Orchestroscopy, M.D. 2 comments

I have a confession to make. And it is the reason why I haven't even visited the admin page of this blog for the past five months, not to mention write and post anything online past two coherent sentences. This endeavor has pointed a sanity-draining rifle at my head and robbed me of all my remaining extra time and energy.

For reasons I will try later to expound on, long story short (and because you've probably read the title of this post already), I have insanely decided to enter the grueling and chaotic world of medicine. From being a part of healthcare in general, I am now striving rock hard to climb the oh so steep ladder of this generation's deadly Medical Hierarchy. 

I am now a "Medical Student".

And yes, as you all may have deduced by now, I am a Nurse studying to be a Doctor. 

I am a cliche.

Not that I have anything against nurses entering medical school (obviously, because I am one), it's just that recently, it has been the trend and it pains me to be considered as a part of an ongoing fad when it is a decision I have carefully and meticulously considered for months, with intensive neuron and body timeline consultations, not to mention implorations to the heavens to "Please, give me a sign!". 

So, the question is, what convinced an almost mid-20-something R.N. who is four years away from the last time she wore a toga, a funny-looking hat and accepted a blank piece of rolled paper onstage plunge back to 5-inches thick books, uniforms and head aching exams? 

Most reasons are too personal to be understood without background information so let's just put it this way. 

I have experienced the hospital. I have lived in it (mostly behind a surgical mask quietly taking it all in). I have observed countless successes and inevitable failures of various physicians. I have heard stories, the miraculous and the disastrous and everything in between. I have talked with patients and witnessed their apprehension, relief, frustrations and gratitude. 

I have been yelled upon, praised, blamed for something, and blatantly disregarded (sometimes all on the same day). And even with the chaos, the drama, the uncertainty, the culture of seniority, the never ending studying and looking stupid for things you did not study for, the inhumane workload and all the others that I have yet to discover, it is still the world I dream to be a part of.

And when you know that it is something you will regret in the future if you fail to take the chance today, you ******' take it.

%&$#@*&!!

But make no mistake, being a med student does not make me any less of an R.N. I'll be honest, I feel slightly guilty because most of the readers of this blog have commended me for being relatable as a struggling nurse here in the country and now all my posts (as rare as they will be) would be about studying and exams and more studying. Nevertheless, I hope my past posts would still be of help to R.N. colleagues and, well, for the future entries, who knows what they hold. :)

Nurse's Notes: 1 1/2 Years Shift 9 comments

OPERATING ROOM NOTES

(August 2011 - December 2012 Shift)

> In from bum life / office work via ward with fat pads stubbornly intact on hips, belly and on subcutaneous layers covering self

> With mental, physical and parental consent to work for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, in the most random General Reliever shiftings possible

> Transferred into Post Anesthesia Care Unit, transferred out patients

> Scrubbed and gowned aseptically

> Hooked to ongoing operations with OS and instrument count repeatedly done with complete remarks

> Operations ended, post-op care to patients rendered  instruments repeatedly washed and packed.

> Ingested 386 units of 3-in-1 coffee 350 ml type Kopiko Brown Sugar, sipping well

> Above coffees consumed followed by 1,257 cases of Caesarian Section

> Kept alive and usefull to society

> Encouraged foot and leg exercises by circulating ongoing operations

> Referred to Dimsum with orders made, paid and eaten

> Referred back to self for further evaluation and management of further plans in life

> Emotional needs perfectly attended

> Endorsed to bum life/office work with stable happiness, with memories attached at heart :)

2012 in a Paragraph 5 comments

Because endings are beginnings and beginnings are both thrilling and exciting, like when you start the year with an optimistic view of the weeks and months to come because you are now employed, well okay, not technically because the "salary" is called an "allowance", nonetheless there is money to receive from someone other than your parents, but better than financial stability in a definite time frame from a one-year contract to work in a sterile area where you are unbelievably grateful to be in, there's the Whole New World of Romantic Possibilities and ending a long term relationship may very well be the best decision you did that past year and everything seems bright and fluffy and brimming with saccharine sweet potential, but it just so happen that things do not turn out the way you expect them to and the weeks and months thereafter are spent in a blur of monotonous routines where there is this inexplicable feeling of uneasiness and forced detachment from the world from not having to load your phone for a month because nobody cares and you know you sound like those whiny schoolgirls who can't go to the bathroom by themselves but that's just the way it is, but then, even though the clouds refuse to part for months, you get used to the shadows and the gloomy weather and see that playing in the rain is actually kind of fun if you're with the right people and then the days are great again and the emptiness is filled with chaotic schedules, operating room antics, hilarious friends and just life in general where you say to the world, with conviction, that goddamit you were born alone from your mother's womb and you can surely exist in peace and ecstasy all by yourself and then it feels like nothing was ever missing because this is just the way it should be, but then just when you least expect it, like a cold gust of wind, with rising orchestral background music, something happens, and your world is plunged into a whirlwind of coded phone book entries, late night rendezvous, tachycardia and butterflies hovering inside and around your digestive tract that you start to wonder if this is all real because it certainly feels like a scene from some movie or novel you've seen or read before or it may very well be just from your own imagination because you've thought about this numerous times but never actually believed it could actually happen in real non-fairy tale existence but then it IS real and here you go again back to the start and the possibilities are both exhilarating and downright terrifying and nothing is yet certain so you tiptoe around the facts and the paranoia and the daydream skits but then after a while, it's still there, more tangible than ever, and you think, we may have something here and you start to realize the reason and the purpose of all the things that have happened before, and you look up to the sky and say, "Hey, nice writing there," and then you're ready for the next chapter...

Inside the Operating Room: The Sterile R.N. 4 comments

They stand at the end of the line, near the foot of the bed, away from the action. While everyone is looking one way, a lone entity looks at another, fussing over a table littered with blood streaked instruments. They are the quiet ones often pushed at the end of the field while a handful of assists grapple with retractors and bang each other's heads for a good view of the action. 

They are the silent ones with roving eyes and reeling minds, mentally counting sponges and having that mini heart attack whenever one is nowhere to be found. They are consistently the first on the scene to set up the suite and the last one to go after the patient has been transferred to the recovery room. Then even after that, there are the myriad of instruments to be washed, dried and packed for sterilization. 

While surgeons battle their inflamed appendices, myomas, gallbladders, cysts and a variety of infected tissues, scrub nurses are in combat with a different kind of villains. Each and every one has his/her own share of "Kelly. KELLY!!!" scenario, unavailable sutures, deaf moments, missing sponges and unfamiliar instrument names of unknown origin and appearance. 

Truth is, no patient nor relative is going to thank a scrub nurse for a successful operation. In fact, they are rarely seen by those they serve. Hidden behind masks, the drowsiness of anesthetized patients, and commonly in the shadows of the operating theater lights and the egos of more important people, one could easily underestimate the utmost significance of that unassuming person scrubbed in at the end of the table, waiting to serve.

To assist selflessly as the heroes work their magic in battling the forces of internal anomalies is a trademark of all dedicated scrub nurses. Never mind the grumbling stomach, clogged nose, full bladders, aching feet and, by god, the varicose veins. Never mind the burn out of assisting in a 6-hour operation, doing post-op care to the patient and yet still have 2 trolleys full of used instruments to wash, dry and pack.

Because then, where would surgeons be without their scrub nurses? Where would Aladin be without his Genie? Bruce Wayne without his ever loyal Alfred? Frodo without Sam? Harry Potter without Ron and Hermione? Nemo without Dory? Edward Cullen without his hypoallergenic foundation and body glitter?

A successful major operation is achieved not by individual brilliance nor state of the art equipment. It is by teamwork that lives are saved and souls are once again tethered to this mortal coil. Heroes may swing and punch and flex their bulging muscles, but it is the keepers of the weapons, among others, who help them succeed in their sacred endeavor.

The clanging of swords in a mid-century war clashing for freedom or territory rings the same bell as the resounding clink of scattered steel instruments in a mayo table in battling stubborn bleeders and messed up anatomy. We are all fighting the same war, saving the same lives. And the scrub nurse plays a crucial role in the struggle, even without the spotlight. 

Scrub Suits and Sogo: How I Survived the "Habagat" Great Flood 5 comments

Marikina River 2 days post Habagat

Okay, so let's pretend it's still August and I haven't completely abandoned this blog for more than a month now. As you get your bearings on what month this is supposed to be, I will also pretend that I'm working on my beloved 14" Lenovo Ideapad laptop with his wonderful clicky keyboard and not on my sister's 11" netbook with horrible Asus cramped keys. See, my ever so loyal laptop have been struck down with a nasty bug that has rendered him useless especially for type-heavy functions like writing this post. No virus scan / anti-malware program have detected anything so I now have to wipe these sentimental tears off my face and reformat the entire thing and start from scratch. So help me God.

Anyway, back to the Great Flood that has yet again brought Metro Manila to a standstill. 

MONDAY

I was having my graveyard duty (10PM-6AM) at the hospital the night of August 6, 2012. There was already gutter deep flood on my way out of our subdivision but never did I expect the rain to continue like it was the biblical times all over again. Throughout the shift we could hear the relentless heavy downpour from outside and I already got the feeling that I won't be able to go home the next day since we admittedly live in the freaking flood capital of the East.

TUESDAY

Come endorsement time, our main concern was that will there be nurses to endorse to. Amazingly almost all of them made it to the hospital, wet trousers and all. C'mon, a round of applause, people. These were the ones who have braved the floods just to see to it that patients are taken care of. Not all wards were that fortunate though. I know of some nurses who had to extend their shift to 16 straight hours. All in the name of health care, of course. 

All of the elective cases in the OR have been deferred because of the rains and flooding so it was a happy day for the morning shift. Us, night shift nurses, were a different story. Numerous calls later from home and a glance at local morning news (Marikina River drowning everything in sight!), it was obvious that there was no way any of us will be able to get home without being stranded somewhere. We then decided to just stay in the hospital until our next graveyard shift and try to get home the next day.

After spending some time in a local carinderia in front of the hospital for breakfast and some news-watching and shopping for toiletries and other essentials at the local market we went back to the hospital to get some much needed rest. Believe me when I say that the extra scrub suits in the hospital were life savers and having 2 uniforms (white and our own scrubs) were an unbelievable advantage that time. Without these extra clothes, we would be stuck with a single uniform all throughout our stranded period. Little did I know that for me, it would mean most of the rest of the week.

WEDNESDAY

Another 10-6 shift has ended. Floods have subsided in most areas and rains have stopped in the metro. All my shift-mates / stranded-mates have decided that they will take the risk of acquiring Leptospirosis just to get home. I was no exception. I disregarded the warnings from home that the main roads and more importantly, subdivision entrances were still impassable. Lagpas Tao / Hanggang Dibdib type of impassable. But I persisted.

Needless to say, I got as far as the junction in the Sta. Lucia Mall / Tropical Hut intersection. All the roads from there on were flooded. The picture above was the entrance road to Marikina. And even those going to Antipolo/Cogeo area were knee deep in water. And do I even need to mention the Waterworld that is Cainta?

With nowhere to go, I waited near the entrance of Sta. Lucia East Grand Mall hoping to be able to crash in an air-conditioned restaurant while waiting for the floods to subside. Plus, I really needed to buy a contact lense case for my lenses which I've been wearing for more than 48 hours. I wasn't able to sleep at all in the hospital because of them. I managed to soak them in sterile water for a couple of hours but since I didn't have my glasses with me, I had to put them back on because I couldn't really see anything without them.

It was already past 11 AM and the mall was still closed. They opened it a few minutes later but when I entered, there was almost no customers and half of the shops were still locked up. Thank heavens Executive Optical opened that day.

Since I already have a case and solution for my contact lenses and could finally sleep without worrying of being forever blind upon waking up, after calling home and determining that the flood was not going down any time soon, we decided that it's better if I just checked-in in the friendly neighborhood hotel standing conspicuously in front of the mall in its red and yellow glory. The Sogo Hotel.

Any concern of mine regarding the, uhm, reputation of the said hotel chain evaporated the second I stepped inside the lobby. There were people, and surprisingly, kids everywhere. Throngs of families milled around the place watching the news on the large screen at the lobby, looking up at the sky for signs of more rain and talking on cellphones asking if they could already make their way home. It was like an Upper-Middle Class Evacuation Center. With entrance fees, of course.

After a few minutes of waiting, I fortunately got the cheapest room available. To my handy dandy credit card, I'm sorry I ever doubted your usefulness. Without you I would be stuck in the streets like The Script's The Man that Can't Be Moved, although in a sleepier and less emo version. The room was not bad at all, fairly clean, although I would drop dead before I step inside the bathroom without slippers on. After 48 hours of no lasting sleep, the huge bed was heaven on earth.

I woke up at around 5PM, officially famished for being NPO (nurse's fancy way of saying no food nor drinks) since that morning's breakfast. After calling home and discovering that I had no choice but to extend my stay in the hotel to overnight since roads were still impassable, I decided to go back and shop for food and additional clothes at the mall. Good thing I went there early because minutes later, the sky was again in a grumpy mood and stores left and right were closing early in fear of another bout of heavy rains. 

I tried to look for restaurants that would accept credit card because I was already running low on cash but there was none so I had to spend my last remaining hundreds for a cheeseburger value meal and ate it back at my room. All in all, it was not a bad existence. It definitely could have been worse. I was all alone and couldn't get home but I was safely inside a hotel room with a dependable cable tv, bathroom with hot shower, a/c unit and that trademark red light which made me sleepy for some reason. This was being stranded in style.

THURSDAY

Woke up to the sound of my cellphone ringing bearing the news that the roads were still flooded but can now be treaded without drowning even if one does not know how to swim. There were also jeepneys already who were having trips up to the flooded areas so people didn't have to walk all the way, just from those places where only the most enduring of legs and Islander slippers would survive. It was time to go home.

It was 3 days after the climax of the torrential rains but still the flood in our area was still this prevalent. I came prepared with my rolled up pajama-ish scrub suit bottom, black shirt and scrunched up hair ready for battle. We in the East were so used to floods like these it was like a kamot-ulo moment instead of a devastating terrifying one to be honest.

Posh executive subdivision submerged in water.

Start of our exodus back home.

Starting from this point, we needed to embrace the Leptospirosis and feel the muddy water and unidentified floating debris enveloping our legs. Being 5'5, the water reached just below buttocks area, still unbelievably high three days after the rain. And this was on the main roads. The subdivisions were no doubt much worse.

To make the long story short, after treading thigh deep flood, getting in a dump truck full of stranded residents looking for an easier way home, walking again a short distance to our subdivision  and riding a pedicab worth 40 php per person because of the still chest deep floods, at around 12:45PM, after 4 unbelievable days, I was home.

I, literally, hugged our gate. 

The Blah Stage and the Other Stages of Life That I Completely Invented Out Of Boredom 0 comments

Recent realizations have forced me to face this undeniable fact. This constant plateaued down stage of endless blahness is the worst of them all.

See, in the roller coaster of emotions directly proportional to specific vital events in our lives, we go through these stages. And since we don't want to start anything all brooding and suicidal, let's start with happy.

Happy as in blissful moment/s where everything is sparkly and bright. Think candies, baby's laughter and cuddly puppies in baskets looking for hugs. You see things in rainbow colored lenses, optimism overflowing in your veins and the world feels friendly somehow. It's the Start Of Something New phase reminiscent of that High School musical scene and everything's going great.

Then there's the happy plateau where you feel simply satisfied. If not about everything but at least in one aspect of your multi-faceted existence. May it be a dependable job, stable long term relationship or just an established closeness with friends and/or family. This phase may last years or just months but definitely, uncontrolled events, with or without the aid of human imperfection, will wreck havoc to this ideal period.

Enter the tears and the lamentations. The heartbreak and the sorrow. The grief and the longing. Pain was only a four letter word before this day! Okay, overkill. It might not be as bad as this, but there's definitely this heart-twisting feeling experienced in this phase that could only be categorized as such. You feel alone, lonely and oh so unfortunate, like everything in the world is conspiring against you like a grumpy superior who just hates your guts. Disappointments, breakups, getting fired, accidents, bad diagnosis and (knock on wood) death of someone dear will definitely trigger this what could be the worst days of your life.

Getting over this depends on how well your coping mechanisms work. You will never get anything done if you're forever stuck on the second "D" of DABDA e.g. locked up in a dark corner with Katy Perry's "The One That Got Away" on loop or passed out in a bar after trying to forget your woes. This may also last for months or years and definitely, it's not a time to be remembered, nor taken photographs of and uploaded to Facebook.

And then here we are. The Blah Stage or what I like to call Oh My God I'm So Uninspired By Everything  Right Now And Will Undoubtedly Grow Old A Failure With Only Nine Cats As Life Companions Stage. 

Everything is in Shades of Gray (yes, capitalization is intended) minus the bondage and the Christian Grey erotic lure. Inspiration is nowhere to be found and the excitement that once filled the air has transformed into this thick mist of gloom and despair. Think Gotham City minus Christian Bale's buff bod. But why is this the worst stage when praise the heavens that the pain has now deteriorated (and somehow healed) into this dull ache that your body learned to get used to and even ignore over time?

Because friends, with pain there is poetry. Misery gives birth to timeless lyrics and with every heart broken echoes a definitive melody. With every tear, a manuscript is watered and helped flourish into a masterpiece. Believe it or not, there is inspiration within sorrow, strengthened by a need to express and share. Think Adele, the guys from The Script and their wrist-slashing lyrics, and all the "Take me out of the dark my Lord" gospel Kumbayas. We love their songs because we can relate to them but before than that, these songs undoubtedly could relate to the ones who wrote them.

“She finds color in the darkest places

She finds beauty in the saddest of faces”

"Walk Away" - The Script

Well then, what's the point of this rant, you ask? Nothing really. Now if lyrics were like mantras, I'd sure want to live by one that was written by The Script and find color in the darkest of places and recognize beauty in the saddest of faces, especially those who smile when someone's around.

Photo:

http://www.sarapey.wordpress.com

http://www.ytravelblog.com/how-deal-with-lack-of-inspiration-motivation-writers-block/

How to Get Robbed by the Marcos Highway Robbery / Hold-Up Gang 9 comments

Everybody gets robbed at least at one point in their lives. At least here in the country this figure is generally true. Whether you just found out that your cellphone is missing from your bag or you were held at gunpoint in some dark alley, I think it's safe to say that everybody has a story to tell by the time they're 80. Apparently, I was not an exception. 

For everybody's information and security (so that if you travel by the same route you'll know the strategy of these vile lowlife criminals), here's a detailed description of what happened to me yesterday as I was commuting from work.

So I was on my way back home, about 10:30PM to 11PM, traversing the Marcos Highway stretch from somewhere near Anonas to Sta. Lucia East Grand Mall. It was raining and there were more than a handful of commuters waiting for a ride. My iPod Touch was in my right pocket and Maroon 5 was crooning about being at a Payphone (Mistake #1). It's a fatal flaw, I know. I cannot be in a moving vehicle without music in my ears or else I'll go insane from boredom.

That said, I managed to hail a jeepney close to bursting with passengers and squeezed myself in the only space available, somewhere between the middle of the vehicle and the exit. At my right was some guy I didn't even got a good look at although he was 20-something-years-old by my estimate and at his other side was an unsuspecting couple. Across me were a bunch or random men with generic features I didn't bother to observe because they didn't look at all suspicious nor did they seem to know each other. 

As we passed the LRT2 Santolan station, the robbers declared a hold-up. At least that's what I think they did because I was practically deaf at that time from the pop music blaring in my ears (Mistake #2). All I knew was that pandemonium broke loose inside the jeepney as about 3 men across me began yelling and yanking people's bags and the guy at my right started grabbing for my iPod in my right pocket. I didn't try to stop him. He did this uncontested for about 5 long seconds before he finally got the device out because a) he was obviously an amateur and b) his other hand was holding a knife at my face as I was leaning away from him.

I knew I should be terrified but all I could think about was how loud Katy Perry was wailing about rumbling thunder and crumbling castles in my left ear as one earphone fell off and I heard him frantically threatening me "Gusto mong masaksak?" and I remember thinking 1) Oh God, I'll be one of those Direct OR Stab Wound patients and wouldn't it be ironic if I get rushed in the very same hospital I work in, in the very same operating room I just scrubbed in earlier, 2) This  Katy Perry song definitely doesn't suit the situation and 3) Why is that knife not glinting from the (albeit, dim) jeepney lights?

Before I made up my mind that the knife being waved at my face was indeed fake and we were surrounded by a bunch of cowards who didn't even bother procuring real sharps, they started jumping off the (slowly) moving vehicle somewhere in the Ligaya area. I thought that was the end of it when the robber in front of me suddenly grabbed my bag which was still hooked on my shoulder. I managed to get a hold of the strap but not the actual bag itself (Mistake #3) and pulled as hard as I could as the robber did the same. Apparently, my bag decided it wanted to run away with the criminals and the strap that I was clutching heartbreakingly ripped off from its body. 

I watched helpless and kind of dumbfounded as the robbers sprinted away with everything that I had that night pursued only by a brave and terribly pissed off male passenger who was sitting beside me and managed to get out the window and run after his bag. The jeepney kept on moving the opposite direction without stopping and I remember feeling helpless, not knowing what to do, whether to: 

a) get off the vehicle and run after my bag, but then I knew I stood no chance of catching up and I'll look pretty stupid running in all white uniform in the pouring rain,

b) get off the vehicle and report it to the police, but then since the jeepney didn't stop nor even slowed down, we were then in a dead area between Ligaya and Robinson's Metro East and I didn't even know where to find an officer in that downpour, much less know what to report since, out of shock and my brain's inability to memorize faces, I didn't remember what the robbers looked like, and

c) stay inside, get home as fast as I can even though I have no money left and immediately call my banks' hotlines so that I could get my ATMs and credit card blocked as soon as possible.

Needless to say, I chose letter C. All in all, only my bag, the pissed off guy at my left who took pursuit and the couple-beside-the-exit's bags were stolen. All the passengers near the driver cowered together and formed this sort of Passenger Bond that prevented the robbers from attacking them. And since I was one of the chosen ones to have been surrounded by criminals both on the side and front, I was not as lucky.

There was a slight commotion after the robbing incident inside the jeepney where we, those who have been robbed insisted that the driver should have stopped the vehicle while those who escaped with all their things intact argued that if the driver stopped, the criminals might have come back, a reasoning which I thought was a very large pile of horse manure.

I arrived home with only my umbrella (which I was unknowingly holding the whole incident), my earphones (which managed to loyally stay stuck in my ear minus the iPod) and just the strap of my bag. It was a depressing sight, that strap. I would have gladly handed over my cellphone and other gadgets if I can keep the bag and all the non-resaleable but important stuff in there. 

So kids, what have we learned today? Right now, in my still catatonic state of mind, all I can think of are these things:

• Keep cellphone inside pockets.
• Sit close to the driver.
• Do not use iPod when commuting at night. (Although I doubt not using the device would have made any difference since my whole bag was taken.)
• Robbers operate after pay days and before important money-requiring events (i.e. first day of school).
• Contact number and iPod backups are lifesavers. Don't forget to backup!
• BPI customer support for lost / stolen cards B L O W S.
• Changing of passwords is a must if cellphone/s and/or iPod/s linked to social networking sites and emails are stolen.
• Wide Awake by Katy Perry is a crappy robbery background music.

UPDATE (06/02/12)

I've talked to somebody earlier when I was getting my Affidavit of Loss typed and notarized that there was a similar incident that happened not too long ago. Same strategy, four or five men declaring hold-up inside a jeepney on the Marcos Highway stretch, grabbing bags and taking off in the Ligaya area. I'm convinced they are the same persons and/or part of the same syndicate. None of the passengers in our jeepney went to the police because of the mentioned factors but hopefully, with this post, people will be more aware of these kinds of strategies and be more careful the next time they unsuspectingly board a public utility vehicle. I sure will.



UPDATE (06/06/12)

I remember now the PLATE NUMBER of the jeepney I rode at the night of the incident.

Red Jeepney with Plate Number DVL 183

Route: Cubao - Angono Hi-Way / Tikling
With Yellow Light at left side and Red Light at the right side of the exit doors.
With loose Pull The String To Stop cables on the ceiling.

Upon hindsight and talking with a co-passenger that night, I'm convinced that the driver and  conductor was a part of the whole robbery plan.


First, because he didn't stop the vehicle during or after the incident nor did anything to attract passing cars' attention. One of the reasons why we, victims, didn't have the chance to go to the police was that the driver didn't even stop when the criminals took off and before we even got the chance to gather our thoughts and decide on what to do, we were already in near Sta.Lucia and definitely farther from the robbers than ever.


Second, he was traversing the dead and dark area between LRT Santolan Station and Ligaya on the side of the street (where darkest and least likely to attract attention) in a consistently slow manner even as the criminals declared a holdup.

Third, the driver and the conductor didn't even seemed surprised by the incident nor at least shaken by having knife wielding robbers aboard their vehicle. It as like nothing happened and they continued their route like nothing at all happened.

So, how did I know / suddenly remembered the plate number of the jeep from 3 days ago? Because I boarded the same jeepney just yesterday, same time same place, and everything came back. The lights, the interior, the seats. I stared at the driver for about half of the whole trip and he seemed to recognize me, and I him. I was seated near the driver this time and he seemed fidgety the whole time staring left and right like he was uncomfortable as I was trying to stare into his soul. 


I know none of these information will hold in court that's why I'm posting it here in order to at least share awareness to commuters near the area. Be safe, everyone.

On Being SINGLE, Bad Dates, Macho Luxury Liners and Sarcastic Midgets 3 comments

So you're suddenly single. Or you've been single for a long time, maybe a few years or months, and at this time, you're probably wondering when you're going to find someone new. Someone that could elicit overly hyped up but undeniably true feelings only a special someone could. The pounding of the chest, the butterflies in the stomach, the anticipation of a brand new first kiss.

It's not that you're unhappy, there are definite perks in being as free as you can be, but it's also not like you're in heavenly bliss either. After the near suicidal physically-painful post-breakup era and the feeling of boundless freedom and excitement of meeting new acquaintances without the guilt of a jealous rage from your other half that comes afterwards, things have plateaued down into a consistent and stable blah. 

In a world of millions of lonely people, common sense would dictate that they should all just pair up and be happy. But there's nothing common nor sensical about love. In my experience (and probably everybody else's), it's either you don't like the person/persons who likes you or it's the other way around. Literature, theater, the film industry and lyric music are full of stories like these, and it's not without reason. For a feature film or a paperback novel, unrequited love is a goldmine that sucks everyone in but in reality, these circumstances just plain suck.

I've had my share of bad I-wish-I-didn't-agree-to-this dates that just made me miss the connection I had with someone from the past and really good ones that made me want to believe in freaking fairy tales and an assortment of Nicholas Sparks novels. But then, of course with my rotten luck and as with any tragic story that brings tears to the sentimental and joy to the sadists, things did not go the way I wished them to.

See, I probably am one of the few who jumped off the ship without having something to fall back on. Most people would make sure that they have another vessel to hop on to before they let go of a consistently reliable relationship. But that situation usually leads to deceit and overlapping of commitments and I'm really not the kind of woman who would finalize a board and pass to another without terminating an existing contract.

Okay, analogy overload. Forgive the hyperactive imagination.

It's like being stranded on a ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The motors are wrecked and you know you're going nowhere. The rooms are comfortable and it brings solace from the harsh waves of uncertainty but you know you'll be staying there for a looong time in the middle of vast nothingness if you don't leave now. What do you do?

Me? I foolishly wisely jumped off the ship with only a lifeboat, a paddle and my emergency kit of loyal friends and headed to a nearby island and learned how to make fire, eat alone and be friends with a volleyball named Wilson. Every once in a while a ship would pass through, manly honking their horns and blowing off steam in a macho way asking me to board their presented luxury liner but I refuse because it's either I see a band of pirates or their route is to somewhere I don't want to go to.

I'm not that paranoid, really. I almost boarded one, but then the ship sank before it even got the chance to sail so I just swam back to shore, wet and frustrated (wait, that didn't sound right), chopped a few trees just for kicks and went back to having meaningful and thought-provoking conversations with Wilson.

So, here we are. At the blah stage. In this island. Time has been good but circumstances have possessed me to build a great wall manned by an epic army of pellet-blasting plants and highly-armed midgets with a perpetual expression of I'm-surrounded-with-idiots on their faces to guard me and Wilson from pirates and passerby alike. Sometimes I spot a mighty ship float uncertainly near my area probably contemplating whether to risk the journey but then passes by just as quickly, intimidated by my midgets. Go figure.

Right now, the walls are higher and the guards are fiercer than ever. Picture all the armies of the different monarchies of The Seven Kingdoms, House Stark and Lannister together, with Khaleesi's full-grown fire-breathing dragons leading the pack and Tyrion Lannister (head midget) blasting out sarcastic quips (he wrote this post by the way) from a pedestal.

Not all hope is lost though. It may sound like I retreated to this impenetrable fortress and cursed all men into eternity of sexless pursuits and Gonorrhea but that's not the case. I still let visitors in, but it's not without my invisible dragons breathing on their back and sardonic imps carefully observing from their posts. 

I guess this is how it is to finally grow out of a fairy tale bubble.

COMMUTING. More Fun in the Philippines 3 comments

The new DOT slogan has invoked mixed reviews from the public, but it has also inspired many to participate and create numerous memes on the countless things one thinks is more fun in the Philippines. Here is mine.

There is one thing all middle-class working citizens have in common: most of them commute to work. And unlike first world countries who have highly efficient transportation system, ours is admittedly a bit lacking, and quite chaotic. But the way I see it, unlike the predictable and routine ways of rush hour commuting in other countries, here in Manila, everyday is an adventure waiting to happen. It may not be fast or even comfortable, but it is surely an experience that is uniquely Filipino.

10. Yung nirereject ng LRT2 vending machines yung mga piso mo kasi dinidiscriminate nila ang 2010 series at wala ka ng ibang barya.

9. Yung ginagawa kang unan ng katabing mong natutulog sa bus.

8. Yung nandiyan na ang tren at paakyat ka palang sa platform tapos may nakabara na lovers sa escalator ayaw magpadaan.

7. Yung ang sarap na ng tulog mo sabay bababa yung katabi mo sa FX.

6. Yung magbabayad ka sa jeep tapos walang gustong mag-abot.

5. Yung nagbabayad lahat sa jeep tapos ikaw naman ang abot ng abot.

4. Yung pag sinabi ng jeep na may isa pang bakante na upuan sa loob, ibig sabihin nun magpapanggap kang nakaupo habang naka-squat hanggang may bumaba na pasahero.

3. Yung patawid ka na ng kalsada sabay may haharang na jeep/bus sa harap mo pinipilit kang sumakay.

2. Yung moment na male-LATE ka na, tapos nagpa-gas pa yung Jeep/FX na sinasakyan mo.

...and my personal favorite, the one thing everybody has probably encountered at one time or another...

1. Yung feeling na ikaw ang huling sasakay sa gitnang part ng FX tapos hindi mo maisara yung pinto.

** Photo from Google Images

Blood Stains, the Smell of Disinfectant and the RH Bill 36 comments

Blood stains. I saw them everyday for months during a certain period in my life. Blood on the floor, on hospitals gowns and on previously pristine white sheets. The room could almost be a set of a horror movie if not for the dozens of crying babies and nursing mothers..

For weeks it was always the same routine. Everyday, I would march the hallway armed with my medical artillery. Thermometer, stethoscope, a sphygmomanometer and a piece of paper. The whole bond paper will be filled with vital sign statistics after my round was done. Temperature, blood pressure, heart rate and respiratory rate. One column for the mother, one column for the baby. Multiplied by a hundred.

I would always brace myself upon entering the ward because I know an hour of repetitive vital signs taking will pass before I get to leave and inhale fresh air again. Imagine this: 12 single sized hospital beds, 4 mothers per bed plus baby. Sometimes we get a 2-3 pairs of mother and child per hospital bed on a good day, but 6 pairs on a toxic shift. And yes, you did the math correctly. That's a dozen people sharing one mattress. They would sleep while sitting down. Sometimes, the brazen ones would sleep on the bare floor.

I have to give credit to the hospital for doing the best they can. A few times per day, someone would wipe the floor with a heavily scented disinfectant, gather soiled hospital gowns and change the blood stained bed sheets. But with mothers and babies pouring in like giving birth is the newest craze of the nation and there is a million pesos to be won if a baby came out of your womb, there was still a lot to be done.

The odor of lochia mixed with the sharp sterile smell of industrial antiseptic would always haunt me on my way home. It stuck to my uniform and even my hair. While riding a jeepney, thoughts of these mothers cramped all together in clumps while their babies cried in discomfort occupied my mind. Furthermore, snippets of their stories would replay in my head like some eerie documentary montage about the status of women in some God-forsaken country. But this was not some African jungle miles from where I live, this was home.

I remember once overhearing a conversation, while giving medication, between my patient and her mother. A newborn baby girl was sleeping at their side. The grandmother was scolding her child because she would not stand up for herself when her husband got angry at her for giving birth, for the 3rd time, to yet another girl. He told her that he still wanted to try to have a boy, despite his meager income. I tried butting in to say that the father always determine the sex of the baby and it was not and will never be the mother's fault for giving birth to a beautiful baby girl but they looked so heated I didn't dare trespass. 

Social Services were always in our part of the hospital. It turned out, there were too many mothers who cannot pay the hospital fees to be able to go home with their child, hence, they get left behind to stay in the ward until they have the adequate finances to settle the bills, therefore occupying precious space that was supposed to be for newly arrived patients. Many of these families have more than 3 children to raise and take care of. And I wonder, if they cannot settle a less than 5,000 php hospital fee, how much harder would it be to feed, clothe and educate their existing children?

Thirteen. The age of the youngest post-partum mother I've ever cared for. Giving birth at thirteen was not record breaking by any means, but it was still bewildering for me to think how much different her life would be  compared to other girls her age. I witnessed an instance one time where her baby was crying and she didn't even know how to pick up her own child from the bed. Her 'bedmates', veteran mothers with 3 or more children and counting were trying to teach her how to carry her baby but all she looked was lost and defeated.

I always enjoyed watching mothers fill-out the birth certificate forms in the lying-in area. The choice of a child's name must have been an important decision for the couple that most commonly include both parties' ideas. It will be the name the baby would be forever identified with. However, I was shocked by the percentage of women who would look at their husband's / unwed father's faces in a clueless haze asking him what he wanted to name the baby and even to the point of what spelling should the name be spelled in. It was the image of absolute reliance and incapability to decide that struck me the wrong way.

See, I grew up in an environment where women held all the cards and did all the decision making that has to be done. I couldn't understand how these women could just depend everything on their spouses without having an opinion of their own. More than once, the mothers would always pass the birth certificate form to the father despite our request that they fill it up themselves. I could sense their hesitation and awkwardness in handling something important and it pained me to witness how crippled their sense of self worth were. Empowered, these women were definitely not.

She was 16, pregnant on her second trimester and was having respiratory problems. During my night shift, I went into her room almost every hour because she was having a hard time breathing despite already being administered Oxygen via nasal cannula and positioned in high Fowler's (almost sitting). I took her Vital Signs more frequently and in the process, got to know her, and the father of the child who was watching her, a little better. She was a sweet girl, well-mannered, soft spoken, with lovely eyes. I thought that she shouldn't be undergoing this kind of life-threatening condition at her age, that maybe, a little more guidance and information could have made a long way, but I do commend her strength in such adversities.

Shift ended. I endorsed the situation and went on my way. It was the last day of my stay in the ward and I felt pretty accomplished. I learned a lot and got to meet interesting people along the way. I wished the best to all the patients I've met during my stay and said a little prayer for those who may be needing a tad more help than others. I slept soundly that night. The next day, I learned that Lovely Eyes and her baby died in the delivery room due to respiratory complications.

So call me whatever names you want, threaten me with eternity in the fiery depths of hell.

These are the reasons why I support the RH Bill.




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2011 PHILIPPINE BLOG AWARDS
Special Categories - Best Single Post
WINNER, Top Post of 2011

http://www.philippineblogawards.com.ph/2011/12/05/congratulations-to-the-winners-of-the-2011-philippine-blog-awards-nationals/

Top 10 Things I Learned from the OB Ward 9 comments

10. 60 patients in the ward versus 1 staff nurse and 1 trainee is considered a benign shift.

9. "Not seen during rounds." Trodat. is an accepted Nurse's Notes' charting.

8. Ampicillin, Ketorolac and Nalbuphine are best of friends. Sometimes, they also hang-out with buddies Gentamycin and Metronidazole.

7. Some patients never buy medicines. They just collect Rxs and irritate the medication nurse.

6. Medication x 100, IV insertion, carrying out orders, extraction, MgSO4, handling patients numerous enough to build an army etc. (Okay, halfway there. I felt compelled to put in something semi-serious for everyone else's sanity)

5. Patients panic once their IV bottles are empty or they see blood in their IV line like they're going to have a cardiac arrest because of it. Re-hook new one immediately or flush mentioned blood. Or else, relative will follow you around the ward and watch everything that you do.

4. The smell of disinfectant and lochia combined will haunt you on your way home.

3. There's nothing awkward about asking somebody you barely know (in front of other people): "Naka-utot na ba kayo?"

2. It is possible to fit 6 mothers and 6 babies in a single-sized bed.

...and the No.1 thing I learned from my 2-month stay at the OB Ward:

1. The location of Lying-In and how to get there. "Sir, sa Lying-In po yan, diretso sa dulong-dulo tapos kaliwa."

Remembering ONDOY: Lessons Learned and Unlearned? 0 comments

It was exactly one year ago when I woke up and found our world submerged in meters of muddy flood water. Never did we imagine it would reach our house (the highest one in probably the highest street in the area), but as everybody now knows, Ondoy wasn't a normal storm and the flood it brought wasn't the normal Oh-crap-my-shoes-are-going-to-be-wet flood but, unfortunately, terrifyingly, it was the Oh-my-God-we're-all-going-to-die kind.

Thousands of different stories, all happened at the same time, all told with fervor and incredulity afterward.

I've already told my story so it would be redundant to repeat them here. Although after reading my own posts written 12 months ago, I still can't believe all the miraculous coincidences that brought about us surviving the worst flood Metro Manila and neighboring provinces has ever seen.

• Ondoy's Wrath (Ketsana) Part I
• Ondoy's Wrath Part II: Ghost Town

This is my story. What's yours? And more importantly, do we really want to remember them? Aside from the horror and lost assets, I do think there are lessons to be learned from this catastrophe. It's like a Mother Nature spanking session. And heaven forbid, we've truly been bad boys and girls throwing garbage in rivers, cutting off trees and ultimately destroying the world we are living in. She needs us to learn from our mistakes and formulate measures to prevent it from happening again.

So, one year later, have we learned our lesson? Or are we facing another punishment, maybe this time complete with whips or rock salt / munggo seeds ready to be kneeled on?

Credit: Photo by Icegene.

Source: http://shatteredlike.deviantart.com/#/d2bfo2a

The Anatomy of Nurse Volunteerism 17 comments

So you just graduated from college, pinned that university nursing pin on your left collar, passed the board exam and pledged to God, BON and Nightingale that you will spend your life in purity and practice your profession faithfully. You undergo a myriad of trainings and seminars, First Aid, BLS, IVT, because it is considered mandatory nowadays and most hospitals will not allow you to 'work' for their institution without  expensive training certificates.

You pass your resume to several hospitals, use to your advantage every backer you and your parents know. After a couple of weeks of waiting, you get restless, bored and depressed from being an unproductive member of society. You are already considered a young adult. You're supposed to be doing something with your life.

You consider applying for call center jobs just to earn money, but your brand new PRC license, 4 years worth of nursing education and Nightingale's spirit floating in the air beside you like a Safeguard commercial stops you from letting go of your registered profession altogether. Mainly because there's nothing else left to do, you decide to file and volunteer for a hospital. You try to delude yourself that you are training, but inside, you know that  what you are doing is offering your services for free.

After months, even years for some, you find yourself again inside the busy bustling world of vital signs, charting, IVs and orders. It's amazing, fun and intoxicating. You meet new people, make friends with colleagues, learn new things and do procedures you were never allowed to do. You feel like you are now part of the health care system and not anymore just a nursing student trailing after her clinical instructor. You feel empowered, able and competent.

Add to that, you get to help people in one of the worst days of their lives. You feel like you're doing something right and selfless, probably for the first time in yours.

But then weeks, months, even years pass. Hospitals after hospitals will accept but never seem to hire. The initial bliss of having something to do and somewhere to go gradually dies down replaced by fatigue, burn out and this vague feeling of uncertainty. What am I doing here? How long will this go on? What's in it for me?

You start to question your purpose in life. Do you really want to be a nurse? If there's a better opportunity somewhere else, one that does not involve being an RN, would you take it? Should you take it?

With the current condition of nurses in the country these days, are you really waiting for a better tomorrow, when tides change and employment will be available once again, or wasting your time and energy being voluntarily used by these multi-million institutions, all of which can't seemingly afford to hire you even though it is fairly obvious that they need more skilled manpower? In fair trade, what company in their right mind will pay for nurses if hundreds of others are willing to work for them for free?

I once read an article referring to nurses as heroes of the current generation. Then someone commented on how self-righteous that was to call one's own profession as heroic. He then pointed out that it is called a job and not some superhuman feat of self-sacrifice. 

I think, it could only be called a JOB if you're getting paid for what you are doing, and not the other way around. Caring for the sick is probably not as noble as dying in Bagumbayan for your own country but it has a degree of altruism not seen in just about anyone.

I think the majority of the population is too selfish, too human to spend their days and years serving humanity with not much in return.

To be or not to be, that is the question.

If you took up Nursing just because your parents says so or you envision yourself in the middle of  glitz and glamour, strutting the streets of L.A. or London without much effort to get there, then this profession is not for you. If you can't handle carrying out orders for the majority of your professional life and if the weight of lives on your shoulders seems too much to bear, then don't do it.

But if you got into this profession in your own free will, without the lure of gold coins and fancy lifestyle, if the universe of health care and medicine just inspires and amazes you, then please, for all our sakes, continue what you are doing now and show the world there are still people like you who was born to serve and make  this country, and eventually the world, a better, more caring place.