About six months before I was terminated from work at MVC I made multiple copies of my CV and applied personally for a job at companies and agencies including the Department of Health. The response was very promising, because there were a lot of vacancies. Fifteen doctors were needed at one agency, two doctors in a fruit export company, and some district hospitals had vacancies. What baffled me as the weeks dragged on into months, was that in spite of the need there was not a single reply to my letters and I was starting to wonder where in the world did I fall short in my credentials and application. As I stepped out of the campus of MVC for the last time, I was jobless, and the realization hit me on the face like a blast of icy wind, and yet this was the sweet air of freedom from bondage to a set of unbiblical doctrines of an 18th century prophetess.
My wife was jobless too. The taunts and stares in her office as the Human Relations Director were too stressful for her and she resigned about a year before I was terminated. We took stock of our situation and intensified my efforts in job-hunting. Then from out of nowhere an invitation to be a doctor to the mountain tribes came. It was a non-paying job offered by the Tribal Missions Foundation Inc. with headquarters in Mintal Tugbok. I jumped at the opportunity not realizing that this would be the first among the many trips that God would take me out to the wilderness to unlearn my old law-based beliefs and plant me firmly in His grace, and I saw afterwards that it was necessary just like Moses' sojourn in the land of Median.
This trip would take me with a team to the shallow waters high up in the mountains of Bukidnon, where the grand Davao river is born, and hurl me down the white-water rapids on a flimsy bamboo raft with medicines and provisions to visit underserved villages along the banks that were the hotbed of revolt and dissension, which bred the New People's Army (NPA).
We spent three days on the rafts, slept in villages at night and ate along the banks of the river. It was my first time to stay in a village with the NPA cadres and it was not easy to trust them like it was not easy for them to trust me right away, but in a while I was relaxed and busy administering to their medical needs. On another occasion I was invited to join a group of missionary interns for a weeklong trip to the Marilog mountains where we lived with the matigsalug and learned their ways. Another trip to the villages of the Maranao tribes in Matanog, Barira and Balabagan - all in the province of Lanao del Sur, where I got the chance to sleep in a mosque with the MILF rebels culminated my exposure to the "least of these brethren" that Jesus alluded to in his sermon in Matthew 25. These trips stripped off all my intellectual pride and taught me about humility and patience as God's servant to the poorest of the poor.
As if that was not enough, we moved to Thailand and God sent me to Ralf who heads an NGO that administers to the mountain tribes and the sea gypsies, where my exposure to a different people with a different language increased greatly my knowledge about God's kingdom. Before the move to Thailand I was employed to teach for one summer at Davao Doctors College the subject Microbiology for nurses. This was a very refreshing break from the wilderness exposure for me.
In God's own wisdom and timing, my joblessness came to an abrupt end with an offer at a position that got me back on my feet financially and opened my eyes to another aspect of the medical world that was the opposite of God's kingdom. I realized there and then that God not only made me jobless to learn about His kingdom, but also did it to give me a firm foundation to be able to weather the lures that this world would dangle before my eyes.
The world of cosmetic surgery, sex change and vanity will come next.
Tuesday, 31 October 2017
A doctor's life: Terminated
In the 14th year of my stint at Strahle Memorial Clinic and Hospital I had a mind-opening experience, which started with a missionary friend to Africa who was back on furlough telling another friend that I was "once saved, always saved." We laughed about the joke, but later that night I was determined to look for this doctrine in the bible just to see were I stood with regards to what the Bible said about salvation. The SDA church treats this particular doctrine as heresy, but I wasn't sure about it myself. So I got hold of my Bible and in that instance I found my salvation and got baptized by the Holy Spirit.
It took about three years of constant dialogue with the pastors of MVC coupled with threats and insults by some of the leaders and the rank and file, which was tantamount to religious persecution. In one occasion a lady administrator met me at the hallway of the administration building and without hesitation lambasted me about my beliefs and finished off by say, "get out of MVC if you do not believe in the church's doctrines anymore." This was done without toning down her voice and many students were witness to it. This incident only showed that there is no boundary between work and beliefs in MVC or in any SDA institution.
If I thought that my persecution or ridicule would be limited to the officials of MVC, I was wrong. On one occasion I happened to pass by a group of faculty kids in the primary grades who were playing on the lawn near the tennis courts. One kid saw me approach them and they stopped their play and looked at each other and then one girl turned to my direction and said, "you are Satan!" I tried to engage her in a conversation, but they all ran away. I didn't want to take her declaration as something connected to my stand in faith and the trouble that it was getting me into, but how would such an adorable girl and her friends who fondly called me uncle suddenly treat me that way?
On another night there were some students who came to my place to worship after dinner. We sang and read the bible, and about 9:00 PM I opened the door so they can go home to their dormitories when we were accosted by nine security guards who had surrounded the front yard and were pointing there long firearms (shotguns) at me. Their leader - Martin, went into a tirade about my being a heretic and an unbeliever. He was shouting all the while and he threatened me, telling me to leave the campus because I was unwanted here. He further warned the students that they will be blacklisted if they were seen in my place again. With this incident it dawned on me that religious freedom shockingly was non-existent in SDA campuses in the 21st century, and that if a group met for worship it had to be in the name of the SDA church.
Two months after that fateful night the church board of MVC voted to disfellowship/excommunicate me and a month later I was handed my walking papers - a termination from work document that was approved by the Department of Labor stating my severance from work and the closure of the hospital due to long standing loses resulting in bankruptcy. The same guys who sought my help when they were sick were now driving me away because I didn't uphold their beliefs regarding salvation. (a little over a year later, when I was in another country they re-opened the hospital and hired another doctor).
It was "goodbye" versus "good-riddance" when comparing my jobs in Landasan and MVC, and at best it was all "good" for my life's story.
The church board and school board of trustees' actions were the final sentences to another fulfilling chapter in my life, and I was sure that when God closes a door he opens another. At this point though, I was not aware with what God had in store for me.
That will come next.
[a detailed account of my excommunication can be read here: http://sunnimoreno.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-blessed-testimony.html]
It took about three years of constant dialogue with the pastors of MVC coupled with threats and insults by some of the leaders and the rank and file, which was tantamount to religious persecution. In one occasion a lady administrator met me at the hallway of the administration building and without hesitation lambasted me about my beliefs and finished off by say, "get out of MVC if you do not believe in the church's doctrines anymore." This was done without toning down her voice and many students were witness to it. This incident only showed that there is no boundary between work and beliefs in MVC or in any SDA institution.
If I thought that my persecution or ridicule would be limited to the officials of MVC, I was wrong. On one occasion I happened to pass by a group of faculty kids in the primary grades who were playing on the lawn near the tennis courts. One kid saw me approach them and they stopped their play and looked at each other and then one girl turned to my direction and said, "you are Satan!" I tried to engage her in a conversation, but they all ran away. I didn't want to take her declaration as something connected to my stand in faith and the trouble that it was getting me into, but how would such an adorable girl and her friends who fondly called me uncle suddenly treat me that way?
Two months after that fateful night the church board of MVC voted to disfellowship/excommunicate me and a month later I was handed my walking papers - a termination from work document that was approved by the Department of Labor stating my severance from work and the closure of the hospital due to long standing loses resulting in bankruptcy. The same guys who sought my help when they were sick were now driving me away because I didn't uphold their beliefs regarding salvation. (a little over a year later, when I was in another country they re-opened the hospital and hired another doctor).
It was "goodbye" versus "good-riddance" when comparing my jobs in Landasan and MVC, and at best it was all "good" for my life's story.
The church board and school board of trustees' actions were the final sentences to another fulfilling chapter in my life, and I was sure that when God closes a door he opens another. At this point though, I was not aware with what God had in store for me.
That will come next.
[a detailed account of my excommunication can be read here: http://sunnimoreno.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-blessed-testimony.html]
Monday, 30 October 2017
Old school memories: High school
High school years found me in two schools: Southern Mindanao Academy (SMA) for first through third year and Mountain View College Academy (MVCA) for the final year. Both schools are SDA owned and they operate based on the same principles and doctrines of this church.
The students in SMA were either called "outsider, villager or commuter," because they stayed in a boarding house outside the campus or commuted daily from home, and "dormitorians" when staying in the school-owned dormitory inside the campus, because home was too far for commuting on a daily basis. Many of the those in the dormitories were children of SDA pastors who were stationed in Davao City - like my sister and I, and about 15 to 20 others during our time. This meant that on long weekends, right after the last class on Friday afternoon, we would all be lined up by the highway, just outside the school gate waiting for the bus. The bus companies that went by SMA were Minrapco, Villa Bus, CBC and Cotranco - which was our favorite ride, because it was fast and stopped only at stations - "stationary." After the weekend break this batch of kids would be in the station in Davao ready to board the 5:00 AM bus to SMA in time for the first period class. Our bags at this time would hold our supply of soap, shampoo, toothpaste, etc, enough to last until the next break. Canned goods, pastries and other yummy stuff would also be neatly packed too. If our parents' had time they would drive us back to SMA or sometimes pay as an unannounced visit.
Dormitory life in SMA for a skinny freshman like me was trying to get accepted by the bigger and older occupants. Bullying existed very much in those days and it was not uncommon to see a kid crying and wanting his mommy while the rest of the boys laughed at him. Joel was a rather funny kid who was the butt of the jokes of the older boys. Even if I laughed at him sometimes, I also had to watch out for myself. It is in the dormitory where I learned how to box using towels as gloves.
Falling was something that always happened in SMA during my time. Shirley fell through the ceiling of the audie while we were practicing for the piano recitals, Ethel - my sister, fell down the stairs of the dorm resulting in blue-black and painful shins, Inday May fell from the kalachuchi tree and hurt her clavicle... and Jerry fell in love with Joy under the blossoming fire tree.
The fourth year of my high school was spent in MVC Academy in Bukidnon, because my parents were taken by the school as administrators. The class that I was a newbie to was composed of some intelligent and naughty kids and was actually a bunch of anarchists who made one teacher abruptly end the class out of anger and exasperation. On another day it was a senior college practice teacher crying, because we laughed at the way she pronounced some english words. In retrospect I can see that the unusual alignment of the planets had something to do with bringing this batch together. We had one mind and that mind was bent on mischief. A day of suspension from class so all of us could clean up some part of the campus as punishment fell short of making us regret and reform.
High school had it's ups and downs, but all in all, these years were memorable and fun.
The students in SMA were either called "outsider, villager or commuter," because they stayed in a boarding house outside the campus or commuted daily from home, and "dormitorians" when staying in the school-owned dormitory inside the campus, because home was too far for commuting on a daily basis. Many of the those in the dormitories were children of SDA pastors who were stationed in Davao City - like my sister and I, and about 15 to 20 others during our time. This meant that on long weekends, right after the last class on Friday afternoon, we would all be lined up by the highway, just outside the school gate waiting for the bus. The bus companies that went by SMA were Minrapco, Villa Bus, CBC and Cotranco - which was our favorite ride, because it was fast and stopped only at stations - "stationary." After the weekend break this batch of kids would be in the station in Davao ready to board the 5:00 AM bus to SMA in time for the first period class. Our bags at this time would hold our supply of soap, shampoo, toothpaste, etc, enough to last until the next break. Canned goods, pastries and other yummy stuff would also be neatly packed too. If our parents' had time they would drive us back to SMA or sometimes pay as an unannounced visit.
Dormitory life in SMA for a skinny freshman like me was trying to get accepted by the bigger and older occupants. Bullying existed very much in those days and it was not uncommon to see a kid crying and wanting his mommy while the rest of the boys laughed at him. Joel was a rather funny kid who was the butt of the jokes of the older boys. Even if I laughed at him sometimes, I also had to watch out for myself. It is in the dormitory where I learned how to box using towels as gloves.
Falling was something that always happened in SMA during my time. Shirley fell through the ceiling of the audie while we were practicing for the piano recitals, Ethel - my sister, fell down the stairs of the dorm resulting in blue-black and painful shins, Inday May fell from the kalachuchi tree and hurt her clavicle... and Jerry fell in love with Joy under the blossoming fire tree.
The fourth year of my high school was spent in MVC Academy in Bukidnon, because my parents were taken by the school as administrators. The class that I was a newbie to was composed of some intelligent and naughty kids and was actually a bunch of anarchists who made one teacher abruptly end the class out of anger and exasperation. On another day it was a senior college practice teacher crying, because we laughed at the way she pronounced some english words. In retrospect I can see that the unusual alignment of the planets had something to do with bringing this batch together. We had one mind and that mind was bent on mischief. A day of suspension from class so all of us could clean up some part of the campus as punishment fell short of making us regret and reform.
High school had it's ups and downs, but all in all, these years were memorable and fun.
This is how the buses looked like back then.
Growing up memories: Work
My father made himself! Short of having the means afforded by his parents' to finish his schooling he had to work through high school and college to earn a degree, that is why I consider him a self-made-man. Not contented in making himself, he made me. The principles by which he lived were based on work and he made sure that it was mine too. The "dignity of labor" that he espoused made sure that it left an indelible mark in my mind that getting my hands dirty at work was something noble and that I should not to be ashamed of.
As soon as I was old enough to understand that feeding the chickens made them lay eggs, I was already in charge of a poultry that produced about 50 eggs a day. My father made sure that my recording of egg production was accurate and that I enjoyed my share of the profits. Part of this operations was to walk to the cafeteria every night to get leftovers (lamaw) and soybean pulp from the food factory for the chickens and the other animals.
In our move to SMA, the work regimen was cut short and I was practically free from work for 5 years, unless cleaning the house and washing the dishes is considered work. By the time I was back living with my parents on a permanent basis in my fourth year of high school my hands were callous-free and my father made sure that I got them back. He got a good-sized garden/farm that I had to plow with a borrowed cow, and we had rice, corn, camote, potatoes and other veggies growing for our consumption. As soon as I was out of high school he challenged me with a scheme that would hold on until I got a degree. It was his matching every single peso that I earned by working during summers or breaks in school. One summer I worked at the sawmill as a truck-helper for drivers Leonil and Erning. Hauling logs and lumber and loading and unloading the kiln drier, were some of the tasks that I did and at the end of the two-month job my dad gave me his pledged money on top of what I earned. For another summer I made money as a road and building construction worker. Harvesting rice during school days for two hours every morning starting at 5:00 netted me some 14 sacks during one harvest season, and my dad happily handed over his share of the contract.
While teaching in Cebu and during my medical school years extra money came by driving a passenger jeepney, and in my fourth year I managed to raise some chicken for a nice profit. Somehow being idle is something that is not a part of me.
My father's strategy worked well.
As soon as I was old enough to understand that feeding the chickens made them lay eggs, I was already in charge of a poultry that produced about 50 eggs a day. My father made sure that my recording of egg production was accurate and that I enjoyed my share of the profits. Part of this operations was to walk to the cafeteria every night to get leftovers (lamaw) and soybean pulp from the food factory for the chickens and the other animals.
In our move to SMA, the work regimen was cut short and I was practically free from work for 5 years, unless cleaning the house and washing the dishes is considered work. By the time I was back living with my parents on a permanent basis in my fourth year of high school my hands were callous-free and my father made sure that I got them back. He got a good-sized garden/farm that I had to plow with a borrowed cow, and we had rice, corn, camote, potatoes and other veggies growing for our consumption. As soon as I was out of high school he challenged me with a scheme that would hold on until I got a degree. It was his matching every single peso that I earned by working during summers or breaks in school. One summer I worked at the sawmill as a truck-helper for drivers Leonil and Erning. Hauling logs and lumber and loading and unloading the kiln drier, were some of the tasks that I did and at the end of the two-month job my dad gave me his pledged money on top of what I earned. For another summer I made money as a road and building construction worker. Harvesting rice during school days for two hours every morning starting at 5:00 netted me some 14 sacks during one harvest season, and my dad happily handed over his share of the contract.
While teaching in Cebu and during my medical school years extra money came by driving a passenger jeepney, and in my fourth year I managed to raise some chicken for a nice profit. Somehow being idle is something that is not a part of me.
My father's strategy worked well.
Growing up memories: On the go
The SDA educational system is a unique one where non-SDA trained educators are not allowed to teach in SDA schools. At the present there are enough graduates to fill teaching positions at SDA schools anywhere in the Philippines, which was not so in the 1950s to the 70s. With the apparent lack of higher level educators my parents were moved from one place to another to solve the shortage. At an early age I was already accustomed to packing and making a major move to some other city. The places where my parents were assigned were Iloilo City, Cebu City, Caloocan City, Valencia City, Managa near Digos and Davao City.
These moves required that I changed schools from time to time. It also meant adjusting to the local dialect and making a new batch of friends and teachers. In the elementary grades I had three schools: Philippine Union College, Mountain View College (MVC) and Southern Mindanao Academy (SMA). In high school it was SMA and MVC. As a growing kid I didn't like the frequent change in schools. It disrupted the bonds and plans that I had with my friends, however, there was also some excitement in the thought of reuniting with some friends who I left many years back.
My parents' assignment in our move to Davao City during my high school years was to supervise all elementary, high schools and colleges in Mindanao that were operated by the SDA church. This meant regular travel to different parts of the island with Davao City as the base. To make it easier for them to leave me and my sister, they had us stay in the dormitory at SMA and we would take weekends or bi-monthly breaks from school whenever they were at home in Davao. This was our set-up for three years and in retrospect I could see that it wasn't a good situation for a growing kid like me.
The relative freedom from the parents that this setup offered could have been much welcome by an adolescent, and yet I resented being managed by my parents by remote control. In those years communication was very rudimentary. The fastest way to get information across from one city to another in our island was by telegram. Telephone service was mostly affordable and available only for big companies and their executives.
At that early age I was already thinking that I would not want my kids to grow up in this situation, and true to my aspirations I was able to work things out that my kids never missed me by their side in their formative and growing years.
These moves required that I changed schools from time to time. It also meant adjusting to the local dialect and making a new batch of friends and teachers. In the elementary grades I had three schools: Philippine Union College, Mountain View College (MVC) and Southern Mindanao Academy (SMA). In high school it was SMA and MVC. As a growing kid I didn't like the frequent change in schools. It disrupted the bonds and plans that I had with my friends, however, there was also some excitement in the thought of reuniting with some friends who I left many years back.
My parents' assignment in our move to Davao City during my high school years was to supervise all elementary, high schools and colleges in Mindanao that were operated by the SDA church. This meant regular travel to different parts of the island with Davao City as the base. To make it easier for them to leave me and my sister, they had us stay in the dormitory at SMA and we would take weekends or bi-monthly breaks from school whenever they were at home in Davao. This was our set-up for three years and in retrospect I could see that it wasn't a good situation for a growing kid like me.
The relative freedom from the parents that this setup offered could have been much welcome by an adolescent, and yet I resented being managed by my parents by remote control. In those years communication was very rudimentary. The fastest way to get information across from one city to another in our island was by telegram. Telephone service was mostly affordable and available only for big companies and their executives.
At that early age I was already thinking that I would not want my kids to grow up in this situation, and true to my aspirations I was able to work things out that my kids never missed me by their side in their formative and growing years.
Saturday, 28 October 2017
Old school memories: Work in MedSchool
As the days in medical school progressed into weeks and months we slowly realized the difference in the learning process between med school and college. The undergrad learning experience was mostly comparative - meaning that we studied other animals and then compared them to the human organs and systems. In medical school we had to study the exact Homo sapiens - nothing else. So when the lesson is about blood, we had to extract our own blood. If the lesson was about the heart, we had to take the parameters of the our own hearts, and that would apply to all the systems of the body.
Timid is the word that can be used to describe some if not most freshman in medical school. I'm saying that in the sense of acquiring specimen for our studies. However, it is not difficult to understand that most, if not all of us were untrained in collecting specimen, which means that if blood was needed no one would dare trust an untrained guy to extract his blood and therefore there were few or no volunteers. When it came to the study of the semen, boys were also shy to go to the toilet to jack off and come back sweating with the specimen in a beaker. EKG was the same thing, because the 'patient' had to take off his shirt and with all the classmates around it was quite unsettling.
I would admit that I was a bit impatient with this attitude. Group-mates were pleading with each other for a volunteer and a lot of time was wasted in the process. This was when I decided in my mind to stand up and allow myself to be the 'guinea pig' for all the procedures that were required. The hillbilly in me that was accustomed to getting cut and bruised on a regular basis considered pain as something that was part of growing up and so I announced to my group-mates that they could consider me as the 'official' donor for all specimen needed - including OGTT, which was the worst and NGT insertion which was a breeze. But there was a hitch, which would depend on what test or procedure was needed. It could be a free lunch or dinner, assistance in visual stimulation for the spermatozoa, helping me out in research, etc. and my group-mates were more than pleased to agree to my terms. I didn't regret my decision, because at the end of the year it was just like I had an executive checkup with all the results showing that I was healthy.
One area that medical students hate is the anatomy laboratory. No normal person would want to stand by the side of a stinking cadaver for a long time and cutting it up piece by piece to visualize and identify the different parts of the body. There were about 12 cadavers in the laboratory that we had to study for the whole year. Most often the designated laboratory period is insufficient that we needed to come back after classes to spend more time with the cadavers. Sometimes we had to bring our snacks to save time and in some occasions a bottle of whiskey or rum helped us cope with the odor.
School work in medical school was really demanding, and the road to becoming a doctor was not an easy one.
Timid is the word that can be used to describe some if not most freshman in medical school. I'm saying that in the sense of acquiring specimen for our studies. However, it is not difficult to understand that most, if not all of us were untrained in collecting specimen, which means that if blood was needed no one would dare trust an untrained guy to extract his blood and therefore there were few or no volunteers. When it came to the study of the semen, boys were also shy to go to the toilet to jack off and come back sweating with the specimen in a beaker. EKG was the same thing, because the 'patient' had to take off his shirt and with all the classmates around it was quite unsettling.
I would admit that I was a bit impatient with this attitude. Group-mates were pleading with each other for a volunteer and a lot of time was wasted in the process. This was when I decided in my mind to stand up and allow myself to be the 'guinea pig' for all the procedures that were required. The hillbilly in me that was accustomed to getting cut and bruised on a regular basis considered pain as something that was part of growing up and so I announced to my group-mates that they could consider me as the 'official' donor for all specimen needed - including OGTT, which was the worst and NGT insertion which was a breeze. But there was a hitch, which would depend on what test or procedure was needed. It could be a free lunch or dinner, assistance in visual stimulation for the spermatozoa, helping me out in research, etc. and my group-mates were more than pleased to agree to my terms. I didn't regret my decision, because at the end of the year it was just like I had an executive checkup with all the results showing that I was healthy.
One area that medical students hate is the anatomy laboratory. No normal person would want to stand by the side of a stinking cadaver for a long time and cutting it up piece by piece to visualize and identify the different parts of the body. There were about 12 cadavers in the laboratory that we had to study for the whole year. Most often the designated laboratory period is insufficient that we needed to come back after classes to spend more time with the cadavers. Sometimes we had to bring our snacks to save time and in some occasions a bottle of whiskey or rum helped us cope with the odor.
School work in medical school was really demanding, and the road to becoming a doctor was not an easy one.
Old school memories: Boarding house
Anyone who is from the province and has gone to school in the city knows what "boarding house" means. It practically means adjusting to living conditions in the city, which could range from cramped to hot with less privacy and of course adjusting to the other occupants who are also from the province with the same predicament. It also means choosing to buy or rent a whole apartment unit for the well-off probinsyano or sharing a room with someone else like the hillbilly from Bukidnon.
For the first year, I stayed in two different boarding houses - Rolling Hills and Adams Center. I shared the small room with a handsome Indonesian who was a classmate in my pre-med years. In the second year I moved to a bigger room in Adams with 4 other medical students and this is where things got interesting. This was a motley bunch with two older guys and 3 same-batch-in-college guys, and at one time or another all five of us were together in MVC. Boarding house blues like keeping the room clean, checking for bed bugs - which netted more than a dozen, trying to sleep when others still needed the lights on, coming home to find a blond German in bed with one of the guys (he thought that he had secured the door), helping ourselves to a ripe durian high in a tree outside the building in spite of a noisy chicken watching over it, taking out empty beer bottles that have accumulated in one corner, straining the eyes in the darkness to see who the lady companion is when one guy comes home and silently enters the room in the wee hours of the morning after the lights are out, etc. were some of the things that made my stay in Adams memorable.
The third year found me getting bed-space at the dormitory behind Brokenshire Memorial Hospital so that I wouldn't have to commute for duty. Meals were at a small house turned resto at the sloping area behind the hospital.
For my fourth and final year, I moved to my ex-girlfriend's house in Ledesma village beside our school at Bacaca. She wouldn't let me stay anywhere else since we already signed our contract for marriage. This setup was ideal for me because I didn't have to worry anymore about meals, laundry or finding time to visit her. Prior to this move I would get on a bicycle to visit her 5 kilometers away at about 11:00 in the evening when my eyes were tired of reading. It was also around this time of the night when her dad would come home and we would use his car to drive to the city for a midnight snack. Sometimes it would be raining or I was too busy to pay her a visit, but I know that towards midnight I'll hear a car honk and my roommates would clap their hands in delight knowing that there is some pizza or ice cream brought by Jo ann for our snacks.
These are some of the memories of my boarding house life in medical school that I will treasure.
For the first year, I stayed in two different boarding houses - Rolling Hills and Adams Center. I shared the small room with a handsome Indonesian who was a classmate in my pre-med years. In the second year I moved to a bigger room in Adams with 4 other medical students and this is where things got interesting. This was a motley bunch with two older guys and 3 same-batch-in-college guys, and at one time or another all five of us were together in MVC. Boarding house blues like keeping the room clean, checking for bed bugs - which netted more than a dozen, trying to sleep when others still needed the lights on, coming home to find a blond German in bed with one of the guys (he thought that he had secured the door), helping ourselves to a ripe durian high in a tree outside the building in spite of a noisy chicken watching over it, taking out empty beer bottles that have accumulated in one corner, straining the eyes in the darkness to see who the lady companion is when one guy comes home and silently enters the room in the wee hours of the morning after the lights are out, etc. were some of the things that made my stay in Adams memorable.
The third year found me getting bed-space at the dormitory behind Brokenshire Memorial Hospital so that I wouldn't have to commute for duty. Meals were at a small house turned resto at the sloping area behind the hospital.
For my fourth and final year, I moved to my ex-girlfriend's house in Ledesma village beside our school at Bacaca. She wouldn't let me stay anywhere else since we already signed our contract for marriage. This setup was ideal for me because I didn't have to worry anymore about meals, laundry or finding time to visit her. Prior to this move I would get on a bicycle to visit her 5 kilometers away at about 11:00 in the evening when my eyes were tired of reading. It was also around this time of the night when her dad would come home and we would use his car to drive to the city for a midnight snack. Sometimes it would be raining or I was too busy to pay her a visit, but I know that towards midnight I'll hear a car honk and my roommates would clap their hands in delight knowing that there is some pizza or ice cream brought by Jo ann for our snacks.
These are some of the memories of my boarding house life in medical school that I will treasure.
Friday, 27 October 2017
Old school memories: Fun in MedSchool 2
Thank God, there was no smart phone or Facebook in our days at medical school. I can't imagine how life would be back then with these gadgets and apps - each to each own while holding a phone with one hand and swiping it with the other and staring at it continuously. That scenario is the total opposite of our time. During breaks in the lectures and when school was out we were in groups either in discussion or planning for some fun. Someone would suggest that we eat at Shakey's and all 15 or so would troop there, give our orders, eat and succumb to the dare to sneak a large pitcher on the way out. Station 55 was another place were we rowdy guys accidentally broke the door handle. Delumbar, D' Counter, One down, Uncle Toms Place, Aling Minat's, Merco and a dozen more places knew that these doctors-to-be are a unique bunch to deal with.
Movies? Yeah, we had enough time for that even with our busy schedules, and the best way to see a movie was to take an empty notebook page and a pen and sit next to Khalil. He would not ask what the items are for, because he knows that all he has to do is write: "Admit one + his signature." This "pass" is accepted without questions at the Lyric and Crest cinemas and we went in for free. During breaks in the "double showing" movies, we would hie to the bathroom and take some puffs on a joint and the movie would become funnier than it actually was.
Spiritual retreats were something that we looked forward to. This meant no boring lectures, a cool day in a hilly or coastal retreat house of the Jesuits, and free snacks and lunch. Meditation was one of the highlights of our retreats and when comfort room break time came it would sometimes take a little longer for some of us to get back to our seats. Some of our classmates would giggle when we would file back inside with our sheepish smiles and our hair and shirts smelling like a field of grass on fire, but this brought meditating to a higher level, no doubt.
Out-of-town sorties on a convoy of cars was another activity during long weekends. A stop at a roadside store for eggs and ripe tomatoes gave us enough ammunition for throwing at each other while we sped to another province. Activities like these gave the much needed balance to the grind for survival in medical school.
Movies? Yeah, we had enough time for that even with our busy schedules, and the best way to see a movie was to take an empty notebook page and a pen and sit next to Khalil. He would not ask what the items are for, because he knows that all he has to do is write: "Admit one + his signature." This "pass" is accepted without questions at the Lyric and Crest cinemas and we went in for free. During breaks in the "double showing" movies, we would hie to the bathroom and take some puffs on a joint and the movie would become funnier than it actually was.
Spiritual retreats were something that we looked forward to. This meant no boring lectures, a cool day in a hilly or coastal retreat house of the Jesuits, and free snacks and lunch. Meditation was one of the highlights of our retreats and when comfort room break time came it would sometimes take a little longer for some of us to get back to our seats. Some of our classmates would giggle when we would file back inside with our sheepish smiles and our hair and shirts smelling like a field of grass on fire, but this brought meditating to a higher level, no doubt.
Out-of-town sorties on a convoy of cars was another activity during long weekends. A stop at a roadside store for eggs and ripe tomatoes gave us enough ammunition for throwing at each other while we sped to another province. Activities like these gave the much needed balance to the grind for survival in medical school.
Wednesday, 25 October 2017
Old school memories: Fun in MedSchool 1
If I imagined prior to setting foot in medical school that postgraduate students were a serious and no-fun bunch, I was wrong. Again I was wrong if I thought that medical school would reduce my hyperactivity and mellow me down. One thing that added to my attitude was the presence a dozen other guys who were also hell-bent in having fun to balance the seriousness of our undertaking. So while the rest of the class dug deep into their books, we dug deep too, but spewed a lot of color on our daily routine - figuratively, and on the pages of our books - literally. I wished that I preserved our textbooks or even some photos of the pages, because we practically colored the paragraphs which we thought were important with all the colors that gay pride wasn't thinking of yet.
There were about 7 of us boys who occupied the last row of seats in the room and our attentiveness to the lectures depended on who was talking. If it was Dr. A. Panuncialman you could expect us to be all-ears and trying to be less conspicuous, because he had the habit of calling students to the stage to demonstrate certain principles or procedures. If it was Dr. M. Dayrit who lectured on Epidemiology, you could expect us to be betting on the last numbers of the pages of a textbook that we opened at random. If we were not gambling, we were throwing pieces of crumpled paper, which at one instance went the wrong direction and hit the fiancé of Dr. Dayrit (also a doctor) who was seated at the back at that time. The outcome of our foolishness was only apparent at the end of the course when Dr. Dayrit gave 3 of us (the exact culprits in the paper throwing incident) a failing grade. The curly Lebanese, a chubby Maguindanaoan and the scrawny hillbilly. We had to approach him to ask for a reconsideration of our grades and he gave us some make up work to do. It was to submit a paper about the incidence of sexually transmitted disease in Davao city - a topic that required us to prowl the kingdom of pimps and hookers, which was not at all alien to us.
You could imagine the uproar caused by the whole gang when they heard of our misfortune and everyone promised to pitch in so this could be accomplished in the least possible time. Hargoon pledged his typewriter and expertise in drafting the results of our research while Khalil, Nasser and the Hillbilly plus some other helpful guys got to the act of procuring the data. In less than a week we were done and our grades adjusted.
You bet that a sober and well behaved bunch sat at the last row when the next semester opened.
There were about 7 of us boys who occupied the last row of seats in the room and our attentiveness to the lectures depended on who was talking. If it was Dr. A. Panuncialman you could expect us to be all-ears and trying to be less conspicuous, because he had the habit of calling students to the stage to demonstrate certain principles or procedures. If it was Dr. M. Dayrit who lectured on Epidemiology, you could expect us to be betting on the last numbers of the pages of a textbook that we opened at random. If we were not gambling, we were throwing pieces of crumpled paper, which at one instance went the wrong direction and hit the fiancé of Dr. Dayrit (also a doctor) who was seated at the back at that time. The outcome of our foolishness was only apparent at the end of the course when Dr. Dayrit gave 3 of us (the exact culprits in the paper throwing incident) a failing grade. The curly Lebanese, a chubby Maguindanaoan and the scrawny hillbilly. We had to approach him to ask for a reconsideration of our grades and he gave us some make up work to do. It was to submit a paper about the incidence of sexually transmitted disease in Davao city - a topic that required us to prowl the kingdom of pimps and hookers, which was not at all alien to us.
You could imagine the uproar caused by the whole gang when they heard of our misfortune and everyone promised to pitch in so this could be accomplished in the least possible time. Hargoon pledged his typewriter and expertise in drafting the results of our research while Khalil, Nasser and the Hillbilly plus some other helpful guys got to the act of procuring the data. In less than a week we were done and our grades adjusted.
You bet that a sober and well behaved bunch sat at the last row when the next semester opened.
A doctor's life: Breech
Kids born in MVC have a unique experience in life. It's a cradle-to-the-grave thing for some with both facilities - delivery room and cemetery, present in the area. I was privileged to bring many kids into this world at Strahle hospital. I have watched these kids grow, circumcised the boys, treated them when they got sick and watched them succeed in school. The 17 years that we were there gave me this opportunity. One kid's second name was after my nickname and another baby was named by her mother after "measles" when it was noted upon delivery that she was physically normal even when her mom contacted German Measles (Rubella) during the first trimester and I was afraid that the baby would be affected.
One particular lady who lived 3 towns away had her first son delivered by me, because she happened to be in the campus for a convention with her husband who was a pastor. Since she lived in a faraway town this was the only time that I saw her, which shows that there were no previous visits for prenatal checkup. The delivery was successful and after the convention she and her husband went home with an added family member. I never imagined that about 2 years later with another convention in the campus, that I would have the same woman with another pregnancy, and in active labor.
We laughed and joked about the timing of her delivery when she came in. She was placed on the examining table for the internal vaginal examination and I proceeded with determining how soon she may be ready to delivery, when I discovered that the head of the baby cannot be found. External examination confounded my fears that this baby was in the breech presentation. We were taught in medical school that babies who are not in the normal cephalic presentation should be delivered by caesarian section (CS). By this time she was having strong and regular uterine contractions that sending her through a bumpy road to the hospital with CS facilities was unthinkable. I warned her about the possible problems with delivering her baby and that she should cooperate as much as she could. I also rehearsed the nurse on how to hold the feet of the baby as soon as I have managed to bring both feet up, and to keep a positive traction while I felt for the baby's chin and mouth and delivered the head.
This would be my second vaginal delivery by breech presentation and the memory of the first one was still fresh in my mind. With the team and the patient now ready we got down to deliver the baby as careful and as fast as we could. A delay in bringing out the head after the body is out would mean a smaller birth canal and the exit of the larger head might be too difficult or too late for survival. I managed to deliver both feet and from this time onwards was crucial. The body came next and it was good that the chin and mouth were easy to secure and in one moment the head was out and the baby let out a big healthy yell. Like the previous delivery this woman was discharged and went home with her husband, son and a newborn girl after the convention.
Three years later she was at the entrance of the clinic again, during yet another convention, but this time without a baby bump on her tummy. The two active and healthy kids that were with her came forward and hugged me and that was undoubtedly one of the many happy moments of my life.
One particular lady who lived 3 towns away had her first son delivered by me, because she happened to be in the campus for a convention with her husband who was a pastor. Since she lived in a faraway town this was the only time that I saw her, which shows that there were no previous visits for prenatal checkup. The delivery was successful and after the convention she and her husband went home with an added family member. I never imagined that about 2 years later with another convention in the campus, that I would have the same woman with another pregnancy, and in active labor.
We laughed and joked about the timing of her delivery when she came in. She was placed on the examining table for the internal vaginal examination and I proceeded with determining how soon she may be ready to delivery, when I discovered that the head of the baby cannot be found. External examination confounded my fears that this baby was in the breech presentation. We were taught in medical school that babies who are not in the normal cephalic presentation should be delivered by caesarian section (CS). By this time she was having strong and regular uterine contractions that sending her through a bumpy road to the hospital with CS facilities was unthinkable. I warned her about the possible problems with delivering her baby and that she should cooperate as much as she could. I also rehearsed the nurse on how to hold the feet of the baby as soon as I have managed to bring both feet up, and to keep a positive traction while I felt for the baby's chin and mouth and delivered the head.
This would be my second vaginal delivery by breech presentation and the memory of the first one was still fresh in my mind. With the team and the patient now ready we got down to deliver the baby as careful and as fast as we could. A delay in bringing out the head after the body is out would mean a smaller birth canal and the exit of the larger head might be too difficult or too late for survival. I managed to deliver both feet and from this time onwards was crucial. The body came next and it was good that the chin and mouth were easy to secure and in one moment the head was out and the baby let out a big healthy yell. Like the previous delivery this woman was discharged and went home with her husband, son and a newborn girl after the convention.
Three years later she was at the entrance of the clinic again, during yet another convention, but this time without a baby bump on her tummy. The two active and healthy kids that were with her came forward and hugged me and that was undoubtedly one of the many happy moments of my life.
Tuesday, 24 October 2017
Old school memories: Group study
As each day in medical school wore off, the greatest challenge for me was to keep awake at night to be able to catch up with the assignments. Apparently I wasn't alone in this predicament as almost all of us voiced out the concern. We realized that there was a need to get together at night so that we could help each other stay awake and also take the time to discuss certain difficult lessons.
I didn't have to wait long for someone to invite me over and in a while I was rotating in 3 - 4 different groups, which eliminated the boredom and increased my bonding moments with most of my classmates. One group had dormitory beds and mono bloc chairs where we propped ourselves up, another had gourmet coffee, deli-bought stuff, air-conditioning, and servants at our beck and call, and yet another group studied out in the open lawn and adjacent steep sloping street with a balut vendor patiently waiting at the opposite curb knowing that it was just a matter of time when these raunchy dudes got hungry.
A cup of hot coffee, Marlboro, feet in a basin with cold water, intermittent breaks for brisk walking, a small towel dipped in ice-water and placed on the head, tooth picks or match sticks to hold the lower and upper eyelids apart - were some of the tricks that we tried just so we didn't drift off to dreamland. We disciplined each other, got into arguments, and some would pair off like lovers, and studying in groups was now getting to be popular among us. There were some though who could not concentrate when in a group and these loners somehow managed to eke out their survival in undisturbed and drowsy solitude, and in no time lagged behind in tackling the assigned chapters.
It was in one group study that a classmate had an "aha moment" and he declared that finally he realized that being a successful doctor only need either of two things: you are intelligent or you have good public relations (PR). He than added by saying: "Sunni you have a good PR. Hmmm... that sounded good to me, but the other guys present won't have any of it, because they said that it meant that I was not intelligent. We had a good laugh when Anatole tried to defend himself after that.
One morning, a few days before examinations, I was approached by a classmate and she invited me for group study at her home. This lady was tall and lanky, with a lipstick-stained cigarette between her fingers, she came to school on stilettos and had a chauffeur who was asleep most of the time in a sleek sedan at the parking lot. She said that she needed to brush up on some practical anatomy concerns and she thought that I could help her. Before I could think, my head nodded the approval and then I realized too late that this could be a problem for me. How does a hillbilly behave in a group of high society ladies? I was actually dreading the setting of the sun at this point, but when 9:00 came the hillbilly was seen reluctantly knocking at her impressive gate.
We got on with the study amid bowls of delicious snacks and drinks. Her bedroom was huge and air-conditioned with a sofa against the wall, some fuzzy expensive carpets, a study table and of course a very soft and sweet smelling bed. At about midnight - like most nights in Davao in those days, the lights went off. She announced that we take the opportunity to sleep knowing that in about half an hour the lights would come on again. I was thinking of going out to the living room when she said that I could lay down beside her on the bed. I feared that I might look like an intruder in their sprawling living room with the lights off, so I thought it wise to concede to her gesture - but you bet that I kept as still as a scared skunk while lying beside her. I could feel my heart shaking the bed with each beat and I could feel hers too. Before we knew it the lights came on and we resumed our review in anatomy.
A few weeks later I thought that the incident at the group study in the bedroom would be the last of its kind when another classmate invited me to her parent's posh home at Juna subdivision for group study. This time I was more relaxed, and that night we got along well studying in the kitchen until I felt really sleepy and asked for a break of about 20 minutes of sleep - on the couch in the adjacent darkened living room. I drifted immediately into a deep sleep only to be awakened by someone unbuttoning my shirt. I peeped through half-open eyelids and realized that a 'vampire' was going through her moves on my neck and body. It was apparent that my classmate wanted to reward me for my efforts in helping her with the lessons. I was not aware if word was going around the grapevine that I was a big help in study groups although I kinda suspected it.
Before the sun rose that morning as I rode back home, I vowed never to turn down invitations for group study - ever.
I didn't have to wait long for someone to invite me over and in a while I was rotating in 3 - 4 different groups, which eliminated the boredom and increased my bonding moments with most of my classmates. One group had dormitory beds and mono bloc chairs where we propped ourselves up, another had gourmet coffee, deli-bought stuff, air-conditioning, and servants at our beck and call, and yet another group studied out in the open lawn and adjacent steep sloping street with a balut vendor patiently waiting at the opposite curb knowing that it was just a matter of time when these raunchy dudes got hungry.
A cup of hot coffee, Marlboro, feet in a basin with cold water, intermittent breaks for brisk walking, a small towel dipped in ice-water and placed on the head, tooth picks or match sticks to hold the lower and upper eyelids apart - were some of the tricks that we tried just so we didn't drift off to dreamland. We disciplined each other, got into arguments, and some would pair off like lovers, and studying in groups was now getting to be popular among us. There were some though who could not concentrate when in a group and these loners somehow managed to eke out their survival in undisturbed and drowsy solitude, and in no time lagged behind in tackling the assigned chapters.
It was in one group study that a classmate had an "aha moment" and he declared that finally he realized that being a successful doctor only need either of two things: you are intelligent or you have good public relations (PR). He than added by saying: "Sunni you have a good PR. Hmmm... that sounded good to me, but the other guys present won't have any of it, because they said that it meant that I was not intelligent. We had a good laugh when Anatole tried to defend himself after that.
One morning, a few days before examinations, I was approached by a classmate and she invited me for group study at her home. This lady was tall and lanky, with a lipstick-stained cigarette between her fingers, she came to school on stilettos and had a chauffeur who was asleep most of the time in a sleek sedan at the parking lot. She said that she needed to brush up on some practical anatomy concerns and she thought that I could help her. Before I could think, my head nodded the approval and then I realized too late that this could be a problem for me. How does a hillbilly behave in a group of high society ladies? I was actually dreading the setting of the sun at this point, but when 9:00 came the hillbilly was seen reluctantly knocking at her impressive gate.
We got on with the study amid bowls of delicious snacks and drinks. Her bedroom was huge and air-conditioned with a sofa against the wall, some fuzzy expensive carpets, a study table and of course a very soft and sweet smelling bed. At about midnight - like most nights in Davao in those days, the lights went off. She announced that we take the opportunity to sleep knowing that in about half an hour the lights would come on again. I was thinking of going out to the living room when she said that I could lay down beside her on the bed. I feared that I might look like an intruder in their sprawling living room with the lights off, so I thought it wise to concede to her gesture - but you bet that I kept as still as a scared skunk while lying beside her. I could feel my heart shaking the bed with each beat and I could feel hers too. Before we knew it the lights came on and we resumed our review in anatomy.
A few weeks later I thought that the incident at the group study in the bedroom would be the last of its kind when another classmate invited me to her parent's posh home at Juna subdivision for group study. This time I was more relaxed, and that night we got along well studying in the kitchen until I felt really sleepy and asked for a break of about 20 minutes of sleep - on the couch in the adjacent darkened living room. I drifted immediately into a deep sleep only to be awakened by someone unbuttoning my shirt. I peeped through half-open eyelids and realized that a 'vampire' was going through her moves on my neck and body. It was apparent that my classmate wanted to reward me for my efforts in helping her with the lessons. I was not aware if word was going around the grapevine that I was a big help in study groups although I kinda suspected it.
Before the sun rose that morning as I rode back home, I vowed never to turn down invitations for group study - ever.
Old school memories: Medical school
No, it is not my intention to bore you with stories of the four years that I spent in medical school. A few chapters will be good enough - I hope.
After all the preparations, applications, examinations, the move to a different city, the search for a boarding house and purchasing bedding, mattress, hangers, bathroom stuff and all the things needed in a new place, for a new experience, in a new school (phew, I can still recall all the trouble just to get started in medical school) I was ready for the first day of school. Honestly, I didn't doubt my attempt at this demanding course nor did I doubt my ability to finish it. I had some friends who were not really intelligent or studious, but who made it. So I reasoned out, "if they did, I can do it."
I scanned the large hall that held all 85 freshmen. As usual I found my place at the rear half of the room and laid low with a very observant eye. I realized that I wasn't the only hillbilly among the bourgeois-looking and sounding throng. There were some ladies who looked too sweet and some who looked a bit advanced in years. Hmmm, I mused to myself - this could be an interesting year. After a pause for introductions - Mr. Cullamar, a physically well-rounded guy with a funny bone, rehearsed us through the policies of the school and what was expected of us. His jovial approach actually broke the ice, and when break time came the mood was light and we didn't have trouble getting to know each other.
Time and again in my life I have proven that when new to a group, to just trust my senses and in a few days I'll be in the right circle of friends for my temperament and attitude. With such a demanding course ahead of us it was not difficult to find the right rhythm among my classmates and in no time I was in a core group of friends that has lasted up to this moment.
After a day of orientation, securing lockers, introduction to the stinking cadavers and the school staff we hit the second day running. I mean, the lectures started and the shock waves came one after another. Our teachers figuratively threw the ultra-thick and ultra-heavy textbooks at us, and at the end of the day we realized that medical school had more work at home than in the classroom. The race to catch up in reading all the chapters covered by all the subjects for the day started at day two and without let-up ended the night before final exams 10 months later.
There was one aspect in the first couple of months that I had quite a struggle with, and it was partly due to my being a hillbilly among the decent and well-bred city dwelling classmates. How do I react when a voluptuous sweet-smelling classmate snuggles up to me and without much ado sits on my lap and asks me to go through the different parts of the human anatomy that was the lesson for the day? Another would put her arms around me while looking over my shoulder and ask me to teach her how to identify the parts of the cadaver. This was too stressful and I wanted to go home to my mama in Bukidnon.
At any rate I was getting to like medical school (most especially Anatomy) as the days unfolded until group study was invented.
That will come next.
After all the preparations, applications, examinations, the move to a different city, the search for a boarding house and purchasing bedding, mattress, hangers, bathroom stuff and all the things needed in a new place, for a new experience, in a new school (phew, I can still recall all the trouble just to get started in medical school) I was ready for the first day of school. Honestly, I didn't doubt my attempt at this demanding course nor did I doubt my ability to finish it. I had some friends who were not really intelligent or studious, but who made it. So I reasoned out, "if they did, I can do it."
I scanned the large hall that held all 85 freshmen. As usual I found my place at the rear half of the room and laid low with a very observant eye. I realized that I wasn't the only hillbilly among the bourgeois-looking and sounding throng. There were some ladies who looked too sweet and some who looked a bit advanced in years. Hmmm, I mused to myself - this could be an interesting year. After a pause for introductions - Mr. Cullamar, a physically well-rounded guy with a funny bone, rehearsed us through the policies of the school and what was expected of us. His jovial approach actually broke the ice, and when break time came the mood was light and we didn't have trouble getting to know each other.
Time and again in my life I have proven that when new to a group, to just trust my senses and in a few days I'll be in the right circle of friends for my temperament and attitude. With such a demanding course ahead of us it was not difficult to find the right rhythm among my classmates and in no time I was in a core group of friends that has lasted up to this moment.
After a day of orientation, securing lockers, introduction to the stinking cadavers and the school staff we hit the second day running. I mean, the lectures started and the shock waves came one after another. Our teachers figuratively threw the ultra-thick and ultra-heavy textbooks at us, and at the end of the day we realized that medical school had more work at home than in the classroom. The race to catch up in reading all the chapters covered by all the subjects for the day started at day two and without let-up ended the night before final exams 10 months later.
There was one aspect in the first couple of months that I had quite a struggle with, and it was partly due to my being a hillbilly among the decent and well-bred city dwelling classmates. How do I react when a voluptuous sweet-smelling classmate snuggles up to me and without much ado sits on my lap and asks me to go through the different parts of the human anatomy that was the lesson for the day? Another would put her arms around me while looking over my shoulder and ask me to teach her how to identify the parts of the cadaver. This was too stressful and I wanted to go home to my mama in Bukidnon.
At any rate I was getting to like medical school (most especially Anatomy) as the days unfolded until group study was invented.
That will come next.
A doctor's life: Rabies
Summer months in Bukidnon see a rise in Rabies cases. Dogs that do not have a permanent home, but just wander around are most prone to this disease. This is the time when we were most vigilant about stray dogs entering the porous borders of the campus of MVC. I always had a loaded rifle on hand in the clinic so that any time it was needed I had the suspected rabid dog in my crosshairs.
One lazy afternoon I got a call on the radio that a bedraggled mutt was walking aimlessly in the classroom area and no amount of shooing it worked. I knew that a gun in this tight quarters would be disastrous so I called some guards and we met at the administration building to find a rabid dog that was dripping saliva. Without the right equipment we didn't dare touch it, but one guard stepped up and hit the dog on the head with his stick. It jumped up and the wild chase began, which took us through the wide open lawn towards the faculty housing. Someone ahead with a machete saw the dog approach him with us at its heels and he swung the machete in time to crack open the dogs skull with the wound slicing up the face to the tip of the nose. The crazed dog lay there on the road with about 5 of us surrounding it and we were looking right into the exposed brain when all of a sudden it stood up and lunged at us. We scattered like scared pigeons until we realized that the dog was scampering away, which resumed our mad pursuit until about 300 meters where it collapsed in a heap - dead. I just related this incident to demonstrate how a rabid dog can go crazy and cause havoc among humans and animals.
One unique case involving Rabies presented as a middle-age woman who was spending a few days in MVC and she came to the clinic asking for Rabies shots. I needed to get the history about her possible dog bite when she told me that she never got bitten, but her doctor in Luzon sent her an urgent message telling her to immediately get treatment for Rabies. It turned out that she just had a cadaveric corneal transplant. Another patient got the other cornea of the same donor only to manifest Rabies in about a week. That was when they found out that the donor died because of Rabies and the cornea apparently had the virus. With that information I didn't waste time, but told her to immediately rush to Cagayan de Oro for treatment since my facilities were insufficient for a possible full blown Rabies case. This was the first and only Rabies case that I encountered that wasn't transmitted by the bite of an animal.
Monday, 23 October 2017
A doctor's life: Bees - geez
There are two natural forested areas within the boundaries of MVC that have been preserved as a watershed and to prevent erosion since the topography is mountainous. Huge century-old trees that were spared the logger's saw still stand and every now and then these trees become the home of honey bees that move from one place to another when they feel threatened. The honeycombs that they create come to the point of overflowing and literally drip honey, which is discovered by someone and the next thing is inevitable - harvest. This is certified wild honey from flowers of wild plants and trees and the taste is unparalleled by the cultured variety.
An unconscious man was brought in on board a motorcycle by his cousin who said that they were out harvesting honey from atop a 60-foot tree. The climber - the victim apparently, was up on the branch where the honeycomb was located when the bees decided to give it their all and defend their honey. With all the bees stinging at he same time he decided that it was not worth proceeding and start descending. He just got back on the ground when he collapsed and efforts by his cousins to revive him were futile. Apparently he was suffering from anaphylactic shock. Somehow his cousin managed to load him on the motorcycle and make the winding road uphill to me. On examination he was by most parameters - dead. No heart rate, no BP, no breathing - except that his eyes were not yet in a fixed and dilated stare. I considered this a sign of hope and proceeded to give him the initial Epinephrine by subcutaneous injection and he started breathing and his heart recovered after some compression massage on his chest. He was discharged lightheaded after a few hours - now a much wiser honey lover.
Another incident was when some high school and elementary kids of the faculty decided to go trekking to the river some distance below the campus. Instead of going through the beaten path they decided to take the steep incline for added adventure. At one point there was a small tree where they could hang on to to keep from sliding downhill. Unbeknown to them was the presence of a honey bee nest on one branch, which was agitated when they bumped the tree. The mad scramble to get away from the tree ensued and they tumbled downhill. Some were obviously suffering from the stings so they hurried back up and rushed to the clinic. One kid had so many bees still clinging with their stings to his skin that it took time to clean him up. After he was bee-free, we counted his welts and discovered that he topped 74 stings. I bet that he would never get near a bee hive ever in his life again.
An unconscious man was brought in on board a motorcycle by his cousin who said that they were out harvesting honey from atop a 60-foot tree. The climber - the victim apparently, was up on the branch where the honeycomb was located when the bees decided to give it their all and defend their honey. With all the bees stinging at he same time he decided that it was not worth proceeding and start descending. He just got back on the ground when he collapsed and efforts by his cousins to revive him were futile. Apparently he was suffering from anaphylactic shock. Somehow his cousin managed to load him on the motorcycle and make the winding road uphill to me. On examination he was by most parameters - dead. No heart rate, no BP, no breathing - except that his eyes were not yet in a fixed and dilated stare. I considered this a sign of hope and proceeded to give him the initial Epinephrine by subcutaneous injection and he started breathing and his heart recovered after some compression massage on his chest. He was discharged lightheaded after a few hours - now a much wiser honey lover.
Another incident was when some high school and elementary kids of the faculty decided to go trekking to the river some distance below the campus. Instead of going through the beaten path they decided to take the steep incline for added adventure. At one point there was a small tree where they could hang on to to keep from sliding downhill. Unbeknown to them was the presence of a honey bee nest on one branch, which was agitated when they bumped the tree. The mad scramble to get away from the tree ensued and they tumbled downhill. Some were obviously suffering from the stings so they hurried back up and rushed to the clinic. One kid had so many bees still clinging with their stings to his skin that it took time to clean him up. After he was bee-free, we counted his welts and discovered that he topped 74 stings. I bet that he would never get near a bee hive ever in his life again.
A doctor's life: Ambush
Just when I thought that I was in the safety of the hills of Bukidnon - far from Landasan, a man on a motorcycle rushed to the clinic one morning, and with a pale face and a quivering voice said that he just happened to pass by the manager of the industries in MVC, a victim of an apparent ambuscade.
Boy, as we all fondly call him was a good friend of mine dating back to college days. He considered himself an adopted son of my parents and we were just like brothers and our kids were about the same age. At this time he was managing the industrial and agricultural departments and on this particular morning he was on board his motorcycle inspecting the banana and rubber projects in the back hills. I immediately radioed the motor pool for a 4X4 vehicle and we raced to the spot where Boy was - about 2 kilometers uphill from the campus. A horrific scene met our eyes the moment we got there. Boy was lying lifeless supine by the side of the road with four gunshot wounds that shattered his arm bones and the blood and marrow was still oozing out from the gaping wound. Pieces of flesh and bones could be seen on the road and the leaves of the trees and grasses nearby. Apparently the gun used was of a high caliber and yet the perpetrators were not content in finishing the job with just one shot.
I surveyed the scene and tried to take in the shocking truth that my bosom friend was gone. There was nothing that I could do at this point except to think of a way to break the sad news to his wife and kids. I realized that the criminals could just be nearby, maybe watching us from a distance and so we hurriedly loaded Boy on the truck and returned to the campus.
This sad event made me realize that there is practically no safe place in this world.
Boy, as we all fondly call him was a good friend of mine dating back to college days. He considered himself an adopted son of my parents and we were just like brothers and our kids were about the same age. At this time he was managing the industrial and agricultural departments and on this particular morning he was on board his motorcycle inspecting the banana and rubber projects in the back hills. I immediately radioed the motor pool for a 4X4 vehicle and we raced to the spot where Boy was - about 2 kilometers uphill from the campus. A horrific scene met our eyes the moment we got there. Boy was lying lifeless supine by the side of the road with four gunshot wounds that shattered his arm bones and the blood and marrow was still oozing out from the gaping wound. Pieces of flesh and bones could be seen on the road and the leaves of the trees and grasses nearby. Apparently the gun used was of a high caliber and yet the perpetrators were not content in finishing the job with just one shot.
I surveyed the scene and tried to take in the shocking truth that my bosom friend was gone. There was nothing that I could do at this point except to think of a way to break the sad news to his wife and kids. I realized that the criminals could just be nearby, maybe watching us from a distance and so we hurriedly loaded Boy on the truck and returned to the campus.
This sad event made me realize that there is practically no safe place in this world.
A doctor's life: Food poisoning
First one student arrived at the clinic, then another, and yet another one and sometimes by twos and threes. In a couple of hours all beds were full and we were using extra mattresses from the nursing laboratory to accommodate patients in the hallways and about just anywhere in the hospital. All of them manifested the same problems of abdominal pain and vomiting, with diarrhea coming later in the course of the illness.
The school cafeteria feeds about 900 students regularly and you can imagine the scope of the problem if ever the food gets contaminated. Vegetables used in cooking most often are bought right at the farms on the mountainside just across a deep ravine from MVC. Other vegetables are procured at the town market. It was only in this mass poisoning incident when we discovered that fresh vegetables destined for markets in Manila and the Visayas are dipped in a formaldehyde solution before they are packed for transport to keep them fresh. By the time the formalin-dipped veggies reach their destination (approx. 3 days) the formalin should have evaporated and therefore nothing untoward happens. This batch of cabbage that the cafeteria bought was apparently intended for the Visayas and was just out from the dipping pool and the concentration of formalin was high. Couple that with a less than appropriate washing of the veggies and you serve the food with the formalin in a dangerously high concentration.
We usually don't have a lot of IV fluid bottles in stock and these were used up fast. A vehicle was sent downtown to buy more IVF and even before they started back home I had to radio them to buy all the bottles that they can get their hands on. As the night came we slowly realized the scale of the problem that was in our hands and we had to dispatch another vehicle to get more IV fluid. It was only good that the patients were ambulatory or we could have had problems with the number of nurses helping out. Patients were queueing at the toilets and some had to go even without the toilet due to the congestion. You could smell humanity even before entering the rooms.
At the second day the news of the epidemic reached the authorities in downtown Valencia and they sent a team to investigate. Epidemiologists from the Department of Health also rushed up anticipating a problem of epic proportions. Radio stations also sent their representatives and in no time we were in the front pages of the national papers. There was no cell phone or satellite in those days and news of this magnitude could have escaped national exposure if only our purchases of IV fluids were not that many. I was determined to keep all the patients inside the campus since there was no serious case just so the school won't get bad publicity. It was only good that the patients were already getting better on the second and third days that there was no need to transport patients to other hospitals. Most parents knew of the problem only after their kids were already well.
The last patient to be discharged was on the 5th day after the food poisoning, and my staff and I finally got a good night's rest. All in all we treated 321 patients.
The school cafeteria feeds about 900 students regularly and you can imagine the scope of the problem if ever the food gets contaminated. Vegetables used in cooking most often are bought right at the farms on the mountainside just across a deep ravine from MVC. Other vegetables are procured at the town market. It was only in this mass poisoning incident when we discovered that fresh vegetables destined for markets in Manila and the Visayas are dipped in a formaldehyde solution before they are packed for transport to keep them fresh. By the time the formalin-dipped veggies reach their destination (approx. 3 days) the formalin should have evaporated and therefore nothing untoward happens. This batch of cabbage that the cafeteria bought was apparently intended for the Visayas and was just out from the dipping pool and the concentration of formalin was high. Couple that with a less than appropriate washing of the veggies and you serve the food with the formalin in a dangerously high concentration.
We usually don't have a lot of IV fluid bottles in stock and these were used up fast. A vehicle was sent downtown to buy more IVF and even before they started back home I had to radio them to buy all the bottles that they can get their hands on. As the night came we slowly realized the scale of the problem that was in our hands and we had to dispatch another vehicle to get more IV fluid. It was only good that the patients were ambulatory or we could have had problems with the number of nurses helping out. Patients were queueing at the toilets and some had to go even without the toilet due to the congestion. You could smell humanity even before entering the rooms.
At the second day the news of the epidemic reached the authorities in downtown Valencia and they sent a team to investigate. Epidemiologists from the Department of Health also rushed up anticipating a problem of epic proportions. Radio stations also sent their representatives and in no time we were in the front pages of the national papers. There was no cell phone or satellite in those days and news of this magnitude could have escaped national exposure if only our purchases of IV fluids were not that many. I was determined to keep all the patients inside the campus since there was no serious case just so the school won't get bad publicity. It was only good that the patients were already getting better on the second and third days that there was no need to transport patients to other hospitals. Most parents knew of the problem only after their kids were already well.
The last patient to be discharged was on the 5th day after the food poisoning, and my staff and I finally got a good night's rest. All in all we treated 321 patients.
Old school memories: Graduate
Four and a half years and three different courses since I entered college and finally I had a degree - BSBiology. Prior to my graduation I received an invitation to connect with East Visayan Academy in Cebu City and immediately after finishing the requirements for the finals I took the boat to the island of Cebu.
This place was rather familiar to me, because I was born here and my parents were former educators in this school. Now as a Biology and Chemistry teacher I was excited to get on with my new job. The job itself was challenging and more so with students who had a different upbringing than mine. These were city kids and fun for them apparently took a different meaning, therefore some time was needed to adjust to their style, but I had it all worked out.
Like any SDA academy there were a lot of restrictions including going to movies and drinking in parties - something that I didn't take pains to conceal and somehow word leaked out among the students that sir "Moring" loved prohibited stuff and some guys started to gravitate toward my direction. There was once when 14 of them were caught inside a cinema watching a movie and the punishment was to "dig a hole without suhol" (no pay). They were the butt of the jokes for the rest of the students as they worked on their punishment. These kids did me a good turn by not reporting my presence inside the cinema or I could have been the only teacher with a shovel digging the hole with them.
A weekend and school break activity that I loved while in Cebu was driving a public passenger jeepney in the city. The routes that I did were Talisay - Colon and Lahug - Carbon. These jeepneys had loud stereos blaring the hits of those times by the Bee Gees and the sound track of Grease by John Travolta, and choosy passengers avoided jeepneys that didn't play good music. Ladies also were choosy with regards to the driver, because they knew that "basta driver, sweet lover" and we drivers reminded them that "God knows Hudas not pay."
At this time I was also waiting for the results of the MCAT exams that I took earlier and one day I got the acceptance letter from the Southwestern University (SWU), which had instructions for me to submit my downpayment of 1,000 pesos so that I could be included in the next batch of medical school freshmen when enrollment time came. I had a cheque for the amount done and was about to send it in when a letter arrived from my mom in Bukidnon telling me of a school in Davao that was offering late exams for prospective medical students. She wanted me to try out Ateneo de Davao University first before finally committing to SWU.
This changed the plans that I was pursuing at that time and life took a fateful turn for me.
Next: Medical school stories. OMG.
This place was rather familiar to me, because I was born here and my parents were former educators in this school. Now as a Biology and Chemistry teacher I was excited to get on with my new job. The job itself was challenging and more so with students who had a different upbringing than mine. These were city kids and fun for them apparently took a different meaning, therefore some time was needed to adjust to their style, but I had it all worked out.
Like any SDA academy there were a lot of restrictions including going to movies and drinking in parties - something that I didn't take pains to conceal and somehow word leaked out among the students that sir "Moring" loved prohibited stuff and some guys started to gravitate toward my direction. There was once when 14 of them were caught inside a cinema watching a movie and the punishment was to "dig a hole without suhol" (no pay). They were the butt of the jokes for the rest of the students as they worked on their punishment. These kids did me a good turn by not reporting my presence inside the cinema or I could have been the only teacher with a shovel digging the hole with them.
A weekend and school break activity that I loved while in Cebu was driving a public passenger jeepney in the city. The routes that I did were Talisay - Colon and Lahug - Carbon. These jeepneys had loud stereos blaring the hits of those times by the Bee Gees and the sound track of Grease by John Travolta, and choosy passengers avoided jeepneys that didn't play good music. Ladies also were choosy with regards to the driver, because they knew that "basta driver, sweet lover" and we drivers reminded them that "God knows Hudas not pay."
At this time I was also waiting for the results of the MCAT exams that I took earlier and one day I got the acceptance letter from the Southwestern University (SWU), which had instructions for me to submit my downpayment of 1,000 pesos so that I could be included in the next batch of medical school freshmen when enrollment time came. I had a cheque for the amount done and was about to send it in when a letter arrived from my mom in Bukidnon telling me of a school in Davao that was offering late exams for prospective medical students. She wanted me to try out Ateneo de Davao University first before finally committing to SWU.
This changed the plans that I was pursuing at that time and life took a fateful turn for me.
Next: Medical school stories. OMG.
A doctor's life: Hillbilly
If there is such a thing as a "certified hillbilly" - i'm one. I grew up in the hills with a pet billy goat. My dad was an all-around guy who didn't seem to tire - something that I apparently got from him. We had 60 egg-laying hens, about 20 assorted free range chicken, 40 doves, 3 goats, 2 sheep, a German shepherd dog, a parrot, an owl, parakeets, guinea pigs... and all the fleas, ticks and lice that come with these pets.
I had the freedom to bike anywhere I wanted, climb the hills or swim the river that was nearby. Vehicular traffic was very little and there were more cows than cars. Air pollution was something we never thought of and the view that met the eye was hills and mountains, valleys and farmland to whatever direction you turned your gaze.
When the invitation came for me to connect with this place as a doctor, the memories of my childhood came flooding back like a happy movie. I thought of my kids and I knew that they too would love to grow up without the hassles and dangers of the city. My wife - a city girl, also saw the wisdom of bringing up children in the country, that it was not difficult for us to accept the invitation.
After getting settled from the hectic move from Landasan I started raising my own two active hillbillies. One thing I loved about my work here was the fact that I had all the time to be with my kids. All meals in the day were with them, I was just a short walk away from any of their activities when they needed me, and I was present in all the school events, recitals and ceremonies, which may not have been possible if I was a doctor at a hospital in the city.
I tried my best to provide for them a similar atmosphere such as mine while growing up. Free range chicken, goats, at least 4 dogs, a horse, a pond with koi and tilapia with an island that was home to a dozen rabbits were the pets that my hillbilly kids grew up with. The ranch was our backyard and I'm sure that they had some fond memories there too.
I considered their friends as my own kids and our house was open for whatever purpose they wanted. Frequent sleepovers, cookouts, tents on the law, jamming with their guitars, watching movies on Betamax, etc were all done at home.
Our house was a regular hangout for the growing hillbillies and Jo ann and I loved it.
I had the freedom to bike anywhere I wanted, climb the hills or swim the river that was nearby. Vehicular traffic was very little and there were more cows than cars. Air pollution was something we never thought of and the view that met the eye was hills and mountains, valleys and farmland to whatever direction you turned your gaze.
When the invitation came for me to connect with this place as a doctor, the memories of my childhood came flooding back like a happy movie. I thought of my kids and I knew that they too would love to grow up without the hassles and dangers of the city. My wife - a city girl, also saw the wisdom of bringing up children in the country, that it was not difficult for us to accept the invitation.
After getting settled from the hectic move from Landasan I started raising my own two active hillbillies. One thing I loved about my work here was the fact that I had all the time to be with my kids. All meals in the day were with them, I was just a short walk away from any of their activities when they needed me, and I was present in all the school events, recitals and ceremonies, which may not have been possible if I was a doctor at a hospital in the city.
I tried my best to provide for them a similar atmosphere such as mine while growing up. Free range chicken, goats, at least 4 dogs, a horse, a pond with koi and tilapia with an island that was home to a dozen rabbits were the pets that my hillbilly kids grew up with. The ranch was our backyard and I'm sure that they had some fond memories there too.
I considered their friends as my own kids and our house was open for whatever purpose they wanted. Frequent sleepovers, cookouts, tents on the law, jamming with their guitars, watching movies on Betamax, etc were all done at home.
Our house was a regular hangout for the growing hillbillies and Jo ann and I loved it.
Hillbillies on the loose. I'm the guy at the
extreme right. MVC is at the background
A doctor's life: House calls
The location of the Strahle clinic in the campus of MVC can be depicted on the face of a clock with the clinic taking the middle position, the dormitories at positions 12:00 - 3:00, and faculty housing from positions 3:00 to 12:00. The doctor's residence was at position 9:00 and was just about a hundred meters from the clinic. Cases that needed confinement or minor surgery were brought to the clinic, but for most cases that were mild in nature I saw it more convenient to visit the patient in his/her room. There were many times when just conversing and assuring the patient and instituting home remedies had better results than medication.
I had a call one night from the dean of the Onyx boys' dormitory saying that there was a college freshman who had been sobbing for some time and was now in pain. Upon entering the room I noticed the boy on the bed and his roommates where around trying to massage him. They said that this kid was crying because he sorely missed his mama, but later his hands and feet contracted in a painful position - a typical sign of Respiratory Alkalosis, due to the imbalance of Carbon Dioxide and Oxygen in the blood caused by hyperventilation (breathing fast). This called for the "paper bag therapy" where a bag is placed over the mouth and nose so that the exhaled CO2 can be re-inhaled and in a while the alkalosis corrected. I asked them if they had a bag that I could use and one guy produced a plastic bag - the one used when you buy bread at the bakery. Without checking its contents I placed the bag over the boy's mouth and nose and in a while the hands and feet loosened up and relaxed. The patient apparently relieved smiled and we all had a good laugh when he started eating the bread that was in the bag all the while.
Another unusual call to the same dormitory presented a young basketball star who was sprawled on the cement floor, incoherent and apparently had one bottle too many. There was no doubt that he was in distress, but attempts to calm him down or help him feel better didn't work until I thought of summoning a lady that he was in love with. It was already late at night, but Mai-mai obligued and came, sat on the floor and cradled Balong's head on her lap while stroking his forehead. Miraculously, his thrashing and mumbling gave way to a smile on his face and we all heaved a collective sigh of relief.
Someone sick was not the only reason for a house call. Sometimes it was a cobra that wandered inside the house, because it was common knowledge that I was a snake catcher. I used to have a sizable collection of snakes in younger my years and even as a doctor the importance of snakes to maintain the ecological balance was reason enough to catch and release these wayward serpents. The need for suffering pets to be euthanized was also one reason for house calls, so was the vaccination of these pets against rabies.
Being a doctor in a community out in the country has its uniqueness and I loved it.
I had a call one night from the dean of the Onyx boys' dormitory saying that there was a college freshman who had been sobbing for some time and was now in pain. Upon entering the room I noticed the boy on the bed and his roommates where around trying to massage him. They said that this kid was crying because he sorely missed his mama, but later his hands and feet contracted in a painful position - a typical sign of Respiratory Alkalosis, due to the imbalance of Carbon Dioxide and Oxygen in the blood caused by hyperventilation (breathing fast). This called for the "paper bag therapy" where a bag is placed over the mouth and nose so that the exhaled CO2 can be re-inhaled and in a while the alkalosis corrected. I asked them if they had a bag that I could use and one guy produced a plastic bag - the one used when you buy bread at the bakery. Without checking its contents I placed the bag over the boy's mouth and nose and in a while the hands and feet loosened up and relaxed. The patient apparently relieved smiled and we all had a good laugh when he started eating the bread that was in the bag all the while.
Another unusual call to the same dormitory presented a young basketball star who was sprawled on the cement floor, incoherent and apparently had one bottle too many. There was no doubt that he was in distress, but attempts to calm him down or help him feel better didn't work until I thought of summoning a lady that he was in love with. It was already late at night, but Mai-mai obligued and came, sat on the floor and cradled Balong's head on her lap while stroking his forehead. Miraculously, his thrashing and mumbling gave way to a smile on his face and we all heaved a collective sigh of relief.
Someone sick was not the only reason for a house call. Sometimes it was a cobra that wandered inside the house, because it was common knowledge that I was a snake catcher. I used to have a sizable collection of snakes in younger my years and even as a doctor the importance of snakes to maintain the ecological balance was reason enough to catch and release these wayward serpents. The need for suffering pets to be euthanized was also one reason for house calls, so was the vaccination of these pets against rabies.
Being a doctor in a community out in the country has its uniqueness and I loved it.
Saturday, 21 October 2017
Old school memories: Weak heart
Putting off the writing of this topic is only possible when you have other things to write about, but I admit that an autobiography isn't complete without the details regarding matters of the heart and so, here goes. I had a weak heart - a very weak heart indeed, that it had the tendency to "crush" frequently and it kept on "falling" in love.
I have vivid memories of a crush who lived in the girls' dormitory. Short of being able to let her know of my feelings I decided to put a flower - a white sweet smelling Magnolia flower, in her shoe at the rack outside the entrance of the dorm. She somehow got wind of who her secret admirer was and made a beeline for our house. It's only good that I saw her while afar off and hid myself - under my parent's bed. It was both an embarrassing and hilarious moment when my parents let her in to peek under the bed. What was so queer about this crush? She was in college and I was too young for school yet. It was at my final year in high school when I met her again - now a teacher, and we had a good laugh.
After that under-the-bed episode, as a kid growing up in the hills, I had a girl named after a flower, another who is now an accomplished musician in Las Vegas, and almost had one who now works as a nurse in LA - if only she just paid attention to what I was saying. I guess the second grade (I was 3rd grade) MJ was too engrossed in weeding her garden at school when I said "Ning, I love you!" that she didn't take notice, so I just let the topic drop. It's funny how my weak heart would get the most of me in impromptu moments, but somehow I managed to thrive on to high school where girls took the back seat in my life. Playing pranks and trying out adult stuff occupied my waking moments and I almost forgot that I had a weak heart.
College opened a new perspective for my heart problem. Registration time comes and I'm shocked to find too many beautiful ladies to count. So enrolling in a subject now depended on the presence of a heavenly figure who took my fancy. Joining glee clubs and other extra-curricular activities also relied on the same principle. I was sure back then that I wasn't chasing skirts around - I was just taking care of my weak heart. It is not my intention to mention the names of the sweet smelling ladies who helped me through college by being kind to my heart. Waking up their emotions now - since they are my friends in Facebook and might happen to read this, is the last thing in my mind.
Medical school was a different story, because my heart miraculously recovered and got well when a gorgeous 16-year old high school lass entered the picture. No longer would my failing heart need to be resuscitated every now and then.
I was cured forever.
I have vivid memories of a crush who lived in the girls' dormitory. Short of being able to let her know of my feelings I decided to put a flower - a white sweet smelling Magnolia flower, in her shoe at the rack outside the entrance of the dorm. She somehow got wind of who her secret admirer was and made a beeline for our house. It's only good that I saw her while afar off and hid myself - under my parent's bed. It was both an embarrassing and hilarious moment when my parents let her in to peek under the bed. What was so queer about this crush? She was in college and I was too young for school yet. It was at my final year in high school when I met her again - now a teacher, and we had a good laugh.
After that under-the-bed episode, as a kid growing up in the hills, I had a girl named after a flower, another who is now an accomplished musician in Las Vegas, and almost had one who now works as a nurse in LA - if only she just paid attention to what I was saying. I guess the second grade (I was 3rd grade) MJ was too engrossed in weeding her garden at school when I said "Ning, I love you!" that she didn't take notice, so I just let the topic drop. It's funny how my weak heart would get the most of me in impromptu moments, but somehow I managed to thrive on to high school where girls took the back seat in my life. Playing pranks and trying out adult stuff occupied my waking moments and I almost forgot that I had a weak heart.
College opened a new perspective for my heart problem. Registration time comes and I'm shocked to find too many beautiful ladies to count. So enrolling in a subject now depended on the presence of a heavenly figure who took my fancy. Joining glee clubs and other extra-curricular activities also relied on the same principle. I was sure back then that I wasn't chasing skirts around - I was just taking care of my weak heart. It is not my intention to mention the names of the sweet smelling ladies who helped me through college by being kind to my heart. Waking up their emotions now - since they are my friends in Facebook and might happen to read this, is the last thing in my mind.
Medical school was a different story, because my heart miraculously recovered and got well when a gorgeous 16-year old high school lass entered the picture. No longer would my failing heart need to be resuscitated every now and then.
I was cured forever.
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