knowing and being

"I want to learn forgiveness"

"You already know it, how come you want to experience it?"

"Knowing and Being are two different things"

"How can I help you then?"

"You're gonna have to hurt me"

"You'll be mad at me for that"

"Yes, but then, I'd still forgive you. Ready? I'll see you on the next life"

"Can I say sorry in advance?"

"You're forgiven. Now go. Hurt me."

thoughts from Psych Rotation

Man sends the most sophisticated spacecrafts into space to venture into the unknown, but until know they still haven't decoded the complexity of the human brain.





during the psych interview with a consultant and a patient:



"enumerate three problems you have in your life", asked the doctor to the psych patient.



there was one answer that struck me bigtime



"nalimutan ko po ang sarili ko"



it was plain and simple. and for me, it answered everything. every symptom. every delusion and it explained why she has lost her sanity. she started working by 17 and helped raise her 14 other siblings. she had kids and spoiled them all and gave all the comforts she never had. she bought a house for her parents. sent her siblings to school. she loved too much that she forgot to love herself. she was neglected. harassed. and was unappreciated.



because of that, her brain created another reality. one where she owns a lawfirm, where she's friends with queen elizabeth, when she easily beats everyone in gambling, where she is a harvard graduate and a lawyer and cpa. her brain created that as a way of compensation of how low her psych had gone and her ego cannot take it anymore, thus, she creates a place where it could all be better, where it could all be bearable... a world where she could rule once again.











how often do we forget ourselves in exchange for sanity? in exchange for other's hapiness? how far are we from those patients? when do you call delusions pathologic? when do you need to treat anxiety? when does overhapiness become non-beneficial? when does sadness become alarming?



during Psych rotation, I realized how fragile one's Psych could be. Breakups. Deaths. Failures. Trauma. those stressors push you from reality and fool your brain to make an alternate story. Some minds needed confirmation that what they are doing is right, hence they start to hear voices as if they're your conscience patting you on the back. Some minds cannot bear a depression that they simply shut down and either pour a dam of tears, or well it down and let them dry. Some minds excacerbate fears, some misleads it, some just totally removes it. Sometimes, the mind auto-deletes, sometimes they emphasize. overemphasize that even in sleep, they replay.


but of course, knowing God, i don't think he'll let us sink into that void of unknowingness (if there's even such a word) Knowing God, I believe he'd put road signs if ever we'd trek that way, he'd send saviors, or even give a divine intervention just so we'd go back to being sane. Most of the time it's in the form of a support system called our friends, who would buffer our rage and keep our minds in check and kill our suicidal ideations, sometimes God would send random messages in the form of a song in the radio, or a movie scene, or simply silence in a cold toxic night that calms you and tells you that everything's gonna be alright. it may be in a form of a lover, your most intimate psychotherapist. and maybe if all else fails, if we get too lost, next to death, we get saved in the form of antipsychotics


Antipsychotics.

Doctors launch them like space probes that they send into your brain in the quest to find you back.\

Problem is, if they find you,

are you willing to go back?

Jesus, MD

I guess you will not be surprised if I told you I always wanted to become a doctor. There's something about blood and stitches that keep me interested. I'm always in awe of how the human body works, how a wound heals, and how a heart beats, how an erection happens. I always thought the white coat would look good on me with a shiny stethoscope. I had this belief that my smile could magically heal a patient (STOP, look at my profile pic. Healed? No? Shucks), and I thought my hands can fix everything that's wrong, I thought, as a doctor, If I'd tell a leper to bathe in the river, he'll be healed.



I thought I'd be as cool as Jesus without the beard.



When I was in pre-med I looked up so much on Med Students. The heavy books they carry, the all-white uniform that made them look so clean, the nameplate with "Faculty of Medicine and Surgery" shining below your name, and how I'm amazed when thay talk jargon to each other. I always fantasized talking to someone on the phone saying, "sige, operahan na natin, pagdating ko dapat prepared na mga gamit para matapos agad kasi marami pa kong iba pang OR scheds"



But when it was my turn to wear those Vnecks and "Junior Intern" in our names, it wasnt as glamorous as I thought it was. Those books I carry are barely highlighted, the all-white uniform starts to shrink on you as you gain weight, you wonder where you get a shit-colored stain or blood on your uniform, when we look at our nameplates, instead of pride, fear looms because of the pressure that you have to graduate on what year it says, and the jargon talk? We were just reading them from handwritings that took us hours to decipher, and more of those words I cannot even spell correctly. The phone conversations? "Yes doktora? opo... opo... di ko po alam doktora, I'll find out po, sorry po doktora. Ooperahan na po ba? sige po tatakbo na po ako diyan. Doctora, pwede po ba ako umalis agad? Marami pa po akong gagawing errands"



I tried to find the Jesus Rockstar feeling of saving lives and helping humanity part of this. But so far, I haven't brought someone back to life. I haven't cured a leper. I haven't made a blind see. I haven't healed a paralytic. ok Lord, maybe you can't give me those powers, but, can you at least make me turn water into wine?



So far, the only thing I feel the same with Jesus right now is suffering part. The calvary of Edema rounds, the persecution of being boljacked, carrying the cross of demerits, the whipping at referrals, the sleepless night at getsemane.



There are times we are left asking why we signed up for this show anyway. And our parents paid a lot for this, expecting thay'd have a Return of Investment on God-knows-when. We are getting sleep deprived and drained the soul out of ourselves, while we watch our friends get married, have kids, skyrocketing their careers. We've been taught in medschool that 25 is the prime of our lives, but we're drowing in a see of books and papers and surround ourselves with sick people. We were taught that brain function is in optimum with a required amount of sleep while we can't do it ourselves. I sometimes ask how different I am with the Psych patients I've managed and made me think that the difference between them and I is that they are properly medicated, while I am not...



...Which made me think... If Jesus was a Junior Intern, what would he do? Will he always be next on deck so that everyone he touches will be healed? Does he still need to attend adcons, ER cons and THERAcons? Will he feel sleepy at lectures? Will he glow at night or wear a halo like in the pictures? Does he need to make Yellow Notes? By 7am? Will he be boljacked because his intervention will be "bathe in river for 10 minutes", "drink your urine cause i turned them into wine", his prescriptions would be, "Uleavened Bread, #70x7, Sig: take 1 bread, break into a million pieces, share to the whole ward, three times a day", "If febrile, don't worry, it's the holy spirit sending cytokines!", I bet he'd be great with patient care, I hope he gets decked to the patient na naninigaw na "DEMONYO", it will be like an exorcism. What will he do in San Lazaro? Do charts? What will he do if someone's coding? will he fall in line with us and wait for his turn to pump? or he will part a sea of JIs as he raise his hand and levitate the patient and put him back to life in the most movie-genic scene? and after that, say, "Doctors, Go back to sleep", Will he get demerits too when he pushes a wheelchair? What if he does? What will he say? "You're gonna demerit me? Do you know who I am? I'm JESUS, god damn it!"



But then again, pardon for the cornyness, maybe Jesus have to be there in the wards in the form of us. We may not be able to Radiate Chemotherapy out of our hands, but maybe reaching out would make them an inch closer to being better. Maybe I dont levitate, and maybe I can't cure Heart failure by just winking, but I know the drugs that could help them, and I know what could harm them. My smile cannot probably heal your diabetes but, look at my profile pic again. That smile made a lot of patients smile, too. healed? No? Feel better? Hopefully.



Three months into Junior Internship, I have seen patients die in my hands, I have pumped their hearts for them, I've seen families cling to the last straws of hope, and have seen most of those hopes die too, the same day - and because of that I have understood more the cycle of life and death. Of letting go and letting be. Of how susceptible we are to harm's way, and how strong we will be from harm's way. I played Jesus in comforting them. In cheering my SLE patient who dializes every other day. In my patient who always talks about her crush na JI who 1 week ago that patient came in in cardiorespiratory distress. In making Clinical Abstracts to help the patients be granted assistance. In asking patients, "nanay, laban lang ha? hindi pwedeng lumala ka." This, is what I want to do with my life.



I guess you will not be surprised if I tell you I've always wanted to become a doctor. THe Bible may not be aware of the everyday glories we do, but the world need not to acknowledge every single deed. Because this is what we signed up for. Like what the Hippocratic Oath said,



we are here to pledge to consecrate our lives to the service of humanity.

To practice this profession with conscience and dignity.

To maintain by all means and power the honor and noble traditions of the medical profession.

To maintain the utmost respect for human life...



Last month when I was admitting a patient, Dra Bombase asked me to clean the wound of my patient.

...and while doing it, I smiled at the irony God has given to me.



I was washing the patient's feet.

In that very moment, with betadine on ulcerated lesions of a congestive heart failure patient...

I...

felt

like

Jesus.



It was, in every little sense, very humbling.

It might not be as rockstar-Jesus as I have imagined it to be, but it hit me in such an unexpectedly perfect way. And from there, I remembered what I'm here for.





To be Jesus.

without the beard.

pain

Describing pain was so simple when we were all kids. Dito, masakit, nadaganan. Doon, mahapdi, nagasgas. Most of the time they're self inflicted. They heal in a few days, and sometimes a slight blow of wind helps alleviate what you feel. When they ask how painful it is, you just say that it is painful and that's it. no further questions. It heals, and we move on the next day.



As doctors, it's not enough that you just say it's painful. You ask when did it start? how did it progress? is acute or chronic? what kind of pain is it? are there any accompanying symptoms? does it radiate to other body parts? does it affect daily living? did you seek consult? did you take or do anything to relieve it? were you compliant? were you relieved? did it recur?



But then again, one does not have to become a doctor to complicate pain. One only has to grow up. And the worst kinds of pain are not the ones from trauma, not even the physical pain, but the one brought by the heart and then your psyche puts it on a loop of a vicious cycle.



Pain. It's not enough to say it's just painful. You have to rationalize why. Derive where it started at how the pain got into your attention. How did it progress? is it acute, or are you martyr enough to make it chronic? what kind of pain is it? does it come with breathlessness and unproductivity? does it get you? does it radiate to different parts of you? does it radiate to different people? does it affect daily living? did you seek consult? are are you stubborn enough to sleep it through? did you cry? did you shout? did you punch something, or someone to relieve it? did it recur?



When we were young, Pain was just simple. it just aches, and sometimes band-aids just do the trick. It all got so complicated, because we all grew up. Maybe the only thing similar about it is that most pains are self-inflicted. We overthink what was once simple, or people around complicates it. We wake our inner sadist to inflict Pain. It all got so different. But somehow, we have to grow up from the era of band aids. We have to feel worse pains so that we'd find a way for better releif. We then appreciate the wonders of antibiotics and anesthetics and therapies, or even the simple process of wound healing. From pain, we needed to grow up. We have to. Pain gets complicated just as Relationships get complicated, Money gets complicated, Time gets complicated, We get complicated, Life gets complicated. It's all part of being a rational human being. Somewhere along the way, we got used to the simple pain when we were young that we subconsciously asked for a worse dose. One that would make us grow, one that we get forced to grow, some leave scars, and some leave marks, some parts of us die because of it, some become better. And the next thing we know, we have higher pain tolerance, we get better at evading, we laugh at what we once cried on. The next thing we know, pain brought us to a better place.



Maybe pain isn't bad at all. Maybe pain is good.

All we have to do is be aware that we're in the proccess of pain-heal-better cycle that makes us better people



Why do we keep on hitting our head with a hammer? because it feels so good when we stop.

Last Will and Testament

I had chest pains while taking Yesterday's exam. Sudden, Left sided, sharp/crushing, (7/10) kakabahan-ka-talaga pain while sitting there battling it out with my test paper. I had no idea whether those were real MI-like pain or angina, or imaginary examination induced pain, but from that seat, it made me wonder: If I would have a heart attack today: (1) I think I'd die in the room. Given my unforgivable BMI, my classmates will not be able to carry me. (2) I'd be totally pissed because I didnt get to be a doctor (3) I have never written a Last Will and Testament. Yet. It will be my last say if I'll never get the chance to do so.



So, the idea of a LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF KARL EDEJER was born. At First, i thought only the rich, powerful, and old people are allowed to make a Last Will and Testament (LWaT, from here on, it sucks typing it everytime) - but, for the heck of it (and maybe fun of it), i'll try to write one. Even If i dont have a lawyer to document this, I have facebook. And to add the need to make an LWaT: in case the Mayan people are correct, we all die by December 21, 2012 (i'd be at Fabella rotation that time) - in case some people survive and repopulate the earth and stumble across this, it could be a good (legal) reference. Whatever.



So I sat here trying to recall and everything that I own and kung kanino ipapamana ang mga to and suddenly I realized one important thing: I don't own anything.



At 25 years of existence, i dont have a car, my Phone lines are still named after my mom (which is okay, cause she pays for it), i dont have a house, the laptop im using now isnt even mine. I have a college degree and is about to go through hell to get my MD. My med books are usually CHM from iPad and my iPad's full of jailbroken games and a dead pixel, my Harrison's is slighlty used, my Phone is butt ugly (not to mention has more 'charge time' than 'alive time'), I can give away my collection of movies and pictures but a brod accidentally 'reformatted' my precious hard drive. I am far away from getting into a relationship, even further in getting married. If ever i'm going to die at this moment,



how the hell will my Will, will be?



Then, i remembered a good friend who once told me that 'writing is the best way to immortalize yourself' - so maybe my last will and testament will simply be the memories kept with me. So if you ask,ano pamana ko sayo? close your eyes and remember a vivid memory with me,and that will be it. It's so corny, but that's what people do when they remember someone, don't they? but still, corny.



The only things that will probably will be on my LWaT will be my ever so precious blogs and rants and unpublished works and the random quotes I keep in my phone. And so, no matter how babaw this will be, granting that some of them might be possible kahit hindi ngayon... drumroll...












The Last Will and Testament of Karl Erjon Misa Edejer... so far

(as of March 2012, may be revised without prior notice)

(and forgive the Taglish. I got carried away with some of my deathwishes)



- First kung meron man. All my money will go to:

- my wife (if applicable) UNLESS OTHERWISE I'd edit another LWaT saying na wag nalang

- and Kids

- if not applicable, they will all go to my Parents, and all my siblings including sylar.



so, kung may 60 pesos ako sa bangko. 10 kay daddy, 10 kay mommy, tig-10 si Shan Shen at Pae, at Sylar. Pamasahe din yun, at kendi.



- one day ill let my wife know my FB password and click on 'drafts' for all unpublished works i have. If ever I haven't told her, she will ask Paolo Mendiola to hack through my FB and get my works. If I don't have a wife, or a girlfriend when I die, I'll let my sister, Pae, open it. Pae will ask Paolo to hack it. (btw Paolo doesnt have to wait for me to die for him to hack me. He has already done so, for the record)



- my trophies and certificates and awards was well kept by my mom, I inherited it when I went to college. It will go back to her. It was all dedicated to her and my dad anyway. Specially the Silver Medal I got during 5th grade when I went against all odds for an Elocution Contest. I didnt even had a barong. When i got the medal, I borrowed from one of the losers just to pose like a (real) winner. And of course, the Top 1 in Class Medal where I went from Zero to One from nowhere.



- my Ugly Netbook (or any laptop I have during that time) will go to Pae Edejer. not because you need it, but because it's full of memories.Wag mo nang iwawala ha? Just buy an adaptor for it. My iPad to Shen Edejer, since you know my password for my Porn (kahit by that time iPad version 24 na yan, same parin ang passwrod)



- Gustuhin ko mang ibigay kay Shan Edejer ang beach house, hindi pwede, dahil hindi naman talaga sakin ang Beach House. :p Kay daddy nga pala yun, feel na feel ko lang na sakin, and I hope Shan will take care of it the same way I did. And I'm sure he will. (And, i dont have to die for you to take good care of it)



- my carbon copy of love letters (i received and made) will be safekept by Marey Garcia. She may copy it if she wants to and use it for whatever purpose it may serve



- If I ever get rich when I die, ipangbibili ng Frat House ang ibang parte ng aking kayamanan. Yung Frat House na may Parking. May maid. May Pole para sa mga 'special guests'. May surround sound, strobe lights, disco lights, at trampoline. May fountain ng Alak. May swimming pools. Tatlo. Yung una, tubig ang laman, yung pangalawa beer, at yung pangatlong pool, Jack Daniels -- yun yung may slide. At may TV screen sa floor, pader, banyo, table, sa ibang pang mga walang kwentang lugar - parang sa Pimp my Ride. At may garden na may pananim ni John Uy. Yung frathouse na bawal si Ch*rles. Yung may elevator kahit 2 floors lang basta for the sake na meron. Maglalagay din ako ng special place para sa mga aso ni Jappy dahil inferness, cute naman mga aso nya, mejo mabilis lang talaga bumaho. Ipapamana ko sa dalawang asignatories ang kayamanan ko na pangbili ng frathouse sa kung sino man ang Primo kung mawala ako. Ang pagkuha ng password sa bangko ko ay magiging isang mala Da Vinci code treasure hunting adventure - ang unang clue at magsisimula sa ilalim ng mga couch na nasira ko sa FH through the years.



- My DWTL Box will be inherited by Kris Rea and Mommy Olive. DWTL 54 Tag by Gayle Salise. DWTL 70 by Geli Balcruz. As for my kids, they will get the letters to me if they can guess the pathetic number of letters I received during that day.I would want to donate to DWTL pero feeling ko mauubos na ng Frat House yung pera so"I'll watch you from above" nalang. At magmumulto ako sa DISCO.



- before I started online blogging, I had My blue notebook of rants. Whom to give? (still undecided - as of now, i think it should be burned) :D



- my Blogs will be posted on the walls of my funeral. I dont care how they will screen the good ones from the bad, as long as they post the top 30 good ones. Post it on the walls or make a pseudo exhibit outside. Screw the flowers, cash nalang, or cheque. Or maybe get a new room where my works will be celebrated. I know it's too ego-centric, but it's my funeral anyway, paki mo ba? :D walang basagan ng trip. Kung inggit ka, gawin mo rin sa burol mo. Haha. Anyways, Writing is more than just a hobby for me. More than just therapy. through years, it has become my art. And if asked on how will I want to become remembered, I know I'll be remembered best when they read my art. For an archive of my blogs (www.karlerjon.multiply.com, and on the notes section of my FB, and the secret blogs/alter ego blogpages are not worth posting and reading)



- And Finally, written on my tombstone will be



"Here Lies Karl.

A Healer. A Writer.

Trespassers Welcome."









Disclaimer: I am not (and not planning on) dropping down dead in the days to come. Haha.

Have an open mind reading this.

code

it was my first death.



my hands were just a few centimeters away from someone's heart. I pump it for someone who's heart doesnt have enough drive to pump for itself. why did it give up beating? why did it choose to stop? at that very moment, the reason didnt matter to me. all i wanted to happen is push that heart into beating and push it like jumpstarting a vehicle,to give them the much needed push to make them live.



epi was given. then the second. then the third. and a bunch of Medicine Rotators flocked the scene like firemen rushing to an inferno. everyone was calm. and on their senses even it was the middle of the night. and all eyes were on that patient.



clear. everybody was clear. oxygen out. and the patient received thunder. if pumping and epi was not enough, shocking him would be the last resort. two waves of electricity were given to him. and his BP rose to 140/80. He was alive, and everybody left the scene.



5 minutes later, just when I was again beside him, someone ordered me to pump again. damn it. he was dying. i can feel the sternum about to crack, but it didnt matter. having broken ribs would be a lot better than being dead. and then came another wave of epi, of shock, of pumps, and of oxygen. i can feel from the patient that he was tired. that it was just the drugs beating and not really his heart, it was just the respirator breathing and not his own lungs. making him live, this time, after the Nth attempt was like a vicous cycle. after, all, at that age, maybe he's already lived his life? maybe it's his time, this time.



the patient's relatives cannot bear watching it anymore and told us to stop. and everything was put into halt. they said, "pagpahingahin na natin si tatay"... and everybody left again.



I stayed for a while. I was looking at the ECG and watched his heart rate dwindle down as the Epi wore off. I was hearing the relatives saying goodbye and setting him off. His pulse went down, and finally, his heart stopped.



He passed away.



I didnt know what to feel. For me, he was just a bed number, and a case, and a patient that has to be monitored Q1. He was just a patient with a pontocerebellar hemorrhage. But at that moment, I realized he was once a son, once a father, once a grand father, someone's husband, someone's employer, someone's hero, someone's enemy. someone's someone's someone that became a part of himself. He was once human. Who once loved and was loved.



So before I went back, I clasped a little prayer, while staring at him. I also then asked God to give me strength and understanding for I am sure this will not be my last death, that if ever those time come again, i may be able to send them off with the least amount of pain, and the highest amount of dignity a person deserves.

code

it was my first death.



my hands were just a few centimeters away from someone's heart. I pump it for someone who's heart doesnt have enough drive to pump for itself. why did it give up beating? why did it choose to stop? at that very moment, the reason didnt matter to me. all i wanted to happen is push that heart into beating and push it like jumpstarting a vehicle,to give them the much needed push to make them live.



epi was given. then the second. then the third. and a bunch of Medicine Rotators flocked the scene like firemen rushing to an inferno. everyone was calm. and on their senses even it was the middle of the night. and all eyes were on that patient.



clear. everybody was clear. oxygen out. and the patient received thunder. if pumping and epi was not enough, shocking him would be the last resort. two waves of electricity were given to him. and his BP rose to 140/80. He was alive, and everybody left the scene.



5 minutes later, just when I was again beside him, someone ordered me to pump again. damn it. he was dying. i can feel the sternum about to crack, but it didnt matter. having broken ribs would be a lot better than being dead. and then came another wave of epi, of shock, of pumps, and of oxygen. i can feel from the patient that he was tired. that it was just the drugs beating and not really his heart, it was just the respirator breathing and not his own lungs. making him live, this time, after the Nth attempt was like a vicous cycle. after, all, at that age, maybe he's already lived his life? maybe it's his time, this time.



the patient's relatives cannot bear watching it anymore and told us to stop. and everything was put into halt. they said, "pagpahingahin na natin si tatay"... and everybody left again.



I stayed for a while. I was looking at the ECG and watched his heart rate dwindle down as the Epi wore off. I was hearing the relatives saying goodbye and setting him off. His pulse went down, and finally, his heart stopped.



He passed away.



I didnt know what to feel. For me, he was just a bed number, and a case, and a patient that has to be monitored Q1. He was just a patient with a pontocerebellar hemorrhage. But at that moment, I realized he was once a son, once a father, once a grand father, someone's husband, someone's employer, someone's hero, someone's enemy. someone's someone's someone that became a part of himself. He was once human. Who once loved and was loved.



So before I went back, I clasped a little prayer, while staring at him. I also then asked God to give me strength and understanding for I am sure this will not be my last death, that if ever those time come again, i may be able to send them off with the least amount of pain, and the highest amount of dignity a person deserves.

mazel tov

and there I was.



it was a saturday. and I suddenly had the feeling, "this might be the last"



so i closed my eyes, and breathed everything that i could breathe in... I know, deep inside, and i mean, deep deeep inside, that I gave the best I can give to this something that I am really passionate about. And the thought that that might be the last time I can give such effort, I can proudly say that I did. I really did. Some people might say and think otherwise, and thwart my intentions, but all I have to remember is where this flame is coming from. That no matter how other people may see it, it will be outweighed by fulfillment, or the least, a sense of satisfaction, way better than during out time.



it was dark, and chilly, but i can see people's smiles and laughters and i was beaming a sense of pride for myself for having made something worth remembering and worth smiling at.



so i clasped a prayer. and told God that if this will be the last, i thank him for such passion. if time will come that I haveto put these set of flames to rest, at least let it leave a little spark...



...for some reason, I really thought it was the last. And if it really was, then it's time for meto set adrift. that is, if.



mazel tov.

Love, Let's settle this

I tried to define love so many times. In scrapbooks, in journals, in etches along my hippocampus, in massage parlors. I tried capturing the words that would quantify or qualify this complicated feeling. I once wrote that it was the sunmmation of one tree hill and greys anatomy and one more chance and mula sa puso, but realized along the way that having your definition defined by a movie or a teleserye will render it unoriginal and the story too much cheezy, complicated, and impossible. I tried writing love in moments i was filled with it, and saw it in contrast to the moments i was devoid of it. I tried defining it under the shining ray of moon, striking the beach, i tried defining it while watching the sunset, i tried writing it drunk, i tried writing it tired. Ever since ive seen moulin rouge in high school, ive started asking what the hell love is - point is, i have always been trying.



Until i realize that I have to give up on putting a single definition of it. That i must stop capturing this freakin four letter word into single definition, becauseif i do,it will become limited, and narrow, and just applicable to one single moment, a single era, a single wavelength - which is far from what love has been trying to say to me. Because from what i realize so far, there is a wide spectrum of degrees of loving, and it changes through time, through experience and through a process, and it changes beautifully as mother nature changes the trees, as powerful as the moon changes the tides, and as potent as the sun to each living thing.



Maybe i have to put my pen down and stop encaging love into a few sentenced definition.



Maybe i just have to watch it flow, and come, and go into my hands as it define itself and find the words for it, but never put a period to it. I have to make it embrace me and define me, and change me, and fix me then break me to build another, better me. I have to see the beauty of this goddamn process. Though there may be times i may not understand, i know, someday i will. Because I have to. god will always send someone or something to fix me.



It took a lot of tries to write a blog formally about love. Some were wrapped in metaphors, some wrapped in humor, some just written raw. This is the time i'd be saying, ill never have one single definition for it.



And im letting it be.

googling Life

sometimes I wish you could google life and all it's questions and damn mysteries. google seemto have an answer for everything: from directions from pictures to researches and travel and prostitutes... sometimes it even gets ahead of what you are typing, it even corrects your spelling. and after the result,it brags on how fast it did to search what you're asking



but seriously, what if you can ask google: Is there a God? and gives a direct Yes or No? What if you ask Google, What is the meaning of life? or to simpler ones, Why does lola have to die? or Why can't i get my mind off her? Why does life have to be so difficult? - if Google has an answer to everything, would the world be contented with their answers? would we stop asking? exploring? Where will then we get out thirst and drive for answers from if everything already has an answer?



maybe life was designed to be mysterious. sometimes painful, sometimes bitter. because if we would one day wake up as babies with the freakin answers to freakin everything, then what would life be for? aside from copulating? same thing if we didnt have identity crises, we wouldnt then appreciate who we are after that. if we didnt have writer's block, we wouldnt miss how much good the flow or words as it comes out of our hands. if we didnt have pain to getover on, or mysteries to solve, and quests to conquer,selves to find, and questions to decipher - if google had an answer for everything - then how boring the world will be?



good thing google doesnt. if I already know everything, where will that leave Life? and friends? and meanings? and God?







about the pic. from the Hitchhiker's guide to the Universe. They asked the super computer "What is the answer to the meaning of Life? (or something like that), the computer said it will take thousands of years for the answer... So after thousands of years, the whole humanity went to the super computer with banners and cheerleaders and everything... the computer said... the answer to the meaning of life... is... 42.



huh? :)

seize the seizure

(written september pa pala,ngayon ko lang napublish)

He looked normal. Sound asleep, breathing irregularly, has long eyelashes for a guy, and without the nasogastric tube on him, he wouldve looked like a picture perfect angel...

It was a rainy friday afternoon and i was soaked  because of my pathologic habit of not bringing umbrellas. But i needed to be there asap for Pedia.

Pediatrics. It is not a secret that i dont like kids that much. I am very choosy on who to declare as cute, adorable, and some average kids easily jump to borderline tiyanak when i see them cry. Lalo na yung mga uhugin. So I entered the ward with an obligatory smile, forgetting for a while the 'I want to help humanity' chorva.

Then I got scared when I saw the index card on his bed:

Hirschsprung disease with enterocolitis, seizure disorder, global developmental delay, and UTI. scary.

HIRSCHSPRUNG?! My god. I dont even know how to spell hirschsprung. Thank you, google, for correcting me. While doing the confusing history as stated by his dad, and listing the so many drugs, and asking at the back of my mind how much those drugs cost, something happened - the patient had a seizure.

I never saw a live seizure before. I just saw them in videos, but never had i seen a tonic clonic seizure happening right in front of me. And he is just a one year old baby.

Call me corny or emotional or weak but at that very moment, my heart stopped. I could probably explain what's going on inside his brain why he was having seizures, but I was asking God why such an innocent, young human being is experiencing such storm inside his cranium. He doesnt have a smoking history. Not alcoholic. Not adulterous. Not obese. Clean sexual history... Why would God give diseases to people making them unable to live their lives? Specially kids. Why did god make them? Why make them suffer at such a young age? It's not his fault that he was born on a lying in clinic and forceps delivered (and im not really sure if that became a factor),  It's not his fault that he was born in the first place. The seizure continued for more than 3 minutes, and in between the jerks and cries, his eyes looked at me. His iris were shaking, his hands clenched exactly as dr ostrea has demonstrated in his lecture. He looked at me for a full 2 second gaze and closed his eyes again for another wave. It was painful for me to watch, how much more painful would it be for the parents too see their child that way?

It got me. I wanted to tell him it's all gonna be okay even though i dont know what's wrong. I wanted to tell him i want to buy all his drugs just to make him better (but, uhm, the cash i had that day cant even get me into a cab home. Goodluck with that). I wanted to inject valproic acid or diazepam or Jesus' saliva  on him for the sake of me doing something for it to stop, but i dont wanna play God.

"sanay na ako dyan" said his dad. I can read from his tone and voice that he is hurting but being strong for his first and only child. And then he carried him on his arms while narrating the maternal and obstetric history.

"nung pinanganak siya normal naman lahat. Maayos daw siya. Ok naman siya nung una eh"

And then in my mind, played freddie aguilar. 'Nung isinilang kansa mundong ito, laking tuwa ng magulang mo, at ang kamay nila'y iyong ilaw'... Our patient may be a flawed human being in our clinical eyes, but for his fatheer, he is still perfect... He patiently wipes his son's sweat while he is seizing, as if it was helping alleviate his tonic - myoclonic dance, but then again that's the most he can do at that time...For me, there's nothing more sweet than selflessly, someone taking care of the sick. I easily get touched by people watching over their loved ones during sick period. The caretakers have nothing to gain from them, yet they still sacrifice to clean their shit, wipe their ass, and catch their phlegm - they do it all for one simple fact. They love them.

Then the dad said, "Hindi nga pala siya nakakarinig at nakakakita"

Oops. kala ko ba nag eye contact sya sakin? Apparently, nagiilusyon lang pala ako na he looked at me deep into my eyes, trying to tell me something. It was just coincidence that his gaze were on the same angle as mine.  

Not knowing what to react, his dad said, "makakita lang siya, o makarinig man lang, ok na sakin eh"

I didnt know what to say anymore to him. I mean, look, Seizure disorder. Hirschsprung. Pneumonia. UTI prone. enterocolitis. Global delay. Deaf and blind - one year old. Nagbirthday pa sya sa ospital. It would suck if God will let you choose one of these to be yours (i'd choose UTI by the way), but all the more if God gives you all of them. And the more painful it will be if your loved ones will have them, becuase i am sure the dad is willing to trade places with his son so that siya nalang ang mahirapan, wag lang yung baby nya.

Suddenly I remember what my highschool teacher had told me almost 10 years ago:

Be gentle, because the person you might be meeting may be fighting a harder battle.

For those who know me, and even those people who just been around me, i always have something to rant about and complain about. The weather. The 4thfloor dorm. Girlfriend na walang signal. Ang mahal na presyo ng bilihin sa med caf. The long lines in xerox machines. Ugly people (na nagsalita naman akong kala mong kagwapuhan). Unsamplexed exams. I even complain about people who complain a lot - I need not to elaborate that what im having now is nothing compared to even more people. I complain about how hard medschool is, but I realized that one day I will be facing patients having harder lives that I am (except when I decide to make Boobjobs 'to help humanity') 

as one by one, my groupmates left, before i went out, i touched the baby's hand, and he gripped my finger. maybe it wasnt a grip but was a tonic part of the siezure, but for me it was a grip. Is it god's way of tryng to tell me to keep holding on for god-knows-what reason? Or is it god's message to tell me this is what im born to do, to touch lives. Or maybe, again, im putting so much cosmic signifiance into simple coincidences? Maybe im over analyzing

I didnt get to 'help humanity' that day. I mean, what would i do? Give money? Invent new drugs? Give false hopes? Maybe it's not my turn to save his life just yet, or anyone else's. The junior intern has done what they have to do, and the baby has a lot more referrals ahead of him. Maybe I didnt get a hand in helping the baby get better. But that give made me remember what I'm really here for...

I want to become a doctor not just because I want to delay death, but improve the quality of life.

I want to become a doctor because I want to have an impact in someone,

that even though I may not have cured them totally,

I hope I've alleviated them in their pain - even by just talking to theM,

lower their blood pressure by just smiling at them

making them feel important by showing that I care.

this is what i want to do with my life.

(next to getting rich. jk)

bitter coffee

there was too much coffee in my cup today. it was black and bitter and from the upside, looking down, you will not even see a hint of cupfloor from below. 

initially they were just little shots of bitter caffeine, but tapping the spoon in increasing intensity eventually lead to an accumulation of those bitter grains, and then i realized it was slowly reaching the brim...

leaving no room for sugar. no room for cream. it was pure bitterness with hot water trying to melt the impenetrable layers. stirring won't help. it was just plain mud colored hot acid, that even just the smoke would wake me up and conquer my nostrils with the reminders on why. and why not.

in a world where people had been thankful of their relationships this year, i am the one desperately looking for the regret button. a regret that started from accepting a stranger's friend request, that brought me here. unoptimistic. afraid. exhausted...

now, my coffee has grown cold. and all residue has settled down below.

maybe ill try to stir it, and maybe ill sip it a little. and then pour more water. ill catch some of the bad taste in the process, but then, after adding more water, iti will make the solution less bitter

and ill repeat the cycle, until water dilutes it some more. then it will make room for cream. to make the experience rich and won't leave a bad taste... and eventually sugar might even join in, neutralizing bitterness, making the taste of coffee fuller. and then maybe it will all make sense. maybe not today, but defenitely soon.

until one day, i'll get to make my perfect cup.