Vagaries of a Middle-Aged Schmuck

Last night, I found myself in a coffee shop sipping hot vanilla latte and indulging in decadent blueberry cheesecake while musing about my solitary existence. It must be my age and the fact that I’m supposedly way past Erikson’s Intimacy vs Isolation Stage but am still very much stuck in it, struggling to keep my head afloat like a child who doesn’t know how to swim, that this issue is becoming a recurring thought, almost an obsession I couldn’t seem to shake off my head. The question whether I should battle against my imminent fate of being forever alone or just gently and graciously acquiesce to lifelong solitude nags me all the time that I decided to take some time off from work, pretend that I’m going somewhere far away, when in fact, I’m just wandering around this little city, spending my hard earned money on expensive coffee and pies, and books which will probably take me months to read. In the next few days, I will just hole myself up in a quiet beach-side resort a half-hour drive away from the city to meditate and contemplate on my fate. Hibernate, so they say. Like a snake molting off her skin and eventually emerging with a brand-new one, or a cat who will just sleep all day to recover her nine lives.

Well, being single at 33 isn’t entirely miserable. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m not sour-graping, mind you. I’m simply stating the obvious. I’m a woman who runs, reads, writes, takes pictures, travels, drives my own car, and has an incredibly fulfilling and relevant job, and millions of other women in the world would have dumped their husbands to take my place. And while other women are growing fat, grumbling about their boring lives and their mundane home routines and the impossibility of the perfect afritada or adobo, I am steadily and slowly getting fit, evolving while sucking the marrow out of life, learning and relearning new things, exploring possibilities, loving the world and everything in it. This week, I’ll get diving lessons for an open-water diving certificate. In the next few months, I’m getting swimming lessons, try my luck in biking, then train for 21K, travel to India or to China, perhaps get an MBA. There’s just too much to do, and I can’t imagine being able to do half of these wonderful things if I have a husband who’s unwilling to do all those with me, or much worse, several kids pulling at my pants or sucking at my tits.

But I am alone. There’s the rub. I am alone. Alone, alone, alone. Is this the price I have to pay for asking more out of life? Do I need to remain solitary so I can "suck the marrow" out of our short existence? Am I willing to exchange all my plans for the possibility of having a better half, to be loved, to be entwined with another soul for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until life as we know it is extinguished? Don't get me wrong. I am one of those thirty-something single women who enjoy solitude. And yet, I also desire to share my solitude with someone. And no, I am not jaded, at least not yet. I am still one of those hopeless romantics who still believe that the one made for me since the beginning of time is still out there, searching for me. I am just a solitary soul waiting to be found, trying to live an extraordinary life while at it, but waiting, every single day, waiting, waiting, waiting... 

Am I stupid to wait? Should I just abandon this hopeless-romantic-ship and jump overboard into the ocean of eternal solitude? Should I? Or should I not?

I took a few days off from work to contemplate on these things, to give an answer to these nagging, seemingly unimportant but utterly pivotal questions about my existence. Also, I promised myself that I will write again, that during this short break, I’ll have at least some form of documentation of my thoughts that is much more substantial than a few annoying words in an egoistic self-elevating Facebook status. I have resolved that at the end of three days, I will be able to answer these perennially baffling and troublesome questions: Would I rather be alone? Am I prepared to be alone?

Today is day one of my vacation. And I am successful enough to squeeze out a blog entry from my tired and overworked brain.

So far, my answer to both questions is a resounding NO. 

You Should Date a Cardiologist

Date a cardiologist. Date a woman who spends most of her time studying and healing hearts, literally. Her passion for her profession will overwhelm you, at first. But once you get to know her, you will discover why. Her interest in the human heart extends beyond the literal. She is more interested in the deeper and figurative significance of the human cardiac tissue – that of love, giving love, and being loved back. Date a cardiologist because she will do everything to take care of your heart – she swore an oath to honor and protect it at all costs. She will never break it, unless you provoke her and break hers first.

Find your cardiologist. There aren’t too many women like her around, but when you do come across her, she’s not easy to forget. She is the woman who is comfortable among men and people of power and authority – she is confident, direct, smart, and assertive. She thrives in a man’s world because her field used to be a man’s world, and still pretty much is, and she spent years of hard struggle to earn her place in it, and very well-deservedly. She walks with a perpetual sense of urgency. Her schedule is meticulously planned, her phone is incessantly ringing. Referrals, emergencies, cardiac arrests, and all sorts of frantic calls for help from patients, nurses, colleagues, and family, come during the most unholy of hours, and she is always patient enough to receive them with gentleness and much grace. She lives and breathes those virtues – patience, gentleness, and grace – the same gifts that she can offer you. 

Talk to her.  Start a conversation even if she appears to be too busy for small talk. Look her in the eye. Remain calm and undaunted even if she stares you down, as if finding fault in your grammar or the syntax of your words, if you can find enough courage to muster them intelligibly. Ask her about her patient load, her newest intensive care case, the latest drugs for dyslipidemia and hypertension. Pretend you’re a patient with chest pain. Feign a heart attack. She will find you out. But if she considers you interesting enough, she will immediately stop her rounds, forget her piles of ECGs to read, and agree to have a long conversation with you. Or even coffee, or beer, or dinner, if you’re lucky.

Once you find your cardiologist, keep her. Her heart is as fragile as the cardiomyopathies she has seen, so handle it with utmost care. Her moods may be as unpredictable as ventricular tachycardia, but all she really needs from you is that you will consistently stay. She deals with patients with stormy clinical courses every day, so she can never be satisfied with sporadic bursts of passion and intermittent displays of affection from you, no matter how intense, no matter how sweet. 

Pick her up from her hospital. Offer to drive for her even if she insists that she could still drive for herself. And when she falls asleep in the car from sheer exhaustion, plant a kiss on her forehead, or on her cheek, or on her lips, if you’re bold enough. Surprise her at her clinic. Give her flowers in front of her patients and watch her blush. Secretly drop silly love notes into the pocket of her white coat or in her handbag where she keeps her precious stethoscope. Insert your handwritten poetry in the pages of her Braunwald. Or a ring. If you think she’s The One. A cardiologist may be obsessive-compulsive in the monitoring of her patients, but when it comes to romance, she is very to please.

Let her take care of you. Allow her to fret over your blood pressure or the ischemia on your ECG. Let her take your pulse. Let her listen to your heart for murmurs or whatever she might find there. Allow her to take you into her world where life is sacred and loving it is a necessity. Her desire to serve mankind and make the world a better place will infect you, and you can’t help but make those your dreams as well. But despite her passion for her work, you are her first love, her top priority. Yours is the heart that she would give up her life for, the heart that she keeps within her heart.

Grow old with her.  Get used to the way she beams with delight whenever she pulls a patient out of shock. Even when you’re both older, give her a warm hug for every life saved, a kiss for every patient sent home walking. Keep her close whenever she weeps for each life lost. Never grow tired of holding her, for she will still weep even if she has lost hundreds.  Hold her hand whenever she whines about how toxic her life has become. Stifle your grin when she does that, because you know that she will always complain, busy or not busy, but more so when she stops being busy.  She would always want to retire from her job and go somewhere else with you. So take her somewhere else with you. To a beach, to a mountain, to a secluded restaurant, to a far-flung town with no cellphone signal. Anywhere with you. And she will come back recharged. Because you are the oil that keeps her lamp burning.

Disappoint her. A cardiologist knows that even infarcted hearts get a chance at healing and life can be made normal again with adequate rehabilitation. She’s not a stranger to failure, so she won’t hold a grudge against you when you fail in some of your promises. She knows that a patient’s course can sometimes go downhill despite all effort. That parting is an inevitable fact of life and what matters most is that you did your best. She knows that her attempts at healing may fail sometimes, but her efforts to give comfort will always succeed no matter how the patient will end up. 

Date a cardiologist if you’re brave enough. Not everybody deserves her. But those who do will have the greatest adventure of their lives.

Better yet, date a cardiologist who reads. And writes. And travels. And runs.

Silly Attempts at Poetry

I unearthed an old piece of crappy writing today. These were scribbles I made on scratch paper some 10 or 12 years ago. Funny how some memories revisit you, like a deja vu, only becoming stronger. It's like coming full circle and you find yourself in exactly the same quagmire again. Perhaps it's true that History repeats itself. Or maybe Life is just giving us second chances, so we can be bolder and hence redeem, finally, after countless attempts, really redeem ourselves. Maybe this time, I will. 

Or perhaps there are certain feelings or thoughts that we nurture in our hearts that never really disappear or even diminish. They just hide, pretending to be forgotten, only to come back stronger when we're older. And when they do, it's time to just surrender and get carried away.

Paghihintay

Ang tagal mo naman!

kung hihintayin kita, anong oras?

Saan? Kailan?

Wala naman tayong usapan.

Walang appointment na pwede kong asahan.

Wala kang iniwang landline o cellphone

na pwede kong tawagan.

Hindi kaya ako nagmumukhang tanga?

Nagbibilang ng oras, umaasa sa wala?

O baka naman, may katagpo ka nang iba?

Diyos ko naman, sana wala pa!

At sana di tayo nagkasalisihan!

Papunta ako dun, naghahanap sa 'yo,

habang ikaw nama'y papunta pala rito.

O, ano? Libre ka kaya?

Kung hindi mamaya, bukas?

Sa isang linggo? Sa isang taon?

Ah, ewan. Bahala ka.

Kahit kelan, bahala na.

Basta, hihintayin kita.

Mamuti man ang mata,

lulunukin ang inip, ang pagod.

Ang pagtiktak ng relo,

sa kabilang tenga palalabasin ko.

Ipipikit ang mga mata, at baka sa pagdilat,

Naririyan ka na.

Darating ka kaya?

Bahala na.

At kung sa kahihintay, ako'y tumanda,

hindi ko iyon alintana.

Basta't darating ka,

sulit naman, 'di ba?

Ngunit ang hirap naman nito.

Mabuti sana, kung di ko alam

Ang pangalan mo.

Walking on Water: The Resurrection

After nearly eight months of dormancy, I’m back. I’d like to believe that the fact that I am writing on this blog again means that I’ve finally settled into the new life that I’ve chosen for myself. The rolling stone that I had once been now decides to stay still in a corner for awhile and gather moss, just a little bit of it, maybe to have a semblance of stability in my life, to say that I too have a home somehow. People who know me well enough are probably chuckling by now. Jean is never the type to stay still. Oh well, let’s see. Maybe gravity or some force stronger than it will hold me into a quiet corner finally, maybe for good. We’ll see.

The last eight months have been a blur. It was blurry because of the storms, the many hurdles and rites of passage that I had to endure to be able to arrive at where I am now. And where I am now is just a small white-tiled office, with a steel examining table on my right, and a cheap glass-topped table under my old laptop as my desk. I have all the luxury of time to ponder on everything I’ve been through. Being the frustrated writer that I am, I have always imagined great novels out of the events of my life, with matching musical score, no matter how mundane these events might be. Writing has always afforded me a semblance of order in my otherwise disordered existence. And excitement! When the practical side of me gets reminded of the monotone of my uninspired life, I seek to write in order to create a different world, a world where there is color and music and tears. Everything I go through becomes a material for a great story that I dream to write one day. Hence everything – the sleeping in call rooms on chairs, on empty hospital beds, on couches, on treadmills, the 100-mile per day bus rides, the riding on tricycles, the 30-peso meals – these are just part of the ebb and flow of a glorious plot where I’m the main protagonist.

Fantasies aside, let me get to the meat of things – the things that my readers would want to read about. Maybe you’d like to hear about the turmoils of starting a private practice, tips on how to survive in a dog-eat-dog-world without having to be a carnivore yourself, how to transform from an absolute couch-potato to a 10K runner in 6 months, how to be the Queen of the dreaded Friend Zone and end up unscathed, well, hopefully). Yes, yes. I promise I’ll write about them. Soon, but not today. Not yet. Let’s just presume that I’m still gathering enough materials before this blog can go full throttle again.

This blog post is somewhat forced. Several hundreds of words spewed from a brain that’s squeezed to absolute desiccation. Nothing of substance to write about. Just a writer expressing her angst over an 8-month blogging hiatus, waiting for that inspiration that never came. But here I am. I am writing again. I am not inspired, only compelled. I need to prove that I still exist. Yes, I’m right here. And I’m still loving it.

Some Things I’ll Miss About PGH

Now that I am about to conclude seven years of my stay in the country’s biggest charity hospital (15, including my college, medical school and internship years), I couldn’t help but count the things I have come to love most about it - things I will definitely miss once I depart its hallowed walls. Perhaps it is only normal among humans to occasionally feel excessively sentimental about things they’re about to leave. Of course I am excited. In fact, ecstatic is more like it. My years of financially underpaid hardwork are about to come to a close. I qualify that as “financially”, take note. Some of life’s greatest satisfactions have nothing to do with money. However, the prospect of going out into the real world where I will finally be exposed to the challenges I have prepared for for so long is truly sensational. My real mettle will finally be tested. There’s this intense trepidation that comes from questions such as: “Will I be able to make it?”, “Will I measure up to the standards with which I was molded?”, “Will I bring honor and glory to the institution that spawned me and the people who taught me well?” , “Will I be just another PGH graduate who will eventually be forgotten and/or will eventually forget where I came from?” , “Will I be just another shark in the ocean?”. Whatever the answers to those questions are, only time will tell. I know one thing though. I need all the help I can get.

So before I even get swallowed by the outside world, I will write down some things, so I will not forget. Here are some things I will miss the most about the PGH that I have learned to love-hate-love in the last fifteen years. These are in no particular order, still subject to changes/ additions/ deletions as I continue to ponder about them in the next few days (ahaha, my last remaining days as a PGH fellow):

1. PGH food. I blamed Carmina’s siopao for my weight gain during my med school days, then mess hall brown sauce during internship. During residency, there was Breakfastival at the foodcourt, where I was a frequent customer. Recently, I realized the breakfast buffet no longer exists. I had other favorites too. Arrozcaldo at the foodcourt is my comfort food. Sopas from the 2^nd floor coop store is worth all the long lines especially on rainy days. I also loved the sisig (crispy chicharon with all the onions), spareribs caldereta, munggo with galunggong from the coop. For snacks, my favorites have always been camote cue and turon.

2. PGH elevators and their unlimited capacity. Lining up at the main lobby’s elevators is one of my most hated PGH moments. Especially during weekends when there is only one elevator for visitors and employees. And most especially during days when all the other elevators are undergoing maintenance and there is only one elevator for everybody, including patients! Sometimes I get tempted to ride on the patient’s bed to even fit in the cramped space! However, there is something strangely profound about it. The old PGH elevators kind of remind me of PGH itself – you can fill it beyond capacity and it will continue to function. You pound it with your fists or with your coins and it will continue to go up and down. You think it’s impossible to take more people, and the elevator lady just tells you “Usog usog lang po, kasya pa yan."

3. The Ma’am-Sir culture. You know a PGH graduate if he calls everybody Ma’am or Sir. Not a Doctor or Doctora. Not a Kuya or Ate or a Manong or Manang. A janitor is called sir, so as the most hotshot professor emeritus. You meet a nurse on the hallways and greet her with “Good morning Ma’am.” Ma’am or Sir because you forgot their names. Ma’am or Sir because you don’t remember which ward she or he works in. Ma’am or Sir because you respect them anyway. I know I’ll be going out to that world where I’ll be “Doctora Alcover”. But somehow, if I’m in a far flung hospital and somebody screams, “Mam Jean!”, it will be PGH all over again.

4. Recycling as a way of life. My fellowship batch mate Dave once said that. Somehow, conserving our resources is our way of life here. Always, we try to make use of materials most people discard. Order sheets in charts are back pages of old documents. Papers used to wrap cotton balls and sponges are from old documents whose back pages can’t be used for chart order sheets. I remember some of my co-fellows actually asking Cardiology fellows in other hospitals if they have patients with pacemakers who recently died so they can harvest these pacemakers, sterilize them and use them on patients who need them. Alumni from the United States send us medicines, cath lab materials, other equipment from their hospitals there that we could still use. One of my consultants made it his life’s advocacy to ask for pacemakers (both new and harvested) from everywhere and this noble action has already saved hundreds of people.

5. Creativity to make up for the things we lack. Cardboards as facemasks, cardboards as cervical collars, plastic jugs as containers for sharps, cut-up IV bottles as urinals, cut up IV tubings as nasal prongs, wooden planks as cardiac boards. The list can go on and on.

6. Teaching rounds with my consultants. Yeah, they grill you. They check your chart entries meticulously, criticize your grammar, make sure you have adequate documentation. They know when you’re bluffing about your history, they can tell if you’re inventing your lab result values. They pound history and physical exam into your weary head until you learn how to literally smell your patient's diagnosis. Because of them, you know Dr. House is wrong. It's history and PE, kid. History and PE, not labs. History and PE, not MRI or PET scans. History and PE... They get disappointed because you didn’t see your patient die when in fact you’ve been at that patient’s bedside until midnight and you only went home to bathe and get a little shut-eye because you’ve been awake since the previous day. They know stuff you never get from textbooks. They are the country’s biggest names in the field. Most of them are not even paid at all. But they see your charity patients. They trust you with their own private patients. And they teach you. And somehow, you just know that to them you are not their future competition, you are their trophy.

7. Everyday conversations with my consultants. Ahhh, these are even better than the teaching rounds. Haha. This is when they reminisce about their PGH experiences, they tell you about their patients and their families, when they tell you about how they started their medical practice. These are times when they asked if you have a copy of this song or that movie, when they ask you to edit their slides or their speeches. These are times when you dance with them to Lady Gaga’s latest song, when you share shots of tequila or bottles of beer, when you vomit on their tables. These are times when they show you their human side, when you to them are not just a minion or a student but a colleague and a friend.

8. Teaching my students. Undoubtedly, this is among the most fulfilling moments of my PGH career. You “grill” them during endorsement rounds and then few years later they become that really smart and competent IM resident. You check and criticize their clinical histories and few years later you ask their help for a surgical case you’re comanaging. They look at you wide-eyed, nodding their heads to the bits of information you picked up from Medicine Blue Book. They think you’re some smart, hotshot Cardiology fellow, when in fact, you haven’t even taken your morning bath from your duty the night before. Then they give you these nice little thank you notes, or happily text you that they passed or topped the board exams, or post some flattering comments on your Facebook wall. You get so depressed about your life but then you teach them for an hour and you feel like you’ve done something really important for the world. And you did.

9. Professional fees in the form of anything. When you take care of patients who barely have enough to eat, you expect nothing in return, only that they’d get well and go home back to their families. But then they give you all sorts of stuff from their homes – buko pie, pastillas, salted eggs, bags, wallets, rosaries, bracelets, bagnet, chicharon, chichacorn, shirts that are too small or too big for you, lipstick, make-up, etc. etc. When they follow up at your OPD, you know they barely scraped enough funds for the fare, but there they were, greeting you with a huge smile on their faces with Goldilocks mamon or a Jollibee Yumburger for you. Some doctors get thousands as professional fee from patients who can afford it, but you get siopao and a bottle of coke from a patient who skipped his lunch so you can have yours. The feeling is just priceless.

10. The best possible care for people who have nothing. I’ve seen several Mr. X or Ms. Y come to the ER with nothing in their pockets and somehow, PGH people find ways to give them antibiotics or complete their required surgeries. Penniless patients with myocardial infarction who get thrombolysed, and residents will find ways to give their required drugs, and even scrape enough drug samples for a 2 week supply of home medications. I’ve seen street sweepers, jeepney drivers, and ordinary farmers given implantable cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs) and pacemakers worth hundreds of thousands of pesos. I’ve seen patients with heart tumors removed, valves repaired, coronaries bypassed, etc. even if they could not afford them. I’ve seen one of my consultants go to PCSO to ask for donations for somebody he didn't even know. A number of my own consultants ask their own private patients for donations for PGH patients. I have seen residents and co-fellows give their own money for their patients, seen them ask for funds from their own relatives just to give one more dose of antibiotics, or just to get a surgery done. I’m not saying that this is absolutely right, something is wrong with this set-up of course, something that is more deep-seated in the Philippine social order. However, I am still amazed at how here, “Walang mamamatay sa masipag na bantay.” I believe this is a place where sincerity and real generosity can still happen. Hope still exists.

I know I’ve probably spent half of my years in PGH complaining and whining about everything we lack. Now that my days here are numbered, I begin to see the beauty of this institution that I’m about to leave. I know I will always look back and remember it with fondness. And wherever my path leads me, I hope I will never forget where I came from. I’ve been given much. Soon, it’s payback time.

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

In terms of finances, I am about to reach the winter of my life. After 2 years of living on politician's dole-outs and one year of being a market-driven company investment, I am down to my last pay check. Long rainy days are yet to come, however, when I know I will be scraping the barrel, looking for my last crumbs of bread, living on Lucky Me pancit canton and canned tuna while studying for the last board exams of my life. How I would survive without asking for money from my folks, I really don't know. It would take a miracle, maybe manna will fall from heaven, or I will win in a lottery I don't even bet on.

Nevertheless, moving on to another phase of my life is something to look forward to. Going through another set of birthing pains is another adventure to get excited about. Maybe things will get better soon. Perhaps I need to go through these dark months of my life so I would appreciate the times when I actually have a few bills in my pocket. Perhaps I need to endure a week long diet of pancit canton and develop a talent in extending a single can of Century Hot and Spicy tuna for 3 full meals so I would learn to appreciate a warm Jollibee meal. Winter is here. Time to look for snowflakes. I heard they're beautiful.

***********

While Shakespeare spoke of the winter of discontent, I speak of the spring of my discontent and the autumn of my idealism. The recent events in my life were like a slap on my face, a loud wake up call that shook me out of my slumber. I've been living in this little utopian universe of my own making. A world where everyone is good, sincere, incapable of doing anyone else harm, free of any trace of wickedness and greed. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating. But my point is, I used to think that the world revolves on one basic tenet - the Golden Rule. Be nice, and everyone will be nice to you. Do good and everything will come back to you. Serve without expecting for anything in return. Love without limit. Recently however, I realize I failed to think about one thing - money. Yes, money. Love does not make the world go round. Money does.

I write this as I sit on my treadmill. I'm a 32 year old physician, an almost-cardiologist who actually sleeps on a mattress laid on a treadmill machine. People my age have cars, investments, several properties such as real estate, huge savings in the bank. While I sleep on a treadmill machine because I can't afford a decent apartment. Is this worth it? The girl who will change the world actually sleeps on a treadmill machine?!? Isn't that ridiculous.

Now I can't wait for all this to be over. So this is what happens when you finally realize you were being naive and stupid for a very long time. I deserve something better.

*********

Will I be just another shark in the ocean? I wonder. Now that I have reached the autumn of my idealism, I could not help but worry about how I have transformed into a different person throughout my seven years of postgraduate medical training. Have I become so heartless? Has my patience and tolerance been reduced to minimum and my temper to extremely explosive? I know I am still functional. I still project that image of authority and professionalism. But inside me, I know I'm going nuts. If this isn't compassion fatigue, I don't know what is.

**********

And then there's summer. Sometimes, no matter how tired you are or how screwed up you think you have been, you just can't help but count your blessings. There are unexpected circumstances, people who just come from out of nowhere who bless you with their presence. Sometimes the sun even shines from half the world away and you still feel its warmth. These are the rays of light that make you hope for something again. I wait for that ray of sunshine everyday. I hope it never stops coming.

Resolutions for 2012

It has been an awesome year. As 2011 is ending, I can't keep Beyonce's song out of my mind:

I wanted you bad, I'm so through with it,
'Cause honestly you turned out to be the best thing I never had,
You turned out to be the best thing I never had,
And I'm gonna always be the best thing you never had,
Oh yeah, I bet it sucks to be you right now!

Somehow I picture myself as a sexy, beautiful woman in a see-through white lace lingerie belting out that song with a glimmer in her eyes and a big smile on her face. Ahahahahaha, boy, it feels soooo good to be over someone. Especially if the telenovela fantasy drama of your life has been five years of unrequited love, based merely on your irrational and delusional dreams to make a bestselling novel out of your life. The result: you break your heart but eventually became that strong, successful, wise woman you are now. Ahahahaha, I feel even more divalicious than Beyonce.

So as this year is ending, I took advantage of the relative peace and quiet of my "apartment" at the Cardiovascular complex of the hospital where I work in and made a list of the things I resolve to change in my life for 2012. Here are some of them...

1. Look and feel beautiful all the time. Wear more make-up. Upgrade my wardrobe and dress up fabulously. Buy sexy lingerie. Wear heels and learn how to walk on them like a Victoria Secret supermodel (I have Superbass and Moves Like Jagger playing on my iPod while I type this, that's why). Get regular pedicures, and facials, and hair treatment. Basta, feel like that beautiful, sexy woman I really am.

2. Live healthy. This has been my struggle ever since forever. But this year, with my age going up and my metabolism slowing down, I need to take this more seriously. Eat more greens and fruits. Stop eating red meat. Maintain my regular jogs along Roxas Boulevard. Get enough sleep. Drink enough fluids. Stop drinking sugar-sweetened beverages.

3. Think healthy. Be more optimistic. Trust people. Trust my God. Believe in miracles. Stop thinking that I'm fat because I'm not! Ahahaha.

How about you? Any new year's resolutions?

The Scales Don't Lie

Today, after weeks of denial, I finally faced one of my greatest fears - the weighing scale. I've been neglecting my one-year-old diet and exercise regimen (consisting mostly of twice weekly jogs along Roxas Boulevard and moderate food intake) since September this year. After losing 8 kilos since early 2010, I've vowed to never exceed my normal body mass index (BMI) again. However, due to sheer carelessness and my inertia that seems to be certainly heading towards slothdom, it's been several months since I've completely lost my resolve to be healthy. I've stopped looking at the scales, however, citing the "what-you-don't-know-won't-hurt-you" clause in my book of personal laws.

This morning, I woke up feeling bloated and heavy. I looked at myself in the mirror and observed a resurrection of my ugly belly fat and lovehandles (which were never lost, just became a bit more trimmed). My recent attack of hypersensitivity to jellyfish stings which I got from my recent trip to Puerto Galera made me look even uglier. I had welts, scratch marks, and wheals all over my body. I found myself really disgusting that I almost vomited. And then the clincher moment came. I was supposed to wear my Cardiology shirt for a dance number. I tried but it just wouldn't fit me anymore.

And so, full of self-loathing, I finally decided to check my weight. Lo and behold (but not surprisingly), I weighed 3 kgs more than my weight in November this year. This is 5 kgs more than my weight exactly a year ago when I finally achieved my normal BMI. After months of dieting and running by the bay, I'm almost back to my old weight. More than one year if hard work now brought to waste.

I tried to justify my rapid and rather shocking weight gain, conjured up reasons that might have aggravated the sudden change of the scales. Since my allergic attack, I've been self-medicating on steroids, but only for a few days. As a doctor, I know that even a few days of high-dose steroids won't give me 3 kgs. Yes, this could be PMS. I'm nearing my period and this may be the stage of water retention. But still, 3 kgs is just too much to be simply attributed to PMS. Not even to constipation. Or the weight of the jeans I was wearing when I weighed myself.

The simple truth has to be faced. It's the lechon, the countless bags of chips, the bars of chocolate, the plates of rice, the slices of cake, the slabs of meat, the buffet breakfasts, the tubs of ice cream that I mindlessly consumed the past 3 months. If only I could vomit them all out now, I would. But of course, there's the steroids, the PMS and the constipation.

If only anorexic is something I could will myself to be. I'm already conditioning my mind to be an anorexic now. Think Victoria Secret models. Think Miss Universe. Think America's Next Top Model.

I'm not eating. Starting tomorrow.

Procrastination, Atbp.

Ever since I started fellowship for Adult Cardiology in March 2009, sinabi ko na sa sarili ko na mag-aaral na talaga ako. Pano ba naman, ang dami dami ko nang kinuhang exam, di pa rin ako nagbago. Hindi pa rin ako marunong mag-aral. Nung 2004, nung kumuha ako ng board exams para sa Medicine, habang ang iba ay nagkakaroon na ng eye bags sa kakapuyat sa pag-aaral, hindi pa rin nagbago ang study habits ko. Tulog at 10 PM, gising by 4am para mag-aral, then nap at 10 am, then aral uli by 12 pm, then nap ulit by 3 pm, then aral ulit by 6 pm. Ganun. Mas marami yata ang tulog. Unimaginable for someone taking the board exams. But that's what worked for me. Pumasa naman ako. At swerte pa, kasama pa sa top 20.

Ganun din sa board exams ng Internal Medicine. Habang yung iba kong ka-batch ay off na by December 15 for a January 27 exam, ako ay nagtrabaho pa rin. Binigyan lang ako ng leave 2 weeks before the exam para tumutok sa aming librong si Harrison's. Pero di pa rin nagbago ang study habits ko. Di ko pa rin kayang magpuyat. Kung dalawin ako ng antok, natutulog ako. Sa kabutihang palad ulit, maayos naman ang kinalabasan. Sa di pagmamayabang, nasa 98th percentile naman ang beauty ko. So masaya na ako.

Sabi ko sa sarili ko, this time, for the Cardiology Boards, hindi pwedeng half-hearted aral lang. Since this is probably my last board exams ever, kelangan bonggang bongga ang performance ko dito. Dapat topnotcher (char!). Di pwedeng pasang awa lang. Di pwedeng ligwakin ng Heart Center o kaya St. Luke's ang PGH. Kelangan kinakareer ang-aaral para dito.

Pero heto. Naluma na yung Braunwald 8th edition ko. Iilang chapters pa lang ang nabasa ko. Ngayon may bago na namang edition. Di ko pa rin nababasa. Kaya tuloy pirated version na lang ang binili ko. Baka kasi masasayang ko na naman. Three months na lang, I will be done with my fellowship. Finally. Time to jumpstart my life. But before I do that, I would need to pass my final hurdle - the adult cardiology specialty board exams this coming April 2012. Pero sa halip na mag-aral, iba ang ginagawa ko. Halimbawa na lang ay ang mga sumusunod:

1. Paghahanap ng lalaki - Nabanggit ko na sa previous post ko. No further elaborations are needed.

2. Paghahanap ng promo fare at pagpapalano ng bakasyon - Syempre naman. After 7 years of residency and fellowship training, I couldn't wait to go on a long vacation. Gusto kong mag-adventure ulit. After Batanes in 2009, I want to backpack around Palawan. I want to explore every town, including Cuyo and Cagayancillo. Pero pipe dream naman yata yan. Hindi dahil kelangan ko mag-aral, but dahil wala akong enough na pera.

3. Pagsasayaw kasama ang mga histrionic na Cardio fellows - Lahat ng party, my sayaw. At dapat bongga. Ayan, di tuloy nakakapagbuklat man lang ng Braunwald.

4. Pagiisip ng mga linya ng kanta - Halimbawa... Braunwald ka ba, (kasi naman kasi), pinapaikot mo ang utak ko (naman kasi). Defib ka ba (kasi, kasi) kinukuryente mo ang puso ko (naman kasi). Atropine ka ba (kasi, kasi) you make my heart go faster. PVC ka ba, e di PVC rin ako para couplet tayo. MI ka ba (kasi, kasi) nagcacardiogenic shock ako sa ýo.

Haaay. Ang hirap ng maraming inaatupag. Pero mas masaya naman ang ganitong buhay, di ba? Pag namatay ako, di naman siguro ninyo ako tatanungin ko ilang pages ng Braunwald ang binasa ko. Pero maaalala nyo yung mga byahe ko, o ang mga kanta kong ginawa (char!). Besides, kung nag-top ako dun sa mga dati kong exam, baka pag nag-aral ako this time, di na ako magtotop (Tama! Ako na!).

Bukas, mag-aaral na ako. Promise.

(Vtach ka ba (kasi, kasi) you are really really hard to catch. Stet ka ba (kasi, kasi) you know I can't rounds without you. Pa-protime nga (aahaaah) para laging nasa target kita. Pa-bypass nga (aaaahaaah), para laging nasa bedside kita...)

Maginoo Pero Medyo...

Maginoo, pero medyo lang. I'm changing my requirements for an ideal guy. After countless encounters with those tall, mysterious, smart, courteous, men-you-can-bring-home-to-daddy types, I'm giving up. Wala pa rin naman kasing nangyayari. Despite all the batting of eyelashes, the flicking of the hair, the exposing of the neck, the constant flashing of my trying-hard toothpaste-commercial smiles, he still doesn't fall for my trap. Kulang pa rin.

Bakit? Smart naman ako? And di naman ako pangit (sabi nung tricycle driver kanina). And for crying out loud, sinubukan ko namang maging malandi. True, kulang pa siguro ang efforts ko. Nung tumitig sya sa mga mata ko, napapatingin ako palayo. Masyado kasing intense. Di ko kaya, nakakalunod. One time pa, this really cute guy I met out-of-town brought me home to my hotel. We were both drunk. I meant drunk enough to lose some inhibitions but not drunk enough to lose interest in, ehem, you know. When we were saying goodbye, he stepped a bit closer and my manang-signals suddenly screeched and turned awry. All I did was grimly pat his back and say, "Thanks for the great time, (pare)." Putcha! Ang loser!!! When he walked away, I was like, whaaattthe!!!

Nakakaloka. Ayan tuloy. Because of all my whining and all my bitching about my inner manang and my eternal singlehood, sabi nung co-fellow ko frigid daw ako. Pwe!!! Frigid, grrrr. Di naman yata. Frigid ba ako? I looked up the word in the dictionary and ang meaning pala nun ay "unresponsive and inhibited" in carnal matters. Uhhmmm, talaga? Leche namang buhay 'to, oo. What am I supposed to do then? Kung may nabibiling perfume na may mga pheromones, bibilhin ko na yun at gagawin kong pampaligo. Siguro kelangan ko ng sign sa noo ko saying "NOT FRIGID!". Hmmmm, kukuha ako ng account sa eharmony, sa match.com, or sa filipinocupid.com, or sa adultfriendfinder. Baka may mabingwit akong foreigner na mayaman na aggressive. Masubukan nga.

Ayoko na ng mga shy. Ayoko na ng masyadong seryoso, kahit yung may sense of humor pero masyado namang gentleman, ayoko na rin. Of course, OK naman kung mabait. Pero mas OK yata yung medyo may angas rin. Yung di nahihiyang humingi ng goodnight kiss. Yung mga gumagamit ng mga korning pick-up lines paminsan-minsan. Yung mapapailing ka na lang dahil sa sobrang kapreskohan.

Ang hirap naman kasi kung ang lalaki ay masyadong mabait. Ikaw pa ang kelangan mag-effort. Kulang na lang, sabihin mo out loud, "Hey kuya, pwede mo akong hawakan." Hmp! Di ako demure, pero ayoko naman sabihin yun. Syempre, kelangan may konti pa ring kahinhinan.
Sabi nga nila, people put up walls so they will know who will be strong enough to break them. Sige, next time, I'll make my walls really really low, made of kawayan instead of concrete.

Hay naku. Baka kelangan mag-enroll sa personality class. Or magpalagay ng silicone sa boobs, or magpalagay ng pwet, or magpa-lipo. Or magbasa ng sangkatutak na mga libro on seduction. Or lumipat na lang sa Saudi. Sabi kasi sa news, dun daw ang may pinakamataas na male to female ratio. Di ba the more entries you send, the more chances of winning? Or magpa-change na lang kaya ako ng kasarian. Kung lalaki ako, baka may mahuli pa akong sing-gwapo ni Piolo.

Sabi ng mga friends ko, kelangan ko lang daw kasi is "to put myself out there". Eto na. I'm already out here. Last ditch attempt. Pushed against the wall na. Eggs under fire, nearing expiration date. I'm putting it in writing. Kelangan ko ng lalaki. Kahit hindi gwapo, basta marunong mag-spelling at di jejemon mag-text. Kahit di matalino pero nagbabasa naman ng konti ng libro. Kahit di marunong kumanta basta kilala ang Beatles. Basta ba lalaki. Kahit walang abs, kahit malakas mag-extra rice. Basta lang di nanlalalaki.

Desperada na ba? Ah basta, sana dumating ka na, kuya! And remember, OK kung maginoo ka, pero mas OK rin kung medyo lang.