diluted_soul

Highlight of the week: witnessing my "boss" work his magic with an irate patient.

Mr. X was sputtering the old "...you have to fix your frickin' system...I've been waiting for almost 2 hrs...who owns this place...you're gonna hear from me again...". Walks in my clinical supervisor...a few choice words...a concerned tilt to his head...Mr. X explains his grievance and apologizes for being misinformed...smiles...shakes my boss' hand while expressing his hearty "thanks".

Like I said...

Magic.

I have to learn that trick.

And, get his doctor-by-day-rockstar-by-night look.


Woe of the week: checked Bloc Party's tour dates. The closest venue is a 14-hour drive from Vancouver. Oh well...*clicks on youtube*


"...This world ain't just m, m, m, made of facts
Every half hour is a countdown..."-- Kele Okereke

Which Naruto Character Are You?
Test by naruto - kun.com

I've been writing so much BS, I feel like a toilet bowl.

Oh well.

This is crazy.

But I miss being exhausted. I miss waking up so dead tired that yanking myself out of bed required the willpower to scale Everest. I miss having my senses dulled from recurrent sleep deprivation to the point that even intravenous caffeine would do little to kick my neurons back to life. I miss feeling like macerated crap after 36 hours of duty content with the knowledge that it would be another 72 hours before I'd feel that way again. Leaving that hell-hole known as the ER, i'd bid a perfunctory farewell...sayonara suckers!

I miss being numb.

This reprieve has been much too long. My ego is repeatedly and visciously being mangled and mauled by dreams of having my teeth fall one after the other as I try helplessly to unlock my jaw so I could spit them all out. And in every dream, I try to salvage what is left of decaying enamels, washing them with tap water only to watch them dissolve like loosened grime. Repression, has its drawbacks. Apparently, defense mechanisms only run on battery-packs called STRESS.

I try to remember what my internship year was like, the sad thing is, I don't remember. People remain nameless, and faces have become a montage of transitory encounters shelved off in some dark, unvisited, walled-off corner in the unconscious. And, like a festering abscess, it'll rear its ugly head some day until I become emotionally cachectic.

I feel so far removed.

I hate it. Hate it because it coaxes me to think, to ponder, to consider.

So, I question, without ending with the approriate punctuation mark. I'd rather leave it as it is.

Unanswered.

I hate this feeling of resignation.
Comforting, as it is disturbing.
To live between light and shadow.
Drifting in random semi-circles.

Hey check out Good Tree. Support various causes while you surf the net. Make a difference in your own little way.

"I am only one; but still I am one. I cannot do everything,
but still I can do something; I will not refuse to do the something I can do."
Hellen Keller

FAITTTOOOO!!!

13 days to go...

Doing Grouse Grind on a sunny Sunday afternoon--good idea

Doing Grouse Grind on a sunny Sunday afternoon after two months of
being office-bound and close to sendentary--bad idea

So there I was at the quarter mark, with my bottle of agua a quarter
empty (or full to the optimists). I stared at the endless rocky
trail before me, panting and struggling with that tiny admonishing
voice. Steps led to more steps. Trees led to more trees. Not a a
patch of blue was in sight, only the restless green of the canopy
above. A little while later, however, I came across a comforting
sign:

"There have been recent bear and cougar sightings."

Very comforting.

I guess if willpower and dwindling pride were not enough to propel
you to the top, a jolt of adrenaline might do the trick.

It is, of course, called the Grouse GRIND. There was, after all, a
reason behind the fancy name. That I learned too late to do it
differently and soon enough for an "I told you so"

Did I regret the snap decision to climb to Grouse's peak?

I only regret not doing it sooner.

Much like life, we can never always be too careful. There are
choices we have to make without fully knowing what will happen in
the end. Try as we might to asses our decisions,we will always
encounter "the unanticipated". No plan is 100% foolproof. We take
small and big leaps of faith. We get hurt. We get up. We live on.

The best way to live life, is to, simply, cease the day.

Time moves slowly…

Between milkshakes and cookie cartons
Each crumble takes a minute to consume
Every sip, a hanging second of clarity
One bite leads to one more,
Molding a lasting memory
Of both palate and careful glances
A diatribe in a mouthful silence
Flavorful exchanges
Quenching the insatiable
Allowing flavorful excuses
To delay the inevitable

How quick this moment must end.

Like leaves of seasons passed,
We are swept away to paths untrodden
Apart, left to our own solitary journey
Awaiting if destiny will lead us
Together once more...

Whenever I was told “Your lolo Maning is a great man”, I thought I had understood what they had meant. At the age of seven, and lacking a tad of abstraction in my thinking, I had naively equated greatness with physical strength or prowess. Having always recalled the day in the beach when my lolo carried four of my cousins and I from sea water to shore, (since every one of us clung to him for fear of being stung by a solitary floating jellyfish), I then surmised, “yeah, my lolo is great”

It was when I was growing older and the world was, expectedly and congruently, growing “harsher” that I began to fathom the shape in which his greatness took form, and the circumstances which defined his actions as exemplary and truly extraordinary. I realized that my grandfather was not born a great man. He did not consciously choose to be, nor intend to be remembered in such a way. He simply lived his life honestly and with a purpose; a purpose that was not self-serving, self-indulgent, nor self-limiting. As tough and cruel as the times were, he dared to not merely dream, but to dream big; and, to dream big not merely for himself, but for others. Whatever life threw at him, he was steadfast in his vision of how he would author his own fate, unwavering to the pressures put forth by an evolving cynical-materialistic society.

And, that is why Manuel Cases was, is and will forever be “great”.

***
Your spirit will live in us, ceaselessly and without fade.

This restless spirit
sings hollow songs
Lameneting the tides of yesteryears,
And years to come
She gallantly whispers
promises to distant lovers:
…generous sun
…loving moon
…darling wind
…gentle rain
She yearns for tomorrow
Hapless in her ethereal state
Silently, waiting on the plane
Where time and space embrace
She listens to the trembling
Of aged leaves and hungry springs,
To the festive chatter
of oak to evergreen
And again, slowly drowns
In the whirls of beyond
Somberly…grieving
her world that will never come.

1. Read Baby Nelson’s, then Del Mundo, twice if you’d like, remember to highlight…and then once done, burn your books to dust.

You’ll soon discover you wasted your time.

2. Watch “Game ka na ba”… you’ll probably learn that Ramses was the first to die of small pox.

Why the hell was that question even there?

Well…why the hell did they wear high-heels with sports socks during the 80’s? (hmmm….)

3. For anatomy read “BRS”, compare it with “high-yield anatomy”, mark similar pages with that semi-translucent sticker…thingies…and then (here’s the most crucial part)…tear all the marked pages.

Believe me, you won’t need them.

4. Learn the art of “extreme test-taking”:

X-treme Test-taking:

Level 1: Position yourself beside an extremely (like I said X-TREME!) large window without curtains, take your practice test from 7am – 4pm (Yes, including midday…the very reason why sunblock was conceived)
The Challenge: finishing the test before your oncogenes decide that squamous cell carcinoma is the way to go.
The Plus side: That minute minority (let’s be hypothetical) that were completely clueless of your self-imposed scholastic exile, might actually think that you had been drinking up the sun at wonderful Boracay when they see you (OMG you actually have a life!)
The fix: Put on a ton of sunblock…Bring a gallon of agua… and any large piece of cloth, preferably the size of a mural. It may come in very handy.

Level 2: Same as above…with the addition of a recording of “DVD…DVD…” repetitively playing in the background. To be realistic, don’t forget to include the sound of multiple TV’s running different movies simultaneously.
The Challenge: fighting the urge to go on a DVD purchasing frenzy before getting to question number 100, of the third exam.
The Plus side: When (or if) you do get to finish the test, you won’t be walking out of the room confused and distraught. By that time you would have decided… a) “The Lord of the Rings”… b) “The Matrix”… c) “X-Men 2”…d) All of the above…they’re just 65 pesos each!
The fix: Bring P500.00, you can rest assured to have a DVD galore by the end of the exam, thus helping you focus on the real task at hand…i.e. to obtain a license and not the entire season of “24”

Level 3: Before going through levels 1 and 2, climb about ten flights of stairs.
The Challenge: Getting to the top floor with your stock of knowledge intact, and your stock…ready for the physical and (let’s not forget) mental torture that is to follow.
The Plus side: When you’re done with the four freakin’ days of getting scorched and dehydrated, not to mention emotionally and mentally battered (aka the Phil Licensure Exam)…you’ve lost weight and toned you bum…you have a perfect tan…and you have an entire DVD collection for only P500.00!
The Fix: humans are truly adaptable animals…you’ll be fine.

5. Sleep. After the exam you’ll suddenly hate yourself for not listening to that little voice in your head...and, consequently, hate that little voice in your head incessantly nagging you with “I told you so!”

6. Pharma…sorry no advice can save you.

7. Pathology: Read Papa Robbins from cover to cover, especially (and this I underscore) those that are NOT highlighted, NOR printed in bold, those that are in the boxes, and those that are NOT…in other words…I am sorry the examiners are cruel…because (hello, what do we have here?!) they really ARE.

8. Think like an examiner…

Blah blah blah is…
a) NOT = false
b) NOT+EXCEPT = true
c) NOT + Except + NOT = false
d) All of which + Except=false
e) All of which +Except + BUT= true
f) All of which…= Oh damn! He’s bluffing!

9. Be understanding of human frailties, and tolerant of differences in perspectives. For others, anatomy means urology…physiology means medicine…preventive medicine means ethics…pedia means neurosurg and somehow synonymous with nephrology…and microbiology means the Medical Technologist Licensure Exam.

10. Medicine: Study physio…

11.Physio: Study medicine…

12. Surgery: Don’t study

13. Last but of utmost importance PRAY, PRAY, PRAY!!! Do not doubt the power of divine intervention!

And after all has been done, realize that this examination is not the true measure of what kind of physician you will be. People are not a set of questions, to be treated by choosing the BEST answer. They are beings diagnosed by empathy and healed by compassion.

The true test is “living” what you’ve chosen to become.

To all doctors and would-be MDs…the best of luck.

Ah! How the world works in mysterious ways...

Having become a self-proclaimed bum, got up in the usual time (surprise, surprise!) 7am, to watch (surprise surprise!) reruns of Dawson's Creek (yeah! I can’t believe it myself). I was so busy playing the angsty teenager then that I refused to be subjected to any form of sentimentality during blossoming adolescence. Now it seems age 17 is back, knocking at my door.


Am I regressing?


Or, merely bored?


Anyway, (lest I stray), as having the most amount of time in my hands and being the least productive, I have been the designated "keep-the-place-clean/chuck-it-in-the-oven/cook-some-rice/tidy-what-you-can" person. I wouldn't use the word cleaning-lady or house-keeper or house-manager. That would be giving me TOO much credit. I couldn't even manage my own room, let alone my own closet…


So there I was, picking up the newspapers scattered on the floor, idly leafing through each page. By some unseen force I suddenly found myself going through the “events” page (which I customarily skip for…seriously, do we even know these people!). Unexpectedly peering at me with the most gleeful of expressions is Dr. “Big-Brother-Cardio” and beside him, beaming with so much happiness, was his wonderful bride-to-be.


Absentmindedly, I folded the newspaper and felt my being slowly wither away…


Ha! Who am I kidding?!


On the contrary, I was so amused by the coincidence, that I couldn’t help laughing. It was roughly two years ago when I was first teased about how much I idolized Dr. “Big-brother Cardio”. In the madness of clerkship, his patience and kindness reminded me of the doctor I wanted to become. He was the one who, unknowingly, inspired me to consider cardiology.


It was funny,however,how my friends misconstrued my admiration for romantic interest.


Two years, though recent, feels like such a long time ago.


Indeed, the wheel is turning for everyone…

I hate thinking about tomorrow.

Everyday I have the compulsion to send my self into a trance, to be plagued by the "what-ifs" and "what thens" of the next week, the next month, the next years. I end up gripped by the notion that life is short, and... fruitless? And then I feel empty.

Perhaps its normal. Especially when time is finally given to you. You get the breathing space that you need. And once you have it. You don't want it. You don't want time to think, to mull over things...time to stop...to breathe. You were so used going 120 km per hour...simply looking ahead, getting things done. When you completely stop you realize you are in one confined space, that your world has become so narrowed its suffocating.

"What am I doing here?" you think. "Ive never asked myself that before"

"What was I doing?", "Where was I"... you suddenly don't remember

Its a shitty feeling

But life goes on.

Time won't wait. It doesn't give a shit for you.

You just have to go on...

When?

How?

You decide.


I hate thinking about tomorrow. So I might as well just live it.

Damn! I am sooo in limbo right now.

Yesterday upon entry into Canada, I was held up at immigration. Apparently, though I claimed to "live" in beautiful British Columbia, I have not actually "lived' here in the strictest sense of the word.

Immigration: So where do you live?

Me: um... here.

Immigration: (confused look) how long have you stayed since you've landed?

Me:...er...I couldn't tell 'coz I've been going back and forth (shit! I'd be lucky if it would total 3 months!)

Immigration: Well you should at LEAST have a total of 2 years stay since the day you landed, which is 2001, to comply with the requirements

Me: yeah. I just...uh needed to finish my studies (thought bubble: ...and a few other things)

Immigration:...

Me: that's why I plan to live here from this day....forth (thought bubble: gulp gulp gulp....goodbye classmates...goodbye friends...goodbye August boards)

In a span of 12 hours, all plans went from definite to blurry. And, jet-lag aint helping me come up with anything.

I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

This is a true story... (e bakit parable? Sagot: ewan ko!)

One not-so-glorious morning in a royal, pontifical and catholic
institution (na itago natin sa panagalang UST). A girl (itago natin
sa pangalang Marbin), heard her tummy grumbling . "Hmmm" she
said, "this is a good day for a yummy ham-and-cheese waffle"

So she went straight to the no-so-far-away canteen. Excitedly she
handed her P20.00 bill to the manang...

"One ham-and-cheese waffle pls (Isang ham-n'chiz wafol po)" she said

The manang sadly replied "O its still in the waffle-maker (Ay,
nakasalang pa)

With great disappointment the girl slowly turned back, and somberly
began looking for a nutritional replacement (with the same amount of
vitamins and minerals) for her yummy waffle

And then "ting!" She thought, "Why should I look for a replacemnt when
I could get a cheeze waffle...which might actually taste the
same...less the ham"

so she went back and thrust her P20.00 bill "One cheeze waffle then!
(Isang chiz wafol na lang)

When she got her cheeze waffle she eagerly bit into its soft exterior
to find (lo and behold!) HAM-AND-CHEEZE!!!

She was then full of happiness. Her day was complete


Lesson: Chance favors those who are persistent! (or who persevere...)

Bakit yan ang lesson?

Sagot Ewan ko...


narrated by marbin


---------------------
A Few minutes later...

Dumaan si Dr. Alvin Lim...idol...hehe (warm-fuzzy-feeling)

It's officially Feb 3, but I'm relishing the fact that in some parts of the world I'm still 24. Realizing that you've lived a quarter of a century,is not quite as thrilling I thought it would be when I was fourteen. A decade ago I imagined that by the time a I hit the big 2_5 I'd have a novel under my belt and mount Everest as one of my geographical conquests. A decade after, the closest thing I have to a novel is this ( my occasional inane and incoherent ramblings) and scaling the 5th floor to get to the pedia ward (in the somewhat "geological"...or should I say "archeological" East Ave Med. Center)is a feat I am proud of. Now, I am 25, a car blind without headlights.

(to be continued)

Not so long ago, I was watching a talk-show with a few of the "on-the-rise" actresses. Then came the question that seemed to be the climax of every day-time talk-show--"What is the item you would not survive without, say you got stranded on an island". As expected, all the women aswered with striking certainty

Girl 1: Lip balm

Girl 2: I'd say...Lip balm

Girl 3: Siguro...Lip balm

Wow, LIP BALM. Faced with the same question I would be thinking LIGHTER or, maybe, SWISS KNIFE! You know...cause I want to SURVIVE! But hey, I guess with lip balm you get to keep your lips luscious, in case they find your dried up husk of a corpse on the beach.

Please people, think before you talk.

The day, as usual has turned sour. The cook today, most definitely (and I'd stake my entire medical career on this) is the advocate of the dietary bible of the Nat'l Kidney Institute--The Renal Cookbook. Save for masticating (and repeatedly regurgitating) on Malunggay STALKS, the chicken as cooked, the soup had some semblence of taste. I'd say not bad for a UREMIC DIET.

But the food was the least irrritating of the triggering factors to my, almost daily, litany of curses, groans and grunts...