Suwerte ka!

Time and again I've encountered people of whom I've promised to be the topic of my posts. Well here is one.

I've come from my hospital duty tired from lack of sleep. The tour of duty was not that different from most of my duties... I was told to work faster and probably threatened by way of brusque manner which brought me to choking back my tears. In truth, I cried. It's my only release besides photography of my frustrations. Of those who are not familiar with the medical field, there is this ladder you are to climb ( I suppose in all fields there is) and you start beneath the food chain. In terms of responsibilities and work, if your senior says "jump", you don't have to ask "how high", just jump. But that is what I am used to, today we encounter medical students (clerks/interns) who are not used to work, so imagine the students asking us to do jobs that they are supposed to do. Imagine being at the bottom of the food chain being pushed further down, maybe to nothingness...

In any way, me being myself just took it all in. Cried a little. Wiped my tears and faced my patients red-eyed. In more ways than one, I try to convince myself that everything I go through are for my improvement. For whatever it is, I am yet to know. Thankfully my patients were kind enough not to ask, one even tried to boost my mood after witnessing my near to breakdown event. I am glad that I am reminded that what I am doing is not entirely wrong, that there are people who do appreciate what I do. Looking back my duty is not entirely tiring when it came to work, just from the lack of sleep.

That's not my story. Just a prelude to let you know how much I appreciate what happened to me on my way home. After my duty, I had to stay at the hospital to complete my other responsibilities (census). It was past 9 that I left the hospital, and wrestled with wanting to stay for another 30 minutes to watch "Cinderella" (the japanese version), yet another one of my de-tox activities. But the lack of sleep won me over so I went on my way home. I have this thing for walking, I love walking. My day won't be complete without it. On my daily route, I pass by Chowking, to which I usually buy my breakfast/lunch/dinner. Entering the fastfood chain, I was glad there were not much customers, meaning I would be leaving with my food, fast. Waiting for my food, I notice another customer who ordered after me, asking the cashier of their other branches preferably near Araneta avenue. I took no interest in that but I was intrigued in how hyper she is versus my dwindling energy at that time. She seats by me and tells me the story of the new BPI freebie system. She tells me of how purchasing at least a thousand pesos with BPI credit card system, you are able to avail free meals at Chowking. She was so thrilled in that she will be able to give whatever freebie she take to her grandchildren and to her other relatives. It was a refreshing conversation as I rarely do have any other conversation with strangers unless they are patients I tend to. She told me of so many things but one thing struck me most is that she was happy that whatever she could take from this she would be able to give to others. And there I was fighting of my sleep when she told me "Alam mo, swerte ka." (You know, you're lucky/in luck). "Po?" was my only answer to that. She told me not to leave for she would be giving me one of the meals she was able to avail. Despite my protests, she was persistent, I finally relented to her when she told me that I shouldn't refuse whatever gift that was being given to me. With repeated "thank you's", we parted ways. I didn't ask for her name. I wanted her to be one of my angels. She didn't realize a far greater gift she gave me. A memory, a reminder I could keep for my lifetime. As for the meal... I hope that it filled an empty stomach.

author

It's been almost a year for me since I've actively took up photography. Being freshly out of medical school I've realized that I've missed a lot of moments in my family's life. Maybe it has been a reason for me to take snapshots almost everyday of my life, maybe its because of the guilt in the back of my mind that I've almost been left out save for some photos they've taken from occasions in our family.

Adding to the guilt is the death of two of my relatives (and another one just recently), that I've decided to keep an archive of memories... to keep me from feeling left out. It has been my bridge to reminding me that I have still a lot more to discover and there are other lives aside from my own...

Starting this blog will hopefully be my repository of memories of my past and the present and of my dreams... thank you to my sister for this photo...

que sera sera

My mother used to sing this song to me when I was a child, aside of course from her favorite "close to you" by the Carpenters. Que sera sera. Whatever will be, will be.

My mom's really afraid that I'll take photography seriously. Too late. :) I am taking up photography, but not as serious as she thinks I will. She used to encourage us towards more cerebral activities. I remember being shuffled from one activity to another. Speech. Piano. Tennis. Computer. Even swimming. I took to those as a child who liked to play. Why am I ranting about this now? Well it's because I am both into the newbie state. Newbie doctor. Newbie photography enthusiast.

I am ranting about this now. because I am going through the state where I guess 1st generation doctors go through. Lost. But I'm not lost, I just want the simple nod of acceptance of my chosen specialty. I just want the silence of not listening to whatever opening there is in the states, what specialty people think is best, to where I should get my specialty training, to what country I should go etc etc. It's simple, acceptance, yet complicated more ways than one blog can cover.

I took up photography because it keeps me sane. Just like how tennis used to take away my angst. Oh well, just what they used to sing, que sera sera, whatever will be, will be.

as long as i can

Last Saturday was a scheduled "babang-luksa" of my grandmother. It is scheduled on the one year death anniversary where the period of grieving supposedly ends. That's the reason for my sudden 7 hour bus ride going home.

It has ben one year since I made one of the biggest decision in my life. For months after the death of my Uncle, my grandma's son, her health deteriorated. She just simply let go of herself. For months we were in and out of the hospital. Of course, it came upon my shoulders to explain or simplify to my family the medical jargon that every specialist have thrown to them. Even returning the medical jargon and a full flight of english words to hospital admin for every other day giving us notice of payment of fees. Believe me, I do understand their point, but at that time of my life I am just a "relative of a patient" who's patience is wearing thin. At that point in time I was balancing my life between Baguio and Manila, Civilian and Doctor, Rest and Review for the boards.

A year ago, I went up to Baguio for one reason, the wedding of my cousin. To tell you it seems that fate played her hand at this. Just minutes after me setting foot and saying hello to my family, my grandmother went into arrest. You see, before I went home I was deciding wether to bring my steth and stuff. I brought them. I upped the O2 to 10. Listened to breath sounds. Gasping. Felt for pulses. I could barely palpate due to edema. Brought out my steth, normal heart rate. Called for transpo. Good thing someone other than me knew how to drive. Decided to bring her to Baguio Gen for intubation before transfer to SLU. I know I have ambu-bagged lots of patients before. But this one hits the heart.

Every nurse in the ER of SLU knew the face of my lola. But then and there she was unrecognizable with the tubes and everything. Every nurse in the cardio unit knew her as the "grumpy old woman". I do not know how they felt seeing her pass by tubes and all straight into the ICU. My grandmother had asked not to prolong her life, DNR. As I arrived for my shift at the floor, I saw my cousins there. they were leaving, "bukas na lang ako papasok, daming tao eh.". Of course, see you tomorrow. But that was before I went to look at my grandmother. She was moved to TPs a few hours ago. I told my mom I didn't like how whe breathed. And when I saw her again, her BP was down, her HR was slow... I asked my mom to go home. IT was almost 9pm. I asked my sister too to leave. But she chose to stay.

You see it was the dilemma of my mom. She didn't want to give the last decision. When my mom left I told my sister that we were not going to last the night. I gave my damn best to calm myself down. I didn't know what to do. Past 10 pm a code red was called into the ICU. The curtain was closed.

dream

This is one work of Rolando Carbonel that I like the most. This is taken from my Aunt's scrapbook. I'm glad that it survived through the years. I'm hoping to make my own scrapbook someday.

DREAM
-an excerpt-
Rolando Carbonel

Love... may not be you loving me but it may be me loving you,

despite that; it may be me, not being able to.

It may be me seeing your soul, though it could be me
feeling your soul's encompassing presence.

It could be you forever walking away from me,
yet never leaving me.

It could be me searing my soul with your mocking laughter,
you piercing my being with your deep tenderness.

Love could be you wandering at my futile intensity,
and I wondering why you wonder still.

This was sent to my aunt written on the back of a lovely card. She only "loved the poem, not the card". I hope that I could find the whole poem. I couldn't find ONE book with the collection of Rolando Carbonel.

deep seated memories

I’ve been reading old copies of Reader’s Digest lately and this one article was one that had struck a chord. An excerpt from Reader’s Digest December 1970 entitled “The Importance of Childhood Memories” which was condensed from Family Weekly and authored by Norman M. Lobsenz.

“… I have asked many friends to reach into their childhoods and tell me what they recall with greatest clarity. Almost always their mention similar moments – experiences or incidents not of any great importance. Not crises or traumas or triumphs, but things which although small in themselves carry sharp sensations of warmth and joy, or sometimes of pain…. My friend is a man who experiences the world as a busy place but who basically feels all right about it and about himself. His favorite childhood memory is both clue to and cause of his fundamental soundness.”

“Clearly, the power that parents have to shape the memories their children will carry involves an awesome responsibility. In this respect, nothing is trivial. What to a grown-up might seem a casual word or action often is, to a child, the kernel of a significant memory on which he will build. A grownups, we draw on these memories as sources of strength or weakness. Author Willa Cather saw this clearly “there are those early memories,” she wrote.” One cannot get another set; one has only those.”.”

In essence, our parents had the power to build the foundations of our characters, of who we will be. But then as our own selves, we have the choice to change or continue building what has been started for us. True that our earliest childhood memories play an integral part on who we are and how we are to the people around us. But later on we build memories for ourselves and memories for the little ones. As my mother had said and I quote… “there should be improvement of the race”. We learn and we change.