last one being less than a month before the fire. She also had a minor operation just 12 days prior to the tragedy. But whatever pain, confusion or desperation welled inside her remained locked up in silence because she has not been able to speak clearly for months.
photo par Cindy Ortega
