Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

Carole King's classic song talks about the morning after…

That was the first song that I hummed the morning after "The Big Haircut".
The afternoon before, I had gone to this Korean Master Cutter lady at this hair place in Dumaguete with Mommy Tit (my aunt). She did Mommy Tit's hair, and her pixie cuts always came out really pretty, so…I told myself I'd try her out too. Not to get a pixie cut, but well…to try something new.

(That's the key word. New would mean a lot of "getting-used-to".)

A week before, I tried to ask how it would look if I got my hair straightened. One of the nurses, a friend of mine asked me, "How long is it, doc?" Hmm…middle of my back, when I undid my usual ponytail. It was unadulterated, never-been-cut-since-April hair (well, except for the regrettable "curly" bangs) that I was occasionally proud of on good days. My hair, though thin and fine, could hold a curl on its own accord, and my waves didn't have any split ends. However, because of the humidity (and because I didn't have time to fix it much), it tended to frizz and give me the appearance of being unkempt.

Before work, I figured I wanted to start with something more…subdued and polished. And so there I was, waiting. Sitting in the hairdresser's chair, watching her in the mirror while she snipped away with her razor sharp shears turning my hair ever which way, cutting off more hair than I expected. Obviously, I was too mesmerized with the speed of her reflexes that by the time she was done (and had shortened my perpetually misbehaved curly bangs), the tips were barely grazing the shoulders.

Right there and then, I thought, "Hmm…I look like someone old enough to trust, I suppose," as I fingered my new waves.

"It's cute.." she said, in halting English.

Yes, I agreed, it did look cute, but what I was worried about was the morning after. (Everything always looks cute when you step out of a salon, mind you.)

And so, the morning after, true to form, my hair was the way it always was. Waving and curling like crazy.

I don't have any regrets (ok, well, maybe a little), but I haven't seen this 'do "in action" yet, so we'll have to wait and see.

But for now, no facebook profile pictures to show yet. :-S

"Sprewell" giving me the look, "What's with the Camera, Lady?
The early morning bus ride to work was cold. There weren't that many people on…although each one had a two-seater to himself and herself, so when I got on, I went all the back to the back row, where it was a higher vantage point than everyone else's (and where, compression fracture injuries were more common due to bumps), and had more leg space.

 I was wearing a shorter skirt than usual (just above the knee, nothing scandalous) and my short-sleeved white coat over my blouse so it was colder. After a while, I didn't even notice the goosebumps, or that my teeth would occasionally chatter.
I was too wrapped up in my thoughts. 

The sky was grey outside, and the rains were pelting drops at the sides of the bus windows, so in a sense, there really wasn't much scenery (or greenery) to appreciate, and it felt like travelling from point A to point B in a box. Thinking in the box. Haha. I was thinking about everything, and nothing, really. I almost didn't notice Dr. Dingcong (one of the older doctors at the hospital) get on and ask why I was all the way in the back. I grinned, and told him I was sitting next to my boyfriend, I motioned to my blue JanSport backpack sitting in the seat beside me (he qualifies as a personality, because I've estimated his weight to be around 13 kilos, filled with my stuff for whenever I go on duty.)

Natalie Portman's "Where the Heart Is" was playing on the bus TV. I liked that movie. Coming of age, and more. Oh and photography. She's really smart, well-educated and pretty, one of my favorite actresses around.




When I got to work, I had to play patintero to avoid the puddles in the hospital driveway. Good thing the government's giving 1 Million later this month to have this fixed. Oh, and 1 million for the new OB ward. And another for the ER.
Why just now? I thought to myself ruefully. :-p


I had another pair of pint-sized twins in my ward. A boy and a girl (I didn't deliver them), but I saw them when they were admitted, and they looked like they were improving. The suck was better, and they could consume more breast milk. Cute. I'm discharging them today.


I'm glad I don't have to do the OPD consults nowadays, with the new set-up. They just hired a new doctor, so it loosens up the schedule. There are two doctors who take care of the business at the out-patient department while we stay with the ward patients. Although it is less patient-interactive, I reckon I'm good with the new set-up. 

Before, when we used to do it, it meant 8am to 4pm of out-patient consults (which means that you have to see, examine, admit and talk to) and then the rest of the time you spend at the ward (where you deliver babies, suture drunks up, make rounds, etc.). During my time, I'd get like, 40 (usually) to 60 (on worst) patients in a day (without PF, haha), which would leave me quite pooped by the time I'm through…and my tongue hanging out of my mouth, from talking. It almost becomes annoying when someone asks me why my hands shook one time after I injected an anesthetic on his drunk friend (who sat on a beer bottle and hurt himself when it broke).'

 He was (deathly) afraid of needles, so I gave him the courtesy of using a tuberculin syringe to inject the anesthetic. He had tough skin and I had a tough time injecting lidocaine because of that.

It was a bit annoying to have someone say that, but I could only roll my eyes (when he wasn't looking, haha) and stitch it up nice and good.

Shoo. Don't come back to my ER.


Sex was the topic of conversation last night at the work-table. (Close your eyes kids.)
I was doing my chart-rounds and half-listening to the casual conversation going on the table across the room. The nurses on duty at the time had started on the topic of the infamous blow job. (I apologize for being a little crass, but using fellatio wouldn't be as humorous.)

Anyway, they were very animated and it was just as fun listening to them talk about their sex lives. No names will be mentioned, of course, but since they're all in their 40's and married they were pretty comfortable talking about it.

"I only found out now that that was what it's called…I had been doing it for years!" one nurse laughingly told the other. (hunched over my charts, I had to stifle a laugh at her candor.)

I learned a new term too, "mosaka sa kapayas" which, translated from my dialect to English, it's "to climb the papaya tree". Now, I don't get why that term is connected to sex, but that's what they used. I'll have to get someone to explain it to me. Haha

Momentarily, she approached me, and the conversation continued. "You know, Doc, when you're married and in your twenties, it's like you can't get enough of it…all it takes is a look, and then off you'll go. In the thirties and especially the forties, it becomes different, it starts to wane even…" I grinned. 

"Thanks Ma'am, I'll keep that in mind." Was all I could say. I laughed, "Thank you for the advice." 

LOL. I'm not prudish, nor am I put off by it. Sex is a natural and even later, from the looks of enjoyment in their faces while talking about it, fun. 

It's actually nice to see these women talk about their sex lives as if it were not so big a deal. I for one plan to have sex until, well, in my 60's? :-p hopefully I won't have shriveled up by then. haha


Morning rounds. See you all next time. 

Good morning!


  1. Mosaka sa kapayas I think refers to how the papaya fruit bleeds white stuff when irritated by a cut. :-)

    I think. I don't know anything about sex. sorry. :-D

  2. i don't know what they mean at all. :-p



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