Hiram

Can you still remember the last time somebody borrowed from you? Did you not feel a bit reluctant to part away with your possession knowing that in our culture, when you say "borrow" it's already the equivalent of asking for that object. It's like saying good-bye already to your precioussss. Perhaps it's our "polite" way of asking that such has become a euphimism for "can I have it?" And since we're a people who have a hard time saying "no", "borrowing" always do the trick.

I mean, it's OK to borrow because that person might really need it, as in really really need it. Books I can understand, Cds can tolerate but DVD players and other non-essentials I consider it taboo. For me, borrowing is not a problem just as long you tell me when you shall return that object in question. That's because the mere fact that one is borrowing means that that person needs it only for a limited span of time, so he or she doesn't need it for eternity. Keeping it forever is indicative of theft and betreyal of trust.

This is where all problems arise. Filipinos are not very good in returning things. You have to prod them incessantly just to return some of your stuff that you may have forgotten already. Stuff like tupperware, kitchenware, cds, programs, books and clothes make the bulk. And sometimes, when they return it, they sport an indignant harrassed look as if you have made a huge social faux pas in asking them to return what they have borrowed. Does it mean that when asked to return our borrowed objects, we tend to lose face? I don't think so. It's a natural tendency to actively retrieve our possessions back- especially from those whose reputation are not that bright in the "return" department.

So, what have you borrowed lately?

Mass Starvation

Unidentified Feeding Objects

The unevitable happened. The only sound I was able to hear at this point was, "Chomp! Chomp! Gobble Gobble! Mmmm... Slurp! Slurp!" as the OB residents were wolfing down the spaghetti Nana cooked for them. It was a babel of gastronomic onomatopeic grunts of oohs and ahhs. The tupperware was raped to no end by spoons and forks penetrating its very core. I can't help but think how banal our pleasures have become- especially for those whose forte are in the cerebellar fields of medicine. To think that all those technical procedures and esoteric medical terms can be easily trumped up by the mere sight of food.

In the world of internship, there's an unspoken rule which is handed down from generation to generation whereby any merit or incentive given to an intern (whether be it a complicated case or a procedure), such must be reciprocated in terms of gastronomic treats. Think of the carrot-on-the-stick principle. So, I was given a case, hence, I must deliver the goods. My two other partners already delivered theirs, so I was next on the list. In any event that such an intern fails to dole out his share, the residents of that department will pester the poor soul to no end. So, to quote Bush, this is what I call, "preemptive strike"

And so, I expected that with three large tupperwares of creamy spaghetti and garlic bread the supply will last the day, but alas, it was not to be. After the morning endorsement, only one-half of the third container was left and by noon, it was all gone. All were satisfied and contented that they were wary of going down to the E.R. or to the labor room.

And with a smile, I thought, that if I was vindictive enough, I could have infused several brands of rat powder to the food and no one will know. And probably none will live to tell the tale. Isn't that food for thought?

The Sea of Smiles

Today I watched the Masskara Festival on Channel 23 for an hour before my infernal friend texted me that she needed me to meet her at Robinson's the soonest so that she can have her dinner- a dinner at 4:30 p.m. Who the hell eats dinner that early? Eskimos? Though I promised her that we'll enjoy a nice meal together after dusk, I wasn't counting on the fact that her colon which breeds eight species of anacondas would demand to be fed at that very moment. And so I missed the rest of the show. Demmit.


Where have all the smiles gone?

The gist of the festival is this: a mardigras inspired festival full of colorful smiling papier mache masks celebrating man's resilience over adversity and hope against despair. It was borne out of the misery Bacolod was in during 1980 where there were the MV Don Juan disaster, plummeting of world sugar prices, the widespread famine in Negros and the NPA insurgency in the hinterlands. No one really thought that there would be light at the end of the tunnel. But fortunately, some of the artist-friends in Bacolod (like Peque Gallaga and Mayor Bing Leonardia) decided that there should be a celebration to give the people something to hope for even in that time of economic and social desperation. Thus, Masskara came to be.

It's not like one of those run-off-the-mill idol-worshipping, faux-ethnic, historically-unconnected, street parades that characterize every no-name town festival in this archipelago.

Rather, it's a true celebration of life, the living for the moment, to remind us of our strength against overwhelming odds. It is why Masskara continues to be one of the main crowd drawer among Philippine celebrations. It is also why it is the perpetual poster-boy for all tourist brochures and advertisements. It encapsulates the essence of being a Filipino: "full of life."

What Masskara means is fun, fun, fun. At the event itself, it means eating all those Chicken Inasals at Manokan Country, watching the parade, watching the people you know, mingling with the natural odors of everyone, watching those COD-like floats pass by, watch how stupid the contestants are in the Q&A portion of the Miss Masskara pageant, or going to the "perya-han" in slippers with it's leaning Ferris wheel and small-time gambling tents. After soaking up the culture, we usually end up meeting up with long lost high school barkada, going to bars all night long, getting drunk till dawn at a bar in the middle of a sugarcane field, food tripping from Dampa-like Pala-pala to nostalgic Bob's, joy riding through the city, and much more. Ahhh, the memories.

And this whole shebang is something the whole country must take notice. Why? We must emulate what the Negrenses have been doing for the past 25 years, and that is taking every adversity with a smile. It is not merely sugar-coating reality or being deluded to a fool's paradise, but rather this Masskara shows us that we can choose not to be pulled down by the heavy weight of the current problems besetting our nation today. We cannot afford to lose our compass and our senses just because our economy is teetering to the brink of an Argentina-like disaster. We must still find the goodness in living and celebrate it with a festival like no other. What this gives us is optimism that there is hope for our country and countrymen.

Look at Negros 25 years since Masskara was first held. Just by looking how well the province has grown and developed, it's no wonder why people still celebrate Masskara full of pride and fervor. Like a Phoenix, it has risen from the ashes and will continue to fly high towards greater glory.

Fahrenhype 9/11

After watching a crisp original copy of Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 on pirated DVD, I am now convinced that Bush used all he can to protect his oil businesses which the Bin Ladens are major investors, and that his horrific occupation of Iraq has brought more misery and headaches rather than liberation. Also, I come to the conclusion that he is one lazy president using his time pre-9/11 on vacations on his Texas ranch and when asked what was he doing there, his simple reply was :"You know, doing stuff." If we lambast GMA for her wily shrewd "trapo" tactics, Bush deserves to be condemned and criticized more for his stupidity and collusion in bringing the whole world into a "siege mentality"

The video is well shot, full of archival footages, interviews (that didn't make it to the news) and incriminating evidences that connects everyone (from Foxx news, to Dick Cheney to Condyloma Rice) in a grand conspiracy to justify the Iraq war. Though I know we are not directly involved into the Iraq thing, we have now become complicit allies for Bush's experiment as seen in our willing (more like salivating) participation in the coalition of the willing.

As for the features, everything you can think of is there. From the previews, to more archival footages like the one where Condyloma Rice admitted to the investigative committee that they have indeed received a specific report on the planned 9/11 attack but chose to ignore it because "the title was not specific." Duh! How stupid can she get. Well, obviously she has been prepared to do damage control for this administration.

The question now is, "Will this video sway the undecided voters away from Bush?" Well, I do hope so.

**This video is now available at your nearest Muslim dvd hawker.

Tonsillitis

Why must we suffer because this vestigial organ gets infected? It's nothing more but lymphoid tissue acting as a sentinel for our trachea and esophagus. But once it gets infected (usually by the strep family), damn, your entire day and entire mood has gone down the drain. Its constellation of symptoms which can range from body malaise, to loss of appetite or easy fatiguability really gets into one's nerves.

I went home from the hospital with only one thing in mind: to sleep. My body's well being was preparing to shut down, my eyes were heavy and my throat felt as if Vesuvius was scratching its walls. When I reached my room, time and space became a blur as I dozed off into la-la-land.

But the good thing is, Azithromycin is there to save the day. I took my first dose already. Although the effects are not primarily for tonsillitis, its effects are really astounding. You only need to take in one tablet once a day for three days. And that's it. Instant cure! Many of my co-interns take it, and it really is a life-saver, because if you work in a profession where it's "Bawal magkasakit" having this drug at hand is really a must.

Pandora's Box

Today, I had the shock of my life. I got a call from the OB office saying nice things about my writing, which I never ever displayed in public, for in a field where knowledge is paramount and creativity is rubbish, I have to suppress any inclinations to the latter. It seems that one of the residents while surfing the net, accidentally managed to click on a stored entry at the browser's status bar causing my page to be downloaded. For me, it was a horrific epiphany. Though flattered because of their affectionate praises, it disturbed me to no end that my alcove of stress, my hideaway from the daily grind, has been found out with all its skeletons. I felt naked.

What consequences this would bring? Surely, having people read your entries can bring a certain satisfaction. But having people which unconcsiously might be characters in your entries scrutinizing it only brings a tip-toe approach to everything I write. Call it a repression of thought or gagging of free speech, but when the hand that rocks your cradle is busily perusing your blog, one has no choice but to take the easy way out. It's idiotic to stoke the embers of hate in an environment where stress is being eaten for breakfast, lunch and dinner, where one needleprick can bring the whole balloon to a burst. Right now, it's best to sit on high fences.

The whole issue brings to mind China's policy on the press. To summarize it in one word: "Pragmatism."

(And probably the people concerned are reading this too.)

Earthquake

As I was typing this entry, comfortable as I could ever be with my legs splayed to the other chair eating dulce gatas, a strong jolt shook my senses. A fucking (pardon the expletive) strong earthquake shook the building furiously with the floor moving back and forth, the hanging lamp swinging round and round and the electric cables were dancing ala jumprope. My heart immediately went to my throat as I was seized by the sheer terror of being buried alive. I remembered the Baguio Hilton? of 1990 and it somewhat has imparted a fear of dying slowly in a dark claustrophobic space. I panicked to see that this was no ordinary earthquake for it was long and unforgiving. I shouted to my mom (who was visiting from Bacolod) and her tita-tita friend and to the helper to duck for cover under the dining table. I meanwhile went down beneath the sidetable. We quickly prayed for divine intervention invoking God's infinited protection and mercy, and that whatever will happen, into His hands we commend our souls. It's quite amazing how people's faith is rejuvenated in a split-second time whenever there is a life-threatening crisis such as 9/11 and this earthquake.

After about a minute of being petrified under the table, I shouted to them to quickly rush down the stairs to the main door which is three flights down. Quickly sensing the urgency (for possible aftershocks), we flew downstairs. Our helper who's into her twilight years, went back pa to get the flashlight. And ultimately forgot to close the door on the way out. Oh, well. During time of panic, you forget everything.

The funny thing was that by the time we reached the door, the sight outside was as if nothing had ever happened. No distressed mothers or people milling around to talk about Mother Nature's fury. It was just like any ordinary Friday night with prostitutes clinging to white caucasian trash and street urchins loitering the dirty streets of Ermita.

After surviving two earthquakes for the past four years, I have developed an acute post-traumatic stress syndrome wherein any jolt or shake from the ground will trigger a rapid rise in adrenaline and a quick blurring of any rational thought. Only the goal of self-preservation prevails. It's embarrassing to panickly shout in the top of my voice to evacuate the unit. Call it a hyperactive sense of anxiety or what, the fact remains that during earthquakes, the only goal in my mind is to look for an opening. The last earthquake that happened about a month ago made me go down halfway through the stairs with nothing on but my boxers. It was embarrassing, I know. But hey, once you're trapped, you're trapped.

Anyway, no aftershocks yet. The helper had suddenly developed headache so I asked her to lie down and drink a glass of water just to soothe her nerves. I bet her BP rose up as well. My mom and her "tita-tita" friend stayed inside the bedroom and prayed the rosary. I, on the other hand, am finishing this entry. I just hope that come this morning, there won't be any aftershocks anymore. Ciao!

Autophobia Rex

What is it with us Filipinos? Are we indeed afraid of being alone? Why is it that in our culture, the bliss of solitude is never enjoyed? It is apparent that if one is alone, he or she is thought to be either a loner (which in some cases are true) or a sociopath.

When you enter a restaurant and you see someone eating all alone, or when you go into a theater and you pass by a movie-goer watching the flick alone, what do you feel? Are you moved by pity or by relief that you're not this person. Don't you feel good that you're more fortunate than that poor soul because on the other hand, you yourself has someone to accompany in your leisure activities? Even if that person is your driver, a maid, your neice or cousin, or co-worker, you subconsciously make sure that that person is with you when you go out. Basta meron lang. It's not even a result of the security-risk crime-infested environment we live in. This is simply a idiosyncratic curiosity of ours wherein we prefer never to be alone. Sometimes, women even cajole their friends to accompany them to the comfort room! I don't think she will be sucked into the bowl ala Titanic, right? Or how about that helper from the next unit who always asks someone to accompany her to throw the trash or buy food outside? It's somewhat disturbing and ridiculous really.

Is this the result of our native values of "pakikisama", "bayanihan", and extended family ties? Maybe. A bit? But not to the point that we become clingy to each other that one is stiffled from doing things alone- like doing the grocery or eating out. It is perhaps our collective consciousness that we brand those people who do things solitarily as loners, outcasts, and never fun to be with. It is this presumptuousness that perpetuates this loathing for others being by themselves. It is wrong, but hey, it's reality. You may not perceived it outright but the undercurrents there are strong- especially in restaurants.

But really, who cares? If one likes being alone or finds solace in doing stuff by himself or herself, it is her right. While others may steal glances or whisper discretely, the person involved doesn't give a horse's shit for the mere fact that he or she is doing it with no one around can be a sign that that soul is practically savoring the moment. It may be moment away from a busy schedule or from a mad-house family or from a clingy dependent loved one. Whatever the reason and however the feeling, the fact remains that doing things alone is looked down upon by our present Filipino society.
This may mean that many Filipinos have been afflicted by the disease known as Autophobia Rex. (No such disease entity exists, just in the author's mind)

Forty Winks

Every night, from duty, I feel as if my sole purpose of going home is to sleep. And only to sleep. The sensation of which has paralyzed my function for anything else, like socializing, eating, or even studying. You become so tired that only the bed and the pillow have now transformed into your new best friends. Sometimes, I'd give anything to sleep for at least half a day and wake up not palpitating or having anxiety attacks because of the possibility of tardiness for the next duty.

And tomorrow IS duty once more. This is a never ending cycle. And so goes to all doctors, residents, interns and clerks all over the country. The day is now marked neither by the calendar nor the clock but by the three day fest of preduty, duty and postduty. It's funny to note that those non-doctors who have intimate relationships with physicians make do only during post-duty afternoons (which is practically used to sleep) and pre-duty afternoons. And funnier still to see that most of the time, these relationships do not last long- primarily because the non-med partner demands for more time which the doctor cannot give, hence, the break-up. That is probably why most doctors end up marrying fellow doctors too.

So, now I break this entry for the comfort of the smooth satin-like bed embracing every contour of my body lulling me to la-la-land, is fast calling me.

Forced Feeding

One of the perks of being in Medicine is actually the continuous barrage of food into your gut. There are grateful patients who bring Red Ribbon cakes and pastries, pancit from the bilao, Gonuts Donuts, lanzones and seasonal fruits. It's a constant blessing and reminder that all these stressful work has borne gustatory delights albeit a superficial joy. We're humbled that there are really people who seek you out just to give you a farewell gift.


What hunger can do to some doctors.

And not only that, the MedReps would cater our lunches so that many will come and hear about their product launch. What a very crafty strategy! They know that in order to lure Filipino doctors into the open, food is needed. Perhaps it's only food that delivers an instant warm feeling to the soul and an instant zap of energy for the upcoming lecture, presentation or conference.

This afternoon, our residents had to present their census for the month in a conference where all the consultants and clinicians will attend it and scrutinize the hits and misses of the residents' clinical practice, in the hope that they will improve their protocols in the future. Each case will be dissected with a fine hair comb of criticisms and violent reactions. But to ease the stomach aches that can trigger a feeding frenzy against the residents, the department (as a norm) decided to feed the sharks with a catered feast. There was chopped lechon with delectable liver sauce, braised beef in tomato-barbecue sauce, palm-sized fish fillets with tartar sauce, steamed rice and for dessert, buko lychee. Yum! Yum! I had seconds, no, thirds! It was perfect! So perfect that I dozed off the entire lecture.

And with that, everyone in the department always look forward to each Friday because it's forced feeding day. No exceptions. No excuses. No escape.

Friendster Fiendster

Filipinos are simply suckers for new (and free) tools aimed at connecting people. That's why we're suckers for Nokia. At first we're suckers for the beepers, then the email, then the texting, then the phonecam, and now, we have another way of keeping us in contact with our friends and beyond. And that is Friendster.

Friendster is fast replacing the current mode of emailing. More than just sending messages, this internet tool has the capability and culpability of spying and snooping around your friends' current pictures and also searching the countless email possibilities of anonymous users. Before, emails tend to be impersonal and detached, now with this freebie, writing mails now have become virtually interactive as if the other person is actually on the other line waiting for your reply. It's great to have a personal face to a somewhat static feature, but sometimes having one takes away the privacy and discretion of the whole practice. Though it depends on your level of exhibitionism, having your personal photo runs the risk being taken advantage out there. It's a double-edged sword which neither one can extricate the good results with the bad possibilities of posting personal items.


Friendster Online...

Eventually, such a feature gives rise to a plethora of alternative entertainment such as voyeurism, cyberdating and cyberprostitution. Undersirable as they are or seem to be (according to the norms of idol-worshipping Catholics of the Philippines), they are some of the possibilites that we can think of as a direct result of our innate nature- nature which according to Plato is evil. Yes, man is evil according to the philosopher. Who am I to object?? That fact that we, as Pinoys, are always tempted to abuse and pervert the original cause of Friendster just shows that being evil is in our blood. But guilt aside, this just shows that we are capable of stretching the possible to near-impossible, which is good in a way. We make use of what we have. Innovate!

Though those are some of its peripheral uses, its main purpose is to reconnect. You reconnect with your old high school friends, your college colleagues, your coworkers, your boss, and your family. You keep them in one tangible box where they can be just a click away. The whole thing brings back nostalgia, all those memorable persons who strike a chord in your heart. You'll see your barkada have grown fat, or with children or with flashy cars or with a new beau. The joys of learning that some of your friends have reached the top or have transfered to the US is exhilarating, and the cruelty of realizing that some of those who tormented you in the past are getting their just rewards now is very very satisfying. And contacting them is so easy.

Instead of keeping folders of impersonal emails, you have rather the faces of those whom you consider an important part of your life. The drawback is that people do not check their Friendsters as freqently as they would do to an ordinary email account, so updates and replies can be pretty erratic and unpredictable. It's because for some this is just a fad. But for many, this has become an extension of their persona in cyberspace.

So, is this tool just a passing game of kings and fools? Or will this gambit become a permanent face in the net? Perhaps only time will tell.

Toxic Tuesday

Obgyne as a specialty is simply not my cup of tea. Tough I somewhat enjoy the rotation (rather more like got the hang of it), I hate the waiting and the anticipating. It's like doing Beckett's play, "Waiting for Godot," over a span of 36 hours doing nothing but engaging in belly rubbing sessions known as "labor watch".

It's one of the laborious and most inefficient medical methods of assessing uterine contractions. I feel you're being chained to the patient 24/7 as if in only 5 seconds, the mother's womb will blow up like Mission Impossible. It's as if that that person is the only patient in the whole ward. It's not only a waste of precious time but also shows how primitive and left behind is our medical field. The equipment needed is a tocometer, but if there is none, all you have to rely is on one's sense of touch. Simple but really impractical. Especially during the peak season.

Speaking of peak season, yesterday I got the taste of blood. In quick successions, mothers in the throw of giving birth were being rushed one by one like an assembly plant of human fetuses into the labor room then to the delivery room. It's a madhouse. Government hospitals must have double the trouble. It's adrenaline rush indeed, to see that after waiting hand and foot for a very long time the patient suddenly shifts to high gear with all the residents and intern involved in alert mode.

They would say, "Ok! put in 8 units Syntocinon to present IV, stat!", "Prep (means to scrub up) na, people! Lalabas na yan!", "Misis, pagtumigas ang tiyan, huminga nang malalim, pigil, and push!! One! Two! Three!... Ten!", "Mali pag-iri mo misis! Magconcentrate ka!" .... it was really a mad mad night.

And when the baby's head is already jutting out the canal, the resident is ready to catch it while I have to clamp, milk and cut the cord quickly and cleanly as possible. After baby's dreadful exit, it's down to the expulsion of the placenta, cleaning of the uterus, and suturing of the vaginal lacerations.

But even though it's a chop-chop timed regimen, the amount of patients pouring in is really nerve wrecking. I just wish my next duty is benign. I wish. I wish!!

The Eagle has Landed

The ever famous Go Nuts Donuts! has arrived in Robinson's Ermita. I was surprised a while ago that a lady was carrying a 6-piece box with the donut label on it. I literally accosted her where she bought them. She said they opened a branch outside Robinson's located at Padre Faura Street right beside Cinnzeo. Wow! It's true!! Now everyone can get their donut fix!!

Pachelbel Rocks!

I was and am still blown away by Pachelbel's Canon in D. He may not be the brightest star of the Classical world where such composers such as Beethoven and Mozart have perpetually carved their fame and fortune but his single, "Canon in D" has won millions around the globe. It is only this melody which made him famous the world over, even if he did compose many Protestant pieces during his lifetime.

Johann Pachelbel (1653 - 1706) lived in Germany during the time of the Age of Enlightenment when Europeans wore wigs and cravats and did not take baths. It was a time of Louis XIV, the sun-king who famously said, "I am the state!" and also the time when the Vermeer painted his Girl with a Pearl Earring. That was the age of Robert Boyle and Isaac Newton. The music, arts and architecture of this era was molded by the Church and nobility whose patronage lifted the humanities to its pinnacle as seen in the lavish and ornate Baroque and Rococo architecture, the rich, realistic and dark colors of Van Dyke and Gainsborough, and the uplifting Baroque music of Vivaldi, Handel and Bach. Unfortunately, Pachelbel was just one speck in that topsy-turvy world where his brilliance was not readily recognized unlike some of his contemporaries who in their lifetime had achieved vast fame and wealth.

Even in today's cynical society still lies the appreciation for the old and classical, and thankfully, Pachelbel lives on. Not many know it but his music has been the inspiration of current bestsellers like that R&B song, "I'll see you when you get there" by Coolio and the "Graduation Song" by pop icon Vitamin C. His Canon in D has also been infused into commercials and wedding marches. In the internet, this is one of the most famous singles and so far it has been transcribed, rerecorded, remixed and jazzed up so many times that there are already lots of variance but the main strain still remains.

Why is this melody so successful? Because of its simplicity. It has been once compared to "Flower Duet" in Delibes' opera, Lakme, the tune of which is fairly familiar with many who have heard it during Olympic commercials and Yanni recordings. But it pales in comparison with the orgasmic and heavenly quality of Canon in D. The tempo is mellowed, more with the objective to lull the listener but the quality of the music uplifts the soul many times over. A perfect anti-depression remedy. Stefan Helander
said it more clearly:

I listen to it when I'm happy and I listen to it when I feel sad. It touches my soul and sends shivers down my spine. And it still does, even though I've listened to it thousands of times.

Enough said. Go and listen to this wonderful music. It's included by the way, in a track in Bond's new cd entitled, "Classified."

The Hand

Ever wonder why almost all doctors have terrible handwriting? It's especially evident in the way prescriptions are written. It's so bad that only the pharmacist can decipher it. By the way, how could Mercury Drug Store clerks ever understand those illegible scripts which even academicians might mistake it with Sanskrit or Mandarin?

It happened to me yesterday when it was so toxic (med lingo for being busy) that I assisted my consultant from 10am until 5pm without any lunch break. My feet were already tired and livid from standing up and going to and fro. Anyway, the doctor on hand assigned me to type a medical referral for a patient in waiting. She was blurting out paragraphs while my mind was merely latching just to some phrases of it. I am not sure if it was just me being slow in memorization or she was too fast in her instructions. To help me in typing it, she scribbled the important points to be included into the certificate. I tried recognizing the familiar letters but her handwriting was soooooo bad that it looked more terrible than the worst Arabic steno ever found. Anyway, I had to waste a long time deciphering it but fortunately, the staff in the rehab have already grown accustomed to her scratchy script that upon presenting the draft, they were able to comprehend and translate it for me. It was lost in translation, indeed! But seriously, it was really a pain trying to understand all the unintelligible squiggly lines and loop-d-loops.

It comes to the point where I began to reflect on the effects of being a doctor. Does this mean that being one, one is predisposed to develop "malgraphicus medicus"? It must be attributed to the tight and toxic schedule of a clinician whose mind works faster than his hand. So, in the effort to catch up the physician's train of thought, the hand has lost its ability to punctuate its sentences. But logically, who wants to have bad handwriting skills, huh? In fact, no one. It just so happens that physicians use their writing faculties mostly to write abbrevations, short cuts, orders, etc, and not wordy technical essays. All things must be brief, short and straight to the point.

Rationalization aside, the repercussions of having bad handwriting is huge. Columnist Michael Tan, said it plainly:

"The physician may have prescribed Losec, an anti-ulcer drug, but careless dispensing could mean Lasix being given to the patient, which makes a world of a difference because Lasix is a drug to induce urination."

A bad stroke can make a big difference- some deadly. That's why doctors take time to explain everything that's written on the prescription sheet, which he assumes that the patient understands the name of the drug.

So, on your next visit to the clinic. Be sure to check on the handwriting of your doctor. The worse it is, the better that doctor is, because it just means that there are more patients who come for consultation, which after the doctor has written countless amount of prescriptions, his handwriting is sure to deteriorate.

Kama Sutra Therapy

What's that thing dangling from the lady?

I thought Physical Therapy (PT) was just about flexing muscles and trying to reach the full range of motion of the affected muscle groups. I also thought it was just limited to... you know, weights, treadmills, steppers, hydromachines, parrafin wax treatments, electrostimulations, but No! It did not stop there.

While I was perusing this three-inch thick textbook on physical therapy which I got from their mini-library, I chanced upon pg.197 which, lo and behold, in full illustration, was the Kama Sutra of PT. I know it's not my place to pass judgement over what these therapists learn in school, but sex therapy? Yes, that's the title of the chapter: "Sex Therapy" I cannot imagine these PTs having practical exams on this topic during their training years. Can you picture a love doll for a partner during a return demo? It's kinky, i know.


This is sick!

Also, for me it's very very wierd to encourage couples to engage in sexual intercourse even if one of them is disabled. I don't prejudice those with handicaps because it's a fact that their sexual functions and appetites still exist whether we like it or not. Libido is still there, unless you wish to do a lobotomy. Some disabled are "capable of rape" daw, as seen in the newspapers and tv series. But perhaps it's not a very nice sight to see paraplegics engaging in foreplay where the muscle groups needed for sexual initiation and follow-through are disabled. The quadriceps, biceps, hamstrings, abdominals and others which come to play during sex are the same muscles that are weakened during strokes and accidents. Can you imagine fornicating with someone who has a colostomy bag in front? Could you imagine yourself having fun with a quadriplegic stroke patient? Can you imagine Stephen Hawkins having sex with his female colleague? It's possible but improbable. I think it's not only silly, it's absurd. But in this time of political correctness, I stand corrected.


They say stroke patient's are capable of rape? Please!

The bottom line perhaps, is that as humans with sexual desires, we cannot limit others in persuing this lustful pleasure solely because of physical disability. It is probably a good thing to give them alternatives on how to engage in such activity while maximizing their remaining active muscle groups. But political blah-blah aside, it's a bit wierd and perverse, more to the taste of necrophilia perhaps?

But as they say, "you can't knock it 'til you try it."

Muy Sobresaliente!

Certified Chef d'Angelo Addict

Chef d'Angelo is for me the epitome of cheap, sulit, gourmet food. Every time you eat here is always a pleasant discovery. And almost all foodlovers agree.

It's located at the heart of Robinson's Place - Ermita (and other Robinson malls) and there are plans to open another resto at Glorietta. That is a very terrific idea considering the purchasing power of the urbane yuppies hanging out there.

Good thing the line wasn't that long, so we got to order fast. I ordered Potato Cheese Choder (P52) and their P98 Sampler #1 consisting of a huge "Big Bird" chicken breast coated in batter, deepfried, with Caesar's salad, and a 9" Hawaiian Pizza. With a raspberry ice tea, the night was perfect. Enna on the other hand, ordered P78 Sampler #3 made up of soup and the same pizza while Mark got Spaghetti with Beer Sausage. He was so stuffed that he wasn't able to finish the rest of the pasta.

The servings are large and quite cheap when compared to the same food served in some restaurants. Their P145 9" Great White Pizza (Bacon, shrimps, mushrooms with garlic over rich and creamy Alfredo Sauce) is better and more satisfying than say, a P150+ Family Hawaiian Greenwich Pizza. The dough of the latter is more chewy and delectable to the palate while the former tastes like a stale uncooked bread stick or that sidewalk, 3M pizza.

The other great thing about Chef is the quality of food they serve. It's gourmet and at par with Don Henrico's or Italiani's in quality. They really know how to combine good ingredient to produce great combinations...like shrimps and thick garlic Alfredo sauce... or different herbs and tomato sauce... teriyaki and pizza... you know, fusion stuff. Though the service needs improvement partly due to the fact that the place is always packed, it's better than the usual restaurants. It has that Italianni's personalized touch so to speak.

So, if you want to gorge down on great classy gourmet food that's easy on the budget, then, you must try Chef d'Angelo.

Rating: (Passing grade of 75%)

Food Content: 96%
Staff Projection: 82%
Price Impact: 90%
Audience Appeal: 94%
Ambience & Special Effects: 86%

Total Average Score of: 90%

Fragile Flame

The li'l cutiee!

There was one patient at the Rehab clinic today who left an indelible print in my mind. She was just barely two years old and already she has been afflicted by a disease that only stubborn and sedentary people get- stroke. Yes, a child of two can have a stroke. It’s called “Stroke in the Young” and it’s quite a rare condition considering that the cause of this disease is not due to lifestyle factors. Many times it’s due to blood diseases wherein a blood clot forms and becomes dislodged into one of the many arteries of the brain, thus, causing a stroke.

Late in the afternoon she was playing with the Rehab’s toys and was enjoying herself with the company of the PT staff who were responsible for her therapy. She was being helped to walk since she was dragging her right foot. Her warm smile and energy made me suddenly realize that in life, no amount of tragedy can take away your ability to smile, more so, to love. Also I became acutely aware that anything can happen to anyone as if Fate was playing Russian roulette, that no amount of preparation or contingencies made can prevent a sudden twist of fate from happening. But on the other side of this seemingly futile notion, lies a silver lining which tells us that God is there and that no matter how heavy is our cross or how tragic is our loss, He will help us use our disabilities to be the instruments for his plans. It’s manifest destiny.

From what I saw at the reception area where this bubbly small girl was not really minding the difficulty of walking, I now know that all things happen for a reason, a certain reason, which sometimes its purpose is deeply hidden from sight as of the moment only to be revealed by God’s own time. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle- if the piece you’re holding does not fit into the pattern, get another one and try again, for in the end all the pieces will fall into their righteous place.

Shirt

"Corruptissima republicae, plurimae leges."
-Tacitus, Roman historian


Is it true that MMDA has now implemented an order making guys without shirts unlawful? It's another manifestation of the stupidity that that department is very famous for. It's not only crazy but also a waste of budget and legal space. I guess GMA's austerity measure is being stictly implemented for Bayani Fernando with his cavalier approach to all things has show that his brain can produce miniscule impractical austere measures which doesn't make a dent into our daily lives. It's another useless law by a useless man for a useless cause. Tacitus aptly put it when he said that the more laws a country has, the more corrupt it is.

So what if one will take of his shirt in broad daylight? It's not as if our climate is a Russian winter where anyone with commonsense will be forced to cover themselves. With the humidity and heat of hell, it's just practical sometimes to disrobe our tops.

Look at the Americans. They take off their shirt in public parks, beaches, and streets so they could catch some rays and skin cancer. For them, it's their right if they want to have a shirt or not. I think they're right. It's enshrined in our bill of rights that we have the right to dress as we deem fit. If I'm an Igorot by heritage, is it unlawful if I exercise my culture in Luneta? It's ironic that this banal topic is even being exploited by our government just so they can rack up brownie points into their legislative portfolio. The sheer audacity of it is already disgusting.

What are we? Prudes? It's as if we're receding into the middle ages. Or into a despotic rule of a communist pig called Fernando. I can't believe that having a shirt off can strike malice into other people. This just shows that women are hornier than man for it is they who act like prudes and complain about immodesty but put malice into anything that's bare. I'm not a misogynist but this same applies to older males. As the Little Prince once said, "Malice is in the eyes of the beholder."

The Promise of Internal Life

My hiatus as a certified bum has officially ended. Today, I rejoined my co-interns in their daily grind at the San Juan de Dios Hospital. It's a feeling of anticipation (because of the new things I'll discover in the course of my training) and dread (because of the level of responsibility being expected at this time). Being in this profession is never routine work. Every patient presents a new page for learning. There is no flowchart to follow, just instincts and gutfeel. There is no assembly-line management, but case-to-case basis. It's indeed both a sense of wonder and dread when you restart internship. I kept asking myself, "Do I have what it takes to become a good doctor?" I pray to God to grant me the strength and endurance to master and apply all that I have.

My rotation (since I was on LOA) was a toss-up between Rehab Med and Radio. Both were pretty benign areas and one has the luxury to go home and sleep at the comfort of a bed. I was placed in the Rehab Medicine department where most of the patients there were post-CVDs (stroke) and people who have back pains due to work. The center looked like an air-conditioned work-out gym but instead of trainors, you have PTs and OTs as your gym buddy. I was surprised to note that there were a lot of seamen (no pun intended) who have lower back pains which according to my consultant was due to their occupation of lifting heavy equipment. What else were there? Osteoarthritis, scoliosis, stroke, stroke and more stroke. It's depressing to see people get sick, but what can I do? It's the fact of life, the circle of birth and death. And perhaps with physical therapy, it's not only their body that's being healed, but also their hurt and frustrations whose handicaps have incapacitated them from leading a full life. As they say, time heals all wounds, and perhaps in this way, we can help chip in.