Song For The Lonely

Today, I guess, is my birthday!

Happy Birthday, Ruff.

Always Come Back To Your Love

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

(source)

Congratulations to David Cook for winning American Idol.

Cookeys forever!

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

Reflection

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

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

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

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.