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 competitionsfor 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 stillin 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 inoperablebrain 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…
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.
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.
a dreamer, a lover, a fighter, a man with an incredible heart. shy, inhibited and self-conscious in theory but adventurous, carefree, brave, risky and happy-go-lucky in practice. part time nurse, part time model, full time cheerleader. go go go!
I was just reading Cecile’s post about the things 89-billion pesos (1 billion 
I talked with lola (grandmom) telling me her *still unfulfilled wishes in life and prayed I could buy youth.
ACCEPTANCE…
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.
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.
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.
