Sunday, November 25, 2007

How Far We've Come

I was just reading Cecile’s post about the things 89-billion pesos (1 billion UK pounds) can buy, and for the first time in a very, very, very long time ever
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Or write for that matter.

The last time this ever happened to me was when my high school guidance counselor wanted to invite my parents for a conference. Because despite my A+ academic performance in school, stellar involvements in every extra-curricular activities known to man, and as the sole representative of my school in almost all inter-school quiz competitions for the past four years…

I happened to be gay (and I’m not even *out yet).

At work I was still thinking of that 89-Billion-Peso-Question ---
who will get eliminated, and who is still in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model.

Just kidding.

I saw all 12 of the main-stayers in the Intensive Care Unit, and wished that I could buy health.

I witnessed a patient coded and prayed I could buy life.

I saw how lolo (granddad) reacted when he got diagnosed with a terminal pathology and wished I could buy time.

I took care of tita (auntie) who was deserted by her own family and wished I could buy some compassion.

I talked with lola (grandmom) telling me her *still unfulfilled wishes in life and prayed I could buy youth.

I saw how diko (old man) received the diagnosis of an inoperable brain aneurysm and wished I could buy hope.

I saw how all of their faces are shrouded with despair and grief and prayed I could buy happiness.

As I was heading home after that loooong shift, I finally got the answers to the question still brewing inside my head.

Back in high school, I told my prude guidance counselor that my sexual preference has nothing to do with her and she has no right to judge me based on the premise that I have relations with men.

Looking back, and looking forward, I now hope *that 89-billion pesos could buy…




And of course…


And you, what would you buy?

Images from and flickr.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007


To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;

a time of war, and a time of peace.

Oh Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Behind Me Lies Another Fallen Soldier

Like a soldier running without shield or armor... he runs blissfully without a care in the world...

yes, he still carries with him a bit fear

of stumbling down, or maybe of arrows...

making him slow down sometimes...

trusting his feet, and perhaps the wind, the sand
on his feet, he runs, still.

Yes, he's always on the running. Perhaps, of not stopping...

but never failing to look back

on that place where he came from.

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Piece Of Me

Good day! The Nurse-Du-Jour is currently swamped from saving people's lives. Though it has been his personal imperative to maintain his privacy and what he usually does at work, the video that follows will show you a glimpse of his job description, including what he has to say every time he visits a patient, his usual manner and demeanor, and what he typically does at their bedside.

See, I told you. His patients are just very lucky to have him as their nurse.

Miss you much!

Sunday, November 04, 2007

The Nurse Who Loved Me

Cerulean is... “...the color of the sky on a serene, crystal clear day.”
The stethoscope has been very symbolic of the medical professions. Every nurse and physician I know has one, and it is said that you can tell the personality of its owner just by looking at them hanging over their necks or sideways to their shoulders.

My faintest memories of my first, and now-old stethoscope have long been buried in antiquity. The medical salesman enthused me into buying a steth weighing more than my dry weight, with the promise of a free BP apparatus that weighs twice as much, and free sets of pediatric and newborn diaphragms. I can even select which color I prefer for the tubings. I was thinking of a lilac-sky blue combination, or an Elle Woods-inspired hot pink tubes with fur and polka dot prints, but normal decency told me to choose cerulean instead.

It, however, served me extremely well. It had been to a thousand arms, chests, backs, and abdomens. It had been abused, dropped, and slammed, and yet it didn’t even look used at all. I bring it everyday to school and duty, even in lectures, and at times at night-outs. My bag was never complete without that magical piece of device.

A semester before my graduation, while I was assigned at the Neonatal ICU of a certain government hospital, by some unlucky twist of circumstances, I saw the diaphragm of my stethoscope punctured and severed. I wore it like a crazy madman and voila, I couldn’t hear any sound at all. No heartbeats, no congested breath sounds, no fetal heart tone, no bowel sounds, no nothing.

Somebody must’ve dropped it since I left it unattended on top of a
newborn incubator as I was doing something, like preparing some medications. I dare not went berserk at that time since there’ll be no use going ga-ga over something that was partly my fault. I should’ve worn it on my shoulders, instead, or I should have placed them on my scrub suit pocket. But then again, who would have thought that my ole reliable steth would give up on me at that such inopportune time.

Now I’m back to work this Monday, and I’m bringing with me my new Littman’s. I hope that this new friend of mine will not give up on me readily. I want it to stay with me until I grow old and die. To touch (no pun intended) more lives, to hear more heartbeats, to listen to more lungs, and so much more.

Armed with my cerulean scrubs, black stethoscope, and red penlight, and hopefully, lesser patient admission, this is me, saying uhm, see you soon, here in blogosphere, or otherwise.

After all, I’m just a heartbeat away.

Lub. And dub.

Images from Yahoo TV, flickr and Google Image Search. And nope, I'm not going on a hiatus thanks very much.