The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Rolling in the Deep

2011-05-15T19:06:00.003+08:00

I really love taking care of people—particularly those who are unconscious, in deep coma, vegetative or unresponsive.

Come to think of it, after working as a full-time nurse in a critical care setting for more than four years now, I have had the chance of taking care of virtually all kinds of people. I’m a “people person” if that term such exist. There’s something in caring that makes me feel as if I’m a good person or something. That the goodness I show to my patients vindicates the evilness that I have accumulated in the past.

Choosing which patients I will handle is not a matter of choice. They are written in the stars. If the great force named “charge nurse” deem it’s essential to ruin the rest of my workday, he, she, or it will assign the worst patient to me. However, if the “charge nurse” is a good friend, I’ll definitely have the happiest duty day.

One of the things that I have discovered in my work is that the worst persons to piss off are the nurses. Treat us badly and you’ll definitely get what you deserve. Nurses can deliberately kill you without you knowing it and we can make it appear as if it’s death from natural causes. Of course no nurse would do that. Or would they?

My life as a nurse is not like everyone else. Of course there are times when I still feel as if I’m giving too much for this work that gives back a little. Four years and I still could not afford a new car (as if I need one, I don’t know how to drive), pay a personal driver/butler, buy a house in New Manila (my ultimate dream address), buy new bags (okay, I’m that superficial), and get a one-way ticket to India. For god’s sakes, I could work as a prostitute and earn more than what I earn in a monthly basis, and imagine all the fun (minus the diseases) I could be getting.

But the bare fact still remains. There are sick people everywhere. There are sick people who will ultimately need a skillful, competent and capable hand of a caring nurse. There will be mothers, fathers, grandparents, brothers, sisters, relatives, sons and daughters who will get sick, and will be admitted in my workplace, and will demand my care. I could have chosen an easier life, but then again, who’s saying that life is always easy anyways. This may not be the easiest job there is, but for me, true satisfaction is attainable only but here.

So why am I telling you all of these? I actually don’t know. It’s probably because the “charge nurse” gave me a comatose patient and I’m here in the area doing nothing but to write this post. After all you owe your life to us. It’s time to give us something back.

How Soon is Now

2010-05-04T21:18:00.002+08:00

A patient died on me again today.

But then again, if I’m going to blog every 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.

Use Somebody

2010-04-07T18:39:00.004+08:00

When I was younger, I never had that Justin Taylor coming of age crap. I discovered my sexuality at such an early age due to some kind of affair with someone I still get to see at times. My self-discovery seemed to unfold very smoothly. I hated the dramas and all of the complications. I managed my case the best way I possibly could.

I’ve found escape in dating a lot of men and in non-stop partying in almost all places known to man. I’ve invested less in love and more in casual sex. It’s amazing because I have never even considered myself to be a very sexual person. I am a person of the world. A child of the universe.

I never knew what love was until I met Marco, my first true love. We were good together yet circumstances seem to break us apart. He left me for the States and the long distance relationship that has transpired proved to be too much to handle.

And then there was MJ, who provided a much needed respite for my aching soul. Yet this relationship seems to reinforce the fact that his love could never replace my longing for Marco. As he succinctly said, “I just used him for my advantage,” upon which I categorically deny.

There was E. My on-and-off partner for 2 years. It is in this relationship that I really judge it essential to define what you are doing from the very beginning. There is a thin line that separates perfect friendship and exclusive dating. So when he told me that he has been seeing someone else while we were still together, I just knew that we were heading in different directions.

Lastly, there was J, my stronghold. When I’m lying in his arms, I could completely surrender. We are perfect, yet his needs are different from mine. He wanted me to live with him and leave my own family, upon which I could not indulge. At 23, I believed that I’m still not the settling kind. I learned that it takes a lot of courage to make such life-changing decisions, and yes, I'm not that strong.

It’s amazing because at my age, it appears that I have become an “authority” in these relationship situations. During high school, my peers thought of me as inappropriate just because I’m more aware of my sexuality than them, and that I have experimented at such an age where other people find it to be unfitting. I might have learned what love and sex means as such a tender age yet the more I learn about love, the more I realize that I still do have a lot to discover.

Being 23 and single is like a curse in this condemnatory world. In this society where having a special someone appears to be the norm rather than the exception, the fact that you do not have someone to watch movies with is just plain pathetic and pitiable. Those who defy the norms are either mentally incapacitated, emotionally depressed, or just plain indifferent.

Yes I still want to have that special someone to hold my hands and spend the nights with. But I’m in no rush. It seems that the more I obsess about having a lover, the more critical and pathetic I become. There will always be a lot of men here in the city. He will come, expectedly, so I guess there’s still no need to hurry. Give me a few months, a few years, and I’ll be a happy man. For now, allow me to bask in my blissful singlehood and give me back my long lost happiness. After all, despite all the heartaches, the pain and the sorrows, the world still owes me happiness and fulfillment.

And I’m claiming it now.

Something Beautiful

2010-03-31T21:24:00.001+08:00

It all started with a heartache.

Even I, myself, could not believe how far this blog has become ever since I started writing all about my relationship chronicles with Marco, my past lover, exactly six years ago.

I spent the night re-reading through my stuffs, the bitter and the best, and started thinking about my life in retrospect. At first I feel desolate—six years and I’m still alone. No stories to share, no lover to spend the lonely nights with. And then a sudden outpour of love overflowed. Suddenly I was elated—that I am currently experiencing what other people can only dream of. I was blessed with lots of personal successes in the presence of my loved ones who relentlessly stick with me through the hardest times.

It’s been like almost a year since my last post and it feels like I have deserted my own home, abandoned my old refuge, and left some very good friends. I kept promising to write more and more, and yet kept on falling into the proverbial writer’s abyss. Kept justifying for my inconsistencies and rationalizing for my indolence.

This moment feels like a homecoming of sorts. I’m now back to writing. Hopefully with new stories to tell and more memories to share.

Consider this my comeback post. Unbearable lightness, here I come.

A Sorta Fairytale

2009-06-08T21:06:00.002+08:00

Remember that time when we were younger? When we were too little and carefree to think of all life’s worries? When our biggest fear in life come birthday-time is not receiving the present that we hoped for all year long? Whether we are getting that spanking new toy that will make us the envy of the kids in the neighborhood, or we are, by dint of cosmic joke, bound to receive (again) that despicable snake and ladders set that we perpetually receive on an annual basis?

As kids, we hope for the coming of the next year. Adulthood is something we are dying to reach. We were too bold and brazen to decide, as such an early age, what we wanted to become when we grow old. And as far as I could recall, never in my wildest dream have I told myself that I wanted to become a nurse when I was that young.

By a sudden twist of fate, the image of birthdays being shiny and hopeful turned into something dreaded and scary. That was when we learned that growing up is never a joyful passage of time and memories but a ruthless monster devouring our hopes and dreams. Time has become our enemy. And birthdays, an event we associate with aging and sorrow.

I started asking myself: is this the memory I am going to imprint in my life as I grow older?

Or can I, for one, be like that child again, and celebrate my birthday the way it was supposed to be commemorated?

For the past 5 years that I have been writing here at The Unbearable, my birthdays are marked by loneliness, hope, beginning, and sorrow, a psychologist could easily interpret as an unconscious guise of my inner bipolar self. In between my personal oscillations of using and abusing several drugs in the formulary, ranging from anti-depressants to minor tranquilizers, lucid intervals are always bliss. And I’m proud to say that for 3 years now, my body has become prescription- or recreational-drug-free, and my doses of Valium have been minimized to a great extent.

Why, then, am I feeling this melancholic?

I actually don’t know. Blaming my brain’s raphe nuclei and serotonin proves to be an effortless escape but I won’t digress. Maybe it’s the season, and it’s my Seasonal Affective Disorder talking, but I have always liked the rain, making the diagnosis very unlikely. I think the conclusion is that the problem lies within myself. And I therefore need not ask.

In a few hours, I will be turning 18. Plus 5.

A few years back, I was praying to the Lord to give me enough wisdom to help me decide what is right for me and act upon that in a prudent manner. A few months back I think I received the wisdom that I ultimately longed for. Last year, I was living a life. It might not be the “best” life I’m capable of living, but in my heart I know it’s the kind of life that I know I will never exchange for for all of eternity.

This time, I have only one prayer:

I will live my life.

And this time, I will live it well.

*

Thank you for your unending support. This post is for single men (and women) everywhere, and one in particular... my very good friend Raymond, the eternal optimist, who always believes in love.

So Yesterday

2009-05-24T21:37:00.004+08:00

Milestones – that’s what they are called. Trust, mistrust. Autonomy, shame. Initiative, guilt. Industry, inferiority. Identity, role confusion.

Intimacy.

Isolation.

I have always believed that during the course of my fleeting, ephemeral lifetime, I was able to pass my psychological milestones with flying colors. I like to believe that I was nurtured well enough that I was poured, bathed even, with the necessary milieu needed to achieve them. Then came my epiphany.

I have always asked myself year after year as to how my life has been changing. Yes there might have been that proverbial, “older and wiser” adage but I doubt as to whether this passage still applies to me, or I’m moving otherwise. It appears to me that just like mankind, I have been taking huge steps backward, and it seems as if my world is screeching to a halt.

When I was younger and my ways of dating could be defined as indiscriminate at least, looking for love has been like choosing a personal outfit. I was young and reckless back then and love for me is just like a chemistry experiment. If the reagent does not match with the base product, we dispose, and if things go awry, we run to the nearest fire escape.

I seem to have found myself in a stage where I think I’m ready to settle down. But every time I think of the single, carefree life that I will be leaving, fear grows in my heart. Am I ready to commit to my one true love? Is he the one? Can I get over my previous lovers whom I still feel a certain response every time I see their faces or hear their names? Will I miss the night life I think I will desert once I’ve decided to settle down? Am I still allowed to flirt with other people? Am I a husband material?

A lot of my friends have been hitting me with a hammer, figuratively. At 22 (23 next week), I still have a lot of immaturities I should’ve grown out of when I was 13. But then again, at 13, I was facing a psychological test straight people are passing through with ease. It took me several years, and several failed relationships to finally decide what I wanted to be. And there I’ve found my identity.

“Don’t settle for anything less,” I always tell myself. But then again, the more pressing question is that, “do I deserve the things that are presented before me?” Or am I taking them for granted.

I just hope that there will never come a time when life will turn it’s back on me and tell me, “I have given you enough, now it’s time to take what’s mine.”

Darn identity.

My Interpretation

2009-03-14T14:21:00.002+08:00

Defying conventions has been my biggest obsession for the entire part of my life.

I push androgyny to the limits. I bend the rules. I dare conventions. I challenge the cliché.

So when a good friend has been betrayed by his lover and came to the conclusion that all men are by nature irrevocably polygamous, I digress.

Okay, that was the inner me bluffing.

I know she’s right. Polygamy is a part of our genetic make-up, much like the sizes of our penis or the propensity to develop acne. Most men want what they can’t have. And once they have it, they want more.

After losing some of my loved ones due to those “dreaded” third parties, I have come to the realization that as a man, inasmuch as being human, we are such insatiable creatures. We could never get enough. We are never enough.

For we are beings with needs and wants. Being with a special someone does not, and will not guarantee us the fulfillment of our desires. For always, what we ultimately want is more.

I might have a special someone with me right now, but I firmly believe that there will come a time when I’ll get to meet someone who can better satisfy my needs. And I’m amenable to the fact that he might find someone else too. But I guess for now, we’ll just have to do.

There are conventions that we can fight, and there are some that we can’t. But in the end, what separates us from the other member of the specie is that we always have a choice. We can confront or we can succumb. We can challenge or we can surrender.

We can be polygamous if we choose to be. We can always choose not to. For in life, we all have two choices. To do what is right, or to do what is wrong.

In the end, we ultimately become what we choose to do.

*

Image from flickr. My Interpration by Mika.

Believe

2009-02-24T09:30:00.002+08:00

And yes, we believe.

My Life Would Suck Without You

2009-02-19T11:36:00.005+08:00

I find it amazing that almost a year ago, I was musing with my epiphanies of self-indulgent greatness with this post that I personally think is the best that I have written. That despite the fact that the scale of accomplishment and failure tips on the former rather than the latter, what I have achieved for the past year is something I could definitely be proud of.

Looking back, the three words that sum up my dreary almost non-existent life is nursing, sleeping and eating. The thing that fuels my existence, aside from my pay check, is personal satisfaction. I made things possible without a special someone, a trophy person, dare I must say, to celebrate with my victories and empathize with my defeat. To quote;

(3) My ideal guy is just around the corner, and sooner or later, he’ll get to find me. It’s just that we’re both busy chasing our dreams that our lovelives is a little haywire. After some readjustments of goals, he’ll come to me, and we’ll live happily ever after.

Fast forward a few months of waiting, just when I thought that I have given up on love (again), a special someone comes in the form of an amazing, understanding person. I might have had a notorious reputation of finding my loved ones in the most inopportune places (only if you consider ONS’s as inopportune), this time, I thought that this could be it. I told myself that there’ll be no pressure this time. “Let’s see” has become my personal mantra. And time has become my friend instead of my foe.

Before, my weekends are filled with night outs with friends with the aim of spying potential lovers that would pass our ways. Looking at couples not only enliven my angst on love but also rouse my relentless homicidal ideations and murderous tendencies. I channelled my inexorable libido into my personal work, and even started a new hobby in taking photographs.

But then this person came. And I was inspired. My weekends are now filled with intense lovemaking sessions (hahaha) and I no longer feel the existential angst for lovers walking as if they’re the only people in the world. I no longer dread the pity talks. The self-help books will have to go for now. And I will no longer watch movies alone.

Though everything is still far from the hedges of roses that I have envisioned before and am still envisioning now, the fact that I did not spent Valentine’s Day alone is enough blessing that I should feel thankful for.

Images from my friend K's multiply account.

I'm Not Dead

2009-02-02T10:57:00.004+08:00

“And I was never looking for approval from anyone but you
And though this journey is over I'll go back if you ask me to…”

I used to believe that my greatest fear in life is dying, especially, dying alone.

But in the midst of living, and working in a place where death is as common as a thought, facing death has been the norm rather than the exception.

Every time a patient’s heart stops, a chain reaction of activating a code, rummaging the emergency kart for cardiac drugs, pumping the chest and shocking the heart has been our second nature. So much that almost everything has been routinely impregnated in our systems. In 30 minutes we stop, or in some instances, when our muscles still can permit, we allow 15 more.

Whoever said that running a code blue is so cinematic and surreal must be seriously absurd.

I have seen death several times and at most of these times, facing it has never been easy for my part.

As medical professionals, life is what we protect at all times. We may have different values towards it, different views, opinions, and outlook on it, but in every chance that we got, we have learned how to protect it at all costs.

Because we cherish its brevity. How transient it could be. One moment you’re someone else’s son, someone else’s mother, someone else’s special loved one, and the next thing you might just be the cadaver I’m wrapping up in a shroud.

When burnout sets in, I couldn’t help but contemplate on whether I should volunteer myself to the hospital’s pediatric wing, or in the nursery where life abounds and everything is sweet and cuddly. But then reality slaps me back where I’m supposed to be. No matter where I go, people will die. People are going to die. And life begins anew.

Maybe it’s for this reason that I have begun to realize one of the most important things in life.

That life is what we make of it.

As the old saying goes, “Yes, we can't do anything about the length of our lives, but we can do something about its width and depth."

And sometimes.

Yes, sometimes.

It’s all so comforting.

“I’m not dead just floating
I'm not scared just changing
You're my crack of sunlight yeah…”

Images from Flickr, I’m Not Dead by Pink.

More Than This

2009-01-20T23:01:00.003+08:00

This video is beyond heartbreaking.

I'm in tears.

The Story

2009-01-17T14:05:00.003+08:00

“All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of who I am
And how I got to where I am…

Reading New Year posts never fail to both amaze and disappoint me.

I feel so jealous that some people were able to accomplish so much at such a little amount of time, and yet here I am, feeling as if nothing has changed and everything is going against my way.

But there are times when I just feel elated because there are moments when a single day, a single minute, a single hour stretched like a forever’s worth of happiness and satisfaction.

And just like that I feel nothing but thankful.

Thankful to Him for the blessings I’ve received for yet another 365 days of my existence.

Thankful for my superiors for giving me a stable job. One that allows me to manage my own finances. That despite the seemingly meager amount, it nevertheless gave me enough to afford me trips to Gucci and Louis Vuitton and end up carrying some.

For my patients for allowing me to learn a whole lot of things. I may not have given them my undivided care but in my heart I knew that it is my best they have received.

For my co-staff for being my mentors and friends.

For my family for continuously bringing out the best in me. For sticking with me through thick and thin, I will be eternally grateful.

For “J,” for believing in me and loving me and taking good care of me. We might not have been “there” and the road is still long and winding, but I’m thankful because we have taken the first step together and I’m praying that you’ll be holding my hand as we journey through life together.

And for you for inspiring me to write. A passion I nurture for quite a long time. For this blog that served as a forge where I can share my emotions, never will I quit you, that’s for sure.

With all these blessings and wonderful people surrounding my life, tell me why should I feel ungrateful for?

…Oh but these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to share them to
It’s true, I was made for you.

Oh yeah, and it’s true that I was made for you.”

*

Images from flickr. Lyrics from Brandi Carlile's "The Story."

Thankful

2008-12-24T08:12:00.006+08:00

So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be.
And on this day we hope for
What we still can't see.

It's up to us to be the change
And even though we all can still do more
There's so much to be thankful for.

It's up to us to be the change
And even though this world needs so much more
There's so much to be thankful for.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

(What Have You Done Today To Make You Feel) Proud

2008-12-06T23:09:00.004+08:00

"I step out of the ordinary
I can feel my soul ascending
I am on my way
Can't stop me now
And you can do the same"

I find it queer (redundancy aside) that in my 22 years of existence, never have I participated, engaged, witnessed, nor get involved, in *our annual pride parade.

Minus the first two years where I am still unable to walk and the next 12 years of undefined identity, that left me with 8 missed opportunities of celebrating and professing my pride with my sexuality and personal identity.

I asked myself, am I not proud of the person that I have become?

I could say that I'm not the typical confused man. At an early age, I already knew what I wanted to achieve and what I wanted to become.

I had my first relations at the age of 16, became exposed to the complicated queer life at 17, and successfully managed my first committed relationship at 18. Bed was my niche even before Bed became Bed, and I witnessed how Government became the Government that was now.

This premature exposure, however, doesn't come without a price. After a couple of years of countless boozing, whoring and experimenting, I became a little tired of that usual scene.

I stayed out of it for quite a while. I nurtured committed relations without the frills and fuzz and the complications of my previous juvenile immaturities. I drove myself out from the fast lane. I held on to my peace.

There are moments when I still question myself if this quiescent life is the kind of life that I really wanted. Whether I'm happy with my existence. Or if I'm proud of the life that I'm living.

I may not have stepped out of the ordinary just yet but there's one thing in me that holds true.

I AM PROUD TO BE ME.

I take pride in my work, in my actions, and in my words. I take pride in my deeds, in my promises, and in my thoughts. I take pride in my sexuality, in my identity, and in my personal choices. I take pride in the life that I chose to live. And I take pride in the actions that pave the way for becoming the person that I am now.

I may not have been there in the parade wearing costumes and wings and masks. I may not have been there organizing the floats, or arranging the crowd. And definitely not there sashaying with nothing on but my jockstraps (not that I have any) and heels.

But yes, I am proud.

And no one can stop me now.

And you, what have you done today to make you feel proud?

Happy Pride Day, Everyone!

*Images from Showtime's Queer as Folk.

Dare You To Move

2008-11-25T17:17:00.003+08:00

It seems as if if we're ever given a chance to become somebody else, all of us would have definitely something in mind.

At least that is what each of my colleagues have been trying to confirm.

I didn't expect, however, that their answers would neither involve becoming rich or becoming famous as I have previously thought.

For instance, one of my friends wanted to become a better mother, while the other, a better provider for his family. The other guy wanted to become a rock star while the next guy, a CNN reporter.

As for me, I wanted to become an Olympic gymnast, a diver, or a writer, whichever sounds more facetious.

Just kidding.

I couldn't help but wonder why people tend to exist and live in a world that does not afford them the fulfilment of their desires. Why haven't they pursue their dreams, actualize their vision, and realize their Personal Legends?

I guess it’s the convenience of the present, the fears of the unknown, or the complacency of the right now that prevents them from doing so, for now, I could only guess.

I spent a few minutes asking myself the previous question: if I could be somebody else, who would I want to become?

And then it occurred to me. When I was younger I thought that in becoming filthy rich I could attain happiness, or in extreme physical perfection I could find true love, or in extreme success I could find contentment.

But at 22, I definitely know what I actually longed for.

And that is wisdom.

I might have done several mistakes in my past and He knows that I've been burned several times, but if there's something I'm really thankful for, it's for the wisdom that I have gathered throughout the ages. I might have been a fool several times in my past, but in that foolishness I seem to have found myself. And for that I'll be thankful.

Then I was reminded of this message an old friend sent me and I have kept in my inbox for the longest time:

"Never let the things you want...

Make you forget the things you already have."

And suddenly, this too, has passed.

*Images from postsecret and flickr.

Luminescence of Darkness

2008-11-17T17:30:00.004+08:00

Around us fear, descending
Darkness of fear above
And in my heart how deep unending
Ache of love!

I’ve been having these intense migraines recently. And no, they’re not just in my head. They’re real and they’re no less than excruciating. At times I could feel my head throbbing in sync with my heartbeat, it’s as if something in my skull is about to burst, and it’ll leave me unconscious, in coma, or in my deathbed.

My intensivist, who diagnosed me as having these tension-type headaches, gave me prn (as necessary) medications every time I’m in such pain, to which I am fully compliant. However, as tolerance sets in, the same dose which used to be effective no longer affords relief when I take it now. And as I take more of them pills, the nasty side effects tend to predominate. Making me sedated, nauseated, vertiginous, and short of breath inasmuch than being painless.

I was advised on having a cranial CT scan once they recur, and I have long been planning on undergoing one but…

It has been exactly one year since I started my professional career in healthcare. Everyday, patients come into our beds, and they go, and for us, every other patient that comes in is nothing more than another opportunity for learning. Every body is a living piece of learning apparatus. Every heart beat a chance of learning about cardiac murmurs. Every lung an opportunity of learning roentgenographic interpretations. Every patient history a chance of discovering a part of themselves. And every patient interview a chance of gaining their most elusive trust.

Looking back on the thousand of patient histories I have in my recently emptied locker, I couldn’t help but wonder what made me different from the rest of these patients seemingly lying on their own deathbeds.

I experience the same chest pain. I do experience the same fatigue. I have had the same shortness of breath. And now I have the same headaches.

A month ago, I admitted one of our institution’s most brilliant Hematologist-Oncologist whose chief complaint was a mere headache. She had had a tumor excised a year ago but it recurred again, this time, more aggressive and malignant. She no longer has that same spunk back when we used to join her in the rounds. She’s lying there, almost in the brink of death, fighting against the disease she strived so hard to conquer. At times I’m left with nothing to say but maybe, now, the joke was on her.

Her headache, a malignant anaplastic astrocytoma. The other guy’s chest pain, a triple vessel Coronary Artery Disease. That lady’s bloatedness, a leaking Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. That man’s difficulty of swallowing, anaplastic thyroid carcinoma.

And my headaches? It’s better that I know no further.

They say that knowledge is power. That the more you know about life, the more equipped you’ll become in conquering life’s challenges day in and day out.

Or is it really better that we know everything?

I know that I have to eventually discover what the hell is wrong with my head but for now, let me find solace in the uncertainty. Spare me the diagnosis and let me cope with the fear in my own terms.

There are so many things we have to know. We have to know we have what it takes. We have to know how to take care of our patients... and how to take care of each other. Eventually, we even have to figure out how to take care of ourselves.

As surgeons we have to be in the know. But as human beings, sometimes it's better to stay in the dark, because in the dark there may be fear, but there's also hope.

Everybody's Changing

2008-11-13T20:01:00.004+08:00

No dave, I haven’t given up on writing… yet.

It’s been six months since my last actual post, and ever since I’ve left, it feels as if things haven’t really changed at all. I’m still me. The quasi-philosophical, self-absorbed, self-proclaimed intellectual who believe that I still am capable of greatness. The dreamer, who, despite having all the means of achieving my ambitions, opt to exist in the status quo. The fighter who keeps on preparing for my battles but quivers with fear upon the sight of my enemies. And the lover who, uhm, well… loves everyone.

But still, a man with an incredible heart.

I’m keeping this entry short, but this I assure you, my readers, old and new alike, that I, just like the old me, will be here to stay.

And yes, I’m definitely back.

Dust In The Wind

2008-09-09T23:58:00.003+08:00

Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy.

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind.
Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind.

*

Thank you for waiting.

Now, I'm back.

Song For The Lonely

2008-06-09T16:37:00.003+08:00

Today, I guess, is my birthday!

Happy Birthday, Ruff.

Always Come Back To Your Love

2008-05-24T01:40:00.005+08:00

Can we really get over our first loves?

I was a freshman college then and love (or sex, for that matter) is something extremely unbeknownst to me.

I told *him (a very good friend) that I’m going to get my cherry popped by the time I finish my first year of college.

And surprisingly, it did happen.

Even more surprising, I did it with him (okay, okay, I’m a whore).

And it was not a spur-of-the-moment thing. It happened again. And again and again.

I was confused as hell back then because that was my first serious relationship with a person of the same sex. Career changes made it impossible for us to pursue that what might-have-been a perfect relation.

We parted ways and moved on. But recently, thoughts of him haunt me during my cold solitary nights. After four years, I still kept on asking myself, “Will I be strong enough to see him again and not be drawn by everything that has transpired between the two of us?”

Yes I might be younger back then, but at such a younger age, I already knew what I wanted and am determined enough to make it all happen.

He had been with many men, and so did I.

But if there’s that slightest chance of us, being back together, then I thought that I would risk everything, life and limb included, to prove that, no matter how sappy it might sound, I’d always come back to his love.

Recently, I have been moonlighting as a private duty nurse to a patient who was admitted to our hospital but was discharged a few months ago.

His room was darn freaking cold that private nurses have to wear at least three layers of clothing or suffer the risk of frostbite.

My patient was asleep then (it was 2 am) and a generic message entered my inbox.

It was him.

*

To be continued…

Always Be My Baby

2008-05-22T11:01:00.003+08:00

(source)

Congratulations to David Cook for winning American Idol.

Cookeys forever!

(Regular blogging resumes after my endorphins and cathecholamines reach their half-lives.)

Reflection

2008-05-16T11:17:00.003+08:00

i asked God for strength that i might achieve;

i was made weak that i might learn humbly to obey:

i asked for health that i might do great things;

i was given infirmity that i might do greater things:

i asked for riches that i might be happy;

i was given poverty that i might be wise:

i asked for power that i might have the praise of men;

i was given weakness that i might feel the need of God:

i asked for all things that i might enjoy life;

i was given life that i might enjoy all things:

i got nothing that i asked for but everything that i hoped for;

almost despite myself my unspoken prayers were answered:

i am among all men most richly blest.

*

(Seen at the Apolinario Mabini Rehabilitation Center of the UST Hospital.)

God Bless The Broken Road

2008-04-19T20:18:00.003+08:00

I long have envisioned this blog to be a space where I can entertain, educate and inspire other people with my stories, life experiences and personal tales.

But recently, inasmuch as I’d love to furnish this page with my new expoits, some things (ie., work, personal fears, reservations) seem to hinder me from doing so.

And I have long contemplated on, er, temporarily closing this site but…

*

There was a recent admission in ICU Suite F. We were advised to implement Universal Precautions to the nth level as this’ll be a very unusual case. While the patient is being wheeled from the stretcher to the ICU Bed, I donned my paper mask, NIOSH (N-95) respirator, goggles, extra gown, and three overlapping gloves, and entered the “talked-about” suite.

“He” seems just like the usual intubated patient except that (yup, I’m cutting to the chase now) he’s HIV positive.

How he got the disease and the whole she-bang need not be discussed to maintain the confidential matters.

*

His admission sent a strong wave of fears among my co-staff and no matter how much we were supposed to contain the news among ourselves, the fact that we are taking care of an HIV+ patient is news that is just too much to handle.

For instance every time a blood extraction is warranted, we have to disclose his diagnosis to the medical technologists so that they can practice further caution. The same thing goes for the respiratory therapists who obtain his blood gases, the cleaning staff who handle his biological wastes, and so on.

And yet I’m proud to say that nobody among our staff refused to take care of him despite the insurmountable risks.

*

I think that this is such an opportune time to be educated about this disease. In a country where anti-retrovirals (ARVs) cost an arm and a leg, we cannot afford to get stricken by the disease.

And in this time when cure seems to be a bit tad imaginary, one could only hope and pray that further researches about HIV/AIDS will come into fruition and eventually produce that “magic bullet.”

But then still, education and prevention would have to do for now.

*

Taking care of “him” made me feel vindicated on why I failed to update this blog.

And no, he did not die.

So did I. Thank you very much.

He was discharged just last week, with his boyfriend, both strong and well.

*

And I couldn’t get any happier.

*

To you, thank you for educating me, for inspiring me, for allowing me to take care of a very special person in you. And though I know that there’s that little to none chance of you dropping by this site of mine, I promise, deep within my heart, that I will never ever forget you and how you changed my perspective on life.

*

And this post is dedicated to you, my really really really really good friend Kiks.

*

Be strong. And be informed.

I'm Coming Out

2008-03-13T22:48:00.008+08:00

For the first time in my life, I was actually offended for being touted as "gay."

And someone calling me "gay" is something I find to be demeaning, shameful, and blatantly crude.

I have never told my colleagues that I am queer. Apart from a very few trusted ones who knew about my sexuality, I actually find no valid reason to profess my queerness to everyone I am working with.

Plus the fact that the news might spread like uncontrollable wildfire scares the hell out of me (cf. Grey's Anatomy).

It's just that I think that my sexuality has absolutely nothing to do with me performing my duties as a nurse, and likewise, me being gay, has absolutely nothing to do with my work. I wouldn't change a thing -- my bedside manners, my competency and skills, my behaviour towards my patients and colleagues, etc. -- based on the premise that I am out, or otherwise.

Hi! My name is Ruff, and I'll be your sex slave, er, nurse for today.

When an irate moribund patient's relative referred to me as "that gay nurse," I was utterly infuriated that I could feel my cerebral blood vessels throb simultaneously with my heartbeat.

Me: "Excuse me ma'am what did you just say?"
Whore: "I was calling your attention because you left mama unattended while blah blah (continues with justifications which have actually nothing to do with my work)..."
Me: "I've heard that you called me "gay.""
Whore: "Oh (stumbles with pointless explanations very well dismissible in a court of law...)"
Me: "I thought you have a problem with me being "gay" as your mum's nurse." (Then went back to the station hoping that nobody ever heard everything that has transpired).

*

I have always told my closest friends that the reason why I haven't "out-ed" myself yet is that nobody dares to ask me personally. I find it pointless to just indiscriminately spill the beans or premeditatedly come to work in pink boots and butt-fitting pants just to show them my true self. Just like medical histories, you'll never get to actually know anything about a person unless you ASK.

But then again, I was contemplating as to whether I should say "YES, I AM GAY" if somebody would actually have the guts to ask me, or I would perpetually remain inside the closet and vehemently reply, "ME, GAY? NO WAY?" with much gusto and passion.

And yup, I was giggling (like you) as I was reading what I just last wrote.

But I'd give that old prude props for having the guts to call me "gay." Her gay-dar was impeccable she almost left me speechless for a minute.

If she could actually see right through me, could everybody else be far behind?

Or had they known about it all along?

Now that's a point I haven't even thought at all.

Should I get OUT or NOT? You decide. :-)

Hello

2008-03-05T12:50:00.004+08:00

Sing me this song...

And I'll be yours forever.

*

M. J.,

I want to tell you that I have grown.

I no longer have to tell mom and dad that I’m going to Aldrin’s house for a thesis all-nighter just to be with you.

I no longer have braces, and you know what that means.

I’m now earning my own salary and we could now pay the rent for our humble, but erogenous, abode.

I no longer have to wait late night after your law school ‘cause my shift always ends late.

We could (again) shower together to save on those water bills.

Remember those scrubs that you love? And my usual scrub top and briefs ensemble? You could always see me wearing it, all the time.

Remember that time when we're almost caught doing something at that posh club at The Fort?

And lastly… I can call you hubby again.

And as always, I’ll be your baby forever.

*

Hello… is it me you’re looking for?

*

Pardon the overwhelming ambiguities. Too much serotonin cruising my vasculature right now, and yeah, sleeplessness, too.

Heaven (Updated!)

2008-02-16T20:23:00.005+08:00

My oh my. This post is cuteness overload.

Okay, this I have to admit. I have lost interest in watching American Idol since Jasmine Trias (Season 3) got eliminated years, years back. I thought Fantasia Barrino sounds like Le Donald (the Duck, not the Trump), Carrie Underwood's win was so predictable, and Hicks' winning was just, er, so not Idol-worthy.

So, last last week, while I was having my night duty in the Cardiovascular Unit ward, between the wee hours of 2 and 3 in the morning. I entered room 2003 (vacant as of the time being), and watched the latest Idol season, and boy, oh boy, I was in for a big surprise.

Like hello, who could not *not watch this very gorgeous, talented, young boy.

I could just eat this guy. (Too bad, he didn't make it to the top 24).

And oops, it doesn't stop there. Here, watch my *other guy:

I was like ovulating on the inside.

And whoa, a Pinay making it to the top 24.

You go, homegirl!

Now tell me, is this AI season so not worthy of watching?

(And nope, this is not a paid post. Hahaha.)

* * * U P D A T E * * *

Oh my! Watching David Archuleta perform is pure bliss. I literally have to sew my mangina up just to keep my room from flooding. Okay, this post is becoming more and more vulgar so this'll be the last update mmmkay?

David Archuleta ALL THE WAY!!! Go, go, go davey!

Go The Distance / The World's Greatest

2008-02-05T16:22:00.000+08:00

Here I am. 1 in the morning. It’s my day off and I’m wasting precious sleeping time staring at that bright star (or is that Venus) glistening beside the crescent moon (Sailor Moon is that you) while reminiscing the past 21 years of my life.

When I was younger I always think that I’m destined for greatness. That someday I could find a cure for AIDS or devise the means to end poverty or bring that elusive world peace to reality or become an eponym for a medical procedure or a disease, like Ruff-du-Jour’s Syndrome or Ruff-the-Unbearable Maneuver.

But here I am. 1 in the morning, wasting my day off and wandering why I fail to be that person I so dream of.

I turned my iPod on, clicked Shuffle, and there plays Michael Bolton’s “Go The Distance.”

Okay I’m just bluffing. It actually played Mary J. Blige’s “Be Without You” but typing Bolton makes this post sound a bit facetious.

As a nurse, my days evolve around my professional life in the hospital and my almost non-existent personal life which I could sum up into two words: eating, sleeping.

Like an epiphany of some sorts, stuffs miraculously perfuse into my head and slowly converted into words to fill this blog that could be easily categorized as “Archived” or “Abandoned” due to my neglect and inattention.

And on that note, here are twenty realizations (originally two-thousand and eight) for the past twenty years of my life.

(1) I, actually, am a good person. Very good person.

(2) I am not a composite of Meredith Grey, or John Dorian, or Carrie Bradshaw, or Elle Woods, or any other fictional character into any fictitious show that deludes me into the belief that they’re “just playing my life.”

There’s no point in me imagining that my life will take a Grey’s Anatomy turn of events because I'm not Meredith Grey. I'm more like George O’Malley, if anything, but the truth is I am my own character writing my own story.

I have a life of my own. And I am real. I am better than Grey, Dorian, Bradshaw, Woods, McDreamy, and so much more. I am Ruff. And I'll be great.

(3) My ideal guy is just around the corner, and sooner or later, he’ll get to find me. It’s just that we’re both busy chasing our dreams that our lovelives is a little haywire. After some readjustments of goals, he’ll come to me, and we’ll live happily ever after.

(4) But I would then buy my own car before that happens. Public transport just wouldn’t do.

(5) I could not believe how many people died during my stay in the Intensive Care Unit. Five died under my care (but not due to my negligence thank you very much), and I could recall their names, their faces, and their life histories.

P.M., F.A., A.B.L., N.B. and E.C., requiescat in pace.

(6) I, however, saved a thousand more.

And I’m not being too pompous when I said that.

(7) Regarding the previous statement, seeing people walk out of the hospital alive is the reason why I keep holding on to my job. Sleepless nights and all, body pains, infections and all, being unappreciated and all, I do *freaking love what I do.

(8) I am loved by many people. And I love many people. This alone makes me special.

(9) I may have plenty, but I am not the sum total of all my failures.

(10) I already know who and what are important. I just have to keep reminding myself of them.

(11) By default, I am destined to kill somebody (job-related or otherwise).

(12) No amount of treadmill, protein shakes, bench presses and yoga sessions could compensate for the fact that I love to eat. I know, I know, that my obsession to Starbucks, Jollibee, Big Mac, Yellow Cab, TGIF, Cheesecakes etc., and Bubba Gump is deleterious to my health.

(14) It’s actually easy to be happy.

Most of my unhappiness stems from being too conscious about how I come off to other people. And all my happy moments are the times when I simply did not care.

(15) I am the best there is at what I do.

(16) There's no point in thinking that people, including myself, will get what we deserve. Mostly because we have no right to judge what, exactly, people deserve.

(17) Maganda pala ako. (Trans: I am actually beautiful.)

(18) And in line with that, I don't need someone else to validate my good looks. Normally when I wish for such validation they come in the form of condescending remarks coming from people trying to ask personal favours from me or ill-spelled private messages from people who've seen my friendster, facebook or g4m profile. That kind of validation I do not need. And besides, if I cannot find myself attractive how can I expect anyone of reasonable taste and intelligence to do so?

(19) I still believe that I’m destined to do great things.

(20) This is supposed to be my hundredth post but since I suck at: (1) math, (2) remembering dates, and (3) finding time to write, I missed the momentous event. Well, it’s still memorable naman. My 101st.

(21) Twenty-one is not a time for a quarter-life crisis, or for any kind of crisis. This is the time where I've got life by the balls. This is the most empowered I have ever been. At sixteen I may have thought I could conquer the world. At eighteen I may have thought I had the legal licence to do so. At twenty I felt that now I had the right to go nuts all over the world. But now is really the time where my life and my decisions and the resulting consequences are truly my own. I should always remember that, and live according to that truth.

*

In an emo fit I once yelled, “Twenty-one and what am I doing with my life?”

Well, I'll tell you.

I'm living it.

Images from here.

You Think You're A Man

2008-01-21T00:35:00.000+08:00

Brian: We're queer. We don't need marriage. We don't need the sanction of dickless politicians and pederast priests. We fuck who we want to, when we want to. That is our God-given right.

Michael: But it is also our God-given right to have everything that straight people have. Because we're every bit as much human as they are.

As a cynic, I have always believed that nothing lasts forever. And that includes human relationships. Eventually, in one way or the other, everything is doomed to fail. Everything will perish. Everything will end.

But that’s just me.

*

Like Mandaya and Kiks, I have to confess that I’m in a serious relationship right now…

With my work, that is.

Oftentimes I’m asked as to why I’m not in a commitment right now. Now that I’m earning my own salary, paying for my own finances, and am surreptitiously in an opportune time to mind my own career aside from the one I have at patients’ bedsides. Every time I encounter that annoying question, I always have one straight and sweet answer:

“Work is my priority as of the moment.”

Work has always been my guilt-free pass for almost everything. Missed social rendezvous? Because of work. Going to the gym? Sorry, I have work. My 8-hour-sleep-minimum? Got to wake up early due to work. No boyfriend right now? Too busy with work.

But this post’ve got nothing to do with work. Rather, it is about relationships.

It is a known fact that I’ve been to too many one in my past, and for being burned *that many times, I’m blissfully and eternally grateful that I am still alive. It, however, theoretically didn’t and won’t stop me from pursuing one, because as a human being, I do have that innate need to love and be loved.

I want someone who will truly understand me and the person underneath me. I need someone who will accept the real me and will unconditionally love me despite my weaknesses and flaws. I long for someone who will take care of me, who will share with my joys and pains, and of course, who will do me every time I got the occasional itch.

Just kidding.

My last three (failed) relationships taught me three important things in life: 1) long distance relationships are doomed to fail eventually: 2) honesty is still the best policy even in relationships: and 3) learn to love yourself first.

Those mistakes, however, practically hindered me from venturing out into the woods again. Because I’m still here in this freaking cold, forsaken crossroad, searching and looking which way affords the easy relief.

By now it should appear to everyone that I really don’t what the hell I’m talking about.

So let me go back to my previous postulate, that, everything is doomed to fail.

But then, there’s that something that breaks away from the mold. Something far from ordinary. Something that’ll stand out among the rest.

And that thing is your relationship with yourself.

For as long as you know that you are at peace with yourself, no man, no shit, no dickless homophobes, and no bitter ex-lovers would deter you from being the best person that you could ever be.

And that is what man to man relationship essentially means.

Right?

One Moment In Time

2008-01-07T16:49:00.000+08:00

Finally the Christmas and New Year hype is over.

That, probably, is the understatement of the year as I celebrated both overly momentous occasions within the confines of the Intensive Care Unit.

In fact, I’m just starting with my Holiday shopping, starting with buying some presents for myself, a few more for my very few loved ones, and a bit some for my even fewer godchildren.

In fact I couldn’t even imagine how my almost nonexistent paycheck could extend, morph or warp into something that could afford me this, this, or this.

On the other hand, working in a hospital gives you that guilt-free pass for not showing up with your pesky albeit cute godchildren, nieces, nephews, cousins, etc. or whoever believes that the gift-giving Christmas tradition must be impeccably honored.

Anyways.

The year that was reminds me so much of several things:

1. That if Britney would die and reincarnate, the reincarnation would be me;
2. That I was making small steps in my way of making my dreams come true;
3. That spending time with a loved one is exhilarating, but surviving alone through those cold, lifeless nights is more fulfilling, and;
4. That despite how much fulfilled we think we are, there, inevitably, will be some regrets that will haunt us forever.

For instance:

I was that Whitney.

But eventually I am going to marry my own Bobby Brown, waste my money buying crack cocaine, and spend my days watching my own personal videos in youtube, or xtube, or wherever.

So for this year, I only have one personal wish.

That I will live my life without regrets. I will be ruthless and unforgiving. I will be bold, and brazen, and remorseless. I will never ask for anyone’s approval. I will live my life the way I feel. And for this year, I will be the best me.

And I’m starting it now.

Happy New Year everyone!

I'll Be Home For Christmas

2007-12-29T00:25:00.000+08:00

I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me

Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams

I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams...

I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

2007-12-24T17:09:00.001+08:00

Merry Christmas Everyone!

It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

2007-12-18T08:35:00.000+08:00

Tonskie, I could not thank you enough for showing me this:

And when I’ve found this one, I knew… I just knew… that I must’ve been a very, very good kid for the past year.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

All I Want For Christmas Is You

2007-12-11T21:59:00.000+08:00

I have always believed in this saying:

Verso: "If we all gave freely and sweetly of ourselves, we would all end up with MORE." (Source)

So, for this yuletide season, feel free to send greeting cards, personal note, parcel/package, gifts, or whatever, to this address.

Nurse Ruff C., R.N.
Intensive Care-Coronary Care Unit (ICU-CCU-Pay)
UST Hospital
Espana, Manila 1008

Weapons of mass destruction need not be sent.

And to all of my frequent readers, haters, blog-friends, fans (haha, as if), supporters, and critiques, here’s my advance Christmas Gift to all of you.

Thank you for supporting Unbearable Lightness. Have a very meaningful Christmas everyone!

Forever Young

2007-12-07T08:49:00.000+08:00

"Let’s dance in style, let’s dance for a while
Heaven can wait we're only watching the skies
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst
Are you going to drop the bomb or not?"

I’ve spent last Sunday with the most amazing, and not to mention, the most influential people I have ever met in my life --- my High School classmates.

Our high school batch is like the typical high school batch everywhere. There’s that weirdo geek, those varsity jocks, the art freaks, the tweetum ladies, the boy-next-doors, the snobs, the anti-socials, and me.

I can't believe I posted this one. :-)

Remember that high school classmate of yours who spends his entire day reading fashion/celebrity/teenage magazines yet still got the perfect score in that dreaded Physics long exam?

I was that person.

I abhorred politics so much that despite insinuations of power-freaks inviting me to join the student council, I digress.

When I was in my sophomore year, I was the youngest student ever to become our school paper’s Editor-in-Chief.

Every time I join Quiz Bees, Essay Writing Contests and High School Debates, I win first place.

I once argued with my English professor because I insisted that my interpretation of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land was the correct one.

At lunch, me and my closest buddies would put on facial masks, we wait for the masks to take effect while our professor is discussing Trigonometric Functions.
.
.
There I was, fashionably 3-hours late, looking at my classmates one by one. They do still look the same, albeit older and more successful… only to realize one thing… we never really grow out of our childhood.

We’re still that same high school geek… the same boy-next-door… the same varsity jocks… the same art freaks… the same me.

In between overflowing foods and drinks, I saw myself as the little high school kid again. The little kid who tried to find his place in a perilous society, who discovered his personal identity, and who finally found his home, his niche, his family.

I might have been away. I might have stayed forlorn for the past few years trying to pursue my personal career. I might have been to too many heartaches, too many tragedies, and too much pains. I might have been to too much joy, too much bliss, and too much happiness. And I might have left.

But in the end I’ve got to realize that I still do have my foot onshore… holding on to those memories I love so much and would never want to part with for the rest of my life.

And looking back I know I’ll still have them.

For just as always…

We are the same… then… now… and always… forever young.

On Saturday Afternoons In 1963

2007-12-01T11:27:00.000+08:00

I’ve been coughing and sneezing non-stop for the past week. The color of my nasal and orotracheal secretions simply reminds me of Shrek, The Green Lantern, or Dipsy, whichever you prefer. (It won't be long before it turn purple. Eeew)

My arms are sore from doing non-stop chest compressions in a patient who arrested in my shift (100 chest compressions a minute for 30 minutes, with a substitute, of course). He died, by the way.

*

In a panel:

Panelist: You are forgetting a really common cause of acute scrotal pain. Remember, I am a Medico-Legal…
Interviewee: Dr., trauma.
Panelist: Okay, in what way can you cause trauma to the scrotum?

Interviewee: Uhhhhmmmmm… pulling?!?! *stunned face*

And yet the interviewee could not even stop.

Interviewee: Uhhmmmmmm… biting?!?! *even more stunned face*
The Panelists: *laughter*

By survey friends, the number 1 answer is kicking (tinadyakan) secondary to self-defense, intentional injury, etc. while for the interviewee… biting… pulling…

*

Neurosurgeons in the hospital where I work at are really hot. They remind me so much of McDreamy, and of course, I’m Meredith Grey, the Horney McNurse.

"Which begs the question, what do we call hot doctors in the Philippines? JolliDreamy? JolliSteamy? JolliSexy? JolliKantutacious?”

Oh gawd, I'm craving for a Jollibee and/or a Kantutacious right this very moment! :-) Hahaha...

*

I have this cute co-staff nurse, but his cousins are much much cuter.

Wanna know who his cousins were?

The Dee’s --- Enchong and A. J. Dee.
The two hunky guys were present on his birthday (with pictures to prove legitimacy) and we’re ecstatic that he’ll bring the younger lad to our Christmas party this 15th.

I’m keeping my dirty fingers crossed.

*

Wanna meet my new crush? Click click here!

He’s one of our cutest medical residents. Yummy eh?

*

I guess this is what nosocomial (hospital-acquired) pneumonia, not having MO (make-out) sessions for half-a-year, and blogging in a cold-wintry morning could do to an insane nurse like me.

Advance Merry Christmas everyone!

*Images from nymag.com, manilagayguy.com, yahoo tv and yesmagazine.com.ph

How Far We've Come

2007-11-25T20:00:00.000+08:00

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…

ACCEPTANCE…

DIVERSITY...

COMPASSION

And of course…

WORLD PEACE.

And you, what would you buy?

Images from viewimages.com and flickr.

Time

2007-11-21T10:10:00.000+08:00

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?

Behind Me Lies Another Fallen Soldier

2007-11-15T20:56:00.000+08:00

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.

Piece Of Me

2007-11-10T20:39:00.000+08:00

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!

The Nurse Who Loved Me

2007-11-04T10:24:00.000+08:00

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.

Beauty From Pain

2007-10-31T15:19:00.000+08:00

When I was eight, my uncle, who used to be very close to me, died. As part of the family ritual, all of us went to the province for the wake. Since I was still a grade school student then, we just stayed for the measly weekend before we decided to go home. It was my first time to look at a loved one over the coffin then. And as frightened and anxious as I was, it felt really nothing, it’s as if I just looked at my uncle, only he was dead.

As we were headed home, I could still recall seeing myself in a trancelike state almost all throughout the entire trip --- between the state of wakefulness and slumber. It’s as if I was dreaming, only I was partly awake. And in my dreamlike state I saw my dead uncle talking and interacting with me as if he was still alive.

My mom said I was crying that entire time. I fell acutely ill for almost a week and I wasn’t able to go to school. I’m having this vague feeling as to whether I’m having hallucinations or I’m just dreaming. Because all those times, I was seeing, talking, and living with my dead uncle’s spirit.

When I told my mom what was happening, she dismissed the idea and thought that I was just seeing things, as me and my uncle used to be really close when he was still alive. However, when I fell seriously ill then—I was having chills, unexplained fever, night terrors, and crying spells—those incidences prompt my mom to consult my pediatrician.

My doctor said that everything is normal. No pathology could be determined, nor any organic abnormality be established. Since I still feel worse at that time, we finally consulted a child psychologist.

It was post-traumatic stress disorder, told my psychologist. I wasn’t aware of that term back then, nor I’m not really sure if that was my exact diagnosis really, but I recall that what was happening is due to a traumatic event my emotions/psyche could not handle. I was given a short-course therapy of defusion and some psychological exams to ascertain my wellness.

It was a really short therapy session. I was well by the time I finished 1 month therapy. I resumed my studies, and thankfully finished on the top of my third grade class.

Months passed and the same visions ensue. This time I did not tell my parents of what was happening. It is in this time that I discovered my special gift. Just like in the movie.

I see dead people.

And I think this is one thing I just have to live with. Not only for this Halloween, but for the rest of my life.

Images from flickr.

Thriller

2007-10-27T20:06:00.000+08:00

Pardon the tasteless title of this entry as I could not find a song name to match the article’s content. Without further ado, here’s my early Halloween treat for all of you.

The Child

Granddad AB had been complaining that someone (or something) is pulling his legs and his linen every night when he was still confined in a specialty coronary unit. He is hearing voices of children, seeing young children playing with the controls of his bed, and is said to be choking him every midnight.

Explanation:

ICU Psychosis, defined as a temporary state of confusion among confined patients due to prolonged isolation, usually leading to complaints of imaginary hallucinations and delusions.

Caveat:

The attending physician decided to transfer him to another room. Right at the hallway, he exclaimed that a child was on top of him, another one was pulling on his legs, and the other one was choking him. He went into a heart attack to which the cause could not be attributed to any reason, but he was revived after.

The Head

The Left Wing Elevator was initially reserved to service cadaver gurneys and to deliver dead patients to the morgue. However, it had been under renovation for quite some time now, and the only elevator servicing the Charity Division was located at the Right Wing.

Explanation:

It was said that the elevator malfunctions because of mechanical glitches. It was renovated twice during the past 5 years, and had been operational occasionally (one month tops). The author was able to ride it once, despite the multitude of grim stories that was said to cloud that elevator.

Caveat:

It was said that the past elevator lady who used to service that elevator got trapped at the basement where the hospital morgue is located. The keys malfunctioned. She supposedly saw dead patients in shrouds walking towards her, the guards at the upper floor heard her screaming, and when the elevator was opened, they saw the elevator lady.
.
.
decapitated.

The elevator is still “under renovation” as of this moment.

The Woman

Suite 4 of the OR is notorious for the surgical cases usually booked in the morning. At night however, the staff has been hearing incessant beeping of cardiac monitors and swooshing of anesthesia machines. Every time the nurses commence with their graveyard shift rounds, the sound miraculously disappears, only to return when they were away.

Reason:

Malfunctioning cardiac monitors and anesthesia machines. General services tried to replace the monitors as documented in their office logbook.

Caveat:

One time the charge nurse made her rounds, the cardiac monitor suddenly went on. It shows an ECG tracing similar to a healthy, alive adult. The anesthesia machine went on, and the bulb inflated and deflated as if someone was breathing through the tubes. When she moved the monitors away, she saw something standing behind the machines.

A woman clad in hospital gown, the face decomposing, looking at her. She saw one of her legs amputated, her blood dripping all over the floor, the other leg floating in midair.
.
.
Just like the one standing right behind you.

GOTCHA!!

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Images from royalarmouries.org, stockphoto and mattkirsch.wordpress.com.

Gone Too Soon

2007-10-23T00:00:00.000+08:00

Paz was one of my best-mannered patients. She was unquestioning, unobtrusive, peaceful and serene. She rarely makes noises. She never complains every time I visit her in the room. Performing any invasive procedures on her is a breeze. There are no struggles, no resistance, no fighting back. She takes her medications without queries or qualms. She was just plain perfect --- in fact the best patient assignment any nurse could ever get --- except for one single thing:

She was in a coma for the past 7 months already.

Bioethical principles dictate that we should value human life at all cost. Medical ethics, however, makes it a little complicated. Technology is even blamed for its often useless and unnecessary means of prolonging life. Heart-lung-machines, artificial feeding, respirators, aggressive antibiotics --- they have been used indiscriminately that instead of helping the person die in peace, they just prolong the patient’s agony. And sometimes the thin line differentiating murder/euthanasia or a peaceful death is now gone.

Would you remove your dying mother’s ventilator if in case she gets comatose?

Would you stop giving artificial feedings if in case your mom could not eat by ordinary means anymore?

Would you be very much willing to allow her to die? Withhold fluids and not give CPR?

As an ICU Nurse, I have seen patients die. I have seen how their relatives weep outside of their dying loved ones’ room, waiting and praying eagerly that the chest compressions and non-stop pushing of medications would bring their loved ones back to life. I have seen how their eyes and their faces mourn with sorrow. So piercing they need not say any word at all.

But like any other job, for a nurse like me, after every death, and each post-mortem care, the show must definitely go on. Repress the image of death at the back of your head and wear a jolly smile before entering another patient’s den.

And one could only hope that the rest of the day would be a better one.

How do nurses cope with loss, with pain, with death?

My colleagues do it in the shopping malls. They sing karaoke till they finally kill somebody with their horrendous voices. They buy white and light blue rubber shoes to match their cerulean scrubs. They eat like there’s no tomorrow. They take care of their babies, hubbies and sweeties. They do the unmentionables.

I, for one, do it in the arcade shoppes. I race cars while imagining the Reaper chasing after me. I hold fake guns while visualizing Death as just another character in The Night of the Living Dead game. I play those Marvel games and picture my opponent as the Grim Reaper as I pierce him using Wolverine’s claws. I catch toys in magic cranes hoping that the loosened hinges would grasp the weighty bear. I watch young lads play Dance Revolution because I’m too shy to play in one. I surround myself with noise, fun, and company of good friends. I stargaze. I celebrate.

Dare people might say it is discourteous, disrespectful, foul even. But if nurses, and doctors, who experience death day in and day out would wallow in grief and sadness, I bet there’ll be no more medical staff in hospitals anymore.

We try to do the best in life, for life is always mean, cruel, and unfair. And for that reason we cope. We cope and we hope. We hope that the things to come will be better. The load will be easier. The days will be brighter.

I do not seek approval for the way I lead my life. I am proud to live life the way I intended it to be lived. For always in the end, the only person answerable for my life, my behavior, my decisions, my choices, is no one but myself.

Paz died in peace a week ago.

Her grandson who used to have my cell phone number informed me that she has succumbed to the overwhelming infection as her organs gradually fail one by one.

It looks like I’m heading for the arcade in a little while.

Wanna play?

*

Related Posts:
Littlest Things. A triumvirate of strange medical stories.
Dust In The Wind. Another triumvirate of hazing-related medical stories.
Tell Me Where It Hurts. A tragic medical story of a patient's broken childhood.

Listening to Vertical Horizon's Best I Ever Had. Images from flickr.com.

In The Arms Of The Angel

2007-10-19T09:20:00.000+08:00

It was said in Jerusalem lies a pool called Bethesda. During the era of the Kings, the pool was used to wash the sheep prior to their sacrifice in the temple. This use of the pool gave the water a halo of sanctity, and many invalids came to the pool to be healed.

The Angel of the Waters was said to occasionally visit the pool to stir its waters. The first person who enters the pool right after the angel “troubles” the waters will be healed of whatever disease he has. It is for this reason that the blind, the lame, the paralyzed and the sick are all waiting for the occasional, surprise stirring of the pool’s waters.

As Jesus walked among the sick at Bethesda, he passed before a man who had been paralyzed for 38 years and who had no one to put him first into the pool when the waters were troubled. Christ pitied this neglected man and said to him, “Take up your pallet and walk.” Obediently, without even reaching the angel-troubled waters, he took up his stretcher and walked.

Have you missed the angel’s splash?

Just recently, I have finished watching HBO’s Angels in America (I know it’s too late, sorry) and it was soooo good! Magnificent, spectacular, breathtaking, moving, poignant, enlightening are just few words that I could say about this once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece. Watching it is definitely one of the best-spent 6 hours of my life.

Adapted from two award winning Kushner stage plays, Angels is an arresting portrayal of the fight against AIDS and for (religious, sexual, ethnic, cultural, political) tolerance, shown through the loves and losses of all-too-human characters, in a climate of national hysteria. But it is also far more, setting the story of the early years of AIDS in the much larger context of American culture itself.

Angels in America broadcasts a message of love and loss, hope, healing, and tolerance—not only for those affected by AIDS, but for all of us. As Prior says at the end, “We aren't going away. We won't die secret deaths anymore. The world only spins forward. We will be citizens. The time has come.”

It just . . . It just . . . We can't just stop. We're not rocks—progress, migration, motion is . . . modernity. It's animate, it's what living things do. We desire. Even if all we desire is stillness, it's still desire for. Even if we go faster than we should. We can't wait. And wait for what? God. . .

He isn't coming back.

And as tagged by McRey, Dazed, and other fellow bloggers, here’s my desktop image:

I’m tagging everyone who hasn’t done it yet.

And oh, "and when love is dead,
I’m loving angels instead."

Have a great weekend everyone!

Angel of the Waters of Bethesda story here and here. Angels In America reviews here, here and here. Images from www.thecityreview.com and hbo.com.

Thank You

2007-10-15T09:18:00.000+08:00

When your mom was having painful labor pains, she stayed with her to coach her breathe and assured her that "everything will be fine."

When your mom was in the delivery room, tired and vulnerable, with both legs hanging up in the stirrups, she pulled you out of her uterus to give you the life you are enjoying right now.

When you could not breathe, she suctioned your nose and slapped your butt cheeks to help re-expand those collapsed lungs of yours and not choke on your own pee (you drink your own pee when you’re still inside the womb).

When you were in the nursery, she clothed you and kept you warm and cuddly in those pretty pink and sky blue quilts. She changed your diaper when you pee or poo, and knowing how temperamental you are (just like what you still are right now), she heeded to your every call.

When you were growing up, she consistently took your weight and height and made sure you get all the shots so you wouldn’t catch measles, mumps and pox that Rambunctious Raymond or Pesky Patty had contracted the summer before.

When you entered school, she was always there to clean your wound and apply the “it-wouldn’t-hurt-it’s-just-like-water” ointment every time you scraped your knee while you’re playing tag with Innocent Ivan and Jovial Jacque.

When you grew up, she stayed with you in that cold operating room, she held your hand, made you feel comfortable while you’re there lying in the OR table helpless and naked, and kept on explaining to you that your tummy ache was caused by a ruptured appendix.

When you got admitted at the hospital, she welcomed you into her ward, made you feel at ease, and reassured you that if you have any problem you could call her at ALL times.

When your doctor told you of your frightening diagnosis, she stayed by your side, gave you a pat on your back, held your hand, and explained to you that epistaxis simply meant nosebleed and your diagnosis wasn’t that bad after all.

When you got older and body pains have become a normal part of your life, she fed you, bathed you, clothed you, brushed your hair, changed your diaper, cleaned your poo, and did almost everything a loving mom would’ve done to her precious child.

When you were lonely and depressed, she made you feel important with her reassuring stories, she comforted you with her therapeutic words, and she stood by you when your sons and daughters have forgotten your birthdays and special anniversaries. =(

When you’re old and gray, she still stayed by your side, she listened to your melancholic, albeit repetitive, stories about your grandchildren and what-have-you’s, she cried with you, comforted you till your last dying breath, and made sure that you’ll have the most peaceful transition from the land of the living to the other side.

SHE... IS YOUR NURSE.

And this is her day.

And this time you owe it to her.

Have you told her how much you really appreciated her taking care of you from the time you were born until the time you get old and die? Can you still remember her name? Can you still recall how many times she heeded your call? Can you still remember her face, her smile, her tender, loving words, and her priceless acts of caring?

Have you thanked your nurse today?

This post is dedicated to nurses all over the world whose special day we’re celebrating right now. For all the things that you do, I will be forever indebted. Long live and Happy Nurse’s Day everyone.

Text: If Caring Were Enough, Anyone Could Be A Nurse

What have you done for her today?

*

Images from Flickr, Adcouncil for Nurses and Google Search.

In Pursuit Of Happiness

2007-10-12T00:00:00.000+08:00

"There comes a time when a man has to ask himself whether he wants a life of happiness or a life of meaning….(they’re) two very different paths… To be truly happy a man must live absolutely in the present. No thought of what has gone before and no thought of what lies ahead… but a for a life of meaning, a man is condemned to wallow in the past and obsess about the future."

I guess I'm living a life of meaning after all.

What kind of life are you living?

Quote from Heroes. Image from flickr.

One Of The Brightest Stars

2007-10-08T13:36:00.000+08:00

Two boys are standing on the edge of a balcony, stargazing.

The boy points out one of the brighter stars and asks, “What’s the name of that one?”

“It is Polaris of the north,” says the other guy. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? It is really made up of three stars, but in the distance, they are one.”

“I would like to go to Polaris someday,” says the boy.

“Why don’t we?” says the other guy.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes. Now.”

So they kiss each other, for the last time embraced in the innocence of this world, and set off together on their long journey.

*

I hope that my series of hospital interviews this week will push through smoothly. Prayers and well-wishes will be very much appreciated.

Adapted from a work by JPM Goitia. Image from jupiterimages.com.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

2007-10-04T21:28:00.000+08:00

1611 was the year when this certain university was founded. Three and a half centuries after, in 1946, the premiere hospital was established. At present, the hospital is comprised of three main wings --- the Medical Arts, the Clinical Division (Charity Ward), and the Pay Division.

The hospital building was primarily used as an interment camp during the Second World War. When the Third Philippine Republic was created, the building was then converted into an infirmary for the wounded soldiers. Decades after, the hospital, though still operational, still holds some brutal memories of the past --- lurking along the lonely hospital halls.

A hospital. Image from The Hospital's website.

Charity Division, Third Floor, Male Surgical Ward, Room 311.

The room was deserted because necessary renovation of the ward comfort room was still unfinished. He was the nurse-in-charge and as a part of the night shift inventory, he decided to proceed with the customary night-shift ward rounds. He took his phone with him as he was doing the rounds, and visited each room one-by-one.

First in 301, then to 303, up until 309 where all the patients are either sleeping or having chats with their fellow surgical wardmates. At the corner of the building was room 311 --- adjacent to it was St. Blaise Ward that caters to Head and Neck Surgery patients. He took his phone inside the room and in his least unexpected moment, something was captured on his mobile phone video camera.

Halloween came early for him this year.

Who/what is that image in 00:29 (or 00:04 if reversed) frame of the clip? Your guess is as good as mine.

Some Good Things Never Last

2007-10-02T06:19:00.000+08:00

I just finished watching the debut episode (A Change Is Gonna Come) of the 4th Season of Grey’s Anatomy… and it was sooooo good!

Saying that this episode is spectacular is an understatement. It was like I’m seeing too much of a good thing it’s almost illegal. I know that downloading shows over the Net is unlawful but for the love of everything-Meredith-Grey-related, I do not have the patience of Job. Impulse control is not even included in my vocabulary.

"Change; we don’t like it, we fear it, but we can't stop it from coming. We either adapt to change or we get left behind. And it hurts to grow, anybody who tells you it doesn’t is lying. But heres the truth: the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes, oh, sometimes change is good. Oh, sometimes change is everything."

*

I was at the Philippine Nursing Expo over the weekends (hence, the busy part) and seriously, aside from too much promotional crap, the expo was the epitome of organizing gone awry. From the scheduling of the programs, to the choice of the venue, the conference was indisputably a one-man-show. It was still good, though.

*

Besides, a trip to the Megamall wouldn’t be complete without the compulsory visit to the “house that calories built.”

Krispy Kreme.

I couldn’t decide as to whether I should buy a dozen of Original Glazed Doughnuts or the Assorted Ones, so I bought a Double Dozen.

And lookie lookie! They even have the UAAP Men’s Basketball Final Four Doughnuts! Of course, I bought the UST Growling Tigers (the one with the yellow candy sprinkle).

I’m telling you guys, Krispy Kreme is evil, evil, evil! I have researched the caloric contents of their doughnut varieties and darn, on the average, each doughnut contains 300 calories in it (from 200 for the Original Glazed upto 350 for my personal favorite, Chocolate Iced Kreme Filled) which is almost equivalent to 1 and a half cup of rice or this. Moreover, through-the-roof amounts of trans-fats, cholesterol, sugars and saturated fats in a single dozen-box would be enough to fuel a furnace or operate a locomotive and I’m not even kidding.

My family is addicted to those deliciously sinful confectioners despite the fact that my mom is a diabetic and my dad has a heart disease. Using both of their genotypes to predict my phenotypic characteristics, I definitely am destined to suffer an early, untimely, catastrophic, tragic death. From obesity, bulimia or Prader-Willi syndrome, you take your pick.

If my neurons aren’t working well right now, it’s probably because I’m devouring on too much calories from the remaining pieces of doughnuts and my brain cells are essentially dehydrated from them too much glucose. And I’m telling you, I. JUST. CAN’T. STOP. EATING. THEM.

I’m getting an unlimited season’s pass to Bulimics Anonymous immediately after I publish this entry.

I know. This too shall pass.

What are your guilty pleasures?

Gimme More

2007-09-28T07:00:00.001+08:00

Music review. Again.

My taste for anything auditory can be summarized into one word: distasteful. Out of 4,000 songs in my iPod, I only play a handful, more or less a hundred, and they’re all cramped up in a single playlist---“My Top-Rated.” Ever since my DSL services are restored and PLDT stopped playing the bee-yotch part, I have downloaded 12 full albums (at the very least), and have been listening to them before going to bed.

Ready for my personal reviews? I ain’t going nowhere.

James Blunt
All The Lost Souls.

Poignant. Nostalgic. Evocative. Contrary to popular judgment, I really, really liked James Blunt’s sophomore album. Every song, and I’m not exaggerating, is incredibly rich with emotions, and is rendered so elegantly, that it feels like you’re a part of it or something. Using Back to Bedlam as a prototype, Lost Souls continues its stratagem of involving the listener into Blunt’s little private life that by the end of the journey, Simona, or Annie, is not merely a name in his song, but an image in the sublime collage of our existence.

My Lightness Picks:
1973, Same Mistake (reminds me so much of Coldplay’s The Scientist) and One of the Brightest Stars (the single most spectacular track in this album).

Keane
Little Broken Words

Haunting. Moving. Heartrending. Little Broken Words is perfection incarnate. Just when I thought that Hopes and Fears and Under The Iron Sky couldn’t get better then came this exquisite album. Tom Chaplin’s voice is so unadulterated-ly crystal clear it’s almost tactile as much as it is tangible. The mistiness of the melody imparts a melancholic mood bordering into bitter, depressing, and suicidal.

Don’t be fooled by the gloomy cover, or track names “To The End of the Earth” and “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore,” this album boast the most beautiful remake of Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World” that would suffice to chase those blues away. You’ll be thanking me for this recommendation. =)

My Lightness Picks:
What A Wonderful World (this track is perfection), Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Elton John’s original work, remade very beautifully), Something In Me Was Dying and Fly To Me.

Britney Spears
Gimme More (Single)

Orgasmic. Electrifying. Intoxicating. And this ain’t another Britney critique. “Invincible, artful, a potential smash hit, destined for a lofty chart debut, strong and feisty,” are what critics, Billboard.com included, commented on this Grammy-Award winner’s latest single. Seriously, this song is reminiscent of the high-water marks set by “Toxic,” “Oops! I Did It Again,” and “...Baby One More Time,” and I’m not being sarcastic when I say that I really do love this nuveau Britney track.

“They want more, well, I'll give them more,” she says, standing up to a billion flash bulbs with a genuine potential smash hit behind her. She's not just bitching about the paparazzi—she's begging them for more with a smirk and some cocaine funk. Reverse psychology par excellence or a star admitting to her own dark, attention-craving desires? Either way, it's more intriguing than it should be. “It's Britney, bitch,” she says at the top of the track. Welcome back, bitch.*

Welcome back, indeed.

*

Images from en.wikipedia.org. Gimme More supplemental reviews here, here and here.

This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race

2007-09-25T09:18:00.000+08:00

This entry is a little overdue primarily because of one stupid reason: I FREAKING MISSED THE EMMY’S.

I freaking have to wait for a whole freaking week to watch the freaking replay last freaking Saturday in the freaking Kabarkada Channel. I’m keeping this freaking post freaking short and freaking sweet okay?

Enough of freaking intro stuffs, here are my freaking observations:

1) Ryan Seacrest, this year’s host, is a bit ho-hum, but I’ll give him A- for effort. Don’t expect something comedic to come out of an un-comedy host. It’s like expecting the author of this site to show his image in public. If you expect otherwise, keep shooting for the stars.

2) The Red Carpet? Lots and lots of gorgeous actresses (Helen Mirren, Debra Messing, Ali Larter, America Ferrera, Vanessa Williams, Tina Fey, etc. need I say more?)! It felt like I’m seeing too much of a good thing that it’s almost sickening (it’s like consuming 6 Krispy Kremes and a Venti Strawberry Frap in one sitting)! Heidi Klum? Breathtaking Donut. Kate Walsh? Stunning Cupcake. Katherine Heigl? Immaculate Milkshake!

3) Fast forward to the show proper. Remember my Emmy Forecast, well, I got 7 correct predictions out of the 11 categories I’ve critiqued. (That is fairly decent considering how tight this year’s competition is). That’s still 73%, though – a freaking F (okay, no more freaking this time).

4) The Sopranos winning Outstanding Drama Series is so predictable. James Gandolfini losing to James Spader as Outstanding Actor for Drama for Boston Legal is totally unexpected (even Spader himself was surprised, ie., "I feel like I just stole a pile of money from the Mob, and they're all sitting over there"--points to The Soprano mobsters). Kinda like The Soprano’s finale. Poof. Zee end.

5) Sally Field won Outstanding Actress for Drama for Brothers and Sisters, as predicted. I was a little apprehensive of her acceptance speech though. I was expecting a “You like me, you really like me” vibe but instead, she dedicated the award to all mothers… saying that if mothers rule the world, there will be no goddamn wars, or something to that effect. Hearing the word goddamn from an actress who doesn’t like war is a bit oxymoronic. You wouldn’t hear my mom say goddamn! How about yours?

6) Remember this line:

Who I want to win for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Dramatic Series:

Katherine Heigl, Grey's Anatomy, ABC (I’m hell sure of this! Katherine Heigl's portrayal of Dr. Izzie Steven, particularly by the debut and the end of the 3rd Season, etched this Emmy win. I'm staking my life and reputation for Heigl's win this year. *wink).

Well, I told you so. =)

7) More of Heigl, I just love your speech. In verbatim: “My own mother told me that I didn’t have a shot in hell of winning tonight.” Your goddamn mom is wrong! You should’ve said “I told you so” while doing the chicken dance onstage. In your face! In your face!

8) 30 Rock won the Outstanding Comedy Series category (as predicted). Another good reason to buy its DVD or download the series off the Net. America Ferrera is stunning in Monique Lhuillier, read, Pinoy. Ricky Gervais won on the distaff side. By the way, Ricky Gervais, who?

9) On the Supporting Actors side, Terry O’Quinn won for Lost, Jeremy Piven for Entourage and Jamie Pressly for My Name is Earl. Expect a Vanessa Williams, Masi Oka, and TR Knight comeback next year. And I hope Michael Hall (Dexter) will finally get at least a nod.

Lastly, 10) Christina Aguilera and Tony Bennett’s performance of “Steppin’ Out With My Baby” is so classy jazzy. Loved the salmon dress, except that the water-weight, read obese tummy, is showing. Oh, is that a (baboy) baby bump? I get it. It’s in the song.

Verdict: A for the multitudinous stars, etc., A- for the host, A+ for the presentors, B+ for editing, B- for the voiceover (read, Heigl, nor Heijl). Overall, I’ll give the 59th Primetime Emmy Award Show an average rating of A-.

Best Dressed Woman of the Night: Heidi Klum
Best Speech of the Night: James Spader
Most Deserved Win: America Ferrera
This Year’s Booboo: The seating arrangement.

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PS. Images from stuff.co.nz, imdb.com and tv.yahoo.com. Album reviews on next post.

These Dreams

2007-09-22T09:24:00.000+08:00

Exactly two days before the Nursing Licensure results are released, Skeleton Collector dreamt that he got to check my examination papers and that he gave me a failing mark. He said that he has done everything imaginable to alter my grades but in the end, I still got a rating extremely unacceptable by any standards.

In reality I only got a failing mark ONCE in my Biochemistry exam when I got a score of 6 out of a 15-item-post-test. I was not at all alarmed when I learned that I still got the highest mark among our batch of 487 students.

I almost went into a coronary as I was reading Skeleton’s comments. It was definitely not the most appropriate time to hear another anxiety-provoking story as the board results will be posted in a matter of a few days. The only thing that kept me at peace the entire time --- the absence of the words “Licensure Examinations for Nurses” on the paper Skeleton Collector was checking.

Two days later, I received the good news that I passed the freaking exams. Thence I got into the hasty generalization that dreams are just reality on the contrary.

For three consecutive nights, I have been dreaming of, and about, my ex-lover. It was extremely lucid and vivid that I could recall every insignificant detail in my dream --- every circumstance, every person involved, every line of the conversation, everything. I guess it wouldn’t come as a surprise when I told my good friends that I’m sort of missing him since I saw him a few weeks back and I gave him the coldest treatment by not even looking at his face.

Freud’s psychoanalytic psychology postulates that our dreams contain our most intimate wishes. Jungian influence tells us that dreams symbolize a cognisant representation, depicting an emotion or a memory so repressed, so distressing that the unconscious compensates it in fantasy.

Since my dreams about my ex-lover mostly show myself chasing after him, I think it would be safe to say that I still might have feelings for him (in my dreams, at the very least) just repressed into the deep recesses of my memory. When I saw him the other week, I couldn’t feel anymore ecstatic, my pulse is racing so fast, butterflies keep on rambling in my stomach, my palms perpetually sweating, my eyes in uncontrollable gazes. My body reacting contradictorily to what my heart, and my mind is trying to convey me.

Last night I told myself that if I dreamt of him once again, I will try to rebuild the bridge that I once burned. The heavy downpour of rain seemed to aptly coincide with my peaceful slumber.

In my dream, I’m still in three strokes under par. I’m in a prestigious 18-hole golf course in Hong Kong, playing golf with my closest buddies. The rain ruined my perfectly-executed game, and my college classmates watched me intently, and fervently, as I was taking a shower, in my naked glory, of course.

And this time, I no longer need psychoanalysis to tell me what to do. =)

In The Deep

2007-09-20T09:05:00.000+08:00

After three extremely memorable years, two successful template changes, 75 meaningful posts, over 1,000 insightful comments, and 12,000 extraordinary visitors sharing my quest for happiness and true love, I have made another momentous chapter in The Unbearable Lightness --- my new header. =)

Allow me to share a little anecdote about each panel.

HAPPINESS

“This is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one… My life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for it's own sake. Life is no “brief candle” to me. It is sort of a splendid torch which I have a hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it over to future generations.”
~G. B. Shaw

The first panel represents happiness – like the feeling of a child chasing down dandelions on a warm sunny noon, the feeling of stillness, of fulfilment, of satisfaction, of being with the ones you love, of remembering your own spirit. The panel also symbolizes faith and hope, that after the deepest, darkest nights, the sun will surely rise to cast its radiance amongst the shadows that lies within.

FREEDOM

“To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common --- this is my symphony.”
~W. H. Channing

The second panel symbolizes spontaneity, freedom, and vitality. It reflects vigour, energy and dynamism --- for we are always ever-changing, we are all capable of growth and self-actualization, and we need each other in order to survive. For as long as we are alive, we play a huge part in the intricacies of this universe, in this cosmic destiny, and in this inexplicable circle of life.

PEACE

“People spend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idle dreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill the emptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed to search was within.”
~R. L. Anderson

The third panel reflects peace of mind, tranquillity of spirit, and the unity of mind, body and soul. That amidst this world of hatred, pain, and chaos, our most-yearned personal peace is attainable, just look within the silence of your heart, and if we’re lucky enough, is just one shower away.

INNOCENCE

“It is in deep solitude that I find the gentleness with which I can truly love my brothers. The more solitary I am the more affection I have for them…. Solitude and silence teach me to love my brothers for what they are, not for what they say.”
~T. Merton

The final panel shows an angel --- in a silent, introspective, contemplative mood, with a veiled, mysterious smile and an oversized unfolded wing, symbolizing innocence, purity, and goodness of spirit. With the image, we are reminded that we are all capable of goodness because of our intrinsic worth and dignity, and the heaven that we all aspire for is just a wing spread away.

*

We are all individuals of beauty and goodness, of radiance and warmth, of wisdom and character, of harmony and balance --- all packed-up in facets, in panels, forming a composite of our own personal selves. I just hope, and pray, that in this short, ephemeral existence of ours, may we all learn how to spread our wings, and soar the highest, the deepest, the farthest point our soul could reach, to that place where true happiness, freedom, peace, and innocence springs eternal.

What are the facets of your unbearable existence?

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Images from flickr. Do you like my new header?

32 Flavors (And Then Some)

2007-09-17T15:08:00.000+08:00

I was supposed to read Former President Joseph Estrada’s verdict yesterday (yup, I downloaded the entire 262 page Sandiganbayan decision) but due to sheer legal ignorance, unfathomable boredom and downright lethargy, I stopped reading at page 2. After reading from the Sunday paper that the plunder decision has 84,000 words in it, I immediately skipped the first 259 pages and instead perused the dispositive portion (just like what they did during the promulgation).

It is fair enough that the former president got convicted for the crime he committed. But that’s just me and I know that everyone’s entitled to their personal opinions, thanks very much. I guess our courts’ successful conviction of an ex-ruler is a testament that our judicial process indeed works (or does it?). For my final message, stop with the bickering everyone, we have a nation to build. With that, I rest my case.

Instead of browsing through the remaining 259, I just turned the TV on and watched the UAAP Cheerdance Competition where, ehem, my Alma Mater’s UST Salinggawi Dance Troupe painstakingly tried to defend the crown (and hopefully to produce a 6-feat back-to-back championship), but ultimately bowing down to the UP Pep Squad. Such a low, low point in UST Salinggawi history --- who, for the past 5 years, perfected the art of cheerdancing with its flawless, pristine, breathtaking routines.

No use blaming that girl in a bumble-bee-inspired black-gold, black-white outfit who fell in the pyramid, though. UP indeed made a good routine. It was truly classy of the UST Gawi to accept the 1st runner up trophy without the bitterness and the awry faces (yup, I’m talking to the competitors who won 2nd runner-up). To all of the Cheerdance competitors, congratulations and see you next year.

“God of all nations, Merciful Lord of our restless being,
Sweep with your golden Lilies, this fountain of Purest Light;

Trace with the sails of the galleons the dream beyond our seeing,
Touch with the flames of your kindness the gloom of our darkness night.

Keep us in beauty, and truth, and virtues impassioned embrace
Ever your valiant legions, imbued with Unending Grace.”

*

After a clean, negative chest X-Ray (God knows how many patients with Pulmonary Tuberculosis I have handled in my 3 months of training), a negative Hepatitis profile (Hepatitis B can be transmitted percutaneously/needlestick injuries and through unprotected sexual contacts with carriers), and a satisfactory physical exam, I’m now a step closer to my dream job.

I now have a week to memorize the institution’s mission, vision etc. for my final interview. If everything goes well, my name could then be successfully removed from the country’s ever-growing list of the unemployed. That’s a good thing, really, knowing that Christmas is just around the corner. Or is it Halloween?

The Hall of Masters in the National Art Gallery of the National Museum of the Filipino People (P. Burgos Rd near Luneta) had been recently inaugurated and is now open to the public. The country’s greatest artistic masterpieces are now nestled in a much opulent gallery, with Luna’s Spoliarium, no less, as the central art piece. I’m *planning to have a visit this Friday, or Saturday, if the weather permits, so if you’re interested in joining yours truly, feel free to leave a message (or you may use the SMS widget on the sidebar) so I can arrange for a docent for a guided tour.

*

I’m back to having Yoga classes again and since after last Friday’s session, my palms, abdomen, and legs still hurt. And I couldn’t mix muscle relaxants with my anti-seizure meds. I’m blaming my improperly-executed Sun Salutation poses. I was planning on going back to Basic classes but I definitely would miss my classmates. Aargh, I’m getting old! How soon hath time the subtle thief of Youth…

*

I love, love, love this song by Hello Goodbye, Oh It Is Love! This is soo one of the mushiest songs I’ve ever heard, but it was fun nonetheless. (The song is so worth the wait, I promise).

Love it? Have a blessed week everyone!

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Images from time.com, wikipedia.org, wetcircuit.com, answers.com, ochristmastree.com and povray.org.

Littlest Things

2007-09-14T12:02:00.000+08:00

I was rummaging through some of my stuffs and came upon these short interesting anecdotes about some ex-patients. Between the existential me and the phenomenological you, there’s a little lesson that we can extract in these chronicles though, and I hope you’ll find them useful whenever you eat a certain fruit, deal with pesky insects, or have your private, sexy times. Ready? Read on.

The Seed
Grandpa’s Fetish Goes Awry

An 86-year-old male consulted the ER because of gastrointestinal distress. He had several episodes of vomiting fecaloid material accompanied by lower abdominal pains. An admitting diagnosis of non-specific gastroenterocolitis (inflammation of stomach and intestines) was made and he was suspected to have intestinal obstruction.

Upon further history taking, the client admitted of having the fondness of ingesting seeds (particularly santol seeds), upon which his relatives suspect for the client’s inability to pass stools. Colonoscopy was done and showed intestinal obstruction with necrosis (death) of intestinal mucosa. Results also show a characteristic metaplasia of the mucosa, confirmatory of a Colon Cancer.

The Mosquito
Bite Me

A 17-year-old female comes from a family of beauty queens. She joined Miss Puerto Princesa 2006 and was the incumbent titleholder. The day after the pageant, she experienced febrile convulsions, passage of black urine, and uncontrollable chills.

She was admitted at a local hospital but her condition worsened. She became unresponsive, comatose, and was hooked to mechanical ventilator. She was then transferred to our institution for further management and evaluation.

She was confined in the ICU with a diagnosis of Cerebral Malaria vs. Viral Encephalopathy, Status Epilepticus (uncontrolled seizures), Atypical Complicated Pneumonia, Kidney Failure and Fulminant Sepsis (widespread blood infection). She was on ventilator for 6 months… and counting.

The Prince Albert
In or Out, Is It In or Out?

A 28-year-old married female consulted the ER because of vaginal spotting, accompanied by local swelling, tenderness and discharge at the pelvic region.

Further history taking revealed that her partner used to have a “Prince Albert” (Link NSFW) type of penile piercing, which was later found to be missing after sexual intercourse.

*

Case#1 fought like hell to combat cancer but succumbed a few years later. Case#2 was transferred to another institution as their bill reached almost PhP 6 Million ($130,000). Case#3 was discharged in good condition, and has learned her lessons the hard way.

The hospital will definitely sue me once the admin gets to read this entry. If that case happens, I would like to take this opportunity to thank each of you for relentlessly supporting Unbearable Lightness.

Welcome To The Black Parade

2007-09-11T14:21:00.001+08:00

24. That wasn’t necessarily the title of the famous Jack Bauer series. Instead, that’s the number of people eyeing my potential job assignment and the number of prospective murderers who are eagerly aspiring to hunt me down, skin me alive, feast with my internal organs, and put my skeletal remains to good use, just to get a job, with my name already written all over it.

*

Yesterday was one of my busiest days ever. So many things happened that posting everything in this entry would make this post incredibly boring. I’ll try to save some stuff for later posting, and will instead post today the highlights of yesterday.

I made a courtesy call to my ICU supervisor (who has been waiting for moi since time immemorial). Remember my old post where I said that I bypassed a 6-month compulsory medical-surgical ward experience required prior to occupying an ICU post? Well, I did, upon which many staff (who are keenly eyeing that ICU slot) were alarmed and furious. Brag Alert: What can I do if I’m more qualified for the job (than them) and my boss is satisfied with my performance? I guess it’s not any of my faults anymore. (Sorry, that was totally uncalled for.)

What really infuriated me was the conversation that transpired between a new trainee and yours truly, upon which the verbatim speech, and the hidden meaning of the wordplay, are transcribed below.

*

Me: Hi! Is Ms. Supervisor around? I need this pre-employment requirement personally signed by her.

She: (In an annoyingly infuriating voice) She’s in Bed G. Someone’s having a code.
Trans: Who are you little biatch in an unflattering blue top? Someone’s dying in Bed G and all you could think of is that silly little paper of yours? How inhumane could you get?

Me: Oh then I’ll come back later. Could you tell her that I came for a visit? I’m Ruff by the way.
Trans: I’ll come back later bee-yotch with an attitude. Honey, consider yourself lucky for having the opportunity of meeting and personally talking to me, to which only a few handful have had the chance of experiencing. I’m Ruff, by the way. Yup, you’ve heard it right, Ruff. Spelled as R for ravishing, U for uber-yummy, F for furious and F for fun. =)

She: (In a more shocked and aghast tone) Ooh so you’re Ruff.
Trans: So you’re the reason why the supervisor won’t hire me, and the rest of us, the 24 staff nurses eyeing for the post!!!

Me: Are you getting IN for the ICU post?
Trans: Oh my god, are you trying to steal my job?

She: Unfortunately not. Ms. Supervisor wants you to get IN first before she plans on even considering us eh.
Trans: So, you indeed are Ruff! The frigid little whore who Ms. Supervisor prefers to HIRE instead of the 24 of us who have been kneeling in front of her just to be considered for this job. Go to hell, you pesky 5’1” minuscule troll! Get out of my sight before I strangle you alive with this dextrose line I’m holding!

Me: Oooh, I see. Hmmm, well, I’ll come by later instead. KThanksBye!
Trans: So that’s the reason for the attitude! Might as well flee before I got shocked (defibrillated) by this mad creature or something.

*

I later confirmed through my supervisor that out of (atleast) 24 staff nurses (senior staff, trainees, probies, etc.) eyeing for the job, I was considered as the nurse-of-choice. The 24 have been persistently trying to know who I was and what I have that made them the less-favored species.

Don’t you just hate it when people talk behind your back and underestimate you without even having had the chance of meeting you or knowing you personally at least? It’s not my fault if my boss wants me, and not them. I, though, have an inkling that it is because I do my JOB WELL and I do not misjudge a person for who or what he/she is. Try to do your job well, you guys! And the rewards you truly deserve will be given unto you.

Crab mentality really sucks.

I believe in karma, you know. Cultivate good seeds and soon harvest sweet fruits, plant bad seeds and reap bitter crops. And between the two of us, I guess it is me who got the last laugh. Bwahahaha. Okay, that’s just mean.

*

Sorry if this entry is teeming with fury and bitterness. It’s just that so much angry feelings are welling inside of me that I might burst if I don’t let them out. I’m really a civilized person. It just pains me to see how people could do dirty things to get what they want. I’m utterly speechless.

Dirty Little Secret

2007-09-08T15:27:00.000+08:00

I’ll let you in into my dirty little secret. It’s not that dirty, really, it’s more of narcissistic actually. Remember this post where I have discovered a face recognition and a celebrity matching site? Well I have tried (it again) using my recent photo, and as expected, I’m kind of pleased with the results.

What is really amazing? (1) Most of the celebrity results are Asians (when in fact I don’t look that chinito, aside from my ex-lover who persistently told me that I do). (2) I have several celebrity look-alikes who appeared both in my last year snapshots and in my recent image results (take in case Zhang Ziyi, Song Hye-Kyo, etc.). And (3) I still think they’re quite accurate. Talk about self-absorption. =)

What is your dirty little secret? And who are your celebrity look-alikes?

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You can try the celebrity look-alike engine here.

Dust In The Wind

2007-09-06T10:24:00.000+08:00

Hazing in university fraternities seemed to have claimed another victim.

*

Patrick (not his real name) was rushed at this certain university hospital by his dormitory landlord after he was seen unconscious and choking on his own vomitus of blood. After he was stabilized in the ER and initial work-ups were made, a diagnosis of eroded esophagus probably secondary to ingestion of foreign object was made.

An esophago-gastroscopy was done and the following were extracted from his stomach: a partially undigested banana (with the peel on), a dozen of safety pins, bezoar (of rolls of undigested paper) and a pin with an insignia of this certain organization. He later revealed that they were forced to ingest the aforementioned objects as a part of their fraternity initiation rites at this certain state university. He was discharged in good condition.

*

Carl was rushed by his dad at the same hospital with a chief complaint of unresponsiveness (not being able to eat, perform activities of daily living, verbally respond when spoken to, etc.). The anamnesis revealed that Carl was an A+ student who, weeks before admission, joined this certain fraternity and was forced to perform the sexual act with another man as a part of their initiation rite. He was brought home in a shocked, unresponsive, and apparently traumatized state.

At the hospital, he was diagnosed to have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Catatonic Schizophrenia (Stupor type, think waxy flexibility). He was managed with nasogastric tubes, antipsychotic meds, and supportive care. He was still unresponsive even after he was discharged.

*

A concerned bystander rushed a John Doe to the same institution after he was seen unconscious on a sidewalk at this major thoroughfare. John Doe has a pulse but had erratic respirations. At the ER, several traumatic injuries were seen on his buttocks, posterior thigh, and lower back.

In no more than fifteen minutes, he coded and expired. Cause of death: cardiogenic shock secondary to massive internal bleeding (ruptured spleen, hemoperitoneum, punctured liver, kidney/renal hematoma), traumatic in origin. At the morgue, he was identified by a friend who claimed that his fraternity initiation rite was held on the night the body was found.

*

When will the lamb stop screaming? To Chris Anthony Mendez, Requiescat in Pace.

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The cases presented are real medical cases actually handled by the author in this certain university hospital. The author has no intention to malign or cause undue harm to any third party which may be involved in the aforementioned cases.

Tears In Heaven

2007-09-04T09:35:00.000+08:00

Music and me—we’re inseperable. If not for a lightning striking me alive whilst wearing my iPod, an acoustic/vestibular Schwannoma (cancer arising from ear cells) will definitely kill me in the future.

I’ve had melodiacal-inspired posts before (my top ten songs, my Samson post, my Vanessa Williams obsession, etc). But this time, I have decided to list the ten songs that moved me to tears and made me cry. Not in a heartrending, poignant way, but songs that literally made me CRY, as in weep with anger, pain and hatred that made me wish I wasn’t born at all.

Feel free to curse, say shitty stuffs, and throw your computer screens or laptops while reading this post.

10. Barbie Girl (Aqua)

This is the most promiscuous, pedophilic, immoral song ever written! How dare you turn Barbie, my favourite pre-pubescent toy, into a twisted sexual object! Hello? “You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere… kiss me here, touch me there, smell-my-panty.” Pervert!!! Lene Marlin, you’re destined to burn in hell with this song. I assure you of that.

9. Lucky (Britney Spears)

Don’t get me wrong! I adore Britney Spears. I think that her songs You Got It All and From the Bottom of My Broken Heart are good albeit mediocre pieces. But this song, complete with its music video, is plain unacceptable. Why oh why Britney?! “Isn’t she lovely, this Hollywood girl?” Are you even pertaining to yourself with that line? Lovely? Hollywood? Girl?

8. Mirror Mirror (M2M)

Randomly pick 2 Norwegian women afflicted with precocious puberty, give the 1st lady a piano and the other one a guitar, inoculate Diphtheria bacilli in their pharynges, and give them a screen-name a flaming queer will definitely enjoy. That is the perfect recipe for success.

7. Boombastic (Shaggy)

I’ve danced this tune once when I was in elementary with matching shades, baggy pants and psychedelic-printed polo. The day after that my theatre teacher excluded me from the school play, my basketball teammates refused to talk to me, my childhood crush hated me, and I was scorned even by my best friend. Such harsh, harsh childhood. Damn you, Shaggy.

6. The Ketchup Song (Las Ketchup)

I was in Freshman College when this song surprisingly turned out to be a huge hit. During our college week, when my professors with Ph.D., MD, Ll.B., Ed.D, M.A. and M.Sci. degrees danced this as a part of college presentation, I have lost trust in each of them. No self-respecting person would dance this song… in public… ever.

5. Bye Bye Bye (N*Sync)

My comment? Well N*Sync, Bye Bye Bye! See you with Britney!

4. All Filipino Novelty Songs (M2M, ie., Many to Mention)

I think it all started with Bayani Agbayani’s Ocho Ocho, followed by Muskulados’ Jumbo Hotdog, then Viva Hot Babes’ Bulaklak, and Alienic’s Dayang Dayang. Enter Joey de Leon’s Itaktak Mo, reciprocated by the uber-controversial Willie Revillame’s Boom-Tarat and Iyugyug Mo among others. Enter Mystica, Mahal and Mura, Michael V., Vhong Navarro, Angelica Jones, and so much more. One person to blame though, Lito Camo. You’re going to pay for the countless lives you’ve destroyed with your songs Lito. Mark my words!

3. Mmm-Bop (Hanson)

Mmm-bop, badu-badop-badu-bop, badu-badop-badu-bap, bado ba dap ba doo. Yehe yehe. What the f*&% was that? Please explain.

2. Macarena (Los del Rio)

Don’t tell me you didn’t memorize the steps of this song?! When I was little and my brain’s the size of my testicle, I would dance this song to the point of exhaustion. That was the time when I believed that Spice Girls were homosexual men in drag clothing, LA Lopez is an alien incarnate, and shouting Power-Up will transform me into Pink Ranger. Now, I definitely know better.

And the number one… drumroll please…

1. Magic Carpet Ride (Aring-King-King-King) (Steppenwulf)

What on earth was the inspiration for this song? If I would be president, I will definitely impose Death Penalty to criminals by playing this Aring-King-King sh*t over and over again until their heads explode or they slam their heads so hard they crack open! This song is trash epitomized.

*

Do I hear you cursing? Just kidding. Feel free to youtube the songs if you’re not familiar with them. Now I couldn’t get this annoying Aring-King-King-King song off of my head. Dang!

Ballad Of A Passer's Heart

2007-09-02T16:00:00.000+08:00

The day was dark, the sun’s out of sight
And it’s rays obscure, covert
The clouds are thick, yet Ruff went out
To see his grades so fair.

“Dear Madam,” he pleaded as he claims
Before the glass windows his rates
“My passing is true; why have you kept
Me waiting all these weeks?”

The Madam looked at him unmoved,
It seemed, and hollered high:
“Persistent Youth, you have to prove
By this paper your grades are true.”

“There’s not a thing I would not do
For you I will but prove.”
“Then go,” said she “to that Window Three
And bring this sheet to thee.”

Without another word, Ruff flew
And went to Window Three
The lady gave the Man his grades
He almost shed a tear!

Then back to the Madam fair he ran,
Unmindful of the rain
His scores are fine but she yelled “Oh God!”
So loud, the crowd’s enthused.

Still in his hand, he held the sheet
Scored stratospheric lofty-high
“With grades like that why’s your name not seen,
On the paper’s Top Ten batch?”

And then he heard a voice, not from
his lips nor from Madam
“Get up,” it said, “you’re on the Eleventh Rank!”
It was the Board Chairman.

*..

Dang! Almost! I’m 0.2 points shy from reaching the tenth rank. Well, that’s life. I should be thankful I even passed the Boards. To that PRC Madam, thank you so much for extending all the help.

This is *sooo the worst poem in history. Normal happy posts will be back in a few days.

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“Ballad of a Passer’s Heart,” a parody of Jose La Villa Tierra’s “Ballad of a Mother’s Heart.” Original version here.

Flying High (Things We're Thankful For)

2007-08-31T15:31:00.000+08:00

Rainy nights, crisp nippy air, frosty winter mornings, calf-high leather boots, warm company of our own families, new acquaintances, and insightful comments from close friends and blogmates.

Decent site traffic, relative absence of the “writer’s block,” passing the boards or prelims or a much-needed exam, sweat-ful yoga and gym sessions, guilt-free shopping sprees, and paid credit bills.

Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Go Nuts’s cupcakes, guiltless confectionery delights, coffee breaks and splurges, Heroes/Betty marathons, laughers-filled-tête-à-têtes with really close friends, a glimpse of your crush or sweet private nights with the ones you love.

Attaining that much-wanted personal dream, getting a new job, eight hours of nightly sleep, a very meaningful year so far, really good health, peace of mind, and YOU.

Those are the things I’m really thankful for.

To the rollercoaster month of August, I bid you Adieu and here’s to wishing that the months to come will be a bountiful one for me and you.

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Hoping this quote (and my personal philosophy) will inspire you in your quest for true joy and purpose:

“God made you in such a way that when the people of the world would be sitting, you would be standing…

"When the world is standing, you will stand out…

"When the world stands out, you’ll be outstanding…

"And when the world dares to be outstanding…

"You will be the standard.”

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This smile and kiss is for all of you.

What are the things you’re thankful for?

Remember Me This Way

2007-08-29T15:58:00.000+08:00

I have been here in the Unbearable Lightness for 3 years already and ever since I began blogging, I still haven’t posted my real image. Aside from some readers who also read my other blog somewhere here in blogger, which is still active by the way, this post will be your most precious opportunity of ever seeing the real me.

Have your bibs, suction apparatuses and popcorns ready. And if you’re ready, slowly browse down.

Ready?

Ready!

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Elloh ev-wee-one, I’m Nurse Wuff!
Happy to meet you! Can I give you a kiss?

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And please don't copy/repost/reproduce the images posted in The Unbearable Lightness without my permission, or whatever. So un-classy. =) See ya.