As part of our freshman zoology class, each of us is required to cut open a dead, i.e., preserved in formalin, frog, analyze its anatomy and memorize as many muscles and internal organs as you possibly can in every laboratory sessions. We are given the opportunity to choose our own frogs from a gazillion pieces of poor preserved frogs whose bright futures had been dimmed for the progress of science. In theory, I want my men to be slim, tall and presentable, and they must have a pleasing personality. This is probably the reason why I chose Russell, the baptized name of my unfortunate frog, to become my specimen in that zoology class.
This page is dedicated to the memory of the brave frogs and froggets that gave their lives for the sake of science and our education. We are forever in your debt. This one’s for you.
(This foreword originally appears in this site; www.hoala.org/marine%20biology/frog%20dissection.html. Step-by-step frog dissection is likewise presented in the aforementioned site.)
(Russell Crowe images courtesy of http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1800353749/photo/stills)
Russell was tall and presentable, and he was slim. He has this face that projects a tortured image of an amphibian who is preserved against his will. His face is that of anguish, his eyes scream injustice, almost as if he’ll break out in tears when my scalpel touches his tummy. Though bestiality has never been a preference of mine, I felt a sheer closeness to my new friend, who I never want to part with.
Truly, my choice of men sucks. Slim tall frogs are the least preferred specimens in zoology classes. This is because dissecting them does not show good anatomical details. In zoology, fat, chubby, edematous frogs are always in the A-list of good anatomists.
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Warning:
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The following may be too graphic for certain readers. May I suggest that all frog lovers, who may consider dissection to be post mortem mutilation, and are about to view the following, take into consideration the scientific knowledge derived from the deaths of these animals. I love frogs and appreciate their sacrifice. I hold these animals in the most solemn regard and mean no disrespect to the dead. Continue if you feel completely secure with this knowledge.
(This word of caution likewise originally appears on this site; www.hoala.org/marine%20biology/frog%20dissection.html.)
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Then the cutting portion commences, I took Russell out of the black bag to reveal him bathing in a plastic jar, cold and lifeless. I took him out and pressed his limbs against the board with push-pins. I started dissecting his tummy—tears flowing down our eyes—until we reach his innards. Then I found multiple tiny black ovoid particles dotted with canary yellow specks—it was like ube buchi with sesame seeds (sorry for the comparison). Thence I knew that Russell was really not the man for me.
(Source: www.hoala.org/marine%20biology/frog%20dissection.html.)
For Russell was clearly (homosexual, er…) a female. Yup, Russell was not the Russell Crowe of every woman’s dream, but more of a Keri Russell like in Felicity. During that dissection session, I slashed her tummy as if she’s a bread or something, ripped off her jaw, pierced every muscle of her leg, and skinned his whole body like peeling a banana (in the name of science, of course). And yup, out of rage, I perfected that dissection class; I aced my practical examination; and scored well in my long exams. Then I knew (and learned) that anger is such a good positive motivation.
Not this Russell.
But this Russell.
(Russell Crowe images courtesy of http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1800353749/photo/stills. Keri Russell images from www.felicitypage.com)
I love frogs, I really do. Male or female frogs—they’re all the same to me. When we analyze rabbit’s eyes and cat’s testes during microbiology class, I felt nothing but an ecstatic informational orgasm. Though curiosity in our class is highly valued, I think it is temperance that prevailed when I did not ask our professors how they obtained the rat’s spermatozoa in that microscope slide!
(Cadaver picture from http://sitemaker.umich.edu/umpire/umpire_fellowship)
Such events fill me with so much nostalgia. I could still imagine the scent of formalin in our microbiology laboratory. The awry event when a Petri dish containing hemolytic (blood-digesting) bacteria was insufflated in the entire microbiology class. The musky scent of formaldehyde in the anatomy lab as we inspect and pinch human cadavers and wonder why they turned that brown. The way we watch autopsies and wonder if they consented to doing so (hehe). And the way we speculate whose diseased lungs, cancerous uteruses and penises, and aborted fetuses are present in those pretty ornamental glass containers.
And by the look of it, I really do miss nursing school.
(Image from http://www.kufur-kassem.com/cms/images/stories/hand_drowning.jpg)
But as we know, life is not always rosy. Eventually we have to leave the confines of our school, the swamp of learning, and out into the real world, the marshland of existence. We compete, we fend for ourselves, and we provide for our needs. Just like frogs. And yes, even if shallow waters can submerge our minds and spirit, the real quest to stay alive and avoid drowning, even in dry land.
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The posted images are copyrights of their respective owners and the author does not, in any way, claims the ownership of the aforementioned images. The original links are posted respectively for reference.
Not so many few years ago, back when I was still a practitioner in the Operating Room, I’ve gotten the precious opportunity to assist in my first major OR case. Prior to any surgical case, the scrub nurse should:
(1) Eat inasmuch as many foods as you can, as very simple procedures could last a lifetime;
(2) Be prepared for catapulting instruments and projectile objects either from infuriated, impatient surgeons, or from the patients themselves (blood, pus, skin staples, ligatures);
[There was one time when an intolerant surgeon mishandled a scalpel and pierced my gloved hand (and my hand as well). Though she profusely apologized, I was infuriated by her behaviour that I almost send an Incident Report and a Letter of Complaint to the Medical Director. It didn’t happen though as her pleading touch the good-natured-ness in me.]
Source: http://www.biojewellery.com/images/oral-surgery/dscn1852-s.jpg
(3) Be familiar with, and prepare the OR suite, including the OR table, the instruments, glove sizes of surgeons, their preferred kinds of sutures, etc. etc. and;
(4) Be intellectually prepared (as congruent as possible to the surgeon’s line of thinking) as some first-time surgical interns or medical clerks have the (alarmingly frequent) propensity to mental block during surgeries and one thing a surgeon loathe in an OR suite is an unreciprocated question, or a dumb question to an easy query.
Source: http://cache.eb.com/eb/image?id=82676&rendTypeId=4
Usual co-nurses of mine would be very proud and pompous in bragging about their first cases—some of them have assisted in craniotomies, thoraco-cardiovascular surgeries, abdominal surgeries and the likes, while, I, myself, am mourning that on my first OR suite, the first case of the day, I got to assist in an AKA, not “also known as,” but an above the knee amputation.
*
Most scrub nurses do not personally know the patient when they are wheeled and transferred to the OR table. That was one thing that delineates the practice of Medicine and Surgery. In Surgery, one is not required to personally know the patient. All that matters are the patient profile, the knowledge of his diagnosis, the plan of management, and the operative details. It is not unusual for surgeon to feel detached from their patients. The less their emotional involvement over a particular patient, the more objective their practice becomes. While in Medicine, a strong sense of interpersonal relations is always imperative.
When this particular patient was wheeled to the suite, I browsed over his records and found the following pertinent history:
The following may be too graphic for certain readers. Continue if you feel completely secure of what you're about to see.
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READY?
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Source: http://whyquit.com/joel/buergers.jpg (No promotions implied).
Chief complaint: Non-healing (ulcer) wound, dorsum of left foot.
Medical History: (+) Diabetes Mellitus, 5 yrs, poorly-controlled, (+) Hypertension, app. 12 yrs, poorly controlled, mean BP=140-170/90-110
Pertinent Social History: smoker, 30-pack-years; alcoholic beverage drinker, 100-ounce-a-day.
Clinical Impression: Buerger’s Disease
Source: http://www.uhn.ca/Media/image_gallery/images/buildings/or_equipment.jpg
Buerger’s disease is an inflammatory condition of the small arteries and veins of the distal extremities with subsequent clotting and terminal occlusions. It results in ischemia (decreased blood flow) to the distal limb, progressing to gangrene (cell death), ulcerations and necrosis. The etiology of this disease is unknown but is almost always associated with constant tobacco use. There is no definitive medical treatment, and surgical amputation is almost warranted in late, intractable stages.
More information about Buerger’s disease here, (for laypersons) and here (for paramedical professionals).
Source: http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1808412006/photo/485443
The surgery went uncomplicated. I have repressed the images of opening the skin, slicing the subcutaneous layer, cautering the muscles and fascia, and slicing the bone using the furious giggly saw back in my unconscious memory. It was like watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre only cleaner, and in this scene, the surgeon and yours truly, are the one slicing the leg off. (Though I was tempted to take the amputated leg home, I guess I’m still too sane to do that).
When the surgery was over, I visited him in the ward for the completion of some requirements. The initial meet-up was excruciating. When he asked me what job he should try now that one of his legs got amputated, I was dumbfounded. It was then that I knew that he used to be a jeepney driver.
"Surgery is the only specialty where we don't waste time getting to know the patients. They're slabs of meat, we're butchers” said a character in a surgical show. Perhaps there is truth to this saying. Separating the dictates of the heart from the expertise of the hands is probably what keeps most surgeons sane, particularly this surgeon who makes her own living cutting limbs and installing metallic rods on bones.
Source: http://www.uhn.ca/Media/image_gallery/images/buildings/or_no_person.jpg
Suchman and Wolinsky, in their Theory on Stages of Illness Behavior, believes that one of the principles involved in the aspect of sick role is that one is not responsible for his illness condition—that the person did not cause his illness.
When I first learn about this theory, I thought that people who take their health for granted had indeed found a good excuse in Suchman. Though this theory will still be subjected to endless biomedical debacle, and though I still believe that people do not really intend to get sick, the multidimensionality of health, and its personal nature dictates a personal responsibility to it. Ultimately, the course of our health is dependent not on other external factors, but on how we manage to preserve it despite insurmountable odds.
Perhaps that patient is still alive by now. Maybe he had found another way of making a living, to support his family and to provide for their needs. Perhaps he had stopped drinking and smoking… or perhaps not. God forbids that when I enter another OR suite, all I will see is a familiar face, whose other leg needs to be cut. And when that time comes, I’ll be more than willing to assist in one.
Source: http://www.movieweb.com/news/80/14880.php
***
AGAIN, the posted images are copyrights of their respective owners and the author does not, in any way, claims the ownership of the aforementioned images. The original links are posted respectively for reference.
When I was younger, I used to have an incessant flair for the dramatic. I won a childhood talent search by my declamation piece (complete with faux-laurel leaves and robe) “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears…” from Shakespeare’s Julius Ceasar (Act 3, Scene 2). I also escorted a childhood friend (euphemism for a pesky neighbor) when her family forced her against her will to join the Little Miss Philippines contest in a noontime TV show (Eat Bulaga). I appeared once (or is that twice, or thrice) in the now defunct show FLAMES, with the then young Claudine Barretto and Bojo Molina. And had some little TV (extra) appearances every now and then. (Flames Image Courtesy of ABS-CBN.com).
I wanted to pursue show business then, but as years passed by, I recognized that I do not need to appear in one (movie, TV show, etc.) to be one. As my horizons widened and I became exposed to one too many shows, I started associating myself to the characters in the show, and watched as if they’re filming my life (just kidding).
The following shows, and the characters portrayed, are listed below.
Legally Blonde
This summer go blonde!
Oh how could I forget one of the most influential movies in my life (hehe). That was me right there (in pink). When I first saw this movie, swear to God, I told myself that I will be just like Elle Woods. Not because of the pink stuffs or the blonde-ish associations, but because I wanted to make a huge difference in the lives of people around me. I wanted her determination, her intelligence, her spunk, her convictions (and her dog, too) that one must not judge with what one only sees.
Legally Blonde Images: Source: http://movies.yahoo.com. Image courtesy of MGM. Photo by Tracy Bennett.
Most memorable line:
Warner: You got into Harvard Law?
Elle: What? Like, it's hard?
Mean Girls
Welcome to the girl world.
This movie is girl world in its finest. And that was me, right there (2nd from the left on the picture below). I love this movie because you can relate to it in one way or the other, and you can identify with the main characters in their best and worst traits. Maybe from your experiences from backstabbing people around you, or a petty jealousy for a man you have a crush on—you couldn’t help but say “that was so me.” (And yes, I admit, I’m a catty, bitchy person in high school).
Mean Girls Images: Source: http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1808529211/photo/520459
Most memorable line:
Gretchen: I'm sorry that people are so jealous of me... but I can't help it that I'm so popular.
Sex and the City
It was Carrie’s manner of writing that largely influenced my style of writing when I was just a novice writer (click here or here). Dating disasters, emotional issues, sexual dilemmas and concerns— everything is tackled by this superbly written, witty, show. Haven’t we all had our Sex and the City moments with our friends/lovers in the past? This show has been, and will remain as one of the most loved and cherished show for generations to come.
Sex and the City Images courtesy of HBO.com
Most memorable quotes:
Carrie: Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate. Without them, what would shape our lives? Perhaps if we never veered off course, we wouldn't fall in love, or have babies, or be who we are. After all, seasons change. So do cities. People come into your life and people go. But it's comforting to know the ones you love are always in your heart.
and
Carrie: Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.
Scrubs
This TV series inspired me to take up Nursing and be the best Nurse that I can be. Scrubs evolves on the personal and professional lives of the characters working at the Sacred Heart Hospital, including the nurses, and the then interns, now attending physicians, and their superiors and subordinates. The best thing about this series is that events are portrayed very realistically, with an emotional touch and a sensitive comedic undertone. (This is one show where nurses are portrayed acceptably and satisfactorily, with a great sense of sensitivity and pride for the work that they do).
When I was starting out on my hospital duty, it seems as if the events I watch on this series are what are really happening in the wards. Loss of a loved one, the knowledge of a life-changing diagnosis, bioethical dilemmas, patients touching your life—everything are all true ingredients of a hospital life. JD shows the imperfectability of a medical professional as a person—always in the crossroad of indecision, a mature individual with a core of immaturity, imprisoned by his limited nature, capable of rational and logical thinking but can become irrational and illogical at times, and is an irreplaceable being.
Scrubs Images Courtesy of Scrubs, NBC.com
Most Memorable Lines:
Dr. Kelso: Nothing in this world that’s worth having comes easy
and
JD: So they say that 1 out of every 3 patients admitted to this place will die here. But some days the odds are worse than that. And on days like that I guess the best that you can hope for is that you take something from it. Anything. Anything at all. Even if it’s just taking the time to lie on the grass and think about all the things you still have left to do.
Grey’s Anatomy
Need I say more? When I first watched this show, I was left with two choices: (1) pursue a career in medicine, or (2) pursue a career in medicine. Unfortunately for me at that time, I was not able to take the NMATs, no Med School will ever process my applications, and I don’t have the energy to study again and be back to the classrooms after the board exams drained my heart and soul.
This show has the making of a masterpiece—a superb ensemble of characters (all of them have personal and professional issues worthy of a long storyline), almost true-to-life portrayal of medical conditions in its totality, and a touch of humanness in every episode that caresses your inner soul and moves your spirit.
Grey's Anatomy Images Courtesy of Grey's Anatomy ABC.com
(Some of the) Most Memorable lines:
Meredith Grey: At some point you have to make a decision. Boundaries don't keep other people out; they fence you in. Life is messy, that's how we're made. So you can waste your life drawing lines or you can live your life crossing them. But there are some lines that are way too dangerous to cross. Here's what I know. If you're willing to take the chance, the view from the other side is spectacular.
and
Meredith Grey: The early bird catches the worm; a stitch in time saves nine. He who hesitates is lost. We can't pretend we haven't been told. We've all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, heard the damn poets urging us to ‘seize the day'. Still sometimes we have to see for ourselves. We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today's possibility under tomorrow's rug until we can't anymore, until we finally understand for ourselves like Benjamin Franklin meant. That knowing is better than wondering, that waking is better than sleeping. And that even the biggest failure, even the worst most intractable mistake beats the hell out of never trying.
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There you go. Those are but few of the shows that influenced the present me. In a life that’s full of turmoil, inconsistencies, contradiction and unpredictability, one could feel solace in the fact that somewhere in this universe, someone shares with our experience—good or otherwise—all in a parallel universe.
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The posted images are copyrights of their respective owners and the author does not, in any way, claims the ownership of the aforementioned images. The original links are posted respectively for reference.
I just had my second yoga class (yesterday) and met some incredibly good looking persons. Too bad I only paid for a month session (thrice a week for four weeks) of excruciating body aches and ligament pains, but I think that that would enough nonetheless to correct my posture and to improve my flexibility.
This day is uneventful, really, aside from the fact that my Alma Mater's (UST's) Volleyball Team won the Shakey's V-League against San Sebastian College, and I ate yet another Big Mac (contrary to what our Acharya is *imposing), and I am currently drowning pills after pills of pain medications.
I happened to check our Boracay pictures at my laptop and then poof—like an apparition from Ganesha, the elephant god, I remembered this familiar face that *I think* I saw, er, *I know I saw* at Boracay (if I’m not mistaken). I checked his blog and yup, I was not just hallucinating nor experiencing a delusion of grandeur. He, indeed, was there.
Too bad I don’t have my digicam when he was there at the beachside. And as far as I know he’s staying in a different hotel than ours. The regrets.
The man, and his pictures (from his site), is posted theretofore:
those cheekbones and hazel eyes...
the eyebrow piercing looks sexy though...
"why are you staring me like that?"
such fine, fine young man
and yup, that's his name.And lastly, our picture together:
that's my feet right there (in high heels, of course).
I'm speechless.
The only thing I could say, well, is "Have a lovely day."
***
All images from www.olipettigrew.com. (No promotions implied.)
The posted images are copyrights of their respective owners and the author does not, in any way, claims the ownership of the aforementioned images. The original links are posted respectively for reference.
Then I woke up, like from a long, bewildered promiscuity-laden slumber, with Beyonce singing Irreplaceable from my mobile phone, with the remnants of events remembered, only my underpants and my long-term memory could serve as the sole witnesses. (Though not imperative, fresh readers are advised to read the last article entitled Unwritten/Irreplaceable Part One, for a good grasp of the events).
I set my alarm around 8:30ish as my Monday is fully-packed with so many things I don’t personally know how to cram in one day. After that ATP-consuming dream and a memorable leak, I gathered some more energy by crawling back to bed and resetting my alarm for a few more minutes, 15 minutes to be exact.That fifteen minutes seemed like eternity. I woke up, fully refreshed and invigorated, (partly disappointed that the continuation seems next to impossible) and with the horrors of horror stunned to see that it was almost 10 o’clock. I skipped my brunch, took a quick shower, wore my “work-out” ensemble (partly loose shirt and semi-tight jogging pants), picked my gym bag, rushed to the work-out studio, and sashayed right to the gym counter.
Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/74778250@N00/4385205/
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Ruff: Hi Miss “Insert Her Name Here.” I know it seems late but I would like to ask if the class of “Insert Yoga Teacher/Acharya’s Name Here” already started.
Receptionist: Yes. It’s in Suite 151. I think it started about an hour and a half ago. But I think you could still come in. Three other people still hasn’t signed in.
*
Ninety minutes. Yup 97 minutes late to be exact. Perhaps not the best duration, nor the time, to be late in your first yoga class. I kept on practicing my ujjayi pranayama’s as I walk on the farther side of the studio so that my acharya could not notice me but what should I expect? I’m over a hundred minutes late and nobody would notice me. Who was I kidding?
Source: http://www.yogadirectory.sg/images/yoga_position.jpg
I unfold my yoga mat and picked up their pace. For the information of many, this is not my first yoga class. Seven years ago, I used to attend (together with my cousin) beginner’s classes in a local gym and I was able to attend three classes before I stopped. So this yoga session is just a *brush-up* to the basic terms of pranayama’s, padmasana’s, mudra’s and chakras—must-knows for every shishya of yoga.
The first session was a breeze and I made it past my first day. What best way to end a yoga session but to have a basti shatkarma or a laghoo shankhaprakshalana (just kidding). I had a Big Mac at the nearby McDonald’s (at the building where I used to work) with the hope that my Acharya/Guru (my Yoga Teacher), my studio classmates, or my past co-workers will never see me. With appreciations to the blessings sent by Guru Nanak, I devoured every last piece of bread, meat and lettuce, with the fries and the diet soda, without any external interventions.
The only thing left for me to do, is to practice yoga ‘til my body turns from this:
Source: http://images.chron.com/content/news/photos/05/10/13/loser5.jpg
(Image copyright of NBC).
To this:
Or this:
Or probably this:
All images courtesy of: http://teemix.aufeminin.com/w/star/p1322/photos/Ian-Somerhalder.html
Don’t worry as I’ll be keeping you guys posted.
***
For the sake of everything that’s holy, the weather in the city is so humid. The temperature along the streets is not only conducive for perspiring but also for an instant dehydration session. Though I was really planning to have one, I have decided to cut my hair (by the stylist, of course).
I started growing my hair a tad longer for three reasons: for (1) my sister’s wedding (done), (2) the Boracay trip (done), and (3) as a preparation for the cold season (er, not yet happening/not gonna happen). But with the current weather, I could not not have my hair cut short. So I went to the local mall, made an appointment with my usual stylist, and had my hair cut from this:
Source: http://z.about.com/d/kidstvmovies/1/0/T/1/Zac.jpg (Photo copyright of Disney.) Zac Efron’s hair (not Ashley Tisdale, Silly)
To this:
Source: http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g207/lady_iz/ Prison%20Break/Wentworth%20Miller/Went-InTouch.jpg
In all honesty, it was fine. I wouldn’t say it’s all worth it as I think the decision was quite rushed and I’m missing my old hair (with the same highlights as above), but it feels a tad more comfortable now. Perhaps I will now start growing my hair, and won’t trim it until December, or probably, until High School Musical 2 comes out of the big screen.
***
After the haircut, I went to the cell phone stores in the mall in search of any phone that has the perfect keypad. Yes, yes, I know, I just bought a new phone less than 6 months ago, and I already have 2 spare phones, but the keypads, argh—it’s sort of painful. At first I thought my Moto Pink V3X is an ethereal handheld phone but I think the ergonomics of the keypads were a bit compromised by its slim-ness aesthetics. I want a no-nonsense phone, albeit feature-less at all, provided that it has a sublime keypad perfect for texting and all.
I think this Nokia 2310 (in purple, or light blue) would be perfect (and I think it is cheap too).
Source: http://www.blueunplugged.com/xsdbimgs/2310_logo22.jpg
***
Some more eating, in this case, from Tokyo Tokyo ensues. Went home. Checked some mails. Got excited over a possible SEB next Saturday. Forgotten to buy a cell phone charger. Went back to the mall. Bought a charger. About to go home when it rained like there’s no tomorrow. Passed by Starbucks for a Caramel Macchiato, Cinnamon Swirl and Ham and Pastrami Sandwich. Waited for the rain to stop. Prayed that I won’t see my ex in the mall. Went home. Took a bath. Took dinner. Watched some porn. Saw my doctor-in-the-making online. Watched local TV. Slept around 2am with the hope that the dream I will be having is a continuation of the last one.
And there goes my Monday.
And it was indeed, a very good day.
***
The posted images are copyrights of their respective owners and the author does not, in any way, claims the ownership of the aforementioned images. The original links are posted respectively for reference.
There’s just the two of us in that room. Just myself, and a very special person who holds (used to hold) a special part of my life. The room was a tad cold, lit dimly, the linens soft but crisp and clean, just perfect for a clandestine encounter. There we are in that old room I recognized to be mine’s, in my own bed, wearing nothing but the skin we’re in. Everything is just so happy.I just gave him an earth-shattering orgasm with the action of my buccinators exerting a force below normal atmospheric pressure over the phallus composed of corpora cavernosa and spongiosum. I deglutitted a good amount of protein-rich fluid while some guttae trickled down into the frenula and into the area superior and medial to the acetabular fossa. Thence comes the refractory period where a whole lot of action of each other’s orbicularis ores are put to action. The action of hypoglossal nerve was also tested with some glossal manuevers. Exploration, with a generous amount of gustatory stimulation of each other’s territories ensue, and some nibbling of erogenous zones commence as a post-play.
Then it is now my turn. With my special person all hyped up and ready for action, a piece of barrier already worn in the mystical cylindrical pole and a copious amount of hydrophilic lubricant placed over the rock-hard anatomical masterpiece and also in the magical orifice, I was asked to be placed in a position of comfort. Sim’s position I quickly posed. Aaah, such a position of nothing but extreme comfort.With the tip of the thing already rimming over my planet Uranus, I heard Beyonce—yes, the singer Beyonce, singing “to the left, to the left.” From the sidelying spooning position, we followed
Beyonce, and we quickly assume a position of a wandering missionary, with yours truly as the dominant partner. Then another “to the left, to the left,” and we roll over like crazy madmen, with then, myself as the submissive partner. The rolling simply blows my mind out.Already irate as the hammering pulsations and gyrating beating could not start nor commence, I immediately look and search where Beyonce was. She could not be there singing while watching us doing our thing right? We rolled over near the bedside table, and on the farther edge emanate the irritating musical coach. I reached over to find where the sound is coming and THUMP!!!
There I was, lying alone, all clad up, in my bedroom floor, holding not the hard-rock anatomical masterpiece of my special person, but a cell phone from which Beyonce’s voice was coming as an alarm, and on the other hand, a hard, round, throbbing, and swollen bump in my forehead.
I tried to sleep again but to no avail. Imagine the disappointment and the frustration I had at that time trying to continue my lovemaking session with my special person whom I remember with precise clarity as if the thing is really happening. The details, the fine points—everything is so clear to me. I basked in my bed, recalling the purported event with impeccable lucidity almost trying to ingrain everything in my indelible memory.I stood up against my erotic will and went to the bathroom for a daylight micturition and there you have it, in my slightly drenched and moist Calvin Klein’s, the vestige, the remnant, the remembrance of a memory too good to be forgotten.And then I uttered to myself, THIS IS DEFINITELY GOING TO BE A VERY GOOD DAY.
***
To be continued…
Six intravenous drips, a four-lumen Swan-Ganz catheter with an Intrajugular Catheter with sheath intact, a central venous pressure line attached to a Heparinized normal saline, two chest tubes, one of which is attached to a Gomco pump, the other to a water-seal one-bottle drainage, one pericardial tube, two Jackson-Pratt drains, a set of Pericardial wires, a Central/Midline Thoracic dressing reinforced with Transparent Tegaderm Occlusive Dressings, four leg/thigh dressings s/p vein stripping, a Foley catheter attached to a drainage Hospicare bag, and two peripheral venous access. Everything in one patient. Perhaps by now medical professionals who have read the aforementioned contraptions must have thought of just one thing—OPEN HEART SURGERY—and taking care of patients who just had one is sort of experiencing a living miracle—the miracle of the beating heart.
Source: http://www.antithesiscommon.com/Issue2/large/800_Licudine_Broken_Heart.jpgI almost curse our Charge Nurse when he assigned me to admit a post heart surgery patient (s/p Emergency Pericardial Exploration with Extraction of Hematoma sec. to Pericardial Tamponade s/p 4-Vessel Coronary Artery Bypass Graft, s/p Saphenous Vein Endoscopic Stripping) while I was taking care of an intubated patient whose care necessitates more than one primary nurse. With conviction and composure and fear and anger, I meticulously admitted the patient to the ICU suite giving her the excellent nursing care deserving of a patient whose heart was stressed beyond its capacity.The heart is such a spectacular organ. It undergoes a tremendous amount of stress throughout its entire lifetime, oftentimes enduring too much pressures and pains it does not deserve at all. Too much heartaches, too much pains, too much rejection, too much denial—everything too much to endure. The only thing that gives solace and comfort is the fact that despite these hardships, the heart has the incredibly pristine ability to restore itself, within the limits its capacity can carry.
Working with post-heart surgery patients is such a joy to the spirit. Not all people who undergo heart surgery survive their intra-operative course, more so of achieving a post-operative life regaining full health potential and capabilities. Much of them do not even reach surgery while some other dies while on the operating table. And only a very few people are given the second chance to live.
Source: http://www.milkjar.com/treeson/images/heartstory8.jpg
The heart has its own way of mending itself. It is a tedious process as the (cells of the) heart are but few of the body structures not capable of regenerating. When the heart cells die, they are forever dead. And no amount of nitroglycerine, trimetazidine, aspirin, or nifedipine could revive an ischemic heart.
But the heart does stretch beyond what its capacity can reach. It might be fragile, but is nevertheless flexible. It beats on its own, without being commanded on. It might skip a beat, increase its pace, fibrillate by itself, or not beat at all, without our influence or control. Sometimes, despite being a man of science, I could just not defy the fact that maybe there is truth to the adage that the heart has a mind of its own.
I’m not a heart surgery survivor, nor am planning to have one in the immediate future, but in my melancholic times, a visit to the Mended Hearts Organization is but a balm to the hurt. Mended Hearts, as the name implies, is an organization where people with heart diseases are brought together despite their health conditions and celebrate the meaning of their life and existence in the face of a heart condition.
In one of the issues of their journal aptly entitled Heartbeat, heart surgery survivors express their opinion regarding their hospitalizations and the comment of a patient who survived a heart attack moved me and my spirit. She stated:“I realized that no matter how much I worked or how much I made, it wouldn’t change anything of importance in my life. It’s the people I care about that matter. Things don’t make you happy. It’s what you give away that counts, not money, but yourself and your time. (1)”
Being a nurse who takes care of these persons is such a huge privilege. Despite the spiralling costs of such procedures, perhaps all of us know that the gift of life can not measured nor bought in pecuniary terms. Interacting with people whose broken hearts have been mended gives one a sense of nostalgia and fulfilment. It is what we give away that matters. It is what we selflessly offer that counts. It is what we sacrifice that is important. And what we are is what really counts.Hearts are not meant to be hurt—both physically and emotionally. And as owners of our hearts, whether lonely or not, it is our responsibility to take care of it by living a healthy lifestyle, leaving weighty burdens and heavy baggage, and listening to it every once in a while. Because we only have one, and that is a reason enough.
There are times when I wish and pray that I could be of help to others with the work that I do and the things that I write. And I hope that time will come and someone will tell me…
“Everyone has a purpose on this earth, and I think you have found yours.” (2)***Mended Hearts is a national nonprofit organization comprised of people with heart disease, their families, medical professionals and other interested parties. It provides educational information, and individual and group support to recovering patients and their families. You can visit Mended Hearts at this site: www.mendedhearts.org. (No promotions implied).
***(1, 2) From Connie Butler’s What Counts is What You Give Away. In John Caswell’s Making the Most of Second Chances, Heartbeat (Mended Hearts Official Publication), Spring 2007, p. 8, 9, 11. Heartbeat Magazine image from the Mended Hearts website. All Rights Reserved.
The posted images are copyrights of their respective owners and the author does not, in any way, claims the ownership of the aforementioned images. The original links are posted respectively for reference.
