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.

things you learn about Corticosteroid Therapy

(a piece about incompliance)



Steroids are a little like Love



At first, you thought you don’t need it, until you get it. At the start of the course, every pain or inflammation seems to be the cure for it. Every erosion or lesion, you apply it. Every bad compression or congestion magically disappears as if Jesus touched it. Give it to a baby inside a womb and it makes your lungs ready to suck in the air that will make you breathe in that much needed fuel for your life. It gives a temporary immunosuppression, but that prohibits the body to attack itself therefore making it therapeutic.



Steroids are somewhat like Love



It’s better if you start low and go slow, specially on special cases. You gradually increase the dose to reach an optimum therapeutic level but you have to be watchful for any side effects and immediately reformulate if there is. Either you change what kind of steroids they are, or play around with the dosage, either way it’s a risk. It’s like jumping on a cliff with inviting waters below: the jump will always be a risk, sometimes you get bruises while falling, or might not even reach the water at all, but if you did reach the water, it might heal you. Sometimes it is looking with the risks that make them worth it. Most of the time, it scares the best of us.



Steroids are Exactly like Love



Your blood goes paranoid and trigger-happily releases all arsenal of immunity. Your bone weakens. You deposit unwanted adipose. Your hormones explode like fireworks. Your body gets alarmed due to being overwhelmed. And then you feel cold. And you chill. And get susceptible to infections. You open your door wider to more pathogens that will try to contaminate you. And eat you. And kill you. Your normal flora decides a mutiny and attacks you too. And then you panic and stop the drug –



--- and when you stop it, you’re a different person. Sometimes your body will not be able to catch up to your mind, all the more it cannot catch up to your heart. You feel weak. Weaker than before you were even sick. You’re left asking the reason behind it. You should’ve listened to the one who prescribed it. You should’ve been vigilant in watching side effects. But you thought you knew better, you drowned in the drug, thinking that it would numb everything and it would fix everything... and in trying to do so, you’re left with none. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place.

bliss

Our little boy turns 2 this 21st. It’s been 2 years since dad asked us if it’s okay to adopt a baby and look how time flies, he’s 2 years old, though a little speech delayed, the rest of his milestones are slightly fine, I still believe the rest of his milestones are still going to catch up to his age. But actually, I’m ok if he’d be stuck in that cute form, those small cute little limbs and his tiny movement as if he’s like a battery operated toy that says “mama” on cue, growls when we say “lion”, poops randomly and farts and smiles as if he’s so proud of it. Cute.

In mornings at home, he’d wake me up by shouting at me or pressing my nipples, and god, his smile? Getting to see that smile, first thing in the morning will let you forget you have upcoming exams the days after. He would giggle at me and pat me, and when he knows he got my attention, he runs away, knowing that I will chase him, and I will carry him and put him on my tummy and he’d try to balance himself, and of course he’ll fall, and I’m going to catch him. Sometimes, he plays with my iPad, watches the animated apps, play donut ninja, fruit ninja, and talking carl. And then he’d throw my iPad away. He would run around the house, laugh, hum a tune, get my phone and pretend he’s calling mom.

What he doesn’t know by that time is that he is helping me get through one of the worst emotional whirlwinds of my life. Each time he’d look at me, he brings me some of my sanity back. Sometimes, I talk to him, saying how I wanted to trade places with him for a while and feel the bliss of innocence, on having nothing to think about, and having Cerelac for breakfast every day. There are times that I would just hug him until his eyes pop out and his rib cage almost break, because for some reason. It makes me feel… Home. And secure. And in the rare times that he hugs back, it makes me feel… Loved. During these times, it was all that I need: a confirmation of being loved back. There was one time when our little boy fell asleep on my shoulder, and all I was hearing was his tiny little breaths, his limbs clasped on my clavicle, and I, at that time, was a total mess – an emotional wreck and unstable and hostile and just had a very, very bad birthday. Sylar was silently sleeping on my shoulder, while I was silently weeping deep inside, carrying him. His warmth. His innocence. His silence. His peaceful sleep. My rants. My contemplations. My questions. I really felt like God was trying to tell me something that moment: that maybe all I have to is to just close my eyes and let God fix my trials according to his will. That I don’t have to fight against his so-called ‘magnificent’ plan. That maybe this is for the best. That I just have to put my head on God’s shoulder and let him mute the world and let me breathe. Let me sleep. Let me escape. And when I open my eyes, I’ll be hoping for the best that hopefully God has made my world a better place while I sleep. If not, I’ll wake again on the next day, and on the next, and the next – I just have to keep my Faith in him that everything’s going to be alright, because it will… I was humming a familiar lullaby, as my eyes were slowly lacrimating and dropping to his tiny little arms, and in the next days when the little baby and I hug each other, I felt I was healing.

  Sylar’s actually the reason why whenever I get the chance, I go home to QC instead of sleeping in the dorm. He’d clear away the dark clouds above my head by merely clapping. He’d increase my endorphine levels by playing with me. And he peacefully walks me to my sleep as the last vision of my eyes that day is him, sleeping. I always hated kids. Specially tiyanaks (pero di sya mukhang tiyanak). But this kid, he saved me. And he still does, every time I needed saving. He saves me, without him even knowing.

  So if one day, you’d be reading this, my brother, Sylar. Thank You. I Love You. Happy Birthday!

Love,

Your Rockstar Kuya

who hopes he’d be sending you to a good school by the time you’ll be reading this,

Power Rangers slash Boyband

When I was a little kid (define 'little', baby), I used to believe in the concept of Power Rangers - that with the right set of  friends, we know we could save the world - at age 10, I didnt know from what it needed saving from, but I know that it needed saving so badly.

And then came High School

We were actually more than just 5, but through the years, we'd been the most consistent. We didnt call ourselves power rangers, (but Just in case, I am Blue) - there had also been close friends here and there, and  we were not the "it" barkada from Highschool. We're probably also the boyband who humbly eat lunch together with each other and each other's girlfriends. We'd have overly corny theme songs that reminds us from each relationship, and we'd be each other's, "tangina pare, ang labo nya talaga", we'd patiently listen, and sometimes pretend to listen, and give out advice, which most of the time, not followed, and we're the one who says to them, "sabi sayo eh. gago ka kasi"  - we'd jam along the songs of Slapshock and Linkin Part and act like we're so cool. We'd wear Elephant pants and Blings, and hide our illegal cellphones on our underwears (mind you, 5110s are hard to keep near your crotch) However we were so diverse, we came from different sections and different personalities and liked different chick types. Just like the power rangers. one was a Geek, one was Cool, one was Wacky, one was a Dancer, one was Gay (HAHAHAHA) The power rangers had a lot ahead of them.

Now after 12 years of Friendship, I really thought things would change much. I thought we'd have a password that only we will know, or a Brand New Theme Song as we morph in and Pledge our undying allegiance to one another - through Chicks and Porn, through Hearbreaks and Weddings,  I thought we'd have a shiny, common costume with a silly big helmet the will not fit me, and worse: wearing tights.

We were still the same, but still so different. We still laugh at each other's exes, and flaws, and like a boyband we know the songs we sang and who we offerred it for. Even after years since Highschool Graduation, we were there are We'd still patch up and lick each other's emotional wounds, and celebrate through triumphs and graduations, jokes and consultations. They will definitely take me as the God of father of their Kids and, paunahan nalang kung sino ang kukuha kung kanino. If one day, I will run away from home, choose one of these 4, and I'll be there - maybe drunk or crying or being stupid (never mind JC, he's on FL, but hey, we never know) - we'd fight over alcohol, and talk on who's paying for what, and be the little kids we were back then. It was fun being with them once again. They were the witness to how I've been, to who I am right now, and theyre ready to understand everything I do, no matter what - actually, even if they dont understand... They know why I'm emotional, and overly unstable, and idealistic, and lazy, and too much talkative, and miserable, and obese, and attention deficit, and exagerrated --

-- They know about that, and together, I know I have the right set of friends, and we can tag along to save the world,

at 25, now, I realized:

It was not just the world that needed saving.

I did too.

To JC, Elpol, Alex, and Burn - Cheers to 12+ Years of Friendship. And definitely beyond

woot to Ramos, JJ, Kurt, Gelo, Gaspi, Diego.

(Inspired from Jared Singer's 'Toybox)

Grief is a form of Fire

It was a Friday, and as far as i can recall, it was almost always a friday, and almost always borderline saturday, almost always the same problem, almost the same hope, always the same result. the facts that happened that night wasnt any different, just wrapped differently. though i could have choosen to ask myself press 'repeat emotion sequence', but that night, I felt different. funny how everytime it happens, it further proves a point, and pushes me further away.... after every time I believed, it came to this point... for that night, I felt numb. Alcohol was doing a great job numbing it and diluting every bitter punch to wrap the bad taste it leaves... and the smell of the smog of the October air and fresh rain was letting me make it sink it all in without too much contemplation. It's letting me breathe it all in and face it like a man, and exhale any ill feelings. It was hard to do, but I knew I was doing it for me - I knew it was for the best. I waited and 

 waited, even though I know I was waiting for no one,

...until the clock stuck 3AM, there I was, standing at my dormitory window, and it seems like the whole world was silent waiting for the next time my phone sings.

i lied in bed with eyes wide open arms folded and had there not been any roof and pollution, i know i would've conversed with the stars and ask why the freaking universe is not letting us work this out. but of course, the universe will not answer that. instead, it will give you a deafening silence and let you figure it out yourself why. maybe it will give a little falling star here, or a twinkle, but that's about it, it will still leave you perplexed and hungry for explanation... maybe the answer will just hurt me, maybe i'm not ready for it yet, but most likely, i'm not gonna get the answers that i needed. maybe i just have to let it be. maybe, i really just have to let it go. 

grief has 5 stages. i've heard that for a few good people, they could sneak their way out ang go right away on the 5th stage, acceptance. for some, they dwell too much on the first. or second. or third. and repel too much on the fourth. 

but for me, Grief, is a form of Fire. You deny first that the fire is already harming you for you thought It was just getting you warm and getting you through the cold night. then you'll start to realize the fire is stealing the air you're about to breathe, it consumes what is supposed to be inside your lungs. And then the fire grows and it starts to 

 chase you, and the next thing you realize, you are standing in front of your dormitory window, at 3AM, thinking if you're willing to jump from the building, or be consumed by the fire - either way, you're dead. And as the fire wraps you, you find yourself conversing with the stars that cannot give you a concrete answe - that cannot give you an answer in 

 the first place. and as the fire burns every single, living hope in the ridiculous little fairy tale, you inhale pure fire just to get your life over with. no matter how painful it will be.

then again, Grief is a form of fire, but fire doesnt have to be a bad thing. it purifies and neutralizes all emotions and memories whether good or bad. it kills all probable pathogens, that even the most minute contaminant won't have a chance of cultivating back. fire could make you catalyze the cooking process and not just let the goddamn sun do all the work. Fire makes even the hardest of metals glow, and be forged into the most lethal of swords. Through fire, they bend, get molded, and they don't break. 

Sometimes, we don't understand why we should take all the heat and let us be engulfed in the fire, but I guess it will all be clear once we get out of it... as crystal clear as your reflection in the shiny sword that will be made out of it. 

so right now, i'm letting the fire burn in me until it kills all hope and toast all pathogens of regret. i'll let it get all the air it wants. I would let it wrap me and devour me, the Universe could even play a background music for all I care, until it will take me higher, and higher, and around and around, until, I, too, will be part of the smoke, and the smoke will thin out, until the air becomes breathable again, and then, It will all be clear. greif will then turn into gratitude, and bitter will be called a blessing. i just needed the fire to be a vehicle, as I ride along its wake.

the war of heart and mind

A line has been drawn in the brain - and no, it's not a Sulcus, it's deeper. Along the Temporal Lobe, they chose to battle, riding along the Highway of Papez – two movements who was usually going the same way, chose not only to diverge, but to go against each other. One is Reason – where logic and facts stand in constant, where black is black and white is white. And on the other end, lying near the Hippocampus, is Emotion – where it breeds color and breathes life, where inspiration taps the best of potential.

 

The War of Heart and Mind has been waged. People all throughout history have had these epic wars inside of them. Some more than once, and some lasted a whole lifetime. Some ended up in regrets, and some set themselves free. But the hard part about this battle is that there is no algorithm to follow on what to do, and what not to do. No rules to delineate, and there is no definition of right or wrong. What makes it even harder is that, after one side wins, there will always be that what-if that slaps you back. That what if and could have beens, and might have beens, that will haunt you – or maybe not. And no two stories are the same. 

 

Emotion was throwing fireworks of colors. For a while, the brain was happy. He was happy. All it needed was a confirmation that he is loved back. Selfish, maybe, but that was his drug. That was his fuel to keep the hormone flowing.

At first, someone else was poking on his cranium. Until, someone else also did it. And someone else also did. Until opinions became suggestions, and suggestions became wake up calls, and wake up calls became bitch slaps – suddenly, reason woke up and picked up ammunition, and aimed right at the middle temporal sulcus.

 

And then they shoot. Facts. Facts. Facts. Fuck. Emotion just stared at the sky, and smiled as they braced for a landing.

 

And then emotion spoke: “Just let me be happy. Please”

 

Reason heard it. And stood for a while, and put the shooting on hold, for reason remembered something: Never had he seen himself so happy like ever before. Never had he been more proud of himself, never had he gotten to be appreciated so much. From appreciating his works, to the way his eyes sparkle, and even the way he snores. Yes, never been that happy.

 

But then, one day, Reason started to get on its feet once again. He thrown more facts and more missiles to Emotion, but they all came back to him with a note, written all over it.. “I Love Her” – it was a Trump Card. A Two of Diamonds. An Immunity Idol. An Exemption – yet reason kept on sending and resending his messages so that he could make his point. Until Reason gets tired of the war. Now I understand the schizophrenics. 

 

Emotion on the other hand, tried to remain vibrant and high and hold on to every single sane thing he could hold on to. Pride was kicked out of the equation. He kept on throwing the same thing, and is not letting reason get the best of him. His drug must remain at a steady state. Because, Emotion thought: this is my story. The story I asked for, and this is it, and I know it – there is no way in hell I will let go.

 

Emotion stood there and gave everything he can. Reason, was there too, not giving up without a fight. It was the epic war of Heart and Mind. Where the price in unknown, the rules are unsettled, and no one knows when this will all end. It drains too much CSF and Brain waves, too much necessary or unnecessary lacrimations, rants left and right, and opinions from other people.

 

After it all, the Two became tired. Botch catching their breath at an imaginary battlefield they stared point blank at each other. And said their last piece for the day before they settle

 

Reason said: You have done what you have to do, and actually even more than you are expected. Yes, I am proud of you for that. But, dude, leave some sanity for yourself. Leave some love for yourself. And even pride. Yes, you Love her, maybe I won’t contest that anymore. But, The fastest way to kill a relationship is to try too hard to fix it. Just let it be. Let God fix it, and pray for the best.

 

And Emotion said: I understand you for being that way, but I guess you cannot blame me from this spell. Maybe you’re right, I should not let this consume me, but please let me keep even just one flicker of hope. If it dies, so be it. But leave the probability of it for me, let me miss her from time to time, let me reply to her messages, let me feel what I used to feel – let me keep a dose of hope in my pocket, you can have the rest. In the mean time, I will cast my own prayers, you can cast yours. And let God do the rest. You are right, maybe I’m trying too hard.

 

....

 

The air was still thick, full of smog and cloud, but there were no ramblings anymore. No one won and I think no one will. One day, they will flow into one road again, and pick up what was lost and heal each other’s wounds, and patch up each other damages. They will rebuild each other again, and maybe Reason will say sorry, maybe Emotion will apologize. Only God can tell.

 

And as both Reason and Emotion were tired, one wave of waves came in that was even more powerful than the both of them: it was Sleep. It purifies, it pacifies, it makes you forget, or live out a subconscious fantasy – either way, it’s an escape.

 

 

...And then I will wake up. And live one day at a time, then sleep again. And the cycle will go on – and the War of Heart and Mind: I just know it will one day settle – hopefully with her (says Emotion) maybe without her (says Reason) – all I know is that one day, Everything is going to be alright.