A doctor's life: Jobless

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.

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]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.