Dawn

Dawn found me on the streets with Yesu, going the opposite direction in a one-way road, beating the red light, U-turning on a "no U-turn", and going left on a "no left turn". With the CITOMs fast asleep, I glory in the freedom of the streets.

I am not, by nature, a morning person. As a rule, I wake up as late as possible. But there are rare moments when dawn finds me awake and alive.

I love dawn. I love the hush of the city... love how the night sky gives way to the blue and orange pastels of early morning. Love the cool morning air and the palest rays of sunshine. Love how the world seems to slow down and take a breath...

Dawn tells us we can can still make up for the wrongs we've done. We've got one more chance to do things right, to forgive, to laugh, to dream, to work, to just breathe.

We have one more day.

<3

Sleepless Nights

My clock says 10:13 and I've got around... oh... five more chapters to read. And nineteen more chapters to read again because I don't think the information stuck when I read them the first time. Oh. And how could I forget my report for the case presentation which I should have finished, like, 2 days ago?

My head stills feel pretty clear. That's a miracle in this hour. But then I've got more or less 45 minutes till my body goes into automatic shut-down. It's incredibly hard for me to stay up till eleven. Around that time, my feet would automatically lead me to the bed. I tell myself lies (e.g. I'll just sleep for 15 minutes). And the next thing I know, daylight is poking through the windows.

I have a friend who's an intern now. She can go two to three days straight without sleeping. How she does it beats me. I envy her.

Obviously, I'm not your typical medstudent. I wish I could brag about staying up all night to study.

This, however, is my last year of formal classroom education. Next year, they're going to throw us into the lion's den. I'm not confident handling patients with the knowledge I have right now. This year could be make or break for me. So I promised myself to go beyond my limit. And go beyond my limit I shall! As they say, what makes ordinary extraordinary is that little extra.

So tonight, for the first time in a long while, I'm going to attempt doing what I've failed to do during my last two years of medschool. I am going to break through my automatic shutdown mode, armed myself with a cup of iced coffee and Switchfoot, my former study companion. I pray that I'll last through the night.

So help me God. Can't do this on my own strength.

o_O

Mood Bracelet

My bestfriend gave me a mood bracelet. It has a bright yellow, rubber strap and a tiny slipper attached to it. The slipper changes color, depending on my mood. The instruction is simple enough. Touch the slipper against your skin and wait for the color to change. Blue for happy. Light blue for chill. Green for active. Orange for unsettled. Violet for romantic. Black for stressed out.

Well, being the logical, rational creatures that we were, we figured out that it's not our mood, but the temperature, that causes the slipper to change color. I think that was obvious enough from the very beginning. But that little piece of knowledge would take the beauty out of the bracelet. So I tell my rational self to shut up and just make believe that it does work.

I love to watch the colors shift and change and blend. Sometimes I'd plunge my hand on a pail of water, or hold it against the air conditioner, just to see the transformation. It gives me a childish sense of pleasure and wonder.

The slipper is seldom just one color. Sometimes it's blue with a tinge of violet, or orange with black edges, or a blend of greenish blue. Like our emotions. We are seldom purely happy. Or purely sad. Purely calm. Purely stressed. Purely angry. At any one point in time, we are a mixture of emotions, some bubbling just above our surface, others hidden way beyond the depths of our souls. If we could only light up depending on our mood, the rainbows would pale in comparison.

When my childlike self goes back to her quiet corner at the back of my head, and the rational me steps out in its place, I find myself wishing the mood bracelet was real. I wish it really could tell me how I feel. Because more often than not, it's all too confusing. It's just so hard to tell.

What am I feeling right now? I don't know. My bracelet says blue.

<3

Filthy Rich, MD

A shiny black Porsche was parked in that special nook in the hospital reserved for the powers that be. I may be a girl but there's something about that sleek black car that makes your heart skip a beat. The other day, it was Mini Cooper beckoning at me from that spot. And how could I forget that black Mercedes?

Still I wouldn't trade my Yesu for anything... even a Porsche. He may be thirteen years old and covered in dust, but my heart belongs to him. Hmmmm... a little convincing might change my mind, though. Hehe. (PS. Just kidding, Yesu.)

Cars like that give people the wrong idea about doctors in general. And it's not just the cars. It's the mansions and the clothes and the bank accounts. However, an MD attached to your name doesn't instantly make you filthy rich. In fact, it may never make you filthy rich at all. The filthy rich ones are often those born filthy rich in the first place.

So my point is, one shouldn't go into medicine if one's purpose is to become filthy rich. Fact: A resident gets paid P15,000 a month. Give or take a few thousand. That's just about the salary of a call center agent. In fact, I think they earn more. Plus they get all those benefits.

Well, residents eventually move up the medical food chain and become attendants and consultants. And they might end up filthy rich. But then again, they may not.

Dreaming about owning a black Porsche someday isn't wrong. But going into medicine for the money (and the honor, respect, prestige, power and everything else which goes along with it), is not just bad idea. It's a stupid one, too. You'll just end up miserable.

Note to self: Twenty years from now, buy yourself a Porsche. But don't you dare junk Yesu.

<3

Terjer

People ask me what year I am. I tell them I'm in third year. I get that certain look at times. It's as if in their eyes, I'm practically a doctor.

If they only knew.

It's incredibly scary to have gone this far and yet not have moved an inch. It certainly feels that way.

The almost-pristine pages of Guyton's Medical Physiology, Harper's Biochemistry, Robbin and Cotran's Book of Pathophysiology, William's Obstetrics, Harrison's Principles of Internal Medicine, Schwartz's Principles of Surgery, and the rest of that elite gang, cast disapproving glares at me from their various perches around my room.

I am haunted by the knowledge that there's so much I do not know. And should have known by now. The magnitude of my ignorance is daunting. And yet... oddly enough, it makes my life so much more interesting. Fun, even. There's so much to learn... and learn again...

I'm a third year medical student. A junior clerk. And while the end is not yet in sight, I am enjoying every minute of this nerve-wracking, sleep-deprived journey.

Because the truth is, there never really is an end to this.

<3