Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Tapos... Tapos... Tapos...

Tapos kanina nagkukwentuhan pa ang lahat kung anu-anong fun things ang ginawa nila kagabi nung post-exam night-out habang mag-isa ako sa callroom as ICU duty at patakbo-takbo kung saan-saan pag may nagco-code. Ewan ko ba kung bakit pag duty ko lagi na lang ang daming nagco-code sa buong ospital, at ang dami ring referrals. Lagi na lang ako inaasar ng all na wala raw ako kakwenta-kwenta referran, as in usually kasi hinihingi ko lang ang name and location and kung ano ang BP and kung gising ba. Yun lang ang tinatanong ko: Ano pangalan, nasaan, ano BP, gising? Na namimisconstrue as kabaitan which couldn't be wrong-er. In real life kasi super itim ng budhi ko, pero pag referral na nakakatamad naman kasi talaga magpa-endorse ng pagkahaba-haba at magtanong over the phone ng mga bagay-bagay like kung smoker ba or promiscuous yung patient, eh kahit naman promiscuous sya o hindi e pupuntahan ko rin naman sya, sayang lang ang oras. BP at kung gising lang ang gusto kong malaman dahil gusto ko lang malaman kung may time pa para mag-kape at mag-lur bago pumunta sa pasyente o dapat na ba akong magpaka-aligaga hahahaha. Hindi kabaitan yan, kundi katamaran, isang original concept ni ma'am jean. And ayoko lang talaga in general magsungit o magalit, dahil muka akong tanga pag nagsusungit o nagagalit. Para lang siguro syang allergy, kahit ano pang pathway and cell receptors and interleukins and stuff ay bibigyan ko rin naman sya ng anti-histamine in the end. Parang ganun.

So daldalan ang lahat kanina sa callroom, ang ganda daw nung movie na may owls na kesyo pinanood pa daw nila sa 3D. In my bitter head: E ano ngayon! Tinulugan ko nga sila. Sige magkwentuhan pa kayo how fun fun fun it was. Parang sa Survivor, pag may nanalo ng reward challenge at pupunta sila sa some island para kumain and experience the culture and stuff, di ba pagbalik nila at pinagkwentuhan nila how fun it was, yung mga naiwan ay naiirita at gusto na sila i-vote out sa next tribal council. Ganun.

Malungkot ang Mag-Isa. Kunwari.

Ayoko na muna mag-English. Naubos ang English ko dun sa oral exam kahapon at nung isang linggo, pag kinakabahan kasi ako super bilis ko magsalita as if gusto kong magsalita ng eight words all the same time, kaya ang weird pakinggan and in the end muka akong tanga. In fairness kailangan naman kasi talagang bilisan magsalita, bigyan ka ba naman ng fifteen minutes na mag-isip ng differentials ng isang pasyenteng natagpuang walang malay sa kwarto at walang informant. Wala masyadong ibang clue, basta asul daw ang labi nya at call center agent sya at mahilig sya mag-gym. Easier na rin in a way for that station, pwede kasi sabihin ang anything under the sun. Lahat na lang sinisi-- HOCM, embo, hika, some HIV condition, basta lahat ng pwedeng makamatay. Syempre dapat may differential na toxic poisoning, and in real life ipapa-bedside tox screen ko naman talaga sya, tox screen being... test for overdose of paracetamol and isoniazid AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH.

In pure bilis ko magsalita hinihingal ako bago lumipat ng station, pero hindi pala applicable ang bilisan ng pagsasalita dun sa isang station dahil wala naman talaga na akong maisip na differential sa lupus. Gusto nga daw sabihin nung isang senior namin na nag-exam din: I don't have a diffential because lupus IS the diagnosis! AHAHAHAHAH. Pero syempre thought bubble lang yun, dahil pag wala silang chinekan dun sa checklist of differentials, panel exam ka next month. Sa sobrang wala na akong maisip na ibang sakit na may rash sa muka at lagnat ay sinabi ko na lang na pwede itong... tigdas. Naaalala ko kasi yung Microbiology Made Ridiculously Simple na book, na ang rash ng tigdas ay parang lata ng pinturang binuhos sa yo hence sa ulo unang lalabas, pero di ko naman alam kung totoo ito, lahat kasi ng nanay ng batang may tigdas na nakita ko nung nagmoo-moonlight pa ko walang pakialam kung saan nagsimula ang rash.

Syempre pagkatapos ng exam may kainan galore, and pagkatapos, sleeping galore sa callroom, and pagkatapos, dinner galore naman pero di ako nakasama dahil duty ako sa ICU. Super annoying dahil naiwan akong mag-isa sa callroom, as in ako lang mag-isa. Si Lloydie rin pala naiwan pero nagrounds sya ng limang oras yata sa ER kaya ako lang talaga halos sa callroom. Masaya pala maiwan mag-isa, kung anu-ano ang pwede kong gawin. AS IN kung anu-ano AHAHAHAHAHA.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Contest!

For this week we are going to have... a contest! Just post your suggested captions for this wonderfully insane photo, and the winner gets a free date: with any of the people in this photo of your choice. Or is it any of the people of your choice in this photo. Pero magpapaalam muna ko, di nila alam binubugaw ko na sila. Artistahin ang mga IM, that's Lloydie in the middle.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Faciphaga Emasculata

And in last night's dream, I and five other people were going to some secluded, disgusting place to shoot some movie, but unbeknownst to me there was a sudden twist and the twist was that all five of them would kill me for real while filming, so this might have been some form of snuff porn after all. I keened, I wailed, I whined at the betrayal--truly if I knew this would be snuff porn I would have probably prepared better, such as put on some make-up over my laparoscopic scars. One of them killers was my batchmate Fulet Esplana. Fulet and I engaged in some sort of brawl on the floor, which is not exactly accurate, as she mauled me without effort and eventually killed me. Truly in real life and in dreams I am forever emasculated.

"You killed me, Fulet," I told Fulet over lunch.
"Pano?" she asked while gorging on some COOP food.
"You mauled me. Tapos hinagisan mo ko ng pako."

Two years ago Fulet and I have been voted the most desirable female and male of the batch by our batchmates. Fulet is genuinely desirable, while I am desirable if we're talking about people desiring to impale or drown me or save me from my own embarrassing affairs. Yes, we love self-deprecation, because it facilitates drama and some form of self-fulfilling uglification, when in truth, I am holding on to the most desirable title dearly.

"We should relinquish the title now," Fulet told me last year, and reminded me again this year.
"No," I insisted. "I intend to hold on to it for as long as I can."

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Gang-Raped or Bartolina?

Reading Harrison's in the callroom with the goal of quoting the blasted book at the slightest provocation has been supplanted in the recent months by less annoying and more enjoyable activities, such as sleeping, watching movies, and licking latak Nutella off its jar. In terms of watching movies everyone's taste has been slowly evolving: from the porn-ish Boxing Helena, a few days ago everyone watched the indie Selda. Of course the pretentious delineation between indie/art film and commercial film is highly arbitrary and exactly that--pretentious, but we will not go into that here as this is not a research paper.

Selda is the pinoy movie wherein Sid Lucero goes to prison and undergoes all sorts of prison life tribulations and ends up falling in love with his cell mate Emilio Garcia. To show us that Sid doesn't really swing that way prior to his prison experience he is shown having too much sex with Ara Mina, but all these sexual issues are the least interesting stuff in the movie. What really concerns everyone:

Djana: Kadiri yung tae!!!
Tits: Bakit sila laging nagmumura?
Lovell: Nakakalungkot naman makulong.
Me: Di ko kayang kumain ng noodles kahalo ang kanin.
HIV: Grabe 2 and a half hours!

Because indeed, it is too bleeping long, with long, introspective scenes in the farm where nothing is happening, long close-up shots of things in the prison, long meandering meandering meandering about everything. Still, of all the movies shown in the callroom, this movie seemed to have the most lasting impression--next to Boxing Helena, of course.

"If you will be given a choice: get gang-raped by 3 prison guys or be banished to the tiny prison bartolina for one week where there is no light and you will crap and pee on the floor and be stuck with that week-old crap and pee for one week, what will you choose?" someone asked in the callroom.
"Bartolina," Tits said with conviction.
"I might have to think about it very hard," I said with conviction--I just have issues with crap.
"Bartolina," JD-Lu said.

Quite annoyed at my seeming aloneness in being open to getting raped--if pushed against the wall, okay-- I pushed further and qualified the situation:
"What if you can choose among the prisoners, so you can avoid those with boils and weird rash?" I asked JD-Lu.
"Bartolina!" JD-Lu insisted.
"But what if you will have nothing to eat in the bartolina for one week?" I added.
"Then I might have to think about it very hard as well," JD-Lu finally said.

Gang-raped or bartolina? Discuss.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

WAF!

Around once every two years I get to summon enough fortitude to haul my ass to the mall for a particular activity I most revile next to getting a haircut: shopping. For things that are actually needed to make me look like a person, like clothes and shoes, because as you might point out, I do spend so much on toys and action figures with much glee which might still be considered shopping, while I never had a wrist watch since I was 12 years old. All my 2-year old shirts are quickly getting kupas, and I always bring an extra pair of socks in my disgusting bag because my feet get soaked if I walk on anything wet owing to my run-down pair of shoes, as I only have one pair--not one pair per occasion, but one pair for all occasions. All!

"You need to accompany me, Smoketh," I asked Smoketh. You need friends for these sorts of stressful events. "If I have 5K which I could use in this one particular event what would I buy?" Because you see, I need to buy everything I could in one go, as this might not happen again in another 2 years.

"You can get a pair of shoes, a couple of shirts, a pair of pants," Smoketh said.

"What if I get a pair of shoes, one shirt... and an action figure?"

"Stay away from the comicbook shop."

"What if I get a pair of shoes, one shirt, and use the rest of the money to pay for quick, cheap sex?"

"You don't need to pay for sex. You can have sex with whoever you want," Smoketh platitudinally said.

Yes, it's good to have friends who will tell us what we need to hear.

Monday, September 6, 2010

You Deserve It, Helena

Ever since catching a glimpse of the huge painted poster for the movie Boxing Helena depicting a quadruply amputated woman stashed in a box way back in 1993 in Harrison's Plaza I have always wondered how Helena could have been in such a predicament. Also, the doctor who did the amputation was Julian Sands, which is creepy enough. I couldn't watch the movie or rent the video then, of course, and it somehow gnawed at me and festered at me for years on end (exaj). Torrents has recently solved this gnawing and festering. For years on end I've been telling myself, "kawawa naman si Helena", until I finally watched the fucking crap a few weeks ago. I fell asleep in the first ten minutes and just scanned for the amputation and the stashing in the box. In the final scene a quadruply amputated Helena is lifted by Julian Sands and placed on an altar with flowers and stuff. Ex-boyfriend of Helena enters and wails "Who diiiid this to yaaaaa?!" Helena screams back, something like, "go away! I like it this way!!!"

I've quizzed some people who know nothing about this movie.
To Thines: The title of the movie is Boxing Helena. What would that movie be about?
Thines: Some girl is amputated and placed in a box?
*slow clap* *slow clap* *slow clap*

To Tits: The title of the movie is Boxing Helena. What would that movie be about?
Tits: A battered wife escapes his abusive husband, trains under a boxer, and comes back for revenge with excellent boxing skills?

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Interpretative Examinatification

More than once I've caught Tits doing all sorts of hand gestures while answering a multiple choice exam. Adrian Monk does this thing with his hands whenever he investigates murder scenes, but Tits' hand gestures could not be interpreted as easily. During a CVS exam he was drawing wide horizontal lines on the air, one to the left, one to the right, then his right hand would suddenly open, and I would assume that the correct answer "amiodarone" makes its way from there to the answer sheet. Or maybe the sudden hand opening signifies mitral regurgitation, you never really know. And during yesterday's hema,onco,allergy,rheuma,derma exam extravaganza it looked like he was opening an invisible desk drawer in front of him. I don't know how drawers are linked to any of those diseases, until someone pointed out that he was pretending like he was grabbing something from a compartment or drawer from his head.

I have exactly two drawers in my head: one which contains millions of superhero comic book information, and one which contains shattered dreams--yes, I just have to maintain that theme of histrionic melodrama this week. And apparently those wide horizontal lines that would suddenly zoom down, left, right, back loop, double back loop--are algorithms on hyponatremia, ventricular tachycardia management, and crap. I know exactly one algorithm: superhero dies--> superhero team splinters--> universe-shattering crisis--> superhero team reforms under a new creative team--> comic book sales go up.

Maybe Tits is ushering in a new form of art called Interpretative Examinatification. In which case the next exam should be taken with Gary V praise music playing in the background.

No More Space For Harrison's

"Hey HIV," I told HIV as I sensed loneliness slowly spreading to him like a virus. Or a prion. In a way there is guilt, for proliferating this infernal sense of irrational loneliness in the callroom. The thing with loneliness is that it's something very personal, something that happens within you (wow para na tong high school essay), and as a consequence, very inconsequential. You can easily forget about it, distract yourself from it, and it won't breed anything. It won't save people from disease, but it won't kill anyone either. Unless it's pathologic and you'd want to stick your head in an oven ala Sylvia Plath.

So what I told HIV: Hey HIV, remember back before residency started, we were asked in a group activity what one word would describe us and you described yourself as such: "I'm happy. I'm well-fed."

And I can distinctly recall that at the moment that HIV was operationalizing his state of being happy and well-fed he did indeed looked as if he had just had a very hearty meal. "Ang galing ng memory mo sa mga bagay na ganito," Fulet Esplana said. I can also recall how Fulet Esplana described herself, and I reminded her of this during one of her more toxic and infuriated phases. Fulet described herself as "Patient. I'm one of the most patient people I know."

Yes, I recall these sorts of things. What people said at certain periods, how they looked like, how they described themselves. Which is why there is no space left for the things that actually need memorization, such as stuff that are needed for medical training and patient care. I cannot quote Harrison's, but I can quote what Djana said during one morning endorsements a few months back: It's not very polite to check your Facebook while someone is endorsing in front!!!

Barbara Gordon, formerly Batgirl, now Oracle, is the one true eidetic. In one issue she bemoans this curse of having the ability to remember everything she has experienced. Because in as much as she could recall loads of information, and her experiences, and her joy, she could also never forget the pains and sufferings and prejudices and such. Because indeed, there is no limit to finding curses in everything.

The Stuff of Indies

I've finally decided to sleep and turned off the lights, and what should I discover on the thin lawanit wall in my run-down dorm room but... a very, very tiny spot of light I've never noticed in three years. I checked out the spot and it turned out to be... light coming from the next room. I peeped through the hole, saw the next room, and discovered a dead body. Or an orgy, whatever you prefer. But there it was, the hole, possibly there all this time. This would probably explain the weird grins I've been getting all these years whenever I walk down the hallway: "Sya yung nagsusuot ng Robin costume sa kwarto nya gabi-gabi," they probably think. Or "Kaya pala laging mukang pagod." Or something like that.

I've written about the derelict state of the dorm many, many years ago--how I could get burned in two seconds, and how the questionable personalities in the vicinity give you strange looks which could be interpreted as an invitation for sex or a death threat at the same time. But this peep hole gives a totally new dimension to the seediness of the place. I know--I should probably write, direct, and star in an indie film. But I don't care if it would seem mainstream--the Robin costume stays.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Don't Laugh, Don't Mega-Phone--Kami Na!!!

... texted Smoketh in the middle of the night. This of course prompted a rapid texting frenzy to our Earth Mother Mrs. Therese--I wanted to tell her how Smoketh's debut into the scene of romance lends validity to the truism that love can be discovered anywhere, that career, faith, and paraphilias can and will be transcended by true love, that in the hurly-burly of things all our fears, desires, and longings can be assuaged by the stirrings of the heart because the heart wants what the heart wants, and since I couldn't articulate this at the time I just texted Mrs. Therese: May jowa na si Smoketh!

"KELAN PA?!?!" Mrs. Therese replied. Had this news not been so multiverse-shattering I would have assumed that the exclamation points represent cervical stripping going on at that time. After a few more text message exchanges I've pledged allegiance to Smoketh and Mrs. Therese that I would no longer facilitate further spread of this news out of respect to Smoketh and her newfound romance. You see, romance is tricky. It can sometimes hurt. You can hurt when you don't see the person, but at the same time you also hurt when you see that person, like sometimes you just want to lie down and die from the hurt, when in fact no one is trying to hurt you and it's all just love. So I pledged allegiance that I would let time take its course rather than have the public maul them with unwanted attention.

And so I went to the callroom the next day with a sheepish look holding Smoketh's greatest secret and all, until Hurricane Katrina goes:
May jowa na si Smoketh!!! Nasa Facebook!!!

Ahoy!

Flight of Fancy

As the end approaches I am suddenly besieged by the usual questions of where to go next. See, this is why I hate ending things, because there's really nowhere to go, and this is not just some rant, there really is nowhere to go, at least nowhere you really like, but it's just another round of diving in and letting oneself get carried by the currents. Almost everyone now has a sub-specialty in mind, which probably lent more intensification to the infernal loneliness triggered by the Faciphaga Emasculata last week:

"I think it's time I get that formal writing course, Smoketh," I told Smoketh. Smoketh got all supportive and stuff, telling me I could do clinics or moonlighting in the morning and go to classes at night. Sounds brilliant, which sort of brought me up a little.

"I think it's time I get that formal writing course, Tufu," I told Tufu a couple of days later when he asked me what my plans are. And just in case anyone is wondering who the heck Tufu is--because this is the first time I'm featuring him--well that's his real name.
"Eh anong gagawin mo pagkatapos mag-aapply sa MOD magazine?" he said. Before I could give an annoyed grunt he went on a soliloquy of what MOD looks like, its size, the quality of the paper, the articles, the quality of the ink, etc. I quietly slinked away as he went on and on with the specifics of the magazine.

"I think it's time I get that formal writing course, Tits," I told Tits.
"Ah... so kukuha ka ng B.A. Interior Design? Maganda yan," he said in all sincerity.

The brilliance of the inputs is rapidly declining, so I would stop that flight of fancy.

And So We Welcome Back, Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore

Was about to blog how, when Faciphaga Emasculata had asked me to join her for lunch one day last week at 2pm, all the loneliness I've been feeling for the past few years have been dredged up, exhumed, brought back to life like a Golem, who would kill, destroy, macerate everyone in its path, all those years of watching movies alone, eating alone, taking a bath alone, all rushing back and distilling themselves in a single drop of tear--in the most elaborate, histrionic, self-important blog entry, until I--and the readers, have been spared from this infernal pointlessness when I've discovered that Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore beat me to it and narrated the events straight up in Facebook. And so, let us welcome, 2nd time guest blogger Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore:

She was able to get food for lunch at past 2. Everyone ate already. She asked him to accompany her because she said it was lonely to eat alone. He gracefully accompanied her but he felt his issues of loneliness surface. She just felt tired at that moment but he just felt lonely at the thought of loneliness. Everyone asked why he has such a low energy way about him that afternoon. He says, "It's not low energy. It's loneliness... what you feel when you go home to an empty bed." Another She hears this and thinks he is mocking her. He explains it is really true he feels the loneliness. She feels this talk about alone time is really about her and wimpers(well, not really). Then, everyone who hears the conversation suddenly unearths that same subdued loneliness. They then choke themselves with yummy McDo cheeseburgers. Yum. Yum.