The Doctor Is Sick

Officially sick!


Started off with a bit of a stuffy nose two days ago. Yesterday, started assuming the sick role, felt a bit feverish but the thermometer only read 37.3 so I'm pretty sure I was just acting out a bit. My cold is getting worse and as of the moment, I have developed a non-productive cough.


The last time I was a bit sick (exactly like this), I let it go so bad (water therapy has its limits!) that I ended up with pneumonia. (Or it could have been PTB and I've been in denial. O_o). After 1 month of coughing and blowing my nose (and consuming a truckload of tissues), I finally had enough sense to take antibiotics. I felt better in around 3 days.


Was on duty last night and my duty-pals were the best. They let me sleep for the most part and by 4 am, I was feeling better and doing consults at the Triage.


If there's one thing I learned, it's to NOT underestimate the power of "being just a little sick" in making one's  life miserable. There are few things more annoying than blowing off your nose for the nth time in ten minutes. The thing is, I usually get annoyed with people who come to the ER for relatively mild stuff like 3-days cough and headaches. Every sickness is a unique a experience. And if a person feels sick, then it's his/her right to get not only medical attention but a sympathetic medical practitioner as well.


However, a midnight consult for a 3-day cough is stretching it a bit. Unless you had sudden onset of dyspnea (like my patient who turned out to have spontaneous pneumothorax after an unremarkable history of 5-days cough) or at the very least feel like you're dying, please see a doctor during daylight hours. We'd really appreciate it. Thank you very much.

Off Duty! Hurrying Home with Hani

Life So Far

I think it's time I start writing again. Seriously. Because one day I'll regret it.  One day, I will want to look back at my life, and there's nothing like a good old journal (or a blog, of course) to take you back.


Besides, my creativity is getting sapped out of me. I need an outlet.


So first things first, I've been a PGI (Post-graduate Intern) for one month now. And yes, there's this horribly big gap between my last remotely medical-related post and this one and I don't think a single write-up can fill that gap.


Basically, there was the suspense of graduating, the rush to get cleared (which entails hunting down residents, hospital hopping, extension duties, and waiting patiently in various clinics) and all the parties and roadtrips in between. 

One day, when I'm not feeling too lazy, I will have to write about those crazy wonderful days. But for now, all I can say is that April was crazy wonderful. (Yes, I did warn you that my fountain of creativity is experiencing a dry spell. So crazy wonderful it is!)


I mentioned that I'm a PGI now. So far, it's been fun. And educational, of course. I'm currently rotating in Internal Medicine. I've got five more weeks to go and seriously, it's not enough! There is just so much to learn and I know SO LITTLE and I'm feeling panicky because I've got an MD attached to my name and at this point in time, I cannot afford to be clueless.


I have no regrets with applying in PSH. Except for the fact that for the first few weeks, I was lost 90% of the time (the wards are complicated mazes with unexpected turns and stairways which end up in a solid walls), I have no complaints. From the moment we had our orientation, I had that sense of being in the right place. (More on this later!)


So that's all for now, I guess. 

I leave you with a picture of the ER on a mild, non-toxic day.

Rhythms of Grace

After a random click of a button, I came upon something I wrote what seemed a lifetime ago.

http://meludee.multiply.com/journal/item/31/Through_the_Door

I wonder. Where is she? Where is this girl?

Between the "Then" and the "Now", life happened. I had an arsenal of excuses, wrapped in pretty boxes labelled "Dreams", "Wants" and "Agendas".  Simply put, "Me" came first and I pushed "Him" to the backseat.

And now, I hardly even say hello. Or tell Him how my day was.  Because the road I chose has taken me so off tangent that I hardly recognize His face. And I miss Him but I'm too scared to say so and too weak to change.

It's easy to talk of salvation when your record is spotless. But when you're down there in the mud, slugging it out on your own, doing your best and miserably failing, salvation seems like a wisp of a dream.

Grace. Today I am learning grace. It's a difficult gift to accept, a hard lesson to learn.

And yet, I hear Him calling to me. Even when I've given up on myself, even when I drown out His voice with the sounds of my everyday life.

That He calls me by name still, this is grace

Love & Ramblings

Love can be expensive. Sometimes, you have to buy it with bits and pieces of yourself. Pieces that used to define you, mark a boundary between who you are and who you wanted to be. And you can call it sacrifice. Or you can call it bullshit. Either way, love costs.

Love will change you. Maybe sooner. Maybe later. But it will change you. You might look in the mirror one day, and find a stranger. Or if you're lucky, you'll see the face of the person you have always known you could be.

When love doesn't make sense, you can say it's part of the whole deal. Love's not supposed to make sense. Isn't that what they all say? But if you'll stop listening to your heart, and hear out your head, then maybe you'll realize it's time to find out why it's not making sense.

You're My Number One

Remember the time when you were a kid and you had to write a composition about who your hero was? More than half the time, I wrote about my mother. I can't even recall what reasons my childhood self conceived. Or made up. Perhaps I was lacking inspiration. Or creativity. Or maybe I was just plain lazy. It's easier to write about your mother, whom you've known your whole life, compared to say, Mother Teresa, whom you've only read about and would only write about to impress your teacher.

 But looking back, my words could not have been more true. My mother is the most admirable woman I know. It's not just because she's my mother (although I suppose a whole lot of bias came with this statement). I look up to her, not just as a mother. But as a woman.

What can I say? She's a tough one. She has survived a tough childhood, a rocky marriage, and a stroke to boot. I can't even begin to enumerate all the things she is. I owe her not just my life, but who I am, as a person in my own right.

 Happy Mother's Day, Mama. You're my number 1!