On Beer and Porn

I'm in a depressed mood lately. There's just no decent soul to talk to, no one to complain and rant to, no one to get drunk with. Not that I tried to tell anyone that I'm in need of any company at all. Nah, acting needy like a damsel in distress just to get a little bit of sympathy is just not me.

I'm supposed to work on some research today. Plus, written on my planner are several tasks lined up: study for tomorrow's hemodynamics conference, read my backlog ECGs, finish Austen's Pride and Prejudice, have my evening run along the boulevard. But here I am, after long hours of social voyeurism (aka Facebook) and contemplating about meantime girls and the ultimate downfall of the literate woman, I decided to write another mediocre blog entry.

Maybe I should call some old reliable good friends. Surely, one of them hot intelligent beer buddies of mine is available for some brew tonight. Hey, let's have a couple of beers later? Anybody tired of working on weekends? How about a movie? Let's just talk over coffee perhaps?

Before I can even decide on who to text, a window pops up on the CVS computer's screen: Download of XXX failed. Eeeepppp! Somebody's been downloading porn in this computer! And since I'm the only one who practically lives here, that makes me the primary suspect.

Waaaahhh! I better get out of here.

Master Teacher

One of the country's strongest pillars of cardiology passed away today. In faithfulness to this creepy law of nature that requires most great doctors to usually succumb to diseases of their own specialty, he died of heart failure after battling against it for the last decade or so. Few days ago, while giving a lecture to more than fifty budding cardiologists, Teacher had a ventricular fibrillation that was initially aborted, but that eventually led to his rapid deterioration and subsequent demise. After many years of listening to him and looking up to him with awe during my training, and finally, my recent heart-to-heart conversations with him this past year, I am quite sure that that was how he wanted to go. The man literally died teaching. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Many months back, after his lecture with the students that left him almost out of breath, he told me, "Jean, gusto ko pa kayong turuan. Malapit na akong mamatay. Ang dami ko pang gustong ituro." I remember him holding my arm that day, as he slowly walked the hallways of the wards, while telling me, "Noong araw, lahat ng pasyente dito, pinakikinggan ko ang puso. Ganun ako natuto." His frail hands used to grip my arm for balance as we climbed the stairs that time at the College of Medicine when he insisted on teaching first year medical students the art of heart auscultation. At that time, I used to tell him, "Sir, magpahinga na kayo" but he told me, "Kelangan kong ipasa ang alam ko."

Leora, Jill, Teacher, and me. July 2010.

I last saw him last October, when, after his preceptorials with the students, he gave me his old book on cardiac physical examination and told me to write a summary of important points as guide for students. I still have the book to this day. Our last conversation was about growing old - how you must love and enjoy medicine, because when you're old and when your children have lives of their own, Medicine is where you get solace. Doing and teaching Medicine will be your source of satisfaction and fulfillment. A week later, during our last OSCE, as we were about to start, Teacher called me, and in a very weak voice said, "Jean, kumpleto na ba consultants mo? Sorry ha, di ako makakapunta ngayon. Ang sakit ng likod ko. Pero kung kulang ka pa, sabihin mo lang. Pupunta ako jan."

I never saw him again. During the past months, he had been in and out of hospitals. Together with some co-fellows, I have been planning to visit him, partly to talk about the old days and the birth years of PGH Cardiology but partly to just hold his hand and thank him for everything he has taught me. I never had the chance.

Now, he is gone. But all over the world are hundreds of Filipino cardiologists and internists, and thousands of other physicians he had taught. Many generations of UP graduates will forever remember his green jokes, his witty antics, his logical comments when everybody thought he was fast asleep during a conference, and how he always goes back to the basics (even claiming that the echo or the xray is wrong!).

Dr. P was already old enough to quit teaching, but he never did. Today, our teacher, our physical examination guru, our human 2D-echo has finally retired. His legacy will live on.

Teaching rounds with the great cardiologist. "The best diagnostic tools that a doctor has are his senses." - Dr. Gregorio Patacsil, Jr.

I have thanked him many times, but I have never thanked him enough, and I never will. All I can give him is a promise: that I will teach as I had been taught. Sometimes, the only way we could ever pay someone back is to pay it forward.

Single Blessedness? Or Wretchedness?

Having been deprived of any serious committed relationship all my life (and deficient of even those non-committal ones), I have spent countless times thinking about the benefits and the detriments of being single. Thirty Valentine's Days have come and gone, and as usual, I spent the last one at work, not because I wanted to avoid the traffic or the congested restaurants, but because work is just what I do all the time (what the heck!). I spent the last Valentine evening staring at my textbook, without shifting the pages, wondering: if my fairy godmother suddenly appears in front of me, would I want to be un-single?

Hmmmm. Couples everywhere. Go to a moviehouse and you see couples sitting close to each other. Visit the mall and there are couples everywhere: a tall white guy dragging a dark Filipino woman barely even five feet, old white haired couples, lesbian couples, teenage couples, gay couples, clandestine lovers, all sorts of couple personalities. And it was like, waaaahhhh, is there no life left for the single woman these days?

Let's visit some scenarios in the hospital, for example. A Jane Doe arrives at the ER with no one. Her chances of dying is much higher than if a patient with the same case, even if she has no penny left, arrives with a husband who can run around to look for funds. In developed countries, being a female, by itself, entails a greater chance of dying of a heart attack without any aggressive intervention. Here in our country, a single woman who has a myocardial infarction might not even reach the hospital at all. Single ladies admitted at ward 1 (our female ward) usually end up being ambubagged by interns, deserted by watchers (usually their nieces or nephews), or sent home against medical advise just when it is almost certain they would die on their way home. Female doctors, those really old ones who are undeniable experts in their fields, are grumpy and mean. No matter how much money they have or how elegant their coiffs are, they are simply annoying and are objects of ridicule to some of their students.

Hmmmm. On the other hand, in my current state of singlehood heaven, I am free. I travel, I learn, I explore, I do what I want, I live! And I am still nice! Should I exchange freedom for comfort?

Oh well, there's no use asking this question. There is simply no existing dilemma at all. Singlehood, for the moment, is a necessity, not a choice. It was brought upon me by circumstance, not by decision. For now, singlehood must, by perforce, be the path I should proudly take.

My fairy godmother must be a grumpy single, stingy, niggardly old scrooge. She must have been so miserable about her solitary existence that she doesn't want me to indulge in a few kilig moments with a suitable man. She just doesn't want me to run into my match yet.

Oh geeez. Life's just not fair. It's mean and illogical. It's unpredicatable, it doesn't make sense. It has hot flashes and temper tantrums. Which brings me to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, Life must be a middle aged unmarried woman afraid for her eggs. No wonder Life's a bitch. She must be a spinster too.

Another Great One From a Great One

Today I was witness to another surreal experience - that sheer joy of seeing your students walk down the academic aisle as certified experts in their fields. Five years ago, they were timid, nervous young ones dressed in their white med school uniforms or in their disheveled and messed up scrubs, trembling in front of you during the dreaded Medicine morning endorsements. Now, they're proud and confident board certified internists ready to take on new challenges in their professional lives, living up to society's great expectations and their own secret dreams.

Looking at them all dolled up in their cocktail dresses and barongs, I can only be sure of one thing - that these bright and idealistic ones will one day be leaders in their fields. They will not fade away into oblivion. Instead, they will shine. They will one day teach me, one day heal me, like they already have during the past years.

I would like to believe that I was a part of their growth. Even just a miniscule part is good enough for me.

Anyway, enough for this stage mom drama factor.

Many days ago, I found out that the graduating batch chose my favorite teacher as their commencement speaker. Predictably enough, despite the many tasks lined up for the morning, I brought my thick folders of unread ECGs to the PGH auditorium to watch the great man speak. I have already posted several of his speeches in this blog, one of which, was touchingly mentioned in his latest speech.

Seeing your students graduate is definitely one of life's greatest joys. Hearing your teacher tell a huge crowd that a simple gesture you did long ago created a huge impact - oh boy, that's really something, isn't it?

But I'm not gloating here (LOL!). The point of this post is this speech. Here is another great one from a great one.

Here goes...

Dr Mejia, members of the exe-com, fellow ordinary faculty members, graduating fellows and residents, dear parents, relatives and friends, good morning!

Let me start by thanking the graduating residents of 2010 for inviting me to speak to you today. As you know, I am inherently shy about public speaking. But because I love you all, I decided to accept.

The first person I asked for advise on what to say was my worst critic –my wife. This is what she said – “Tony, you’re always so abstract when you speak to graduates. Why don’t you give them concrete advice this year? Something they can actually use?”

Medyo nasaktan ako sa kaniyang pananalita. Hindi naman ako abstract e. To which she said “Of course you are! You cant help wax philosophical. The other year you advised them to put big rocks in their jars! What does that even mean?”

Tapos may pahabol pa siya. “And for God’s sake, don’t do another SMS survey this year. Gasgas na yan!” She was reading my mind. Napadala ko na yung survey e. So i had to ignore the results. My apologies to my respondents.

But OK. Fine! I can do concrete. And no surveys, everything will be from me. These past 2 days – I have been crafting this just for you, so here they are - 5 tips on what to do after graduation to help you overcome the obstacles hurled your way. I hope you find them useful.

Tip #1. Volunteer for 1 thing you like to do, and then say no to one thing else that you don’t. The curse of the new grad is being the youngest. You’re the trash bin for things that nobody wants to do. But this is the best way to lose yourself. One way to avoid this is to find that thing that you have passion for - that thing that gets you up in the morning, raring to go - and take it. For me, it’s teaching and seeing patients. Administrative work is a chore so I try my best to be needed at the front lines!

The philosophy is simple. If you fill your time with things you like to do, then your bosses lose elbow room to make you do things you don’t like! You can do this as early as the job interview. Don’t ask what they need. Be proactive! Tell them what you’re excited to do. If you do this successfully the first time, the next time will be even easier. Soon, you’ll find yourself doing the things you love, and as Confucius says, “you will never have to work another day in your life.”

Tip #2. Revive a hobby from your younger days and protect time for it. Get a life. You need to do something other than medicine, to be good in medicine. Most of us give up the things we like to do during training, but we need them to revive our tired spirits, and keep us excited about work.

Now note that I said, pick one from your younger days. Hobbies developed during adult life tend to be expensive – gambling, golf, collecting jewelry. Avoid these. Kawawa ang patient. Also note, you need to protect your time for that hobby. Otherwise you will lose it again.

Maybe you used to have a sport? A musical instrument you’ve stopped playing? I am sure there are many things you can find. For me, it has been badminton, biking, ballroom dancing, reuniting my closet band, maintaining my aquarium, even doing carpentry. I used to play with my children, but now only my dog wants to play with me. Ok lang yan. There are many things to choose from. But for starters, just choose one. Whatever it is, keep it raw and simple and real – just like in your younger days.

Before I say tip #3, let me do a quick survey. How many of you were born after 1970? Well here’s tip #3 – if you were born after 1970, computerize your clinic. The more I have second thoughts about this tip, the more convinced I am that it’s important advice. It doesn’t need to be expensive or complicated. It doesn’t need to be perfect right away! Even a word processor will be a tremendous improvement over paper files. Computers have an immense capacity to improve patient care – from decision support systems, to medical news alerts, and drug-interaction checkers. If you don’t understand how, then you’re sinking into the abyss of antiquity.

The most common objection i have encountered is that computers can interfere with eye contact and interpersonal interactions. This is a tired excuse. If you want to improve eye contact, stop texting and throw away your cellular phone.

Tip#4 – get sick. I don’t mean to wish you bad health here. Don’t get too sick. Just sick enough to need to see a doctor. It’s a different view from the other end of the stethoscope. The tests and treatments you thought were so cheap? They’re not so cheap when you’re the one paying! The 3 hour wait outside? That isn’t as short as you thought. And the personal touch we hardly talk about– it’s more important than we thought. For many physicians, including myself, getting sick is a life-changing event. You will be kinder, more caring, and more understanding, more discriminating in your prescriptions. You’ll probably start scheduling your patients, and making sure you see them on time!

And finally tip #5. Write something about yourself that you can read again after several years.

Write about your dreams and aspirations. I don’t mean buying a house or a new car. These aren’t aspirations, they’re earthly desires. Write about your beliefs and principles. What you consider right and wrong. Or what kind of doctor you want to become, and what you want to avoid becoming. Every now and then when you feel tired and lost, or even when you just feel nostalgic, let the young enthusiastic graduate in you wake you up to remind you of who you really are.

Now I never really did this intentionally. But last year, Jean Alcover showed me something I wrote in 1986 during the graduation ceremonies of the department of medicine. I was speaking on behalf of the graduating residents. Just to give you a background, I was reacting to a challenge by then secretary Mita Pardo de Tavera, that internal medicine had become irrelevant because 90% of the population couldn’t afford the care that we were trained to give in PGH. Here was the reaction of this 28 year old graduate, and I quote:

“The lessons in PGH by far outweigh the misery. And among its lessons, the lesson of relevance is both the simplest and most fascinating. Think about it. The hospital doesn't run on equipment, for there is hardly any, and it certainly doesn't run on money. This hospital runs on the hearts and minds of men and women who have chosen the art of healing ... And healing well. It runs on patriotism and love for god and fellow man. The day these ideals become irrelevant, will be the day our dreams and aspirations end. On that day, the philippine general hospital will cease to exist.”

This was true 25 years ago. And it still is true today. The paragraph reminded me about why I was here, and what I wanted to do. It came at a time when I was tired and low and it didn’t make sense why I was wasting my career in a low income setting. Then almost right away, everything was ok.

So do yourself that favor. Write something. Even a short paragraph. Blog it, post it in facebook or tweet it. But also print it so it can’t be lost. It might rescue you in the future when your path is going astray. Sometimes, the person you need to talk to is yourself.

In summary, these are the 5 concrete tips that i offer:

#1 Volunteer for something you like to do, and say no to some thing that you don’t. Build your career around things you love to do, and you will never have to work another day.

#2 revive a hobby from your younger days, and protect time for it. Keep it raw and pure and simple and it will restore some years you’ve lost.

#3 if you were born after 1970, computerize your clinic. It doesn’t need to be complex and expensive. It doesn’t even need to be perfect at once. A word processor can do wondrous things.

#4 Get sick. But not very sick. See what it’s like at the other end of the stethoscope. Then use that experience to enrich your practice.

#5 Write something about yourself, to read when you’re down and troubled. Let the person you are today, remind you later about what you really want.

There are many more things I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to make such a long speech. Lets just meet in facebook and discuss! There you can like or unlike, agree or disagree. My ID is Tony Dans!

Now, my wife was right, I cannot help but wax a little philosophical too. So allow me to leave with a final word of advice. Your training here wasn’t just meant to make you good practitioners or teachers or researchers. You were trained to be something more – to be leaders. Maybe we didn’t train you by words, but certainly by example from your illustrious faculty.

Have no doubt about it. You will be called upon to lead. And as leaders, you are not designed to maintain the status quo. You are designed to challenge the establishment. Because of this, two things become most important in your career. First, the ability to see what’s wrong, even when no one else can. And second, the strength and courage to fight for change. In the process, some people will dislike you, because change is never easy. Some may even hate you. That’s OK. Just remember what Colin Powell said – if everybody likes you, you must be doing something wrong. You don’t have to hate anyone back. With the 5 tips I propose, you can begin this process of change. And note that none of them began with others, – they all begin with you!

So, on behalf of the faculty of the department of medicine, we bid you farewell and god speed. We are immensely proud of all of you, and what you have done during your stay. You are like our children to us. I think I speak for all faculty members when I say - thank you for touching our lives.

Now go out and change the world - one step at a time, always starting with yourself. Remember what a great philosopher once said: ”do or do not. There is no try.”

Thank you!

Keynote speech by Dr. Antonio Dans. UP-PGH Department of Medicine Graduation. February 17, 2011.

Men Bashing 101

I wonder why I keep running into assholes. All my life, this has been among my gravest misfortunes, undeserved I must insist. Despite my generally sweet, selfless, and charming nature, my recent dealings with the opposite sex have been mostly limited to close encounters with the appalling kind (mostly, take note). For some reason, the closer I get to know these men, the stench of their backsides become more pronounced and outright revolting. I wish these people would understand what sensitivity is all about and how to live it. Thoughtfulness should be a characteristic of all human beings, not just of gay men. The formula is supposed to be simple – not everything in the world revolves around you. You are not the center of the solar system. Your asshole is not the center of the human body either (or is it?).

Masculinity is not and must not be equated with that superior degree of contemptible insensitivity, as if this subspecies of the male kind is utterly immune from the universality of that basic tenet of life we call “The Golden Rule”. It’s supposed to be easy. Before doing anything, every person, male or female, must consider: would I needlessly hurt anyone?

Maybe this subspecies of males should remember those billboards way back in the 1980s. They were called the Rotary Club’s 4-Way Test: 1. Is it the truth? 2. Is it fair to all concerned? 3. Will it bring goodwill and better friendships? 4. Will it be beneficial to all concerned?

Maybe these types don’t know how to read. They just go through their lives doing as they please.

On the other hand, assholes are extremely charming. I admit I have a thing for them.

Good thing I have bowel movement regularly and I still fart occasionally. This means my one asshole is working. Assholes all over the place and all up for grabs? Uhhmmm, no thank you, kind sirs. Mine is still working well. One ass hole is good enough for me.

Disclaimer: To all my male readers, this post is not intended for you. Bato bato sa langit, ang tamaan, deadma!

Aborted Extinction

This blog is dying. My last post was almost four months ago and I still can't get a decent post out of my head today. My dearest blogger friends have stopped sending me text messages asking when I will be writing again. I have almost faded away from the blogging world, and just like any other unimportant writer, I will vanish into oblivion and be eternally forgotten.

So, if anybody out there cares, how am I?

Well, unimportant as I am, I will tell the world that... I've been great! The past few months have been a struggle against voluntary extinction, I should say. But the worst is over. After that initial decision to just acquiesce and fade away, something just flickers inside you again that would make you take that extra deep gasp. Wait, world! I still want to live!!!

With that new-found desire and thirst for life in mind, you rise up from your coma and start breathing on your own again. The sensation is lovely. The feeling is surreal. Every breath becomes a blessing, every step you take is a step away from sweet comfortable darkness. And then you just live. And you choose to go on living.

I am writing again. This blog will choose to live. This woman too.

From the Outside Looking In

Since October started, I have been reporting to that heart hospital in far-away Quezon City. It is an awfully frightening responsibility to be removed from one's home base, but it does help to step away once in a while. Somehow, it allows us to view things from a different perspective. It does require some distance and some emotional detachment for us to see things objectively. A new vantage point will afford us a closer examination at our own weaknesses and to appreciate our own strengths.

On the bus home, I usually reminisce about each day's work. I thank God for the people I met in the new workplace, the new bits of knowledge that I acquired, the different diseases that I never saw in my hospital, the amazing surgical procedures that they were able to accomplish and which we will probably never do in the next few years. I marvel at their technology, their air-conditioned premises, the eminence of their teachers. Over there, the male doctors wear long-sleeved shirts and ties, while in my home-base, my male colleagues would rather wear jeans. There, they have 6 by-pass machines, here we only have 1. They do aneurysm surgeries left and right, peripheral artery bypass is a common procedure. They have Cell-Saver, ECMO, heart-lung machines, all sorts of technology my poor old hospital will never get to afford.

Perhaps I never should have stayed in my home base. The world outside is big. It's much bigger than my UP-PGH.

But I remembered what I had back home. Last night I stayed up late in my office's conference room, while taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi. I was elated over my students' (who are now Tayns' babies because of my absence) awesome performance in a class activity. I reread my favorite teacher's speech and shed tears again. I chatted with some old colleagues and students through Facebook. I spent the night in my callroom and woke up to the sound of the rattling LRT rails. Early this morning, my oldest consultant had me check his emails and his Pubmed account. He also showed me the nth revision of his paper on heart failure and digoxin. I could not leave while he still wanted to talk about the benefits of digitalis, so I left my home-hospital much later than I should.

I am in my home-hospital again, now, as I write. The conference room is in a mess. Tayns is busy printing the students' exam. That annoying duty phone is ringing again. Leora is still typing the echo results. There was a half-eaten chocolate cake on the table. Some small mice are running around, unafraid of the humans in the room. Dave dropped by to watch his telenovela. Junjun is relating how Dr. Abelardo started everybody's morning by exclaiming, "Putang ina! Ang galing ng mge estudyante kahapon!" Sometimes I doubt if this is really the best place to train. This may not be the institution that will make the best cardiologists out of us. We are all tired. We are all underpaid. We may be, just maybe, stuck in the wrong place.

But this is home. And there is no place like it. Definitely, most definitely, this is where I'd rather be.

The Inconveniences of Going Solo

I have been traveling around the country for several years already. Aside from affirming my initial notion that this country is indeed breathtakingly beautiful, my journeys along the countrysides have made me realized that this world, this country included, is not at all friendly or the least bit indulgent to the solo traveler.

Take a look at restaurants, for example. No, not even those fancy ones. Pick those cheap, mass-driven fast-food joints such as Jollibee and McDonald's. Whatever branch you visit, there is never a table good only for one person. Even the fast-foods are biased to group customers and couples. Darn couples. Why is it that the best restaurant deals are good for two? Why can't dining be good for one person only?

Due to my chronic lack of travel company, I've been forced to shell out more than what is necessary. Travel packages are for big groups, or at least two people. Hotel rooms, even beach cottages, are for two people. Boat rides, tricycle rides, even hiking guides are priced for couples. Solo travelers like me would have to settle for the chance to hitch with strangers, or if other travelers are not around, we would have to pay a huge extra amount just to be able to get around.

Aside from the ridiculous expense that comes with traveling solo, I occasionally get those annoying Spanish-inquisition looks from the locals. Why does a woman like you travel alone? Are you doing research on our culture? Are you planning to do something crazy (like an abortion or drugs) when you're alone? Are you a nun planning to go on meditation? Do you intend to commit suicide? Sometimes, I get so tired of having to explain my solitude that I just nod and say "yes" to all those questions.

There was this one time, when I was in Samar, I chose to have a huge bottle of San Miguel Beer while I sat on the sand by the beach watching the stars. I was surprised that the caretaker of that deserted resort sent over his female house-help and his 15-year old son to stay within 10 meters from where I was supposed to be getting my epiphanies. When I asked the nice Manang why they weren't in their rooms sleeping, she told me, "Sabi po kasi ni Kuya, baka daw anong gagawin nyo." I ended up talking to her and giving her half my beer.

I am heading to El Nido in Palawan at the end of this month. My favorite travel buddy, J of the McDreamy fame, has vanished to oblivion (as always). My good friend from North Palawan would be stuck in his hospital. In all probability, I will be exploring the most beautiful place in the world alone.

Alone. Alone. Alone. I am that suspicious, solitary entity who will perpetually be stuck outside the rest of the world dreaming, wondering what it would be like to belong to someone other than myself.

Even if it seems unlikely, I do hope that solitude is not my destiny. I do need company. I need someone to dine with, to travel with. To split the expenses with, to share that big beach cottage with. To to talk to when some crazy idea bothers me, to be quiet with. I need someone to listen to when I'm tired of hearing myself talk (which is most of the time). I need someone to walk with in the morning. I need someone to have half my beer.

If there's anyone out there who's interested to tag along, I'd be very grateful. I won't bite. I won't be a burden. I won't usurp your own solitude. We will be as the strings of a lute - we will make good music together because we will stand on our own.

Come on now. I'm not so bad. I am actually nice. I might actually be interesting.

You! Yes, you. Will you come travel with me?

My Huge Baby Project

Around two weeks ago, I was at the peak of my maternal desires. I had this intense, compelling need to have someone that came from me, not just a work of art or craft, but someone alive and capable of affection. I wanted to have a child! This was most likely triggered by that disgusting news about a neonate found in an airplane's trash bin. But then again, perhaps it was only just about time. At 30 years old, my aging ovaries are probably desperate for a chance to procreate, a chance for them to transmit their mitochondrial DNA to someone I could love and who, in all likelihood, will actually love me back.

With these maternal instincts so strong and troublesome, I decided to do something about it. Desperate as I was, Fate played a helping hand by allowing me to stumble upon this hilarious ad. Simply because the ad was strange and ridiculous, I emailed the guy. Nope, the man behind it was not even half as psychotic as I expected him to be. He seemed like your everyday kind of guy with a not-so-ordinary way of looking at the world - traits that made the idea more appealing. I happen to believe that peculiarity and eccentricity are an asset - they are the vital ingredients for an adventure.

To make a long story short, I was actually crazy enough to meet with the guy. He didn't seem to sound like a hoax. Seem - being the operative word. It would have been exciting if I took this deal hook, line, and sinker. But I didn't. I begged for one more year. One more year to find someone. One more year to do things the normal way. One more year to be hit by that proverbial stray bullet. One more year to be struck by lightning on a clear day. Sorry, my dear eggs, but I was not brave enough to indulge you yet. Let's give it one more year to wait and see. But if nobody comes along, then we will cross the Rubicon and cast the die.

My huge baby project would have to wait. But I'm sure glad there are still crazy people in this planet bizaare enough to give me my Plan B.

Happily Never After

I haven't been writing lately. A deficiency of inspiration could not be blamed for this hiatus. It must be my advancing age and its occasionally irritating attribute which some people call prudence, but which I'd rather call caution. Anyone who wears her heart outside her shirt is bound to get that restless piece of muscle infected or traumatized, and considering the frailty of my memory and my extraordinary carelessness, I'd forget mine and leave it lying around somewhere unattended until it disintegrates into humus. Because of this "caution" issue, I've decided to write more carefully, to use figures of speech and attempt to conjure images that my readers will find to be senseless. So no one will even suspect that that monstrous, histrionic, maniacal thing that's trying to catch your attention is still my bleeding cardiac tissue.

So there, this is all rubbish. Bollocks to this! But this is all I could manage for now.

Lately I've been having dreams. Not those nocturnal ones that come when one is in stage III delta-wave level slumber. I'm referring to those types that cross our minds in the middle of our most boring occupations, when we wish we're somewhere doing something else. Here goes.

Two months ago, in the middle of a heated weight-loss competition, I wanted to be an authentic anorexic. You know, like those Karen Carpenter types who have body dysmorphia, who think they're overweight when their waists are in fact already as narrow as my upper arm. I pictured myself with a 20-inch waist, eating a leaf of lettuce for lunch, and a stick of carrot for dinner (which, I'd most likely puke out anyway, after skillful manipulation of my tonsils and uvula). Ahhh, to weigh a quarter of my current weight. That must be heaven!

I ended up in McDonald's eating a Big Mac. So much for anorexics, huh.

Last month, because of the mountains of stuff I had to finish, I envisioned myself as a workaholic. You know, like those Devil-Wears-Prada-Cruella-DeVille types who will stop at nothing to earn the big bucks. Or maybe I can work all day and all night to discover the cure for the common cold, or the ultimate no-side-effect-instant-weight loss pill and live like royalty until the day I die. Yeah, I could probably be that girl. I'm smart and people do think I'm competent, right? I can be ruthlessly competitive, ambitious, materialistic. I'd have decreased need for sleep, finish hundreds of research papers. I'd be the wonder-woman-of-medicine-who-succeeds-in-everything! Perfect!

I ended up sleeping. When I woke up, my poor old Braunwald textbook was smudged by the crusted saliva from my drooling.

And then came Venus Raj. Two weeks ago, I wanted to be Ms. Universe. I'd be a 22 year-old with a 22-inch waistline, standing 5'11" who looks vavavaoom hot in a bikini, and even hotter in her painted birthday suit. I'd wear a stunning cocktail dress with my cleavage out there for the whole world to fancy. I will be so glamorous and beautiful and perfect that Harry Trump himself decided right then and there to buy out the company that produces Barbie and name the doll Jean, in my honor, of course. Oh geeeez, if that was me in Vegas that day, the Philippines would have had it's new Ms. Universe. Even the president will leave his girlfriend just to kiss the ground I walked on! Aaaargh!

Oh well. I ended up in the Cardiac Cath Lab, pressing on a femoral artery after pulling out an arterial sheath at 3 in the morning. Yeah right. I can't even wear 3-inch heels!

Today, I finally realized what I really wanted out of life. All I really want to do is finish my Cardiology training, settle down in a beautiful town somewhere south, have a small but noble practice, teach in a reputable medical school, travel around the country or overseas once in a while. I'll marry a good man who is smart enough to talk to me for hours and comfortable enough to be silent with me for hours, who happen to find me as his best friend and his indispensable travel buddy, and who adores me and loves me and looks at me like I'm the prettiest woman in the world. We'll have 3 or 4 kids, some dogs, a cat, a neat little house with a huge lawn for a garden. On weekends, we'll have picnics and lunches at our own dainty hut by a quiet beach. Breeze on our faces, joy, laughter, contentment. Love. Ahhh, love. Yes, I'm that shallow. A happily ever after is all I'm really after.

Duh. Being the other dreams seem a lot easier to come by.

OK. I give up. I'll settle for Ms. Universe.