tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47302456566116645502024-03-14T01:13:14.037-07:00SCRIBBLED MEMORIESTHE INSIGHTS AND VIEWS OF A DOCTOR-MOM FROM HER WORLD OF THOUGHTS, FLOWING FREELYAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-56852218899001706592013-05-12T16:09:00.000-07:002013-05-13T14:19:56.645-07:00Desperate Antibiotic Mom<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-75lK0IdJ5d0/UZAYaRlxVjI/AAAAAAAAA8I/yyZ7SJFf0ys/iba0119l%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img alt="iba0119l" border="0" height="243" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bBoaIZ_yJgk/UZAYjSC4TUI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/7LrlxORuweU/iba0119l_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="iba0119l" width="244" /></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">40 year old female patient came in due to a cough that started few hours ago. At last I’m not dealing with diabetes this time, or else, I could already build a sugar factory. It was the usual clinic day, seeing patients one after another, giving words of encouragement, sighing in between, every time someone has a high blood sugar, or reminding again and again when DM complications starts to show. Sometimes it is a thought-provoking combat against the scourge of diabetes. Having this woman in front of me with a one day cough, I thought her case was easy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">S</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hifting my brain back to General Medicine, we started our conversation and physical exam:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: I started coughing this morning doc. It’s disturbing my sleep. Can you give me my antibiotic for this?</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: Did you have fever? Difficulty of breathing? </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: No I don’t have. But I usually run for an immediate consult and my doctors gave me antibiotic every time. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: Well, based on my physical exam, your lungs are clear. You do however have fine tremors, a palpable thyroid gland, though only mildly enlarged, Your heart rate seemed a bit fast, your BP is slightly elevated and… Did you just say it started just today? </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: Yes. I always have that seasonal cough and colds. But I have a transplant patient at home. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: Oh I see. Then you should get flu shots yearly. We have a lot of vaccinations now for your age. I fear you might develop antibiotic resistance if you keep on taking it. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: Yes I know but I’m running out of budget after all the costs we've been thru. Next visit maybe. I just want the antibiotic. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: Yes ma’am, unless there is a clinical indication, I can give you that. What I’m saying is, you might have a thyroid disorder, and your cough might be cardiac in origin. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: But I already have a cardio doctor that deals with my heart. He gave me the medicine for blood pressure. I came to you for the antibiotic. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: I mean your present problem may be hyperthyroidism with a thyrotoxic heart disease. It’s a problem in your thyroid gland hormones which gives a problem in your heart. Now if you want some antibiotic lets run these test and lets see if you have an infection.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">he patient returns after several hours bringing all the laboratory results..</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: The tests confirmed my suspicion of a thyroid disorder. Here’s the medicine for your thyroid, and here’s for the heart. You take this every… </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Patient: I did all your tests doctor, now can I have my antibiotic and attend to a post transplant patient? </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Me: You’re a care-giver now? </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: Yes, a care-giver, at home, to my only daughter..I don’t want her to get this cough. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: May I ask what organ ? </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Patient: Kidney. It got injured in a car accident and she’s diabetic, type 1, on insulin since 10 years old.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">H</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">earing those, I prescribed her the pill she desperately asked for, allowing my medical principles to bend a little while giving advice on vaccinations and prophylaxis. </span><br />
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W</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hen you’re a mother, sometimes you are blinded by the welfare of your children that you wouldn't take any principles and arguments attached to these. She was never interested in her illness. It was her daughter she wanted to protect. Here’s a mother who is brave enough to raise a Type 1 DM child and strong enough to fight for her child’s welfare over her own. Shame on me for not paying attention immediately. </span><br />
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A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nd I thought I wasn't dealing with diabetes this time.</span><br />
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H</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">appy mother’s day to all the mothers in the world. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-54849850983155637472013-05-01T06:42:00.001-07:002013-05-13T14:28:31.983-07:00Post-Pregnancy Panic Attacks<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">B</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">reathing deeply, mind running, panic… </span><br />
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T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hat’s after I knew I have to perform after giving birth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So how do you speed up recovery?</span><br />
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I </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">usually hated my physical looks during pregnancy. But in this last gestation, I have embraced it silently with an underground agenda to strike back on my beauty regimen after delivery. Due to a temporary restraining order to the salon and spa issued for pregnant women (for medical reasons), I have waited nine long months of uncut, undone hair, dry, wavy and unevenly colored without any treatment till the ban is lifted, which also means I have to wait till my delivery. So it came as a shock to me to learn that my parents are having their 2nd wedding in a grand Renewal of Vows within the time table of my EDD (Expected Date of Delivery). </span><br />
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W</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">hen they announced to move their 40th wedding anniversary a month later than their official anniversary, I still complained as I was expected to sing, dance, and entertain guests while being able to function as a breast-feeding mom. Perhaps because I have just delivered a baby, they have given me a little over a month to compose myself. After all, the obvious ravages pregnancy has done to the weight and skin of this panicked-stricken self- conscious mom required a stat overhaul. I actually told my parents to move the celebration 6 months later so I’ll be back to the usual me. They gave me 6 weeks. </span><br />
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S</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">o here goes the constant search to rid off pregnancy discolorations, running low on dermatologist consults. I tried spa-hopping for an effective scrub offers, but all gave a shrugged shoulders with no assurance to magically vanish these displeasing masks in a month’s time. Unbelievably, everything now was on the go as I was able to convince my husband to sing with me the Twilight’s “Thousand Years” and dance to the medley of cha-cha and swing, which he had never ever done in years. Again, how would I be judged as a graceful partner of my dashing husband? I suddenly turned vain, my friend told me. Of course, my retaliation must come in full battle gear because my siblings and I am at the front line of a compulsory variety presentation for my parents. And front line meant all the scrutiny’s on us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nd literary so up front that I was tasked to give a welcome address. It was supposed to be just short, but I think my parents deserved more from me, not just for the panic attacks and the post-partum blues. They merit a good welcome speech from their only daughter as a sign of gratitude for rescheduling the wedding day (even if its just for a month), and for considering my condition, plus of course, gratitude for raising me with much love and concern. So I made one fairly nice short speech hoping to touch the listening crowd and not just a simple welcome greetings to the guests.</span><br />
<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-w-5Tb6jXkO8/UYEbwRNLatI/AAAAAAAAA7A/XA0ifrfwqhs/s1600-h/my-family6.jpg"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img align="left" alt="my family" border="0" height="246" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vnLshkZrz6w/UYEbxuwGqTI/AAAAAAAAA7I/yGyffhIW9GU/my-family_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-width: 0px; display: inline; float: left; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="my family" width="400" /></span></a><br />
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A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nd I think I did well. After the show, the audience commended, and some couples who wished to renew their vows wanted to ask for a copy. Unfortunately, I only have one. I gave my dad my speech after it was over. They might love to review what I said to the crowd. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">s for the rest, I gave this blog site. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here’s the link: </span><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2013/05/time-and-distance.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2013/05/time-and-distance.html</a><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Read on ..</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-41938098079066892192013-05-01T06:14:00.001-07:002013-05-12T16:33:16.325-07:00Time and distance<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-j2QKvcLChPw/UYEVK-i_zOI/AAAAAAAAA6o/DbpBwnikU78/s1600-h/537239_496645437065160_252340503_n8.jpg"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img align="left" alt="537239_496645437065160_252340503_n" border="0" height="374" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-P2r4nSslkLE/UYEVMFy5AXI/AAAAAAAAA6w/MEN9PW46xyI/537239_496645437065160_252340503_n_t.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; float: left; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="537239_496645437065160_252340503_n" width="408" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Welcome Address @ my parent's Renewal of Vows)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">G</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ood evening beloved guests and relatives. Our family is very much grateful and ecstatic in seeing you all so lovely and elegantly dressed in this occasion. Our celebration today means so much to us, to our parents most especially, and we are happy to share with you this moment of joy hoping to make this a part of your memory too as it is already a part of our family’s history, ready to be told to the coming generations as a brilliant example of love. Love beating distance and loneliness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> lot of people may have asked why celebrate at their 40<sup>th</sup> anniversary. Why not wait for a golden wedding? The answer is simple. We would like to enjoy rehearsing our groovy dance moves with our parents while they can still kick and sway. It is heartening to see them walk through the isle with an upright spine, smiling, while they still can remember the first time they tread the isle together 40 years ago, young, active, beautiful, happy but anxious and uncertain. Our parents never had this grand wedding celebration before, for they are not born with a silver spoon. But through it all, after all the trials God has given them, it is worthy to say that they have survived and succeeded 40 long years conquering time and distance, penniless or not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">M</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">y dad is the foundation of our family, though he used to say he’s an absentee father, my mom took his role while he is away sailing ships. She keeps us strong; she’s the one who holds our family together like the fist of an iron hand. While my mom exhibits an aura of a commander-in-chief that comes soaring high wanting to reach her dreams for the family, my dad is the calm wind beneath her wings that made it all possible. He always loves my mom so much that whenever adversities came along, he chooses to take mom’s side, never neutral. Everything he does was for her, even to this wedding day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ndeed, our parents may have opposite characters but they complement each other, like sun and moon, day and night, coffee and cream, ebony and ivory. They are both best friends and lovers; they cannot stand without the other. They are the perfect example of being in love and happily married. And we, their children, are all aware that this great love they have for each other has always been a 40 years of God-centered marriage. They keep the faith and stand still. That’s why we celebrate today to thank the Almighty for giving them good health and a strong marriage, that no matter how much people would like to tempt and ruin this family, we knew that their marriage is made in heaven...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">llow me to end with this inspiring poem about love:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Treasure what you have...</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Time is too slow for those who wait;</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too swift for those who fear;</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too long for those who grief;</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too short for those who rejoice;</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But for those who love...</span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Time is Eternity.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">S</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">o to all of you with someone special in your heart, cherish that person, and every moment that you spend together. We don’t know what the future may bring, but if we cherish, time and distance isn’t a barrier at all</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">G</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ood evening everybody, and welcome to this show of love. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(The story behind the making of this welcome speech is in this link: <a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2013/05/post-pregnancy-panic-attacks.html">http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2013/05/post-pregnancy-panic-attacks.html</a>) ciao!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-24381796017993297672013-03-25T23:00:00.000-07:002013-05-13T14:10:31.868-07:00My Self-confessed Level of Difficulty/Maturity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">F</span>ew years ago, my life hits the rock-hard bottom. An avalanche of problems came snowballing one after the other, and I could not even talked about it, more so blogged it. I am perhaps too proud of success that made my pride got stuck up there refusing to bow down accepting defeat. My marriage, my kids, our finances, my parents and our properties, everything was a mess. Worst, I mess around too. The little rebel in me arises once again to wreck until I get what I want. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span> </span>don’t want to brag but I never had problems I can’t resolve in the past, everything had been spoon-fed. God's been good to me always. If to gauge the level of difficulty, the trials He had given me was easy, according to some. And I grumbled on the easy ones too; like not hitting the passing marks, or blocked from competing in the prestigious music festival, or heart broken by someone and thinking I’m going to die from heartache. Recalling those, I can't help laughing how shallow my tears were.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span>n this game of life, my challenges nowadays are two steps higher. But I never complained “why me?” There are more people who have greater problems than I have right now. Indeed it's strange to have lost the real laughter, or joke about the funny things in life, or call a friend anytime anywhere to just have fun with. It seems like I have no right for fun and laughter once I had decided to take responsibility. It has long deserted me and the world became stiff as mature problems came to face upfront. Problems you just can't run away from, not even running as far as Manila. We can’t remain as a child, now that we have children of my own. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">W</span>hen I dwell on these negative emotions and mortify myself inside my room, I am allowing the circumstances to pull me down. Hence, I've got to move on from this life’s harsher adversaries. No one knows I have come to this battle untrained, yet can I just retreat or quit? Nope. Quitting is a far-fetched reality. As we grow, our challenges transform to deal with far heavy situations than grades, competitions and puppy love. Life is not a computer game where we press marriage ‘undo’ or the kids ‘delete’, nor change our parents when they have failed us.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">S</span>ometimes, it takes time to understand why I was given such difficult task, or why I have to meet and deal with difficult people. But I realized in time that everything happens for a reason. I don’t usually have those “when it rains, it pours” moment, but I learned my lesson well. When God closes the door, the next one that opens is always much better and is worth the wait. It amazes me how things just fall into place right when I needed it. When I am at my wits end trying to meet all ends, an opportunity came knocking assuring me that everything will be alright. Suddenly I won’t have to play hard on myself anymore. Everything will be provided for if we believe.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-24745990285349260892013-03-22T02:27:00.000-07:002013-05-13T14:12:49.825-07:00Somewhere Way Back<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ELsAQiMT85g/UUQ5xZUgjsI/AAAAAAAAA3U/Mfk1W-_Ofbg/images%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800"><img alt="images" border="0" height="201" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-sLPXMk4imy4/UUQ57GKQYII/AAAAAAAAA3c/7jCuRMs6ff4/images_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="images" width="279" /></a> <br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I</span> met an old friend from 25 years ago. I have never heard of him since the time I left him crushed and upset. No closure. Nothing. I have chosen my academics over him without much explanation and transferred to a more prestigious catholic-run all-girls school. It was perhaps the most brutal way i have ever done to an innocent man who might believed of love. High school romance was said to be just puppy love, nothing but curiosity. I wondered how things was for him after I left.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">W</span>hen I was a teen-ager, I love being rescued from a tormented relationship, I waited for somebody to rescue me from pain deceit and jealousy, only to find out I’m on the same mess again that needs another rescuing. And it goes on and on till my knight in shining armor arrived to bring me to the altar of forevermore.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">S</span>o its all about choices. In the end, what matters are the choices we made years back, and the change that made us a better and stronger person. Somehow have I hurt someone in the process of choosing to let go, I hope I am forgiven as I have now forgiven those who have hurt me and destroyed my belief in loving..Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-59965811593524030922013-03-16T01:50:00.000-07:002013-03-24T10:58:38.044-07:00Does it Matter in the End?<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-C5A_xerxN54/UUQyHJNxP3I/AAAAAAAAA28/QUvyYlycK6Q/s1600-h/roads%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="roads" border="0" height="240" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Ojx_SJQ8xFQ/UUQyP4FbqmI/AAAAAAAAA3E/ajot4vgJGsA/roads_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border-width: 0px; display: inline; float: left; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="roads" width="320" /></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> What's important in life is that we've met people along the way, enjoyed their company, made memories, and moved on. That when we grow old, reminiscing in our rocking chair, we smile and remember that we've touched each others lives one fine day and made us a better person. And that’s you to me.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">E</span>very now and then I am torn between two options. Love versus career. Freedom versus commitment. Money versus family . Generalist versus specialist. And with this, every decision entails a sacrifice.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">W</span>hy can’t I have both?.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">S</span>ounds childish, really. And selfish too. My friends think I seem to appear overindulge in that bratty side of me, though I’m not a spoiled bitch. They knew I am lucky to have a mom&dad-to-the-rescue type of family, but they also knew that sometimes luck is not just on my side. That’s how fair God is amid all the world’s biased disposition. He does not give most all at once, at least to me. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>t only takes a matter of time to realize why things don’t turn out the way we wished for. Or why prayers have been left unanswered or delayed. And only to find out later that it is essential in sharpening our skills hence becoming a better person. We have been so hard on ourselves, trying over and over, just to be the best of the best. We have been chasing this race longer than we think, always competing for recognition and prestige, which only matters to those who control the standard. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">H</span>onestly, I might grow tired of this forward-always-onward pace. Was it really worth it working our buts off upgrading to obtain peer acceptance into a certain society? Career-wise perhaps yes, but its never an assurance. We are always slaves of time and circumstances. There’s no easy way to success, no short cut.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span>n the end, ruminating in our twilight years, as quoted by many, what matters is how well we lived our lives. It is not measured by how popular we are, how many titles we had, and how many sub-specialties we placed on our wall board. It is suffice to say that life would have better meaning if we partake in someone's struggles along the way, put a smile in their faces, and touched their lives. And lastly, to me, what matters in the end is how well my children have become, how good I am as a wife to my husband, how well my husband loved me, how I am as a sister, a daughter and a friend.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">O</span>ur short stay in this world is a reflection of ourselves, not of how far we have achieved, but of how less we have regrets in our life, in the end.</blockquote>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-2545818688787758042013-03-12T22:36:00.001-07:002013-03-15T16:09:02.101-07:00My Anxiety in Raising Boys<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-D-wDTudfml4/UUAQKmW1VNI/AAAAAAAAA2k/K3u3wIT9Mt8/New%252520folder%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img align="left" alt="New folder" border="0" height="343" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-U5RUj4J5GGc/UUAQUaLcmII/AAAAAAAAA2s/gGf55lmG-QM/New%252520folder_thumb%25255B8%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background-image: none; border: 0px; display: inline; float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="New folder" width="420" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">t’s different this time, I said to myself. I have to bear my weight upon rising from my bed, wary of that cramps that goes along with these stretching muscles, slowly walking, gasping a breath every time, blood sugar rising. What had just happened? Perhaps age has come to terms with reality, complications suddenly appear when you least expect it. And no matter how I tried to conceal, it’s already here. My standing mirror announced I'm a hippo, lazy and big. I was feeling grouchy that morning after the sonogram confirmation. I am pregnant. And yes, it’s a baby boy, still a boy, XY. No matter how much I insisted with my OB-sonologist that this might be a girl, he would always say he's 97% sure and never been wrong so far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> thought another baby will do, but seriously, three boys?? Sooner than a flash of lighting, anxiety hits me. I went from a happy pregnant into an anxious preggy. A sudden shift of hormones momentarily after gender identification. My two handsome sons are uniquely mischievous that I’ve tried many ways to neutralize their playful naughtiness.Why wouldn't I be anxious? Boxing and wrestling are their favorite game, bruises and head bumps as the usual endpoint for crying, ice packs as our main first-aid rescue, and the most overused cry for help is "Mamaaaaaaa!". With my little boys, they stormed our house from their rough play, toys destroyed soon after playthings landed into their hands, furniture acquiring multiple stab wounds, TV screens with lacerations and walls doodled with crayons guiltless and proud of their undefined graffiti. Our home decors and interior designs became fully revised and redecorated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nd yet, our house will never be a home without my sons. I will not exchange the glory of their laughter, nor the awesomeness of their unique talents, over classy unscathed furniture. Material things can never replace the happiness I see over their twinkling eyes as they grow and venture in their own way. It’s a place of bliss at the epicenter of a cluttered messy home. It’s a heavenly feeling that belonged to me in a paradise that I can never explain to those who cannot bear a child.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> know I’m just creating my own dilemma by worrying how to raise boys. But who wouldn't be? Drugs, guns and sex looms from highly acceptable immorality in this changing norms of the present society . So I told myself quite positively, to stop worrying and whining, self-convincing that I'll be fine raising these three boys into responsible adults. The strength of prayers combined with a mother’s will drives a power to guide kids into the proper direction. Patting my back, I repeatedly muttered, "I can do this".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">O</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">f course, this wouldn't be possible without my husband's encouraging and optimistic aura, the one responsible for these boys to appear in our lives. He bragged that moms who raised boys looked younger than their spouse, because sons tend to love their mom so much. And so whenever I get cranky looking over my inflated body after months of sticking it out literally, I asked him "Nakakita ka na ba ng seksing buntis?" (Had you ever seen a sexy pregnant lady?), he simply replied "I see her everyday".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">S</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">miling to myself, I know some women are envious out there. Wouldn't it be nice to be surrounded and loved by boys?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">H</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ence, starting at that moment, I prefer to be grateful. If this is 97% boy, I’ll let go of that 3% chance. Our contentment and happiness depends on how we see and bear the challenges that God gave us. That's how I should be living my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'m keeping my fingers crossed.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-4273302025795866452012-05-28T15:49:00.006-07:002012-06-13T19:57:48.967-07:00My Funny Runny Nose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4MhkMnaRWu2b4JNEVI7afKd4IBz1dK8LT3IDQ6iiblRYUSWFWsCCR5WAa7Q1igZmUGCEgardSzdtSDrd_ryVhO7UFoPF1PuvfosRsT0kUx_MlQ3VAbls-KDfz5wSQ_8kJIYef_OuBEUh/s1600/nose2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4MhkMnaRWu2b4JNEVI7afKd4IBz1dK8LT3IDQ6iiblRYUSWFWsCCR5WAa7Q1igZmUGCEgardSzdtSDrd_ryVhO7UFoPF1PuvfosRsT0kUx_MlQ3VAbls-KDfz5wSQ_8kJIYef_OuBEUh/s320/nose2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">N</span>ormally, a runny nose describes this ailment I genetically carried since I was young and single. So what's funny having a hereditary runny nose? Well, I have lived with Allergic Rhinitis sporadically my entire half life that I decided to describe it as funny when triggers attempted to assault my overly sensitive nose. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">T</span>oday it reminded me how exasperating this nose could get. I woke up at 2 am, and it was running. No, not that I'd lost my nose in the process after it had gone running somewhere; But it seemed to be firing an Itchy discomfort deployed like nasal crawlers poking my nose and lurking around my eyes, giving me free watery tears of scratchy feeling, plus an eye shadow for a fine raccoon's-eye-look. It made me awfully sleep-deprived throughout the day. It was funny that I had to dream about an incoming allergic strike and stirred me from my slumber only to rub my nose madly like it was the one thing I must do as I did back when I was younger, the nasal salute ! In my knowledge, as we age, these features gradually fade. But I'm already 38 and still, it stays.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">M</span>y two years of training in Manila did not give me much of that visitor's attack. I lived in a small condominium, mostly by myself, in a concrete pavement, and a daily commute in the air conditioned trains. Even the house dust mites, my long time enemy, failed to weaken my immune system in that metropolis. The attacks rarely visited me until now that I am back in my hometown. Didn't I tell you I'm back with my family now? And along with it is the return of unsolicited showers from sneezes. I almost forgot it was funny, not that I couldn’t stop laughing, but because I couldn’t stop sneezing. Yes, sneezing violently 5-10 times in succession, or should we say per episode, plus a gasp of air here and there, and a couple of sniffs, feeling comfortably good when it finally stops.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">S</span>o off I rouse to borrow my son’s nasal spray, and vowed to prescribe myself my own (how could I forget?), while sneaking outside our bedroom for fear that my sleeping kids will get distracted by my irresistible sneezes. I plunged into my medicine kits, rummaged the drug samples given by medical representatives in pursuit for the right anti-allergy drug at dawn.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">A</span>nd I promise not to whine in reverie to this familiar world I've once again allowed myself to live. Yes, I am happy to be home at last, back to those usual encounters and the daily struggles, beaming a sunny disposition no matter how inconvenient and uneven life has offered me. Our attitude determines how well we will be treated by life. Every nanosecond, we are all fighting to survive, even doctors with outstanding medical degree. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Aaaaachoooo! (*sniff*)..</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><br />
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<a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/02/surpassing-life-in-residency-training.html">Surpassing Life in Residency Training</a><br />
<a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2010/08/trip-down-memory-lane.html">A Trip Down Memory Lane</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com1Davao City, Philippines7.190708 125.4553416.938649 125.13948400000001 7.442767 125.771198tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-49671344580765676132011-06-12T01:39:00.001-07:002012-01-31T00:09:47.255-08:00Unprecedented Sequestration <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQ2Pc85mcespKQV8Z5wLE0OADDj0K2gcy49_EoR-3h-HENbM-ADJuz9PwN3dsX3CwUDlKEaN6EyNDOWIaJPGpzzXjp6CflplsH6OSIR3H1qc1ZZcJRcur_gJcpXeVPeOh9OimyCrr91qy/s1600/windsofchange_thumb%5B5%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQ2Pc85mcespKQV8Z5wLE0OADDj0K2gcy49_EoR-3h-HENbM-ADJuz9PwN3dsX3CwUDlKEaN6EyNDOWIaJPGpzzXjp6CflplsH6OSIR3H1qc1ZZcJRcur_gJcpXeVPeOh9OimyCrr91qy/s200/windsofchange_thumb%5B5%5D.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div align="center"><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
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</div><div align="center">There she goes again,</div><div align="center">chasing after her dreams.</div><div align="center">As wild as the gust of a roaring wind</div><div align="center">as free as a bird in the sky, she sings</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">There she goes again</div><div align="center">raising currents in a Peregrine lift </div><div align="center">Falter not but change is sore</div><div align="center">in a windswept ocean with an air that’s swift.</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center">Please do not suffer in this quest,</div><div align="center">refuse to cry in the nightly rest</div><div align="center">Bring on the thunder, deliver the storms,</div><div align="center">nothing can hurt her anymore.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-12438046203227262152011-03-19T04:32:00.000-07:002012-02-01T09:30:17.450-08:00Mom Alone, Home Away<blogger><blogitembacklinksenabled><br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3ds3e5KI/AAAAAAAAAjc/U0q9GRjMWGc/s1600-h/SDC1189417.jpg"><img align="left" alt="SDC11894" border="0" height="219" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3eqM-weI/AAAAAAAAAjg/REYcXMIR76U/SDC11894_thumb15.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px;" title="SDC11894" width="259" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">here are times in my life when the whole world just stops and everything else melts away, unleashing my dreadful solitude, undisturbed with an empty feeling of being left alone, away from home. I have been yanked, stitched and pulled by things of my inner cravings, guilty of not really being satisfied with what we already have, and for being so concerned on what makes us live rather than what makes our lives worth living.</span><br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3gGuhkMI/AAAAAAAAAjk/caoxrtkKJ7M/s1600-h/neck20.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img align="right" alt="neck" border="0" height="139" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3g-VivQI/AAAAAAAAAjo/Vgl_2uupXdI/neck_thumb18.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px;" title="neck" width="200" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> T</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">his “career upgrade” had made me separated from my loved ones. Every hypoglycemic drug dose I’ve calculated for a patient, every prick of a finger in every blood sugars I’ve taken, I have lost that priceless moment to care for my kids. Every fleeting moment of their growth, my family had felt my absence undeniably. I still don’t know how to explain this to them, that I am far away in training so that I may go back as a subspecialist, a better physician perhaps, to our diabetic patients.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">n my conscience-stricken mind, I know I have not yet exerted my super-“bestest” effort as a better parent. And here I am having all the time of the world to be with..well…myself.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">M</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">y kids may not grasp my intermittent absence, as I would suddenly appear in our home in a flash, just before vanishing again for a long time. It squeezed my heart knowing that they have cried looking for me all over the house realizing in the morning that mom was not in bed with them again. Now it crushed me to know that my kids learned to sleep on their own, without mama’s hugs and lullaby to put them to sleep. And this will go on and on, my appearing and disappearing, till my training ends. In their raw minds, my non-appearance proliferates their lives, seemingly snatching their mom away from them; A huge heartbreaking sacrifice me and my family have to endure.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">magine your life going to mass alone for over a year now. That’s me, eye-gazing in the crowd of church-goers having acquired the hobby of watching over families with kids the age as my kids. I’ve changed, even my favorite part of the mass has switched, from homily, to that sign of “peace” time, where kids squeeze in to grab a kiss. It is heart warming and comforting indeed as I bow my head and pray to our Almighty to please please bring my loved ones to safety while I am away.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> I </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">know I am guilty of craving for more recognition in life, but what is there to applaud? The Lord’s answer came from a reflection in a misalette inside a church, <a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2011/03/life-is-like-cup-of-coffee.html">“Life is Like a Cup of Coffee”</a>. And that is, to just make the best of everything for we only have a moment out of every time. Live simply, love generously, speak kindly, care deeply, live uprightly.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> M</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">y family is now facing a hard battle, of trying to withstand the test of time and distance, and sustain to be together though we are apart. They have let go so I could explore and to leave no rock nor pebble unstirred in hopes that our coming years will have more satisfaction true to my heart’s desires.</span><br />
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</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> A</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">nd so I pray to bring me safely to the place where I belong, called home, after I am done with this training. I can’t wait to hear my children’s stories once more, no matter how incomprehensible it will be. And watch DVDs while sipping coffee with my loving husband, and listen blankly to my mother’s sermon. Those where our usual simple stuffs I miss. Life will not pass me by just that. When that time comes, nothing will ever be wasted. .</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3m43_YSI/AAAAAAAAAj8/BTz9qP2pVqk/s1600-h/myroad17.jpg"><img alt="my road" border="0" height="220" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3n4YS3MI/AAAAAAAAAkA/h9qmHQfBmQI/myroad_thumb17.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="my road" width="350" /></a></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">You may also like reading:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2010/10/disconnection-notice.html">Disconnection Notice</a></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/12/love-and-perplexities-of-life.html">Love and the Perplexities of Life</a></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-40203161435783672902011-03-19T04:00:00.000-07:002011-03-19T09:39:56.529-07:00Life is Like a Cup of Coffee<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS2_SXMNiI/AAAAAAAAAjU/mcIdBB55wlk/s1600-h/Picture00213.jpg"><img align="right" alt="Picture 002" border="0" height="357" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TYS3AMMzT8I/AAAAAAAAAjY/S17MandlXyk/Picture002_thumb12.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px;" title="Picture 002" width="308" /></a> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Today (as of this writing), is the first Sunday of Lent. And as I sit waiting for the mass, a child handed me a misalette, with a reflection on it that life is like a cup of coffee. Reading thru, it didn’t took me a moment to realize that the happiest people don’t have the best expensive cups, but made the best coffee and savored it while its hot. Life is what we make it, as the saying goes. </span></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Read on..</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Life is Like A Cup of Coffee</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">by: Fr. Ogie Magbanua, SSP</span></div><blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life.</span></blockquote><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups – porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive – telling them to help themselves to the coffee.</span></blockquote><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When all had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said : “If you noticed, all the nice-looking expensive cups have been taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases, it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What was all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups… And then you began eyeing each others cups.</span></blockquote><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now consider this: life is the coffee; the jobs, money, and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of life we live.</span></blockquote><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Life is like a cup of coffee. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee. Savor the coffee, not the cups! The happiest people don’t have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything.</span></blockquote><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><blockquote style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Live simply. Love generously. Forgive until it hurts. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Live uprightly.</span></blockquote><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">This made me reflect a bit on myself and my life hence my post :<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2011/03/mom-alone-home-away.html"> Mom Alone, Home Away</a>.</span></span></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Might wanna like reading:</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/12/when-timing-is-everything.html">When Timing is Everything</a></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-would-rather-live-without-man.html">I would rather Live Without a Man</a></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-37625291086701354982011-03-09T04:00:00.001-08:002011-03-09T11:18:52.306-08:00Stress: My Most Loyal Companion<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TXd0Fqmgi7I/AAAAAAAAAhM/hV9-B61FwBw/s1600-h/stress3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="stress" border="0" height="165" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/TXd0GZPfFMI/AAAAAAAAAhQ/hhl4nk6NaY0/stress_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: inline; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px;" title="stress" width="244" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I</span></span>n this training, it seems like no matter what I have accomplished or how few the commitments I made, there will always be something to stress about. Whether it’s exams, papers, diab clinics, conferences, reports, relationships and bills (light and water, phone line, DSL, TV cable or condominium association fees), something will always be looming around my head. And as these things continue to hover, stress arises to meet them, there to meet the challenge, but often putting myself in overdrive and pushing my body into a state of anxiety.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just like today. I started my Ash Wednesday going to mass and became overwhelmed by the priest’s sermon of the Holy Gospel. When I am about to get to practice being a good Christian, by encouraging people to go to mass, it turns out to be a bad idea. Sometimes it'll be better to just be still so you will not be thought of wrongly. Or else, I worry. Just like I worry on my patient who just had a re-stroke while waiting for her clearance to discharge. And as I sit on this nurse station, unable to go home to even take a quick bath (and surely the ride home is more stressful), with an insulin drip and the hourly CBG monitoring at hand, in a semi-comatose patient, I’ll always be at my toes or I might push my patient towards her mortality.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">See, if you’re under stress, not only does your mind worry constantly, but your body reacts as well. I battle over headaches, muscle tension, insomnia and occasional acne, which make myself pretty stressed out most highly. Spa salons will make lots of money over girls like me. I admit, these days, its a bit expensive to have a sound mind and a sound body.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have wanted to seize the day over wanting to accomplish all things at the same time in a short while before the world would come crashing down. The magnitude made me stop and think, will these things that occupy my worried mind matter a year from now? No, it’s actually not even important. I guess, I just have to figure out what’s worth my mental energy and focus on that.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So I always tell myself to keep my cool, and take one step at a time. What I found to be huge unmanageable problems are really just a series of smaller, manageable task. But this I learned anyway, certain things are out of my reach, I can’t control it, and some things can’t change. There’s no point in worrying or stressing about it. It might not be worth stressing over.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-17480618388429158772010-10-30T05:11:00.001-07:002011-06-12T10:26:08.700-07:00Disconnection Notice<div style="font-family: georgia,"Times New Roman",serif"><span style="font-size: small"><span style="font-size: x-small"><i><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/02/doctors-are-persons-too.html" linkindex="28"></a></i></span> <br /></span></div> <div style="font-family: georgia,"Times New Roman",serif"><span style="font-size: small">    </span></div> <div style="font-family: georgia,"Times New Roman",serif"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Gwp7H2PP7Q4/TfT0bId8HII/AAAAAAAAAk8/CU5yU_3dcq0/s1600-h/1study%25255B33%25255D.jpg"><img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; border-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; border-right: 0px" title="1study" border="0" alt="1study" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6mWwS_sg4qY/TfT0b2grqbI/AAAAAAAAAlA/tDjG3K-cYKA/1study_thumb%25255B31%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="341" height="252" /></a> </div> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <blockquote> <p><span style="font-size: small">Ever since I left home and be trained in the metropolis, the net has been my comfort zone. Why wouldn’t it be? </span></p> </blockquote> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small">Life here is in a fast paced desolate living. </span><span style="font-size: small">As I rushed at the train station in anticipation for my ride or wait along the busy street for a cab, I ruminate about how strange being alone in a new place. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small">M</span><span style="font-size: small">y social life is in rigor mortis and I still had not figured out how to call the CSI for final analysis. No friends, no family to talk to. Not even drinking buddies to relax with after a harsh day. Nearly atypical. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small">It makes me wonder if my life has been infiltrated by aliens or is this just a case of arrested development. My vital signs show I’m still stable and as I take my emotional pulse I realized I am not here for the social life, I am here to learn and to become what I want to be someday. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small"></span><span style="font-size: small">But I just need a life. Would it be a crime to want to get that verve up and coming, knowing I am a social being that needs friends around so I can move and lift my spirit? Sure, the internet held me hostage from decrepitude by accessing friends in my Facebook where it seems like every day is a party day. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small">But wait, the verdict says that’s not reality. Whenever I’m stuck in my laptop getting too unconscious of my time and space, I’m hearing someone saying “Yeah, right. Get a life!” I looked around and it was just me in this empty house. It would have been an amusing sight if my cups and dishes and teapots would speak the “Beauty and the Beast’-fairytale way. But then you have to hit me in the head real hard by now.</span></p> <span style="font-size: small"></span> <p><span style="font-size: small">Obviously, I’m a bit of a social rut at the moment and surfing doesn’t fix the problem. And well, blogging doesn’t fix it too. It’s relatively easy to throw my spare hours away in front of my computer wasting time surfing the web for useless facts, mumbling about researches getting nowhere and then realizing later how vicious  my time zone has changed. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small">I dread getting comfortable filling my time with half-decent substitute for making new friends. I’d rather shut my internet out and hit the books. Who says I couldn’t live without the internet? I can do more useful stuff by total online disconnection, I am just not into total isolation. </span></p> <span style="font-size: small"></span> <p><span style="font-size: small">Once, my mom said Facebook is evil. And I just laugh.  I don’t believe facebook lovers are self-absorbed and narcissistic. Those are ways to seek comfort and ego-boost, making it rather therapeutic and cathartic. Letting your life engulfed by it is what makes it counter-productive. </span></p> <p><span style="font-size: small">And being online is not a reality life line. Real life is when you begin putting yourself out there in the real world in the circle of some groups’ radar, ready to be invited or make plans to hang out with. </span></p> <span style="font-size: small"></span> <p><span style="font-size: small">And so here I am, while I’m having my fellowship training in this new place, I’m crossing my fingers (*wink*). Consequently, first thing’s first. We have to know our priorities so we’ll know when to connect and disconnect.</span></p> <div style="font-family: georgia,"Times New Roman",serif"><span style="font-size: small"><span style="font-size: x-small"><i>Related post : <a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/02/doctors-are-persons-too.html" linkindex="30">http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/02/doctors-are-persons-too.html</a></i></span></span><span style="font-size: small"> </span></div> <div style="font-family: georgia,"Times New Roman",serif"><span style="font-size: small"> <br /></span></div> <div style="font-family: georgia,"Times New Roman",serif"><span style="font-size: small">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/disconnection" rel="tag" linkindex="31">disconnection</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/facebook" rel="tag" linkindex="32">facebook</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/online" rel="tag" linkindex="33">online</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/unsociable" rel="tag" linkindex="34">unsociable</a></span></div> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-90236417276859186352010-08-08T06:41:00.000-07:002010-08-08T09:17:07.771-07:00Trip Down Memory Lane<div style="text-align: justify;"> This is a story of physician's luck being put to a test, not by sheer intellect but by bravery and honesty, and of defiance and acceptance. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Maybe people thought doctors are second to God. They save lives and heal people. They thought our feelings are set aside for a far better priorities. Sometimes they thought we are capable of becoming numb in facing deaths and critical illness. Sure we could. Doctors are humans too. We know how to laugh and have fun, we also know how to cry. We got sick most of the time too, there's no exemption to that. More so, we are most afraid of illness and deaths more than you do when it comes to our own loved ones.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> More than a year ago, God had put me in a situation where my ability to focus was hindered by my emotions as my sister was put into the brink of death. I thought my 2 years of being a junior consultant in the ICU of a tertiary hospital would make me well equipped on these areas. But no. Nobody will be ever be prepared of death when this comes to your own kind, even if you are a doctor specializing on that field.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Somehow, my clinical perspective in life had changed thereafter, becoming more sensitive and people oriented than focusing on practice guidelines. For in reality, you have to stand up, and sometimes give up, to deliver what matters to your loved ones than to you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Being a doctor doesn't give you much money, it even cost you more on liabilities. I somehow regretted having chosen this profession. However, I have now fully understood why the Lord dragged me to the test... to appreciate that I have made a splendid choice in helping people without asking too much, and to never worry for God will provide doctors for you in times of need without a cost too. Hippocrates must have seen that even centuries back, his oath has been proudly recited in every newly licensed doctors in the country.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> So read on, its a true story cut in two parts... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/08/when-life-is-relative-part-i.html">When Life is a Relative: part I</a> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/08/when-life-is-relative-part-ii-continued.html">When Life is a Relative: part II</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-46666299727873999952010-04-01T09:04:00.000-07:002010-04-22T07:40:57.776-07:00It’s Not About How I Feel, But What She Feels…<div align="justify"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div align="justify"><br />
</div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/S2W4FkBmzHI/AAAAAAAAAT4/DsOXXJz_3A8/s1600-h/PC170555%5B20%5D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="PC170555" border="0" height="245" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/S2W4GdPnCoI/AAAAAAAAAT8/DpaKMLZZSiY/PC170555_thumb%5B16%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin: 0px;" title="PC170555" width="294" /></a></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size: small;">A Husband’s Reflection</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size: small;">By: Shaun </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div align="justify"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">once prayed for the person that I longed for. I implore to God to make me win her love, win her trust, and to make her believe that what her heart truly desires may have the chance of becoming real, if she would let me try to be there for her. For a long time I linger on the impossibility, yet even under despair I struggled to stay. She had rejected me once but I plead. I pleaded to her difficult past that’s unwilling to let go. I childishly prayed that she should love me instead of him.</span> </span></span></div><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My fervent prayers were answered and by spontaneous providence there was not a doubt that she is God-given. She finally came into my life so beautiful, sincere, and full of idealism and passion about love and the perplexities of life. I must admit I got timid the first time, not because she was difficult to love but a difficult person to discern. Half her heart was concealed by pain, suppressed to give the same love as she had once fulfilled. Even so, as with all gifts of life, we are filled with enthusiasm to unravel what is inside. If it was broken, we tend to look for the missing pieces to put it all together again. We may even discover how it is made and by then we learn and appreciate its history. And all you ever want to do was to protect her next time. </span></div><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I won the love of my life not by chance but by perseverance. If it means having to confront her parents dismay in the past which is present in every aspect of what we are trying to begin, I'll continue to persist, even if my persistence have brought me too many afflictions. I knew already then that I’ll be inadequate. Not even she could describe who I am to her because she really doesn’t know how or where to begin in the first place. I came to her when I was not needed, yet I insist, and then impair her thoughts… she could have gone into a better life… I should have listened to her silent cry for someone else. </span></div><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">But I did not. I insisted on being the right person for her. I thought that it would not be in vain to try to make everything worked for her. Or was I just too damned to accept rejection? I dwell on the pain and was looking for her empathy. But she came back and that is what matters most to me, and I don’t need to feel anguish that time. Truth of the matter was, I refused to yield about letting her go, about leaving my comfort zones and this made her life tangled in a constant state misery. </span></div><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The day we got married I developed expectations prematurely. Because I feel like I was now being accepted, I defined myself above all as someone who deserved to be loved and cared, and then my happiness was in her control and I was engulfed with insecurities and anxiety to that assumption. I became overly sensitive if she can’t reciprocate. The more I became emotionally attached to her, the more important I believe she is to me, and it creates more anxiety and panic to me in any event that would make it seem unlikely for her to do so. I feel elated at times when I see the effort but unhappy when she is sometimes inconsistent to meet me halfway. I stoop to low things like accusing; always looking for her faults, keeps reminding her everyday about her failures/imperfections, and jealous of her time outside home. How stupid of me, really! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid… I snapped and it meant everything to her. I became dependent upon these little signs of success or failure in a relationship. I took her to one of those emotional roller-coaster ride. I drove her away by being too emotional or too needy.I should have learned to love her unconditionally. I should have thanked her for just marrying me and not forgetting that she was God’s gift, and that she was special whom I should serve to protect, cherish, and nurture. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
My wife has retreated into her deep emotional shell. She will decide if I was too late or too early to ask for her to come out again, and allow me to take her hand once more. Although it squeezes my heart in pain for us not to be together, I need to see the extent that it is necessary to let go of her so she can fulfill her life path. And as I discover mine, I must also learn to let go of my old self and remove the roadblocks to love and forgiveness so she can come home in time. And I pray that she will one day. </span></div><div align="justify" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
I know my children will have to live with all the stress that I’ve caused them because papa was selfish. Without their mama, papa can barely compensate the love she has given them. Nevertheless, I am taking a leap of faith into the unknown, my boys and me having to live as family without the only woman of our lives.</span></div><div align="justify"><br />
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<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:7c9122a5-bfb7-49eb-a335-982360c787ea" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/husband+and+wife" rel="tag">husband and wife</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/hubby+loving+wife" rel="tag">hubby loving wife</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/marriage+on+repair" rel="tag">marriage on repair</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/love+in+marriage" rel="tag">love in marriage</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/saving+whats+left" rel="tag">saving whats left</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-15957094440898575052010-03-01T23:53:00.000-08:002010-04-22T10:13:56.422-07:00Love and The Perplexities of Life<big><big><big></big></big></big><br />
<big><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tabar_md_photography"><big><big><img align="left" alt="windmils" border="0" height="265" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/Sys0_z-WUCI/AAAAAAAAAS8/uU8SsvCOMUE/windmils7_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border: 0px none; display: inline; margin: 0px 0px 10px;" title="windmils" width="221" /></big></big></a><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span></big><br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;">I<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">have always been a hopeless romantic.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">For a long time, I have tried to discover just what it was that I wanted out of love. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">It seems for most people, they just want to find someone with a good sense of humor, someone they can relate to and have fun with. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">But that's not me. I want something more. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I want someone who admires me deeply, so deep enough he is able to set me free, and allowing me to grow and gleam for my own. Someone who could understand my self-gratifying wishes, knowing this will pass, believing i could surpass this and hoping I'll outgrow this into maturity.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps I longed for someone whom i can talk to, about anything in the world in general. A person who could listen to all of my stupidity and just laugh about it. Loving every detail of my imperfections , tolerating, patiently considerate, knowing i am one delicate being…. that I must not be manhandled but be loved and cared instead.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am tired pretending to be strong for all the make believe the world has to offer; of holding back tears when my eyes can no longer bear ; of not letting go of fantasy when reality is too much. Sometimes life gets so difficult to endure that all you can easily think is to give up. And yet, here we are. Looking for love, for approval, for companionship.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">But what does that mean exactly? Let me alone be bothered. My mind is confounded with the perplexity of my heart, you might as well get confused with what i am trying to say. But should you try to decipher, then please hear what i am not saying. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps I am never satisfied of everything when everything is already given. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">When would this end? ahh….the longing….and everything…</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">How stupid of me...really.</span></div><big><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:e5a6e4d3-2677-483d-b7f6-4aa7c0a7246e" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/life" rel="tag">life</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/love" rel="tag">love</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/confusion" rel="tag">confusion</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/longing" rel="tag">longing</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/acceptance" rel="tag">acceptance</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/companionship" rel="tag">companionship</a></div><br />
<small>Photo credits: doc Peter Tabar</small>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-54412746599419772392010-02-14T19:00:00.000-08:002010-04-22T07:40:19.111-07:00I Would Rather Live Without A ManHow do you gauge masculinity? Is it on solid biceps muscles or the sexy grooved trunk?<br />
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Others do not have those, but yet still feel masculine, macho or chauvinist. Whatever you call it. Some are with thin jaw lines and front teeth more defined than a horse's facial plane, and yet still feel that every hot chick that walked pass him desires him deeply to their bedroom. Eeww... I wanted to vomit.<br />
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How do you define this manhood? Is it conceit? Or self denial? Or insecurity hiding under the façade of overconfidence?<br />
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There are those, for some reason, fascinates himself by telling his girlfriend how he was glanced at and greeted by another sexy lass, or how he thought his ex was still in-love with him, or how unforgettably titillating he was in bed in each of his physical sensual encounters, and continued to narrate how he was torn by women fighting over him.<br />
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Alas! He emerged victorious from the luxury of seeing a freaking jealous girl parading to make a scene, searching for her greatest adversary, in a fighting stance. I see these men got nerves too tight! That even a prescription of Pregabalin or Gabapentin for repair of nerve damage won't penetrate his senseless neurons.<br />
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I have known this type of male specie, these genre of sexist men, but not necessarily sexy. Their "penile-centric" sentiment is their flawed nature, a genial chaos. I have tried to be cautious ever since, avoiding being the victim of their predatory attitude.<br />
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But these sexist men should beware. Somebody might love to freak their already freaking jealous girlfriend by taking advantage of his male's weakness, by feeding something he loved to hear into his ballooning ego in a dwindling physical manner. He might not know his flawed nature was just being played on, used against his girl….<br />
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But then again, does it concern him at all?<br />
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Well, my advice is not to the sexist men, for they know not what to do without their "pogi" points. I just felt sorry for the girls who lived with these types of men. Their life would be constantly on guard, forever on a fighting stance; a bit jittery and jumpy, and threatened on the edge. If all men are like this, making their women lose confidence on themselves, well, I'd rather live without a man at all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-17718422119915895092010-01-01T18:16:00.000-08:002010-04-22T10:15:04.268-07:00When Timing Is Everything<big></big><br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/Sz1bBbQQy3I/AAAAAAAAATI/_P359fvBmEU/s1600-h/AX05183717.jpg"><img align="right" alt="AX051837" border="0" height="357" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/Sz1bCRGAweI/AAAAAAAAATM/apzo2lYn0MI/AX051837_thumb15.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px;" title="AX051837" width="308" /></a> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;">S</span><span style="font-size: small;">ometimes in your journey through life, there's a person you find interesting and you wished you could have been friends and shared secret ambitions together. Either because you think you're both stuck in the same situation and you want to hear his side of the coin, or because he's responsible, smart and witty, and you knew he wouldn't take advantage. So you felt like you wanted to look inside his thoughts because you think this person may help you improve your physical well-being. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">But how do you move passed awkwardness to be just who you are in front of this person? How do you maintain your grace, especially when both of you had been burdened by responsibilities and time wasn't generous enough for a getting-to-know-you head start? Is talking about what happened to your patients a good defense, before you explore one another's dreams and aspirations? Or does a referral system in the workplace work on this matter?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Good conversation naturally comes when you consider simple stuffs that happen to one another, medical books you read, songs they love, or foods they like to cook as a simple step towards talking about much important things. It is not just a simple hi and hello along the hospital's catwalk nor clinic hallways as we dashed for stats and ASAP's. Plus it would be very inappropriate to talk about music and books and foods in the midst of an ailing patient, is it not?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you really desire this person, taking the first move may be awkwardly difficult, not to mention an embarrassing tongue-mumbling event. It’s like going to the gym for a body-building exercise, you need a 30-minute warming up before you proceed to the main activity or you’ll ache much afterwards. For sure, anybody would think you’re acting a little bit weird hitting on with them just like that, as you blabber around and do the talking.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">My advice: wait for the timing. Well, may it be weeks or months, who knows? Getting to know a person is a lifetime process, to start it right and make it right is what matters most. Just like what others say, “It’s all in the timing”.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:f02c2c48-0cdc-4221-9eec-38383f45379f" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/getting+to+know" rel="tag">getting to know</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/attraction" rel="tag">attraction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/starting+a+friendship" rel="tag">starting a friendship</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/making+friends" rel="tag">making friends</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/timing" rel="tag">timing</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-2780925292295477162009-11-01T16:41:00.000-08:002011-08-24T09:47:43.379-07:00The Diver Who Couldn't Swim<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/SnqDKU-WnVI/AAAAAAAAAJo/PmhB61hO0kQ/s1600-h/SDC10683%5B1%5D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="SDC10683" border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/SnqDLk4SSbI/AAAAAAAAAJs/P-_19bxWfYc/SDC10683_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border: 0px none; display: inline; height: 189px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; width: 152px;" title="SDC10683" /></a></span> </span><br />
<div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></blockquote><blockquote><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">It's been a year since my first dive into the Davao's Deep. My first ocean plunge, I did out of curiosity, but my second leap, I did out of bravery.</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Honestly, I don’t know how to swim. So I am not supposed to be called a diver, right? But yet, scuba diving has become one of my greatest challenges wrapped up in my own adventures. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
</span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 100%;">My dad has loads of stories of my misfortunes since the time I learned to walk. My mini adventures and the peculiarity attached to each mess, like falling from a tree, tripping over to a filthy canal, crashing my bicycle, and even my hairpin electrocution continued to amuse me as my dad used to jokingly unearth the memories. </span></span><br />
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</span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">I love the beach when I was a kid, and I couldn’t count the times I almost drowned, turtle-turned by the waves as it brushed the shoreline. And my dad, who spent half his lifetime traveling the sea, was my first knight in shining swimsuit that saved me off my first taste of E.coli-infested, unsterilized, undrinkable salt water. Yet I never dared to learn swimming beyond the capacity and the height of my undersize legs. I hated the tan acquired from swimming as I was already dark in the first place. Hence not even a formal swimming class could convince me from learning. </span><br />
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</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Except for the backstroke I discovered I am capable of, I grew up swimming only till up to my neck and never over my head. I only have guts. Yes, guts! So as daring as the daring duck, I dive through my first journey underneath the earth’s ocean. After all, if you have the scuba gear (<u>S</u>elf-<u>C</u>ontained <u>U</u>nderwater <u>B</u>reathing <u>A</u>pparatus), who needs swimming huh? I can breathe. I thought smugly. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/SnqDMydfhNI/AAAAAAAAAJw/L8th5iyEQm4/s1600-h/SDC106894.jpg"><img align="left" alt="SDC10689" border="0" height="262" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/SnqDN3SOf8I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/vErNdKvm2G0/SDC10689_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-width: 0px; display: inline; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px;" title="SDC10689" width="207" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Unluckily, I learned my first underwater lesson the hard way. I let my mouthpiece fall off after a big wave hit on us! I was in the state of shock and drowning myself with questions. How am I going to breathe?! That’s my life line, right? How am I going to put that mouthpiece back in my mouth without the water? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">I was already at 20 feet below sea level. I don’t know how to swim back to the top without breathing. In that very brief seconds of holding my breath, questions came as fast as the strokes of waves. My oxygen-deprived brain couldn’t even help me figure out the hand signal for “problem”. So I struggled like I’d die for my life. My expert diving partner, sensing the urgency, hurriedly ascended me to the top just one push-button from my gear. Rescued from my misery, I gasped for air and breathe the ocean breeze. I was so embarrassed and panicked stricken that I noticed my diver looked like my ex who was a swimmer; or was it because I still do not have enough oxygen to feed my brain. I must have drunk seawater that pollutes the mind and got intoxicated. I blushed and whisked it off! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">I almost got drowned but I didn’t give up that easily. After a short chat and a quick reminder from my diver, I repeated the whole diving process again like recovering from a fall. This time I had done it successfully, graced the underwater beautifully, until 35 feet. Awkward as it may sound though; I had to hold my diving partner’s hand, as I'd bit my mouthpiece like a line between life and death. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">When I did my second dive this year, I’d like to say that good things come out from bad experiences. This time, no more falling mouthpiece, and no more holding hands. I still don’t know how to swim though, but I was more confident. I played with the clown fish, watched the sea snake, and posed for the underwater camera, and enjoyed the wonderful scenery my eyes could lavish. I had a diver with me, still, as “never dive alone” is the general rule. But at least he didn't looked like the ex ex-swimmer of my past as I assured myself no more oxygen-deprived brain that could play tricks on me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">When I fell from the tree, I may had scratched a knee, but I brushed it off and walked through pain, till the pain's gone. I may had made a false move and tripped myself into the canal, but I rose from shame and washed it off. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Diving can be pretty scary if you don’t know how to swim. Yet it must not stop there. Nothing has to hold you back from exploring your wildest wishes and aspirations, to open your heart to the possibilities and discover who you are, what you want, and what you can do. I’m afraid that life will pass me by if I don’t dare. I will remain at this point forever and I might never get a chance to see the other side of the world had I given up. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Life is full of possibilities, and nothing is impossible. If it meant climbing a mountain’s peek or doing a Bungee jump to fulfill your heart’s desire and exist for one moment then let it be. Your limitations is all yours to break. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Go, dare life!</span><br />
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<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:23f2d1a4-70de-4793-bca8-645bdfac1eee" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 100%;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/diving" rel="tag">diving</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/SCUBA+diving" rel="tag">SCUBA diving</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/swimming" rel="tag">swimming</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/drowning" rel="tag">drowning</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/beach" rel="tag">beach</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/sea+snakes" rel="tag">sea snakes</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/clown+fish" rel="tag">clown fish</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/diver" rel="tag">diver</a></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-40594296580894033142009-11-01T04:03:00.000-08:002010-04-23T10:19:36.568-07:00Doctors Are Persons Too<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28iM_WiPOz4-JESo76hyphenhyphenkCK39XtqXo-k2gjGsY6S1of9QfuS6LdJV9Y_J0Ckv_1SNmtryZNAB9Z7ZLX8Z7R5R2jPItBxFm8ppWnMoiF3CsCNS8E3UTzXgiHq0m-1bCQlC3IDuhH7y8KVD/s1600-h/for+blogspot.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299702766346144450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28iM_WiPOz4-JESo76hyphenhyphenkCK39XtqXo-k2gjGsY6S1of9QfuS6LdJV9Y_J0Ckv_1SNmtryZNAB9Z7ZLX8Z7R5R2jPItBxFm8ppWnMoiF3CsCNS8E3UTzXgiHq0m-1bCQlC3IDuhH7y8KVD/s320/for+blogspot.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 159px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 212px;" /></span></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br />
</span><br />
<div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Why do people always get the wrong first impression sometimes? They always thought doctors don't have a life, don't have a sense of humor, and just modestly serious. They thought we are one dignified humorless human being<b>.</b></span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></b></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Why can't doctors be lighthearted, flamboyant, flashy, goofy, loud, ostentatious or swanky? For sure, our society dictates and insists what type of personality we should be acting in a role only a few were granted to have, Gods assistant for healing. For sure too, nobody wants their body to be entrusted to a cuckoo doctor. Of course, doctors have no right to be insane, or be foolish in treating their patients. That's why you can't expect them getting ridiculously comical inside the consultation room or that would be unlikely. I can't imagine laughing it out over an ailment, could you?</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br />
</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">But on the contrary, they have the right to laugh and become wacky over themselves. To drink and be merry like normal people does. Outside, when we are not in our white coats, we are just ordinary human being. Who knows, you might see us in Bakbak drinking and laughing, or at K1 singing and dancing and you enjoyed how we make a fool over ourselves, then until such time you find out we are a doctor, you change your mind.</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></b></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Some doctors become engulf with these silent mandate from the society, they turn out to become sobered and stern. Perhaps in witnessing the magnitude of a disease progression, there was no time to laugh. But hey, after all, this is our life. Life is what we make it, so they say. I hope these type of doctors would remember to laugh again.</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br />
</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I remember med school and how wacky we were out there (<i>yo! Augs Bulai!)</i>. Medical students are extended adolescents. We don't mind much since time's not on our side. We didn't have time to write blogs or to go to bars all the time, we had a way of just simply take off the boredom inside school or outside during parties. None of us were working students. How was it possible? We went to school early in the morning till early in the evening, then we studied at night or we party at night (sometimes). Hospital duties were 24 hrs too. Well, what was it to worry except keeping the grades to a passing mark, joking it out when all got the reds (happy valentines day on the grade-posting bulletin board). We were scholars of our parents or a wealthy sponsor, and all we have to do was study, or should I say, cram studying.</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">So, whenever we are out there with our friends, even to this day, we too act like you. We laugh and play, we quarrel and make up, we also worry about our bills too (not grades now). We can be naughty and mischievous, and cunning or whiny at times. Yet most of all, we longed to spend time with our love ones too, just like all of you.</span></div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br />
</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-80068782159837739322009-10-07T03:54:00.000-07:002010-08-18T08:58:07.104-07:00The Intersection<div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="border: medium none; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/intersection4.jpg" mce_href="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/intersection4.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="alignright size-thumbnail wp-image-89" height="157" mce_src="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/intersection4-150x150.jpg" src="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/intersection4-150x150.jpg" title="intersection4" width="157" /></a>I have been trying to decipher what I longed in my life. A lot has been given now by our Almighty but I still need to achieve more. Was it truly the saying that man (or woman) doesn't satisfy himself (or herself)?</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="border: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="border: medium none; text-align: justify;">After all the code blue and code red, code white and code black, intubate here, there, ASAP, Now, STAT, run go move, think accurately but think fast.....One great moment to save someone's life at the brink of death is one great leap to a euphoric disposition... . So now what?</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">Post-residency and post- ICU days, it seems that my life went to a halt. Yes, frozen like a toad mortified in the pond of ice cold water. I get flustered, and I don't like it.<br />
For 3 months now, I've been dealing with OPD consultations, walk-in patients, and possible admissions. And what do I deal with?</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><ul mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><li>* Students who sometimes came to me with their own self-made diagnosis;</li>
</ul><ul mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><li>* Ladies who came for documentation of a slap on their faces but without a slap mark (what would I write on the medical certificate?);</li>
</ul><ul mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><li>* Teens complaining of their breast getting bigger (it's just their growth hormone);</li>
</ul><ul mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><li>* People who want to avail their sick leave, so they complain to you:</li>
</ul><ul mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><li>* They have cough without fever;Or flu without symptoms; Or just anxious of 0-3 rbc on urine; Or walks towards you limping after accidentally hitting their ankle, but walked out straight after receiving the medical certificate.</li>
</ul><br />
<div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">Times like this, when I like to vomit all the nonsense complains of these ambulatory people, I think of wanting to go back to ICU, to say hello patients, I miss you. There, they really are sick that they are sick to death of their illness.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">And so I miss the days when I'm the captain of the ship. When I shout they scram, when I say move, everything was laid to you in place. Back then, the patient can't tell straight what to do or what not to do, because they are either dyspneic (difficulty in breathing) or comatose or moribund, they will just be grateful for you later.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">I miss the intensity of how I deal with life, of how I respected it, that seconds counts, and that life is not to be joked at, that I could lose him/her in my hands. ICU and Emergency Room were the best places I was assigned. It makes you forget problems, gets you to be focused.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">I remember during my junior days of residency, I can't wait to be out of the hospital life, and live normally. I had a whole bunch of unsupportive seniors who knew nothing of helping and camaraderie but moves great on crab mentality. Friend colleagues who turned out the same way, soon I have nothing to trust on to but myself,for life in the residency training is all about competition.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">Shortly I learned the art of therapeutics, by myself, in the midst of those who wanted to sabotage my existence. I conquered my fear and the lack of confidence; I acquired clear insights and judgment. Later speed on critical analysis of the disease ensued. Who would have thought ICU and ER will become my favorite place when I kept on evading this area during my first year. I have won over my seniors, they failed to fail me.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">Now I'm here, working as a consultant, funny I'd like to go back. I don't know, the hype of the hospital rush is addicting, "I love the playing field" so to quote.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">Subsequently, I am now at the focal point of an intersection, laying down options is hard but deciding ultimately is tougher. I want to pursue further, I want to prove myself worthy in my medical world. Scholarship grant has been offered. Subspecialty training is waiting. Should I proceed or should I not? Here I go again. I am torn from my being a career woman, to a mother, a wife and a daughter.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;">But one thing is sure, I will aim high.</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div mce_style="text-align:justify;" style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>So help me God.</i></b></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-21998003962120223442009-07-06T03:53:00.000-07:002009-12-18T18:09:23.111-08:00Surpassing Life in Residency Training<p><a href="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/for-grad2.jpg" mce_href="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/for-grad2.jpg"><img class="alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-98" title="for-grad2" src="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/for-grad2-150x150.jpg" mce_src="http://askthedoctansan.blog.friendster.com/files/for-grad2-150x150.jpg" alt="" width="150" height="150" /></a>Graduation is one of the rare moments in life when I find myself looking back on where I used to be, while at the same time looking forward to what lies ahead. Behind are the precious memories of experiences that I will never forget, heartfelt emotions that may fade in time but will never disappear. Without my past, I have nothing on which to build my future with, and without the future, my past would have been irrelevant.</p><p><br /></p> <p>Residency training for me was demanding and difficult. I have often seen myself in the middle of situations that required both courage and sacrifices. To bridge the silence, I must have the courage to risk rejection from my consultants; to be efficient, I must sacrifice my time with my family and bear the pain of leaving my loved ones. Often, I am standing at the crossroads thinking to opt for the easy and well-trodden road out from this miserable life, but instead, i chose to venture further down the world of internal medicine where I realized how fragile life can be, minutes , if not seconds counts.</p><p><br /></p> <p>I have known the pain of failure, frustration, disappointment and defeat, because I have taken a chance on winning and succeeding. Surviving disappointments awakened me to see that I have made it through the difficult times. Soon I discovered that real success is conjoined in loving relationships. What matters is people, as what lasts is love. What counts are true people that molded us into who we are now.</p><p><br /></p> <p>Thus, I am grateful to my seniors who made my training rough and tough, for there I learned to struggle and forge myself to a new horizon. I am also thankful to my co-residents which made my residency training bearable and memorable; to my consultants who shared their art of management to us; the nurses who in one way or another worked hand-in-hand with us in saving lives,the basis of unity despite some of our differences; to my friends who understood the reason for my non-appearance but supported me in various times though; and to my family, my inspiration, who despite my absence in our home most of the time, backed me up in my decisions.</p><p><br /></p> <p>Thank you for the people who believe in me, but most of all,thank you dear Lord and Mama Mary bacause as I looked back and smile at what had passed, I asked myself "How did I get through all of that?". Well, its just putting in mind to never let go of hope, to never quit dreaming, and never let love depart from our lives.</p><p><br /></p> <p>I would like to say that residency training is one of the best chapters of my life, (though I didn't say it's easy), and I thank all of you for being a part of this painfully wonderful memory.</p><p><br /></p> <p>To my fellow residents, never stop growing and never stop learning, put in mind values of persistence, discipline and determination because we are meant to be whatever we dreamed of becoming. Remember to stop and take a breath. Life is not a race to be won. The only way to enjoy all of it is taking it one moment at a time. And you'll see the task at hand is already done. As the saying goes, "Success is not measured by how well you fulfill the expectations of others, but by how honestly you live up to your own expectations".</p><p><br /></p> <p>To my fellow graduates, there are a lot to be proud of, the obstacles that made us stronger, the determination that has remained steadfast, the willingness to keep on path, to stay and not quitting.Dreams really do have a way of coming true...this is the moment we have worked for. Lets move on and take a leap for the next challenges ahead.</p><p><br /></p> <p><i><br /></i></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-76800464365361410172009-07-03T03:04:00.000-07:002010-08-08T09:13:08.230-07:00When Life is A Relative - Part I<div style="text-align: justify;">Have you ever argued with your thoughts? Did you feel like every decision you are about to take warrants a counter-reaction more destructive than before? Just because you are a physician, did you ever think you are so sure of yourself so arrogantly that you can keep your cool and strong enough to doctor your own relative's battle against the grim reaper we called DEATH? It happened to me three months ago; the gruesome truth left me barefaced. I was thrown out of the sizzling lava, remained blankly motionless, and thawed like there’s a nuclear meltdown.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Ate, nahirapang huminga si Gladys” <i>(sis, Gladys have difficulty breathing)</i>. These were my brother’s worried words as he tried to search for understanding on his wife’s fatal situation. His tensed voice and uncontrollably trembling hands were the unspoken gestures of how much he cares for her. When I saw him nearly bursting to tears, desperately clinging on for hope for his wife and their first born, never knowing what to do nor what to expect, I felt a humongous burden in my chest. I never thought I couldn’t handle the sight of him pacing the corridors back and forth, treading the nursery ICU seeking comfort from his newborn, then back to the room, then to the prayer chapel, then back to the room again. His eyes unable to fix mine, and with restrained emotions he tried to conceal it with casual talks. This wasn’t the cheerful and comical Allen I know, and it just ripped my heart apart to see him so lost and exhausted.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My sister-in-law successfully delivered to a preterm baby girl. Though her infant was placed in the incubator due to prematurity, everybody thought she would be discharged right away. However, two days after that normal delivery, she began to bleed profusely. Worst, her OB-GYN went out-of-town for a convention. What's more? She was left under my care as the internist. Yes... me, her husband's sister. And in that terrifying night, something went wrong...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Less than 16 hours of intermittent blood losses, she gradually deteriorated. Her blood counts dropped so low, she had no blood pressure, no urine output, and her skin was as cold and pale as dead (hypothermia). Her eyes turned yellow (jaundice), and her abdomen bloated. No matter how much we ordered for stat laboratories, boluses of emergency drugs, fast dripping of fluid challenges, and ASAP request for blood transfusions (whole blood, FFP, platelets), there were new episodes arising every hour like cliff-hanging chapters of events waiting to unveil its scene in just a moment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As test results arrived one after another, I stared and stared in disbelief. I was facing a stormy battle for her life. Findings showed sepsis (a blood infection) and DIC (a blood clotting problem). I tried to keep my cool but being a doctor doesn’t help me from harboring unwanted thoughts knowing its pathophysiology, or the disease progression. She was in impending shock and coma and I know her shallow breathing entailed possible ventilator, her status… an ICU settings. The decreasing urine output might lead her to dialysis and low blood counts may bleed her to death . I have to be one step ahead. Because one false move, one second short, few minutes delayed on rescue treatment, she might then be irreversible. It dawned on me that a lot of women with this condition did not survive due to delayed recognition of a fatal encounter. What if she dies? What will happen to my brother and my niece? I don’t want to regret this for the rest of my life. For the first time, I got scared.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Maybe the priests can be a priest to their own family. And lawyers can be a lawyer to their own brood without hesitation. But can doctors deal the life of their own bloodline? I don’t know. Perhaps, that’s why the Oath of Hippocrates was made.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">(TO BE CONTINUED…. read on and click <a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/08/when-life-is-relative-part-ii-continued.html">When Life is A Relative - Part II</a>)</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-21720950632681749792009-07-02T02:58:00.000-07:002010-08-08T09:13:58.594-07:00When Life is A Relative – Part II(CONTINUED FROM <a href="http://annasantosbonje.blogspot.com/2009/08/when-life-is-relative-part-i.html">When Life is A Relative – Part I</a>)<br />
<br />
<br />
Flipping the charts with quivering hands, I glanced at Gladys' semi-conscious state of mind and gazed at Allen's bewildered appearance. My eyes surveyed the gloomy room, our relatives were there, entirely clueless of what I have in mind. I wanted to burst into tears and scream “She may die anytime!” but I haven’t uttered it in blur and confusion. How do I prime my family to expect the worst? I used to do that to patients, unrelated to me. How do I say to them to be prepared of a possible death when I myself wouldn’t accept that dreaded idea? I had to get out of the room, evaded the pressure, and stayed at the nurse station, for if physically, she was in agony, emotionally, it was torture to me too.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it was too heavy to bear that I couldn’t write any medical orders anymore, for fear I might push her to death, or be blamed by my brother, or worst, by myself. So I asked the Lord why her and why me. It’s hard to pretend in front of the people who expected too much from you that everything is in control when you know only the Lord knows if He would like her to respond well to our treatment. And it’s also lonely to cry alone, never letting your family see you cry because you should be the last man standing strong.<br />
<br />
<br />
As a doctor, when dealing with life itself becomes a routine day to day encounter, we become detach to maintain grace under pressure. We cling to our defenses to think clearly and objectively. But I got stuck in the danger zone, unable to create a detached attitude. My judgment was already clouded. I couldn’t be a doctor to my sister anymore. I tried, I thought I am strong enough, but I failed.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have earlier called in the Hematologist and the Infectious specialist. With HELLP syndrome versus Postpartum HUS as a consideration, they continued with the treatment I initiated and worked their brains out in saving Gladys until she was out of the ICU. I thanked my colleagues for understanding how I bothered them in my crisis. And I thanked Dr. Amy, my cousin, for the support she gave in that crucial day. I never thought how noble my profession is until this time, when I had a hands-on experience of their camaraderie.<br />
<br />
<br />
Learn to quit when you are supposed to. Do not push yourself and be stubborn if you think you can’t. Step aside and be a relative. These I learned well.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXeBo3DB3j-r4hpI3FrJXL0zDtEEi8D_Zkm8ytA5KOr01Os_m9njkBvAOGB3szWp7kzz6FrU_jBwMwLMtddvQo0bVZ6mVTW7BuLOgd1XJnmsvBnoNfyG7zCTVRYTZ2A49acH1hW_FkZ7i/s1600-h/mickey+resized.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378138996098009218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMXeBo3DB3j-r4hpI3FrJXL0zDtEEi8D_Zkm8ytA5KOr01Os_m9njkBvAOGB3szWp7kzz6FrU_jBwMwLMtddvQo0bVZ6mVTW7BuLOgd1XJnmsvBnoNfyG7zCTVRYTZ2A49acH1hW_FkZ7i/s200/mickey+resized.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
So I step aside and been feeding my little niece with my breast milk at the nursery while my colleagues deal with the mom at the ICU. For a while, I’ve been the surrogate mother for baby Mickey up till she was roomed-in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3V8g258GAAT4ehxkdMElQ6r_mtkmiIgAQbUO7v-bP6v45W2fJGIbSY3uCwAxgtTR2joBBMg6y5P7kB2ClShZJedQJivl3dyoSRqDn3gFLjZnu7fEap45cbMqPq7E63kubkTozPbWy2d3/s1600-h/glad+rsid.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378138424640706994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3V8g258GAAT4ehxkdMElQ6r_mtkmiIgAQbUO7v-bP6v45W2fJGIbSY3uCwAxgtTR2joBBMg6y5P7kB2ClShZJedQJivl3dyoSRqDn3gFLjZnu7fEap45cbMqPq7E63kubkTozPbWy2d3/s200/glad+rsid.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 112px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
My brother’s family is now out of the hospital enjoying the life together. Last week was baby Mickey’s christening, and I thank the Lord to have been constantly guiding my thoughts and the hands of all the physicians who attended to Gladys.<br />
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As for me, I guess, I’ve been a better relative than a doctor to my relatives. But the pleasure and contentment to have saved one relative is, after all, more than the money could give.<br />
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<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:93f6e8b8-6d09-4cba-8309-36a8297aeedd" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/HELLP" rel="tag">HELLP</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Post-partum+complications" rel="tag">Post-partum complications</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/sister%27s+love" rel="tag">sister's love</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/sister-in-law" rel="tag">sister-in-law</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/physician+to+relatives" rel="tag">physician to relatives</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/doctor%27s+fear" rel="tag">doctor's fear</a></div><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_cBvn4lJqwro/SprH41agFSI/AAAAAAAAAOU/ESZH4PDOu8Q/s1600-h/SDC1111831.jpg"> </a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4730245656611664550.post-27622097390083736632009-03-17T11:00:00.000-07:002009-03-17T12:02:10.247-07:00The First Time I Mind My Breast<span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6FmYEsiAOC5sz4MI3134R311eT_ZhM8-LLQkIoh5ChVZLVTxCbXKD56unQ5aH9XRj1giRm559rj3WR2oMrf8nC71QnFv_bp9POKIiGNVZR9kOQcQqAoVzyOBFrFi2jRClJ-qzBpXyfza/s1600-h/breast-feeding.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6FmYEsiAOC5sz4MI3134R311eT_ZhM8-LLQkIoh5ChVZLVTxCbXKD56unQ5aH9XRj1giRm559rj3WR2oMrf8nC71QnFv_bp9POKIiGNVZR9kOQcQqAoVzyOBFrFi2jRClJ-qzBpXyfza/s200/breast-feeding.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314232952759186514" border="0" /></a>
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mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--><p style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The breast…., one of the most controversial parts of a woman’s body. Depending on the need of the individual, it is used for breastfeeding first and foremost, than to lure men to its attraction.</span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I mind my breast these days, more than I care for it before. Why bother about it then when it is as good as a size of a large mosquito bite? Or, make it a bumble bee bite. Fact of the matter is, even if you exercise your arms and positively say “I must.., I must.., I must increase my bust”, it won’t. Breast pads and Wonder Bras would help make it look bigger though, and there are silicone and other breast enhancements as well, for a more expensive price, but then again, so what? It’s just the view you’re minding. So I don’t give a damn. </span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Until I gave birth lately, I decided to breastfeed my second born as I have not given my first child the delight from the nutrients that comes along with this milk. I am therefore a first time nursing mom with no idea whatsoever on how to deal with the intricacies that accompany breastfeeding and working. From the time I drank my mom’s special recipe for lactation, you know, the native chicken soup plus papaya and <i style="">malunggay,</i> whoa…it seems like a whole new world for me! I am stripped of control. Milk came rushing squirting anytime and anywhere, dripping me wet I feel like a milkmaid. But, as I am a hopeful beginner, I try to learn new strategies everyday.</span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Of course, if you are breastfeeding and already working, you mind your breast all the time. Not because I’ve got bouncy boobs that bubbled now, or am able to wear plunging neckline brought about by my newly designed cleavage-capable breast. But because every now and then I have to pump it out to keep the milk for the new baby at home, and to avoid embarrassment from staining my wardrobe, and then I have to feed my baby, and if I could avoid it, I try not to get hurt from accidentally hitting this engorged breasts by my kids because it aches an awful lot. </span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">These two overhanging mammary pair made a radical turn from aesthetic display for my husband, into a drastic role of feeding an infant. Since these breasts are supposed to be twins by nature, it has to be proportional, and I have so much difficulty to master the art of balancing. Yes, balance. When the right one is larger than the left, you’ve got to make your left catch up, go feed your child more from the left.</span><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style="font-size:85%;">Or else, the aesthetic side of this breast is gravely endangered. Sure thing, you don’t want to see an asymmetrical breast with the left ones big, the other one’s small. How do you like to have an option which one’s to touch? And I wouldn’t have to wait to run for a breast augmentation. All I know, I’ve got an instant breast enlargement courtesy of breast milk, free of charge.</span><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span><span style=";font-size:85%;" > </span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">My first born has 3 hospital admissions, from pneumonia to tonsillitis. Though I regret that I have not let him savor the benefits of breastfeeding due to pressures in the hospital residency training, I will not do the same for the next child. So I don’t mind minding my breast now. I let myself enjoy the fulfillment of nursing my newborn despite the great deal of sacrifice that goes along with it.</span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I believe women are flexible in times of great demands and more psychologically stable in socially unstable world. Let us salute all women…and their heavenly breast! We are truly blessed for breast.</span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09960008716981927154noreply@blogger.com14