Friday, February 26, 2010


Have recently conducted an interns' oral exams and of course there was the obligatory zooming back to sepia-fied nostalgia, as if it were decades ago. My IM rotation as an intern has always been hugely filled with pure and utter (pure and utter!) misery. I had declared then in pure drama as I was typing away those darn clinical abstracts that I would never ever want to even see the walls or the floor or anything connected to the department, and where am I now, huh? Where am I now?! (lights a cigarette)

Ditz the Titz is another fixture in my IM memory being my servicemate in doom. We were always being slammed by the residents and the consultants at the time, and Ditz the Titz at one point in a fit of rage pasted a mini-poster of Kelly Clarkson at the back of my clipboard. I dared not tear it out, she could dislocate my shoulder without effort. Everytime Caloy would see it he would bleat "Since you been gooooone!!!!!!!"

It was in the callroom one day then that Ditz the Titz was being teased by Stryptophorophoropustyca for having muscular thighs.

"Hahahaha," Stryptophorophoropustyca laughed, "ang laki-laki ng hita mo!"
"Hmph," Ditz the Titz hmphed. "Arte-arte di naman kagandahan."

This retort fell on deaf ears as Stryptophorophoropustyca was too amused with herself. She continued to tease.
"Hita! Hita!" Stryptophorophoropustyca laughed.
"Mukha! Mukha!" Ditz the Titz laughed back.

Indeed, Medicine does this to you.

Gee, Thanks!


But indeed, one huge gee thanks to Daria and Smoketh for filling in for me during my hiatus from writing. I’ve discovered that writing this blog has been a huge time chomper, not to mention that it has totally usurped my real life with people telling me always to shut up--they would just read about it. Daria and Smoketh have heeded my persistent, high-pitched whining for someone to write something, and they wrote something in keeping with the spirit of This Could Be a Job for Mulder and Scully—that spirit being the spirit of tinnitus-inducing whinification, self-deprecation, pretend neuroses, and the occasional disgusting themes of crap and bodily fluids. Since no one is really wondering, I am typing this as I am bound in metal-studded leather straps from head to foot, mouth duck-taped, clad only in soiled adult diapers, with someone named Elvira whipping me as I beg for more humiliation. Or maybe Elvira and all of these trappings are just in my head, some sort of male rape hallucination, but maybe not, because my real fantasy is being wrapped from head to foot in Glad Wrap while being blowtorched. I’ll stop now before I get to the coprophagia part. But all kidding aside, what I was really doing in my busy-busyhan portion was getting whipped by someone named Elvira while I was clad only in soiled adult diapers. Wait.

I see that Smoketh has initially told everyone that I am dead, before she went on with the big reveal that I was in some fornicating expedition. Have recently attended a colleague’s mom’s wake, and while in the car with Hurricane Katrina and HIV we got around to discussing what our ideal burial songs would be in the unlikely event that we die in the future, because indeed, we think us all immortal. Hurricane Katrina wanted Seasons of Love from the musical Rent, HIV wanted My Way, and I said I wanted Tori Amos’ 1000 Oceans. There’s nothing more histrionic and dramatic than 1,000 Oceans, with the line “I will cry a thousand more if that’s what it takes to sail you home… sail you home… sail you home….. SAHAHAHAIL! Saahahail you home.”

Daria, on the other hand, wrote about the horrible smell that has assailed us as we were typing away in GJ’s. She gave us an exhaustive thesis on the nature of stench, and all her theories on what we were smelling would have held water had we not discovered soon after what the real nidus of the stench was, because we soon noted just outside the hotel an ongoing septic tank suckification process. “What do they do with all the crap?” I asked Daria. It was one of those questions that I had when I was five that I was sure I would be able to answer in my adulthood, and yet here I am, temples graying and walking with a limp from arthritis, still perplexed on where they send all the crap. Come to think of it, Holden Caulfield had a rather similar question, about where the ducks in the ponds go when they freeze over during the winter. There, I’ve finally done my obligatory literary name drop, I can end this now.

Come on, guest bloggers!

Monday, February 22, 2010

stench thesaurus

specialagentfox and i were sitting at gjs when he exclaimed in an unsure tone, "may naaamoy kang mabaho?" nonchalantly, i replied, "meron." he replied, "ang galing noh, it was just not there a while ago, and then you smell it and then...pabaho siya ng pabaho." and we went into a detailed analysis of how our brain magically transforms a scent/stench into a set of words put together to describe what we smell.

1. garbage juice - you know how when garbage settles, there is often that liquidy portion in the bottom portion of the garbage bag which mixes together and produces that characteristic "maasim na amoy?" hence you have garbage juice.
2. amoy paa. self explanatory.
3. parang cervical ca. go figure.
4. DM foot.
5. amoy anghet.
6. mapanghe

and with those words in mind, we changed tables and went on with our business.

Special agent fox mulder: Wow, this blog can now write itself. it is now self-sustaining. Thank you, Daria. More guest bloggers!

Guest Blogger

willy just passed away.

just kidding. he attests that he is in the netherlands having sex. with the solitary condom that he has in his black parker bag which he only washes once a year. hence, it is i...the guest blogger....blogging away.

daily, i insist to wil to write new blogs. he often replies affirmatively, but currently, he is busy. he is frantically highlighting his segment of harrisons (which he tore away and stuffed neatly into those color coded slide folders) as if there was no tomorrow. to please our chief. his former batchmate. i write now with bitterness.

more blogs will! more blogs!

because this plea fell on deaf ears, i know implore you dear readers, masses of followers of this specialagentfoxmulder blog, to message him endlessly until he produces more blogs. MORE BLOGS! for our pleasure. so that we can have something to look forward to. so that our uninteresting lives will be well written and salivated over by prominent people in our community, care of the master himself. so that one day, in the near future, these chronicles may be shared to other people in the form of a book.

just kidding. this is willy. i just tried to write through the persona of someone else. and no, i am not having sex in the netherlands.

Special agent fox mulder: no, it is not me after all. thank you guest blogger Smirketh for gracing my page and filling in for me while I'm having sex. Wow, this really works, having a guest blogger really saves me a lot of time. Hereby inviting you all to guest blog, you can write about anything!

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Subsubsub (and so on) specializing

And in a couple of days, ex-senior residents are returning as high and mighty fellows! High fives galore, rib-crushing hugs, major drools to all of you for mastering Harrison's and passing the exam, we are mighty proud and we hope to emulate thy tenacity. See, all the hard work, the panicky facebook status messages, and the self-imposed exiles in bombshelters paid off. Now that was fast, and it was just a few blog entries ago when I've waived goodbye to all of you, and now most of you are coming back! As Mighty, Intellectual, but Lovable Fellows (MILF!)! So welcome to yet another episode of... first yearhood! There's just no end to first yearhood, is there. No end to specializing and subspecializing and subsub (and so on)-specializing either. A few years ago I've decided that I would subsubsubspecialize on Kupffer cells. But now I'm a little confused, Clara cells seem interesting too.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


I've recently forced Smoketh to read a short story I've been planning to submit to a publication, and we've both agreed that it's a sell-out piece, ie, I'm writing out of my personal style (personal style, how pretentious), writing out of character in order to fit the quality of the publication, ie, i'm whoring myself for byline and money. Short stories are a trickier business than, say, a straightforward informative essay on some specific health issue like what I've been doing for another publication (an excellent publication if I might add), or book and comic book reviews. Of all the writing forms the short story perhaps is one of the most difficult to tackle, as it has too many elements that would require fleshing out in a more limited space. It is also more difficult to inject one's characteristic humor, as the humor and wit would have to be delivered within a specific situation or context, and not just something that you could pull out from a personal experience. Having said that, I still think it's a sell-out piece.

Come to think of it the writing business is not very different from, let's say, showbizness or even job applications for corporate positions. Sometimes you would need to step out of the box, or as they would say in American Idol, step out of your comfort zone and sing, bleeech, an Air Supply song when necessary when what you really want to belt out is Don't Drink The Water by Dave Matthews. You can't always write personal stuff--with the relatively poor marketability of literature plus the fact that very few people would pay to read printed material, you would have to know the access points for the dwindling market. The beauty of writing, I guess, is that its nature as an art allows for more flexibility and range without necessarily attributing such to whoredom.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Soundtrack and Quotes

For indeed, we must have these to complement our daily experiences. That way we can always have the histrionics of pretending that we are in some great TV drama or a sitcom. Obviously I'm using "we", when in fact I'm just pertaining to myself. For some strange reason I always feel like I'm in a sitcom, be it during a restful coffee conversation or service rounds. Don't try to come up with what that strange reason might be, I'll just say it out loud with two words: mental illness. Oh what has become of me, I've gone to the dogs, spiralled down directly to hell, etc.

I tried. I've tried really hard to restrain myself from dropping corny punchlines in daily conversations. I've even tried to be a monster and toxify everyone during rounds and pretend to have a modicum of self-respect, but every word just comes out as a punchline. My poor gen med service. Even when I've tried to bully and harrass Pyro by saying I would make ngudngod his face on the box of Mister Donuts he got me nobody believed I would do it and all I got were annoyed grunts that the line was not worthy of being shortlisted for Best Screenplay. I'd better create a better repertoire of bullification.

The recent world-shattering crisis of getting a laparoscopic chole has reminded me of a quote to define that life-altering experience. Obviously, that quote could only come from Marquis de Sade himself--more accurately, the Geoffrey Rush version in Quills hissing to the buxom chambermaid Kate Winslet:

"I will fuck you in every orifice of your body, and create orifices where there are none!"

Ouch. Stay away, Marquis, my peritoneum is the only sacred thing I have left, go on and choke on a rosary.

Nobody Has Great Love For This Earth More Than Wonder Woman

To distract us from the Over-All Misery of Things, I am contemplating on playing Ganthet and bestow power ring sergeant-hood! What am I talking about, you dare ask? In Blackest Night 6 it has been declared that in times of crisis the 7 power rings can be temporarily duplicated and bestowed to seven people who possess the characteristics of those lantern rings! To enumerate:

1. Red Lantern of Rage- This has been awarded to Mera, wife of Aquaman, for her pure rage during this entire Blackest Night event. In real life, I have bestowed this ring to... Smoketh! I know some of you might have more rage than Smoketh, but it was beyond my control, all right. As soon as I texted her the word "PUSSY!" she has been filled with puuure rage and a red ring just swooped down and inserted itself in her finger! "Smoketh, you have great rage in your heart. Welcome to... The Red Lantern Corps!"

2. Orange Lantern of Avarice- Much to Larfleeze's annoyance an orange lantern was given to none other than... Lex Luthor! In real life, I am hereby awarding this to... Namtab Pots! As much as I hate it, Callistus Netromedev, your avarice has surpassed mine, as you want all your graphic novels in hard cover, while I'm content with the cheap trade paperbacks! Plus, you can say MINE!MINE!MINE! longer that I can!

3. Green Lantern of Will- This has been usurped by Ganthet himself. Or was that some other Guardian, I don't know, they all look alike. And in real life, the duplicated green lantern ring is now bestowed upon... JD-Lu! Yes, JD-Lu, you possess great will! Since 2nd year, in fact, when you've exhibited pure willpower in writing long, intense, chart entries in your night MHAPOD duties to rival and berate our pathetic POD entries, plus the will to diminute 30 patients down to 4 for our benefit! Great will power you indeed possess. Oh, wait, Tessieloopagoop, are you reminding us that you were able to slim down the night patients during the lepto craze from 42 to 4? Are you trying to say that you have an even greater will? All right Tessieloopagoop no need to pout, you can have it. I said you can have it.

4. Yellow Lantern of Fear- was given to Scarecrow. But in real life, "You have the ability to instill great FEAR... Matillademonicusmultitrafecta!" Tremble, I hereby declare, tremble! I shall not elucidate any further as my teeth are genuinely chattering and knees buckling just from mentioning thy name.

Who has the ability to instill Great Hope and hence deserving to become a Blue Lantern along with that sperm-head and Hindu elephant guy? Who will become a member of the Indigo Tribe for possessing great Compassion? And most importantly, who has great Loooove in her heart to yank away the Violet Ring of Love away from Wonder Woman's claws? Beware, for nobody loves this earth more than Wonder Woman!

The This Could Be A Job For Mulder and Scully Yearbook!

And since we want to think of them as people and not mere characters in this cesspool of a blog, I present to you another entry in The This Could Be A Job For Mulder and Scully Yearbook!

Neurologist Shipper Jack Knight- NSJK possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of the X-Files, as she can recite Dana Scully's soliloquy in Momento Mori while looking at her CT scan showing brain mets from NPCA! NSJK is responsible for my mental health, as not only is she the only one with whom I can have a conversation about Talitha Cumi, Fresh Bones, and Leonard Betts, but also because she has provided me with a box of generic fluoxetines! NSJK has recently found love, and I find it quite delightful that one of the things that outed this bliss is... an Action Figure Convention! And how many things can be described as "quite delightful", unless you're in an Agatha Christie novel sipping tea with your little finger up? NSJK is probably one of the most difficult pseudonyms to decipher, as she has numerous identities in this blog!

Marth V- Marth is probably one of the most decent guys I know, always being nice about everything and always offering his seat to ladies and stuff, which is why women fling themselves at him, aside from the fact that he has the smashing good looks of the celebrity T.A., star of the Mike De Leon classic Itim. Very fitting that he should possess an encyclopedic knowledge of local showbiz, having memorized which actress is from the Tuesday or Wednesday Group and such.Indeed, Marth is very decent, and we know what they say about decent people, yes, the one about them probably having some dark, sordid secret and leading a secret life! Marth is currently on his leave, and we awaiteth for his return, as for the past two years everytime he comes back from his leave we always note... a post-coital look!

Vampirella- has recently reliquished her position during our Barangay Health Worker meeting in L'Caraz Beach Resort! I've known Vampirella since college, and she has collaborated with me multiple times in our attempts at literary fame back then. I owe Vampirella a piece of drama, as back then during my abdominal pain episodes she was the one I had to wake-up just so she could witness me stabbing myself with pain meds!

JD-Lu- we owe for his ability to propagate continued interest in undergoing specialty training in this department, ie, he has brought an X-Box. And we, er, use our personal power generator for this, of course. Unbeknownst to all of you, JD-Lu is not only extremely wealthy, being the proud owner of L'Caraz Beach Resort in Batangas, but he is also very influential and all-around powerful. He is one of the triumvirate who has created the UP Psychology organization Pugad Sayk back in 1999 or 2000. He has been our Liaison Officer in Psychiatry forever during med school. You can whine to him, tell him what you want to happen, and it will happen. Most importantly, he has an X-Box. Thank you, JD-Lu, I actually have the desire to come to work at times just so I could defeat you all in Mortal Kombat vs. DC Superheroes using Batman or Wonder Woman. But Catwoman sucks, I can't even get that whip out. Catwoman sucks, JD-Lu, can't you do something about it?

Uni-Horned Beefjerky Alanis Devil Whore- is just one of her myriad of identities. She can also be the Nude Red Gollum-Tiyanak Hybrid Climbing Mount Doom,or the Magic Kamison Pepsi Paloma Lite Biting At A Titillating Twig. She can also be a pure evil Manananggal, or an Emasculating Tennis Player With Broad Shoulders on Which I Could Rest My Weak Un-Macho Chin. She is the most powerful person on the planet, and not just because she has a powerful falsetto OPD voice that can traverse all 3 rooms! She is the proud owner of Levemir and Apidra, who can now do backflips and such.

That ends our TCBAJFMAS Yearbook entry for today! Next up, B'Wana Beast, Greatest Evil of All, Mortuary Max, and... The Devil!


Yes, the Taylor Swift album! Saw the Grammys in the callroom and we thought it was just the sordid airconlessness that was causing us to hallucinate, but we weren’t hallucinating, Fearless indeed is Album of the Year for 2009! The same award that American Idiot (2005), All That You Can’t Leave Behind (2001), and Marshall Mathers LP (2000) couldn’t get was grabbed with ease by TS! For a more reliable rant I have recently downloaded… the entire Fearless album! And saved it on my iPod! And even though I have a General Hatred for it I was once caught off-guard by Charcot-Marie-Tooth humming… You Belong With Me! Nefarious, nefarious! Immediately erased the entire album from iPod—it has no place alongside the deep introspective music of 98 degrees, Jennifer Love Hewitt, and Aaliyah… er, I mean Lynyrd Skynyrd, Janis Joplin, Led Zep, and Dizzy Gillespie, yeah yeah I mean Lynyrd Skynyrd, Janis Joplin, Led Zep, and Dizzy Gillespie, I mean I'm cool, right?

Obviously the true Album of the Year for 2009 is none other than Relapse by Eminem! On my last iPod sync I’ve noted that I’ve played the song 3 A.M., about Eminem taking a bath in a bath tub full of his relatives’ blood and going on a killing spree in a hospital… 128 times! The best time to listen to the song is of course at 3 A.M., while someone is insisting that you do emergency clearance on a patient with… anal fistula! Because truly, you can scream all you want but that ain't stopping me from chopping you up up!

Recently the song on major repeat in my player is the Our Lady Peace song All For You. It's just so majorly amusing to humm "Jack Kerouac, Kekekerouac!" Yes, I find major amusement in these sorts of things.

Not Everything is About You, JD-Lu and HIV!- An MK Entry

I see that I have been very cheery and positive and gee whiz in tmy recent blog entries, always seeing the positive side of things and always being nice and graceful in the face of adversity. What, now you don't think I was being positive at all? Oh yeah? And you don't think that I haven't been facing any form of adversity whatsoever anyway? It doesn't matter, because I only wanted to say that by way of introducing... this year's ultimate, major karindihan RANT!

Because you see, I don't want to come back to work tomorrow. Or ever. See, I told you, major karindihan rant. This is not a totally original rant, as no one ever wants to come back to work anyway. Except perhaps JD-Lu. He is always very passionate about everything. He would post ECG's of the Day for the clerks and interns to quiz over every single day. He would read volumes and volumes on the vasculitides and stuff and narrate everything during his service rounds. He would rush to finish his lunch just so he could call for another services rounds, the 4th for that day. Or what about HIV, he's always seizing with passion for this sort of work as well, writing complicated quiz shows for students, conducting morning endorsements about prolate ellipsoid and stuff, without sacrificing excellent performance in Lazer Tag, Boggle, and DC Superheroes VS Mortal Kombat as well. See, that's why we should vote out HIV first should we hold a department Survivor--HIV will win every immunity challenge.

But this is not about JD-Lu or HIV, is it! This is not about their competency and joy, this is about my whinings, utter misery, ennui, and over-all annoyance at everything! Over-all Annoyance At Everything, to compete with General Hatred For Everything! And what has brought about this sort of high-level emotional vampirism, you don't ask? I could go on and on with complicated techno-psycho-babble, but I think everything goes back to my pure and utter... laziness! I always feel fatigued, and although fatigue can be explained away simply by cancer and connective tissue disease, I think this supreme laziness and fatigue are rooted to this sense of being lost in this sea of high and might intellectuals who cathect their inner-motherhood to... I can't finish this paragraph.

Friday, February 5, 2010


Smoketh has recently noted that I've been in a very foul mood with a general hatred for everything. General Hatred For Everything, of course, is a better term for Negativity, which I've always--tee-hee--hated. There's something about the term that reeks Self-help/Mariah Carey/Psychology Today/Lack Of A Better Term. And since we're in the medical profession, we abbreviate/acronimize everything (although I suspect that this acronimization more likely has its roots in tabloids). A few months back while we were in the emergency room intern Fangoria has declared, "na-nenega ako! Nega!" I initially suspected that it was some sort of racial slur until she clarified that it was short for negativity. "Nega," I had said, a haze of psychedelic colors filling my field of vision in a cannabis-induced epiphany, "Nega. It sounds so... cosmic."

"Stop being nega," Smoketh berated me yesterday in a text message. "Be posi. Posi, sounds like yosi."

Obviously there is only one appropriate response to this:

"It also sounds like... pussy," I said, a haze of psychedelic colors etc. etc.

"That's the last word I want to hear right now!" Smoketh retorted in rage.

A red ring of the Red Lanterns then suddenly swooped down and inserted itself in Smoketh's right ring finger as a voice announced: "Smoketh, you have great rage in your heart. Welcome to the Red Lantern Corps!!!"

Which reminds me, Tori Amos' 2007 album was something called American Doll Posse.

More Ritalin!

From Sub-atomic Particles to Blind Items!

Neurologist Shipper Jack Knight has recently noted that this blog, which used to be filled with insightful commentaries on human trafficking and other issues, as well as the occasional revolutionary inputs on the nature of quarks and other subatomic particles, prion diseases, and such, has degenerated into a blind item. She hasn’t really used the term degenerated, but I love putting words into people’s mouths. This notion is obviously due to the proliferation of “code names”. I don’t really know what these now-recurring characters think of how I portray them, which is really a non-issue since most of the time they don’t know that they are, for instance, Tessieloopagoop. I mean, who can decipher that.

But these are not mere characters, none of you comments with indignation, they are real people, people who live, breathe, eat, bitch out, whine, fuck, and such. The term “real people” or “isa kang totoong tao” is always a perplexing term/comment, as they of course imply that some of us are alien replicants.

And since none of you requests for this, this is my attempt to flesh them out—in a yearbook format!

• Tessieloopagoop—Tessieloopagoop is a swell girl. She is one of the most reliable chicks around, as I had no one else in mind to ask to cover for me when I had to undergo Whipple’s a few weeks back. This might not be a good thing for her in the long run, as I predict an appendectomy, herniorrhaphy, and brain tumor excision this year. She may look masungit at times, but once you get to know her you would see that she is so kalog pala! OMG!

• Smoketh—Smoketh is a fixture in this blog, as she feeds me something interesting to write about when I run out of things to talk about. If you remember, Smoketh has made her debut (I think) in an entry about me trying to set her up with Grass, who, in a much later entry, she has graded as a negative 6 in terms of being interesting and sexy when she was over him. How totally labile, Smoketh’s taste in men is. Smoketh has volunteered to do the audio version of this blog when it comes out on cassette. She can do the numerous, annoying, “huuuuuuuunghs” and other whines that pepper this infuriating blog.

• Namtab Pots!- who buys everything. He will only buy graphic novels in hard cover, but I one-upped him when I got the Justice Absolute version when he only has the—hee-hee—spartan hard cover versions. He insists on commenting on this blog using the name Callistus Netromedev, but we know very well that he is… Namtab Pots!. Namtab Pots! of course is the spell Zatanna screamed to freeze Batman when he caught them doing magic lobotomy on Dr. Light in Identity Crisis.

• Hurricane Katrina—Was originally called “The Great Mutato” in this blog for no reason whatsoever, but eventually the name Hurricane Katrina beckoned and it was a perfect fit for her. She was the one who drove us through Ondoy in SLEX, and led the pack in running through the flood, her pastel beachwear clothes turning transparent and all in pure magic kamison fashion. Hurricane Katrina’s interests are: financial sponsorship, bible verses, tall men, and the liver.

• Ditz The Titz- Because indeed, she is Ditz The Titz. Back in internship she and I were stuck in the delivery room nursery during fumigation, and out of boredom she raided my mp3’s in my then-alive Zire 72. She has discovered unspeakable songs and berated and laughed at me for 24 hours on end, since no baby was ever delivered. She is now the chief resident of Pediatrics in Jersey Shore in Neptune after defeating Veronica Mars for the position. She had the hots for Michael Scofield, who she claims dibs on as she has discovered him first in that dinosaur TV-movie and the We Belong Together Mariah video. In sheer loneliness she went to a gay bar once in the states where she reveled in the classic Just Another Piece of the Puzzle (not the real title, we’re still trying to figure out what the real title of this Air Supply videoke ditty is).

• Lloydie- an exercise in pointlessness as far as codenaming goes, of course, as he is, indeed, known as Lloydie in real life, being—okay, Lloydie—the more smashing version of John Lloyd. He insists that his excellent looks can be a liability, as he wouldn’t want to be considered and interviewed for chief residency just because of his looks. During the sex scandal craze we demanded that he do a sex video and pass it off as the celebrity’s. He has a way of making landi in his chart entries, writing stuff such as “bundle of care, please”.

I’m suddenly distracted by the revelation that after the Blackest Night series will come… The Brightest Day! Will henceforth spare you the boredom. In future profile entries: Neurologist Shipper Jack Knight! Mrs. Therese! Renton! Dondee! Graciepoopieloop! Vampirella!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Agitate the Aardvark

A few weeks ago I was having severe abdominal pain.

Hah! And you thought I couldn't milk this non-event any further. Well I would milk it, scrape the bottom of the barrel, agitate the aardvark, and such-- much to your MK (major karindihan)!

The infuriating pain was getting more terrible and more frequent each day that I've gotten annoyed at the smallest things, such as someone calling my attention once again for the hundreds of unreturned x-ray plates cluttering my table, or the fact that I keep lots of unwashed cups on my table. The pain meds weren't working, I've been injecting myself more frequently than usual, and of course, the whinings. In the middle of one duty night I woke up Vampirella. "Vampirella, paturok, huhuhu," I fake-cried. Vampirella agreed and as she was about to poke me I cried, "Ako na lang", and I injected myself. "Eeeeek!" Vampirella eeeeeeek-ed. Yeah, even in the middle of the night I needed someone to witness the drama.

Whenever someone asks me why I decided to go through with the elective, very un-cinematic procedure my reply would depend on who was asking. If it were some high, authoritative figure I would say, "my patient care was getting impaired." It wasn't a total lie anyway. A few months back while clearing a patient in the middle of the night and I was clutching my abdomen I said, "Hingang malalim. SINABI NANG HUMINGANG MALALIM!"

On my next blog entries I'll be exploring further the many different interesting, complicated facets and aspects of this major, major event. Expect deep, exploratory discussions on the issue of... the stitches! Expect an intense, detailed, step-by-step account of my exciting trip from my room, to the x-ray room, back to my room, then my sleep prior to the event, and the dreams I've had (with psychoanalytic interpretations!), and how I was transferred to the gurney, and eventually to the OR table! And how about the post-event drama? How do I now walk back to my bedroom after taking a bath? Is my towel now positioned higher up my belly to hide my hideous scars and therefore my... vulnerability? Do I feel an inner emptiness, like something inside is, I don't know, missing? If Karen Horney and Carl Jung were alive, how would they interpret this psychotic call for attention?

The drama!


The day of JD's death at least 5 people texted me to break the news. Obviously I'm not talking about JD-Lu--he is very much alive, posting ECG's of the Week and other intellectually stimulating stuff. For some reason people felt that Salinger's death matters to me, and rightly so--I am the keeper of Salinger's secret baul of unpublished stuff, which I'm going to unleash soon. No wait, I'm just kidding, Margaret, don't sue me. Why Margaret, I never knew you're reading my blog.

While Catcher in the Rye has been a childhood favorite I am also extremely fascinated with his Glass Family short story series, published in Franny and Zooey and Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenter, and Seymour, an Introduction. Whenever I talk about the Glass Family I am assailed by the smell and taste of isaw in Ilang-Ilang. Yeah, yeah nostalgia and sepiatification works that way. It was in 1998 when I've first read the Glass series, and it wasn't an easy read with all the streams of thoughts bordering on neurotic ramblings. 1998, when the then-Ms. Therese would drag me during the summer classes to Ilang-Ilang for isaw binge. Ms. Therese could eat anything. She could eat 60-peso worth of pork kidneys, and in 1998 that was a lot.

My copy of Franny and Zooey I got from Powerbooks Arnaiz, which was not very popular then and was frequented by around 4 people at the time. There was always the comfort of knowing a place nobody knows about, so I was mortally distressed when I saw it transformed into some warehouse and the Makati branch transferred to the much more accessible Greenbelt and was called Powerbooks, Live! It became showbiz since then.

And as was always the case my writing style would mimic what I have recently read. I wrote a story very similar to the Glass Family stories, about two messed up chess prodigies missing their brother who died from pneumothorax or something. See, I've said "something", because I've deliberately repressed that infernal short story from my consciousness. I've entered it into a yearly national short story contest. It never even got shortlisted and rightfully so. It was crap.

In a way I'm satisfied that Salinger never had a "comeback" or something, because I think he was a genuine recluse who never really wanted or needed any attention whatsoever. He is the poster boy of anti-self-promotion, while I'm a self-promotion whore. And while we're on the topic of self-promotion, whenever I get to publish something on a national or something I sign my friends' copies (usually just Smoketh and Mrs. Therese, because they're the only ones who care enough to get copies)and write "Here's my autograph. In the event that I become famous." I've been writing that for almost a decade now, and I'm still stuck in a totally unrelated work and still ramming down pointless blogs down the throats of anyone who cares to listen. Maybe I'll just pretend I'm a recluse who doesn't give a crap.