National Nurses United

shift, and in the morning, we always walked to the parking lot together. We were like brother and sister." Recently, when Gerardo asked Rulloda to clean out his locker at Howard, she couldn't do it. "I open it one time, I don't have the courage. I feel sad if I open his locker. His two jackets are still there. When I open it, I had to close it again," she said. "When you haven't had the service, it feels like he's still there, even though he's gone." Because of COVID-19, the family has been unable to have a public service. Rulloda recalled the difficult time after Sinkiat's death. Gerardo, though retired when Noel died, had previously been part of the same Howard SICU team. "When Noel passed away, we wanted to support [Lourdes], but we couldn't go to her house because of COVID." Rulloda helped organize nurses and friends remotely to offer prayers for Sinkiat in the Catholic tradition. "We…have this video group to support and to check in with Lourdes, and pray for Noel," she said. "When Noel passed away during that time, we always had someone there for Lourdes." Their support group continues today, offering the friendship and love lost when Sinkiat passed away. Rulloda's voice breaks when she remembers her friend. "On that last day, he waited for me to finish my work, and, as we usually do, we walked together to the garage," Rulloda said. "Our generation, when we work, after the shift finishes, we clock out, we eat breakfast together. We laugh and talk to each other. The new generation now is always on their phone. But we looked out for each other." Now, she walks to the parking lot alone. "With this COVID thing, well, I'm handling it," Rulloda said. "But when you go home, it's really depressing. One day you have a critical, open-heart patient, you accomplish something with the patient, but with COVID, your patients are dying one by one. It's depressing. But if I had Noel beside me, he could uplift us." —Erin FitzGerald Celia Yap-Banago, RN every sunday morning at 10:45, Celia Yap-Banago would knock on her sons' bedroom doors to tell them it was time for church. Within minutes, Yap-Banago, her husband Amado, and two sons, Jhulan and Josh, would pile into the family's silver Toyota Sequoia and head to St. Patrick's Parish. A registered nurse, Yap-Banago worked at Research Medical Center in Kansas City, Mo., for four decades. Coworkers describe her as a dedicated and compassionate nurse, who advocated fiercely for her patients and for the rights of her fellow nurses. But she never worked on Sunday. "My mom always said, 'Sundays are for God and family,'" recalled Jhulan. Yap-Banago passed away on April 21 at the age of 69 from COVID-19. She was one of two nurses who became ill with the virus after caring for a COVID-positive patient without being supplied the appropriate PPE. Born in Camalig, Philippines in 1950, she was the youngest of seven children born to Vicente and Aurelia Yap. At 29, after completing her nursing degree at Aquinas University in Legazpi City, Yap-Banago became the first and only of her siblings to immigrate to the United States. "She came to the United States for a better life, not just for herself, but her entire family," said Jhulan. It was her future mother-in-law who orchestrated the introduction of Yap-Banago to her husband, Amado. Yap-Banago met Amado's mother in Canada and encouraged the two to start writing to each other. When Amado met his wife after months of correspondence, he was smitten, describing her as "smart, beautiful, and caring." The two married, and settled in Kansas City, where they raised their two sons, Josh 26, and Jhulan, 29. Jhulan said his parents made family their number-one priority. Despite working full time, he says his mother never missed the brothers' baseball, soccer, or basketball games. She made sure she was at every play, every back-to-school night, and, for better or worse, every parent teacher conference. On the job, Yap-Banago was known as a "firecracker," a woman with boundless energy who was not afraid to speak her mind. "At 69, she had the same amount of energy as I had at 39," said Jenn Caldwell, RN, who called Yap-Banago a friend and mentor. "She would never sit down, it was work, work, work. She was smart and funny and spunky and took no crap." Caldwell said Yap-Banago advocated for the best practices on the floor, pushing back against management without fear. "She would say, 'Why are you giving us so many patients? We can't do it.'" When COVID-19 patients began seeking treatment at her hospital, it was Yap-Banago who raised concerns about the lack of PPE available for nurses. She was determined that no one took advantage of the younger, inexperienced nurses. "She never had a daughter, so her coworkers became the daughters she never had," Jhulan said. Jhulan said his mother was a trickster who loved to hide in the dark recesses of the home they shared and jump out and startle her adult boys in order to illicit a scream. "She would just laugh and laugh," he recalled. And while his mother may have lacked a filter, she was "all bark and no bite." "She was the nicest, kindest, most caring person you could meet," he said. Jhulan said the family intends to honor his mother by upholding the high standards she set and maintaining the routines she established in their home. The family still sets a place for Yap-Banago at the dinner table every evening. When bedtime rolls around, they turn on the TV to the Hallmark channel just as she did each night before she fell asleep on the couch. And when Sunday morning comes, they will pile into their car and head to St. Patrick's Parish where they will pray for their mother who was "called home by God." —Rachel Berger 42 N A T I O N A L N U R S E W W W . N A T I O N A L N U R S E S U N I T E D . O R G A P R I L | M AY | J U N E 2 0 2 0 Celia Yap-Banago, RN

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