The man sat quietly on the wooden bench, his breathing shallow, his eyes tired but hopeful. He had been coughing for weeks—sometimes with streaks of blood. When Dr. Hilario S. Lapeña examined him during a medical mission in Bansalan, Davao del Sur, the diagnosis was clear: tuberculosis.
The man listened intently as the doctor explained the disease, its treatment, and the importance of completing the medication. Then, with gentle firmness, Dr. Lapeña handed him the first set of medicines.
It was a simple moment—one patient, one diagnosis, one act of care. But for the people of Bansalan, it was a reminder of something larger: that one of their own, now a respected physician in Canada, had never forgotten where he came from.
The medical mission, organized by the Association of Bansaleños Worldwide, was more than an outreach program. It was a homecoming of compassion.
For Dr. Lapeña, it was also a return to the place where everything began.
The Boy Who Never Looked Away
Long before he became “Doc Lapeña” in Canada, he was a quiet boy in Bansalan—observant, curious, and strangely unafraid of things that made other children squeal or run. When classmates scraped their knees, he rushed in. When farm animals got injured, he was there, small hands steady, eyes focused. It was as if the universe had already whispered his destiny long before he knew how to name it.
“Was being a doctor your dream when you were a teenager?” people often ask him. His answer never changes: “The dream goes back to my pre‑elementary days.”
Even before he understood the science of medicine, he felt drawn to it. If not medicine, then law—two professions rooted in service and truth. But medicine had a face: Dr. Pablo Madulid, husband of his cousin, Dr. Alice Navarro Madulid. In Bansalan, young Hilario watched how people trusted Dr. Madulid, how he carried knowledge and compassion with equal weight. It was the first time he saw what a life of service could look like.
At home, his mother, Consorcia S. Lapeña, nurtured his academic fire. A District School Supervisor by day and a University of Mindanao professor by night, she embodied discipline and excellence. She never pushed him toward medicine, but she supported every ambition he dared to hold.
“She believed in education the way some people believe in prayer,” he recalls.
His path took him first to the University of the Philippines Diliman, where he completed AB Humanities Premed. Then came the defining years at the University of the East Ramon Magsaysay Medical Center (UERM), Class of 1987. His entire premed and medical education at UP Diliman and UERM were covered by a National State Scholarship from the Department of Education, Culture, and Sports.
Medical school was not romantic. It was relentless. “You have to be 100% sure this is the life you want,” he says. “Time is never enough. Family gatherings disappear. Even your love life needs to wait.”
There were all‑nighters, mountains of readings, and the constant pressure to stay afloat. But the hardest blows were not academic—they were personal.
He lost his father while he was in Manila for his final exams. His family, wanting to spare him the emotional burden, did not tell him until the exams were over. Years later, just as he was about to take the final licensing exams after residency, his mother passed away. He was unable to attend her burial.
“Heart wrenching,” he says quietly. “But that was my reality.”
These losses carved something deep in him—an understanding of grief, sacrifice, and the fragile balance between duty and love. They also strengthened the bond he shared with his classmates, many of whom remain like family to him today.
Graduating in 1987 was exhilarating, but the real world was unforgiving. He was the first physician in his immediate family, and resources were limited. In 1993, paying ₱1 million for practicing rights in hospitals felt impossible.
“It was a major stumbling block,” he says. “My wife and I began thinking of going overseas.”
Before Canada entered the picture, he pursued General Surgery training. He was initially accepted at a private hospital in Manila, but the stipend was too small to survive on. He transferred to a government hospital, where the pay was better, and eventually finished his General Surgery residency at East Avenue Medical Center, serving as Chief Resident. He was ready to build a life in the Philippines—but life had other plans.
Immigration was not a romantic adventure. It was a gauntlet. To practice medicine in Canada, he had to start from scratch—take and pass four competitive government examinations designed to filter international medical graduates (IMGs). At the time, only 25 slots were available for IMGs. Around 2,000 candidates competed yearly.
“It was not only about passing,” he explains. “You had to aim for the highest grade possible. If you didn’t get in, you had to take the exams again the following year.” The process was expensive, exhausting, and emotionally draining.
“It was an arduous process not meant for the faint of heart,” he says. “It was my faith that got me through.”
Finally, he was accepted into the Family Medicine Program of Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario—a turning point that opened the door to a new life. Today, he is on staff with the same program, helping train young physicians.
Medical practice in Canada is far from perfect, he admits. Emergency room wait times can be long, and the system has its own bureaucratic challenges. But one thing gives him comfort: patients get the best of everything.
Doctors are not limited by cost when ordering diagnostic procedures like MRI or CT scans. Therapeutic options are covered by provincial insurance plans. Even prolonged stays in the intensive care unit cost patients nothing.
“These are the benefits Canadian citizens get from paying taxes,” he says. “You pay zero even if you are in the ICU for protracted periods.”
For more than 20 years, he has practiced medicine in Canada—and he still enjoys it. “It is fulfilling,” he says. “I get to meaningfully help patients every day. And I get to join international medical missions—in Guatemala, in the Philippines.”
His biggest achievement? Not awards, not titles, not prestige. “Being able to help patients daily,” he says. “And being part of training countless residents as a Family Medicine Preceptor.”
Despite becoming a Canadian citizen, his heart still beats with the rhythm of home. “I miss the comfort of being around family members and childhood friends,” he says.
He misses carinderia food. He misses durian, marang, and mangosteen. He misses mamutung. He misses the simple, comfortable life of Bansalan.
Immigrating to another country, he says, is not for everyone. It is a personal choice, and the road is not easy. But he would not change anything. “Everything that has happened in my life—both the difficult and the good—is what made me who I am today.”
In the end, Dr. Hilario Lapeña’s story is not just about becoming a doctor. It is about becoming whole. It is about choosing a life of service even when the path is steep, choosing faith when the road is unclear, choosing compassion even when the world feels heavy.
His final message carries the weight of a lifetime: “Prevention is always better than treatment. Live a healthy, active, balanced life. Stay away from negative emotions and toxic surroundings. Be happy and live life to its fullest. Carpe Diem.”
