How Soon is Now

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.

I'm Not Dead

“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.

The Story

“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."

Luminescence of Darkness

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

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.

God Bless The Broken Road

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.

Go The Distance / The World's Greatest

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.

One Moment In Time

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

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.

On Saturday Afternoons In 1963

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

How Far We've Come

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

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

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

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

Just kidding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

ACCEPTANCE…

DIVERSITY...

COMPASSION

And of course…

WORLD PEACE.


And you, what would you buy?

Images from viewimages.com and flickr.

Piece Of Me

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



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

Miss you much!

The Nurse Who Loved Me

Cerulean is... “...the color of the sky on a serene, crystal clear day.”

The stethoscope has been very symbolic of the medical professions. Every nurse and physician I know has one, and it is said that you can tell the personality of its owner just by looking at them hanging over their necks or sideways to their shoulders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, I’m just a heartbeat away.

Lub. And dub.

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

Gone Too Soon

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.

Thank You

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?

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Images from Flickr, Adcouncil for Nurses and Google Search.