Thursday, September 15, 2011

Our Rant For The Day

Does not come from me, much to your relief. I have severe sore throat that if I use too many exclamation points it would hurt so much more. What's that you say, that it could be lymphoma? OF COURSE IT IS LYMPHOMA! What ELSE could it be?!? I've been groaning this morning in the callroom to my co-hellows that I have tonsillar lymphoma. Someone reminded me that in the past few months I HAVE HAD the following: liver cancer, gastric cancer, nasopharyngeal cancer, rectal cancer, and of course, pinna melanoma. I'm going through the entire gamut, but as paranoid people afraid of government conspiracies and black ops and cover-ups and such say, you're not paranoid if they're really after you.


Our rant for the day instead will come from Linda, the Juliane Moore character from the ever reliable movie Magnolia. The premise is this: Linda is the sort of cosmopolitan girl who married a really old guy for his money who is now dying from, what else, cancer. She realizes, in pure heartbrokenness, that she really loves him after all. So she runs from one doctor to the next who prescribed her husband some powerful pain-killers. As she is buying all these powerful stuff (Mmmmmm, powerful STUFF), the pharmacists eye her with doubt. When she couldn't take the judgmental comments ANYMORE, OR, when she couldn't ANYMORE take the judgmental comments, she lets out this fantastic rant. Take it away, Juliane Moore:



You motherfucker...you motherfucker....
 YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?
 WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?


I COME IN HERE - YOU DON'T KNOW,
 YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM
 OR WHAT MY LIFE IS AND YOU HAVE THE
 FUCKING BALLS, THE INDECENCY TO ASK
 ME A QUESTION ABOUT MY LIFE --

And FUCK YOU TOO.  Don't you call me "lady."

 I come in with these things, I give it
 over to you, you doubt, you make your
 phone calls, check on me, look suspicious,
 ask questions, "I'm sick." I HAVE SICKNESS
 ALL AROUND ME AND YOU FUCKING ASK ME MY LIFE?
 WHAT'S WRONG?  HAVE YOU SEEN DEATH IN YOUR BED
 IN YOUR HOUSE?  And where is your fucking
 decency?  That I'm asked questions "WHAT'S WRONG?"
 You suck my dick, that's what's wrong and you,
 you fucking call me "lady."  You SHAME ON YOU.
 SHAME ON YOU. SHAME ON BOTH OF YOU.


Now THAT is one giant rant.
Which suddenly gives me an idea. I should popularize this rant somehow and somehow trick people into thinking it's... a  declamation piece! Now that should win grade-conscious, extra-curricular-grabbing  students the medal over the other contestant who just bawls her eyes out  over.... ALMS ALMS SPARE ME A PIECE OF BREAD!


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Slurp-eth

In grade 2, one of  my most hated years in my life, like first year med, first year college, hellowship, 2nd year high school... wait if I go on I would sound totally miserable. AHAHAHA. So in grade 2 one fun fun fun day who should celebrate her birthday but one of our classmates, Cathy. The teacher egged her to go in front so we could sing to her, and she did. She smiled and giggled and cheered as we sang, not realizing that fifteen years into the future she would... wait I don't know what happened to her, so nothing there. So we sang sang sang and we clapped genuinely because truly birthdays are totally cheeri-o.

After the singing the teacher asked her to close her eyes for a few seconds and wish for something. She did. The teacher then asked her, "What did you wish for?"

And you know what she said? YOU KNOW WHAT SHE FUCKING SAID?!

She said: I WANT SPAGHETTI.

I am doing a pointless anecdotification because truly, right now, in total hunger: I WANT SPAGHETTI. Although probably not in the level that Smoketh WANTS SPAGHETTI. There is no way that I can WANT SPAGHETTI the same way Smoketh WANTS SPAGHETTI. This is obviously an aftermath of last Saturday, when we attended the dedication of Mrs. Therese's second child, Pipo. After the ceremony we lightened up as we saw a cute plate containing red spaghetti, hotdog-let with marshmallow, chicken lollipop, and cream puffs. We were poised to eat the luscious treats when we discovered that... the plate is for kids and adults have a separate buffet of rice vegetables beef buko pandan and other adult food!!!!

So you know you want it Cathy and we know we fucking want it too. We want to slurp it bite it get our faces smeared in it. We want, oh how we want, spaghetti.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Oh, Powergirl

One of the casualties in the blasted DC Comics relaunch is Powergirl. To recap: Powergirl is the parallel Earth version of Supergirl, but her Earth's Superman has died in Infinite Crisis. For over two years she has grown from a joke of a character popular for her magnificent boob window, to one who is a well-respected completely fleshed out heroine.


In the final issue of Powergirl, a villain gives her only one minute to address the following crises: 1. save the old people in the leaning tower of pisa which is being attacked by a villain or 2. save a "useless girl fishing for a useless fish" or 3. save one of her fellow heroines. Of course Powergirl makes a way to save everyone in just one minute. This is a FANTASTIC issue, made more fantastic only by this scene showing the fishing girl being menaced by a z-list villain:



It's SPOT THE PINOY time!

And Powergirl successfully saves the kid!!! With just 12 seconds to spare!



And thanks the whole fishing community at that!!!



Good bye, Powergirl. May you live once more in the upcoming DC Relaunch, and we hope to see more of you in the Philippines!

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Welcome Back To The Shore

Was frantically running around doing the things I usually whine about, and realized I've been doing this thing for seven months now. Seven months, of whining, doing things ANYWAY, whining, doing things ANYWAY, because really, WHADDAYAGONNADO. And WHO should I see surpassing my franticness and secretly whining in their heads but... this year's batch of pre-residents! Pre-residency has always been some sort of an event, because really, with all the rote-ness going on in the daily grind, we welcome any sort of new face we could come across. New faces, red and plump and cherried, which we hope won't dry up and prunify at the slightest provocation. This of course leads to all sorts of nostalgification, as it has only been four fucking years ago that I was in those same darn shoes.

Pre-residency specially in this department can be quite tricky. Everyone is competitive as hell, and knowing what is coming to them once they get accepted you would wonder why they are fighting for these positions ANYWAY. Yet despite the competitiveness one should still project some sort of congeniality, but at the same time you don't want to be too congenial lest you be misconstrued as being too laid back, but at the same freaking time you don't want to be misconstrued as being a total cut-throat bitch, but at the SAME bleeping time with just three weeks of opportunity to shine amongst the fifty or so competitors who has time to NOT be a cut-throat bitch ANYWAY? So the best image to probably project is that of an unfazed busy-busyhan applicant.

We all have our dark, dirty strategies on how we got in, but we will not go into the details here. Too embarrassing, and even I have my limits on self-deprecation. Just remember, applicants, that this is not the end of the world, you are not fighting for one million dollars, you won't get cancer if you don't get accepted, and there are far better opportunities elsewhere. If those nuggets of advice don't convince you, just look at me. I got accepted, finished it, and right now I'm miserable as hell.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Baseline Karindihan

On to my attempts to read every comic book ever written. I am presently resuming my reading of Peter David's 80-issue run on Supergirl, the version that isn't Superman's cousin from Krypton but is rather the Matrix-Lana Lang DNA-Earth Angel-Linda Danvers hybrid.

So this is what happens: Supergirl's sort-of-boyfriend Dick Malverne is struck with some stage 4 cancer, and through a series of misadventures she inadvertently causes the cancer to progress and worsen and he dies. A cult is formed that regards Supergirl as an angel who can work miracles, so people with cancer cancer cancer and stuff flock to her for cure. In pure baseline karindihan she flees and sees some people in trouble. One woman tells Supergirl to please help her because she has to get home because her husband has, you guess it, lung cancer. Of course Supergirl only has one thing to say, and, all together now (and special mention to Uni-Horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore) ALL TOGETHER NOW:


Thursday, September 1, 2011

Hello, Simone Bianchi, What Were You Thinking

Since nobody in the vicinity ever reads comic books these days I resort to comic book message boards and podcasts like a sorry attic dwelling pathetic crap. During the round table interview with all the consultants in the subspecialty application last year I was asked what I do in my spare time.

"I read comic books!" I said.
"Wow! What kind?" consultant HS asked. He seemed genuinely enthusiastic. There's hope here, I thought.
"DC and Marvel," I said.
"Ay, mainstream," HS tsk-tsked.
"Comic books in your spare time?" the chair asked. "But you could read a comic book in FIVE MINUTES."
"Yes, but you see, in a month they release over NINE Batman titles," I explained. "There's Batman, Batman and Robin, Detective Comics, Birds of Prey...." at which point they all zoned out and decided it's probably time to call the next applicant.

My favorite comic book podcast is Awesomed By Comics by the husband-wife team of Evie and Aaron. Evie is described as having an adult-onset superhero comic book habit, who confessed that she got into comic books because of a boy. So there is hope for everyone. The format of the show is they give weekly awards to the comic book releases for the week, such as Hero of the Week, Cover of the Week, and such, but my favorite is Crap of the Week.

In the Crap of the Week a couple of weeks ago Evie declared that her choice is Psylocke's outfit in Uncanny X-Force as illustrated by Simone Bianchi. Aaron described that in this outfit Psylocke's labia (aka beef flaps) could spill out. I follow X-Men related titles whenever I can, but I have not seen the latest issue of X-Force at this point, so surely this is reason enough to look for the damn issue! And here it is, ladies and gentlemen, just when I thought it was an exaggeration, here is Psylocke beef flaps and all:


Anybody interested in this for the next team-building?

I Wasn't Dead

You mean you were gone? You asked. Yes, indeed, I 've been absent for quite some time. I've been in a parallel universe where everything is airconditioned, there's always dessert in the rationed food, the elevators are fast, the people smell good, everyone is polite, things happen without getting off your ass, where patients are partners, and people pretend they don't notice my pinna melanoma. Except when the coffers quickly ran empty, indeed, at which point we all screamed: get us the hell outtahere!!!!

And Now For Something Absolutely Disgusting: Pinna Melanoma

And you're probably thinking, of course this will not be about anything disgusting this is just a hook and will probably be just about some self-indulgent crap like Wonder Woman's disgusting story line Odyssey or Superman's disgusting story line Grounded. Again. Wrong. This is about something absolutely disgusting, pus-level disgusting at that! Oh yeah!

Because I woke up one morning with my left earlobe swelling like crap. Maybe something bit it, but I kept on toying with it until the swelling swelled even further until it grew as large as my head. It was Jamielyn who noticed it first who theorized it was a disgusting ear zit. "Uminom ka ng antibiotics," she admonished. "Dahil hindi mo ako pwedeng iwan sa audit next week dahil dyan." Point!

But if it were a zit it probably wasn't just one zit, but ten coalescent zits. Smoketh theorized that it was probably a roach bite infected by hospital pseudomonas. Probably, except I knew for a fact what it absolutely really was: melanoma. Just because I've just had a melanoma patient doesn't make it not a melanoma, I wasn't just being biased, it looked absolutely like melanoma. Hence, in true IM PGH fashion this was the final diagnosis: Melanoma vs Arthropod Bite r/o Zit with Superimposed Bacterial Infection Acute on Top of Chronic.

The stares of disgust I could handle, as long as they were outright stares. Except, as I was talking to a fellow or a resident in another hospital they would talk with nods and crap as if nothing was the matter, but I would catch them taking the furtivest glance at my pinna melanoma! If you have something to say, say it to my face my irrational frenzied self thought, but really, if you have something to say say it to my face! Like Smoketh did: STOP TOUCHING YOUR PINNA MELANOMA! Or Frichmond did: KADIRI NA ANG TENGA MO! Or Sir J.O. said, WHAT HAPPENED TA YER EAR?!? See, sometimes we don't know what we want, because I'm sure if the furtive people started talking about it to my face, I would defensively retort, WELL YOU DON'T LOOK SO PERFECT YOURSELF!!!!

Pant. A few days ago I've incised the damn thing myself and out poured/spurted/egressed gallons and gallons of pus. I cried in absolute pain as the gallons and gallons of pus crept down the side of my neck and into my shirt and down to the floor. Now that's purulent shit.