Tuesday, May 04, 2010

How Soon is Now

A patient died on me again today.

But then again, if I’m going to blog ever
y patient’s story who died under my care during the past three years, this site would not become what it is today, but an online obituary, or perhaps, a remake of Six Feet Under, The Third World version.

I find it quite amusing how, as soon as a gurney enters the ICU door, most of us have this innate capability of predicting how long this individual is going to live.
Some would make it weeks, days, or hours, while there are those unfortunate few who are already dead even before we transfer them in the ICU bed, and the only thing we are bound to do, is wrap them up in shrouds and transport them to the morgue.

Seriously, after battling with death a hundred times, even, we, ourselves, have embraced the idea of dying with open and embracing arms.
My overcritical senior predicted that he’ll die of heart attack, while the other, whose headaches have become a part of her daily routine, from brain tumor. I have convinced myself that I’ll die from obesity, colon cancer, or aspiration, together, or otherwise.

And no. No amount of yoga could reverse the fact that I could never get a toned abdominals if I don’t stop binging on anything bovine or porcine, while gulping on fluids made primarily of sugar, carbonic acid, alcohol, or lactose.

As soon as I received my colleague’s endorsement, I knew that in a span of 4 hours, my patient is going to die.

He made it 3 hours and 14 minutes.

And by the time he died, I knew I have to book my daily yoga sessions for the week. I started again today.

Here I am, sore and stiff from all the stretching, but nevertheless fulfilled. Eating vegetables might not be my greatest talent, but for now, I guess my yoga buddies will be my bestest companions in the nearer future.

In front of my tofu and broccoli, I found my new chance of living. I know that it won’t be long before I start reaching for the phone and calling 8-MCDO to order a Big Mac, with a side of chicken nuggets and a Sundae.
I just have to tell myself, over and over, that the pleasure of eating might be bliss, but good health is a more important investment.

Darn death.