“How does it make you feel?”

Talking to people is not as easy as it looks.

I remember one scene in a movie with Lindsay Lohan and Jamie Lee Curtis (Freaky Friday), where they accidentally switched bodies, and it so happened that Jamie Lee Curtis’s teenage daughter had to fill in for her at the clinic because of the “body switch”. Well, there was this one scene where the kid (in her mother’s body) took on her job as a psychiatrist/therapist, and started asking the patient “How do you feel?” every time, with the patient not minding at all…and supplying answers, totally unsuspecting that anything was amiss.

In the movie, it appeared like that was all “shrinks” did…asking what people felt about everything.

Well…

After having taken my first ever oral exams last week, I therefore conclude that this is not so.

It is so much harder than that.

The set-up was that we had 40 minutes to get the patient’s history, do a complete physical and neurological examination, and after 10 minutes of “integration” and writing out our notes, we were to present the patient’s case and our management.

Now, it does seem to sound rather easy, I suppose, but it’s nicer to hear, because while you’re there, it’s a whole new different ballgame.

That day, I woke up extra early, reviewed my notes which I painstakingly did the night before, and when it was time to get dressed, I chose a white long-sleeved shirt, grey slacks and black flats…put my hair up in a bun, and hoped that I looked serious enough to be believable. When my turn came, I went in, greeted my panel (there were three), and then brought my patient in.

He was a patient from the out-patient department, chosen by one of the second year residents because he was fairly stable, and was very verbose about his symptoms. But I did not know of this beforehand, of course.

Well, I did my interview, and felt like I was pressed for time, because I knew I had to get everything in within the 40 minute time frame allotted for us. It was so…scary. I felt like I had to get everything together…make sure I was asking the right questions, and then afterwards be sure to do a complete Physical and Neurologic exam. So, anyway, after 40 minutes, one of the consultants held up a sign, telling me that my time was up. I thanked the patient, escorted him out, and then afterwards, I was told that I had 10 minutes to integrate everything that I had gleaned from my interview, come up with a diagnosis and differentials, and then state my treatment plan.

Ok, so I did all that, and then afterwards, I got my evaluation. I learned that I had no problems with presentation, they thought that I presented my case really well, had no problems speaking in English (well…), and did not even look nervous. The crusher was when they said that I needed work on the theoretical aspect, and that I was too poised during the interview, that they felt the patient couldn’t even connect with me. well, I didn’t connect with the patient, they said, I lacked empathy. <—But that totally wasn’t my intention, of course. (And, in retrospect, it was hard to really “connect” with a patient who was psychotic.)

Anyway, it didn’t go as well as I had planned. I thoroughly enjoyed the learning and the input from the consultants, but all in all, I wish I could have done better. I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me, and afterwards, I was just quiet for the whole day. I bounced back the next day, of course, like I always do (and like I always hope to be doing everytime I reach a speedbump in life), and now, I am able to dissect it more fully.

And yes, it’s not as easy as asking about feelings. So not.

Love,

S.

 

The Med School Library...

...is my new haunt. I just found out that one can "totally dorkify" by just flashing one's Hospital Work ID at the guard on-duty.

i'm in absolute medical heaven.

Anticipation

Timepiece. From Dr. JCP's uber cool
Balinese inspired clinic. April 2011.

Ooh…I love quickie lists!

For fun, if I had more time I’d probably…

Read Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita (someone told me the story one time and I want to read the tragicomedy myself), or Anna Karenina (which apparently takes one whole summer to finish), or heck, all three books of Lord of the Rings (because it’s so cool, and I haven’t had the time to do it?)…

I’d also learn how to speak in French, because baby, I don’t want to be the little cherie whose only claim to fame in the world is that I know what Je ne parles pas francais is. And besides, it’s fun.

Which also should be followed up with maybe I should learn how to do sign language. Which reminds me, one of my co-residents presented a case for grand rounds about her treating a psychotic patient who was both deaf and mute. Can you imagine how much of a challenge it must be to communicate with a patient like that one? (It’s a hard enough challenge to help someone to get well by talking to them about it…how much more if they can’t say anything. (I’d probably be unstoppable.haha)

Maybe I’d also like to put all the pictures I took ever since I started being a mad shutterbug (2005) together into a collection, because frankly, I never have gotten around to doing it.

I’d also like to Finish watching my six seasons of “The Sopranos”. ‘cause it’s a really cool show. *big grin*

And maybe play more tennis? Cute playmates optional.

Oh, and not just because I’m a fan of the Philippine Azkals, but I’d also give more time to learn  to love football. What can I say, I love the energy and enthusiasm, and I love the man.

J

Hmm..what else? Oh, learn how to cook inun-unan, and other useful meals besides. To be perfectly honest, I don’t even eat breakfast anymore… I have boxes of milk in my fridge, and I just grab one on the way out the door, and that’s instant breakfast.

Write out my notes and study all day is also another fun thing to do, if I had more time.  ;-)

Ooh, and I want to join a show choir too! ‘cause it’s not always fun to just keep singin in the shower all the time! I would love to break out into song every once in a while. :-p

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Time is a treasure, yes, but having money would be more fun too.

So here’s my  tick-off list:

·       Get a house for my family, with lots of space and fun stuff…and wide wide open spaces.

·        Get my own fun condo for living in. because I’m loving city living so much these days. ;-)

·        Have a good psychiatric rehabilitation facility with a sustainable medication program and psychosocial skills training  and community psychoeducation in my home town (‘cause there’s none officially to begin with, sadly.)

·         Lobby for government insurance covered psychiatric care for Filipinos (sorry, I can’t help the psychiatry causes plug.:-p).

·        

          Buy me books for a library.

·    OR…buy an Ipad2 with gigabytes worth of ebooks. Of course.

·   Buy the local elementary school a library (yes, I’m all for books for kids. J).

·   To walk in absolutely any store and buy what I want without having to look at the price tag.

·   And with that, to be able to pick out any place in the world to go to, with as many people as I want to, to go there. (super fun idea, especially if you have fun family like I have.)

·        

And well, I’d like to have some surgery (the best) done.

 Specifically: elbow joint replacement surgery. Tendon transfers. Ulnar nerve Neurorraphy. Scar surgery on my left arm.

Well, it’s not really an issue, but I kind of miss having a normal arm. And a good backhand. And maybe to not keep bumping my forearm into stuff (loss of proprioception happens sometimes.). and maybe to feel what it’s like to hold hands and touch my face with the left.

J Oops. Wish list, not Whine list. My bad.

Cheers!

--------------

I’ve been having a strange feeling these days…

When I was kid growing up, I had big dreams.

(I still do.)

I always wanted to be doing something…I always wanted to be something bigger…be somewhere else.  I was a ball of energy, always wanting to explore, always wanting more than what I had, even to the point of dreaming of things near-impossible. So much so, that I remember that my mother’s constant admonition was that we should not dream too big.

For a time, I resented that, because I felt that there was really nothing I couldn’t do, nor achieve unless I put my mind to it.

Ah…the energy of youth is boundless and perhaps foolish at times.

It was only just recently when I realized that my mother didn’t necessarily mean that I shouldn’t dream big…I could now swear that she meant to dream big foolishly, but to have a plan to carry it through, and do it all, and get it all, at the right time.

Perhaps I was too impatient then, that I didn’t realize right away that everything that was meant to happen will happen…once you’re really ready for it. I’m still far from being contented with my lot in life now, that I’ll settle for whatever I have now.

But instead of discontent, it’s more of a feeling of…anticipation. I have this pent up energy now, but it is not borne of a need to covet more and more, I am just in wait. (I don’t know if you get what I mean…it’s like, basta, I know something good will happen.)

Yet, even in this semi-content state, I still probably wouldn’t mind the wish list I did for Gaya’s blog entry fun. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was my entry for Gaya’s Blog Rounds Extravaganza, episode 2.

J

Plain and simple

Street kids enjoying a mid-rush hour nap.
May 18, 2011 (Photo by Me.)

I can’t sleep.

Well, at least not yet… I had just finished typing up my interaction sheet, a “must-have” for us residents, now that we are preparing for the accreditation team’s visit, so that the Department of Psychiatry will have its “usual” (expected) 5 year accreditation. This is quite an achievement, considering we are the only hospital (aside from my old hospital in Iloilo, where I did Medicine) to ever be awarded this privilege. Most hospitals get just three…or worse, one.

Paperwork, paperwork…

I love thee. I hate thee.

:-s I’m two-faced about this writing and paperwork thing. Oh yes, I do love to do paperwork, but in the same way, I don’t. I think it’s all too tedious at times. And, because I pride myself on having a pretty good memory for detail (especially if I really focus on the thing), I have the tendency to just say, “hey, I’ll do that when I get home.”

At the end of the day, when I’m home and all tired and drained, I usually just fall asleep, and don’t wake up until early morning. These past few weeks and days, I’ve been putting a conscious effort to just sit down (and not flit about) until I finish something.

And so here I am.

I’m on-duty now, waiting for a call. Hoping to fall asleep soon, but failing.

From the callroom’s foyer a manly scent wafts all the way over here, and I am annoyed.

It’s not supposed to be there. (I will have to discuss this infraction with my senior in the morning.)

----

The interaction sheet is a record of what each resident did that day, such as how many patients he’d seen, how many minutes or hours he spent with them, what came out of it, and what his management was.  It’s basically something to track our time at work with.

 The Accreditors in December will be looking over our paperwork and what we had done during the past year. (I’ve only started in January, and so far, my sheets are piling up…I don’t see that many patients compared to the other services, but hey, I was surprised at the number of files I’ve had to keep after all.)

i.e. “What do psychiatry residents do when they’re not talking to people?”

Documenting what you did every minute or every hour is just plain…toxic.

But it’s good, and I know I’ll be thankful when December comes, because it won’t be such a last-minute thing.

A little anxiety to get the juices flowing is essential to kick things off, but panic mode? Nah. None of that anymore… J

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I hate ambiguity.

I dislike ambivalence.

I just like things plain and simple.

I was annoyed this morning when one of the consultants told my co-resident (who also graduated from the same medical school I did) and myself that we should’ve stayed in Iloilo because the Psychiatry program there was the best in the country. And this was from someone who was from our hospital, for goodness sake.  (I thought you said _ _ _ was the best, man? What gives??)

I have my reasons for wanting to do my training in Manila and not in Iloilo. I have nothing against working in Iloilo, but I always felt that I needed to fulfill a certain childhood dream to be here. Or that I needed to be where my heart was. Or that I needed to be where I was going to be taught the most lessons.

To have him say something like that sorely disappointed me.

And I hate being disappointed.

It hurts.

The Anais Way

“Like a hot knife cutting through butter…” was a friend’s description of the smoothness of Inoxcrom pens.

A pen lover (and member of a group of pen lovers online), he knew his pens, complete with names and models, like cars. I love pens too (to a fault), but not in that way. I was more of the “feeling” type, i.e. “if it feels right, it must BE right” (I use the same rule for love and  grammar, but that’s a different story).

We had just gotten our bi-annual salary bonuses, but instead of blowing a substantial amount on clothes and shoes (as single people my age are wont to do at some time or another), I held onto it for a considerably longer time…and successfully bought, as my first ever purchase, a puncher.

Yes, the kind that makes little holes in paper.

J

And then, I got myself what my grandmother would call, a souvenir. My grandmother is a fan of the lottery bets recreationally, with a couple of “steady numbers” memorized. Whenever she wins, she buys something special (usually a housedress, a duster in bright colors) to celebrate her good fortune.

I did the same. But not with a housedress, of course.

I bought…a pen.

Nothing too fancy, that's for sure, but it was a stainless steel Inoxcrom pen that [literally] had my name on it. I had it engraved with “Stephanie Eloisa”, and although it seems like a frivolous purchase, I assure you, it is not.

(No, you can’t wear a pen, and no, it is not JUST a pen, and yes, it was well worth it. :-p) 

I’ve been writing a lot of stuff these past few days, with my job being like it is…a never-ending recording of my patients’ life stories. It is a painstaking process to churn out voluminous chronicles of their lives, and though I may exaggerate somewhat, this is all true. And, writing it out with a great pen makes the difference.

Anais Nin didn’t write with a Panda. Or a Dong-A sign pen in her prime. She probably wrote with an…Inoxcrom. :-p

In her crazy lifetime full of living and loving, Anais Nin probably had to be able to sit down and write out her thoughts and do so enjoyably because of a good pen and paper. I’ve been reading snippets of diary entries (she’s most known as a diarist) and I’m halfway through Henry and June, a book tagged by some as extremely erotic. (Although I didn’t think so, because I was more fascinated by her accounts, by her wit, and by that way she described people around her with such palpable, and yet technically superior grace.)

Which is why I could not imagine her on twitter, though. Or on facebook. (Although her quote, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."  Would seem to sound awfully cool as a status update on FB, don’t you think?)

I feel the same way, I suppose. Although I enjoy twitter’s urgency and immediate fulfillment of one’s urge to document one’s little life events and current preoccupations, I for one, can’t fully embrace it. 

And in terms of status updates on Facebook, you can only say so much. Instant gratification of our need for posterity seems to be the norm nowadays, and I have nothing against that.

For a more pleasurable writing experience, I recommend a dose of Anais Nin.

To write. To sit down with pen and paper, to think, and rethink, and put your thoughts in order…with nary a thought for whether your current piece is going to be “popular” or not (Although if it is, then it won’t be quite so bad, either. ;-)).

I am not a blogger. Nor am I a writer just yet.

I, well… I just write.

I breathe, I live and I tell my stories.

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"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect."

                                                                                    — Anaïs Nin

----------------

Hi. This is my entry for the rejuvenated blog rounds, Round 2. Major Props to Doc Remo for hosting and getting the ball rolling again. We needed a jolt (a.k.a. a much-needed defibrillation to get our blogging hearts restarted again), right?

I’ve only started reading Anais Nin on and off since last week. After reading about her diaries and writing from a book about journal writing, I got really curious, mesmerized by her gift for describing people. It would come in handy for my job, I suppose, as we deal with detail… So I looked her up, and I got my hands on a copy of Henry and June, a sexually risqué piece of work, or so they say.

LOL. I mentioned this to a friend, and when he looked it up online he was aghast and adding the other ebook I shared with him, he commented, “Is this the type of literature you’re into?”. What can I say, he wasn’t a writer…and judging from his reaction, he may never understand the beauty of the words, the mellifluous harmony of writing which marks Anais Nin’s pieces.

Tsk tsk.

Admittedly, I’m not a big fan of her way of throwing herself at life without reserve, and of her loss of 

control on certain issues, but by golly, can she WRITE…and what style!

 She is a thin, permeable membrane of emotions and lusty love for living…which makes it almost scary to want to be like her. Yet, I know my limits. I want to live life to the fullest and write about it and all that, in a style like hers, but I can never fully let go.

(In the same way that I can’t overshare on twitter, facebook, and blogger. But this comes pretty close.)

Good morning. :-)

~ S. 

My first Family Meeting

I did my first family meeting this week.

Boy, was it hard.

After all that emotional strain, I felt I only wanted to do three things…

1.      Call my mother to bawl (I did. She was in church.)

2.      See my boyfriend and bawl. (Right. I should get me one. :-p wishful thinking, haha, but I suppose boyfriends should be around for these purposes..)

3.      Call my bestfriend. (But she’s ‘non-showbiz, so she wouldn’t feel it as intensely.)

I ended up with the next best thing.

I went to hear Mass. And then a friend of mine (and his co-resident  with GC’s, haha)ended up buying me green tea latte (with soy milk) from Starbucks afterwards.

And saw a bit of Barbie Almalbis rocking it out on the stage at the mall. I always thought she was super cool.

Barbie Almalbis, rocking it out on her purple Guitar. (Robinsons' Ermita, April 10,2011)

Oh, and I had my toenails done. Haha.

And then, eventually, I got to thinking that everything was back to normal. And the world was right again.

J

Back to work for me.

G’nite!

Love, 

Video: Bituing Walang Ningning

I love this song...this version particularly. Yet it's so melancholic, I seem to feel ambivalent about whether I should be happy about it, or if I want to cry.

(Don't mind the visuals...just put the headphones on and close your eyes. You'll see what I mean. Or hear.)

----

Still at the hospital. Not on-duty, but I had to do some stuff, put some papers together. so dorky. and it's a Friday Night.

I'm attached to the hospital by the hip, it seems. If it weren't so...relaxing, then I'd probably bolt off to my home, where it's warm, and my bed is soft and pillows squishy. i miss my bed.

:-S

I have a morning consult tomorrow.

How was your day?

Every little thing is magic.

After a long day, I usually wind down with writing something in my journal… sometimes, I write down lists, or sometimes I just droll on and on about a certain topic, which, upon reaching the end of my “papyric” tirade, it all starts to make sense. I just feel that I never want to lose any of it.

Each little thought is a memory, and every action, every nuance, every line that counts for something should be written down to be remembered (or somehow told.) J

My luggage from home. The cooler is full of food.
lol.

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I had just gotten home from a long day at work… my last activity for the day had been an interview with a bipolar patient from the ward, who was currently Manic. I was assigned to videotape my interview with her for my supervision tomorrow. * In this context, supervision is when you and a consultant sit down and discuss a patient’s case, or in my case, she wanted to discuss my interview with me. The last time I had supervision, I interviewed a psychotic patient, and she’d pause the video clip at certain places to explain to me about aspects of interviewing patients, and then give me some tips on interviewing.

It’s quite an experience watching yourself as you do an interview. I didn’t know I had tics and mannerisms that got magnified on screen. 

Like, for example, I’d tap my fingers when I get impatient…or, I would tend to pause at times for longer than necessary. The most amusing part was at the start…my supervisor laughed, and said (well, I actually verbalized it for her,haha), “I’m too perky?”

She chuckled. ‘If your patient is aloof, or reserved, you should start with that kind of mood,” she said, “you also need to be reserved.”

------

I had a bit of a scare earlier.

I had a patient at the OPD who (he was manic) actually tore his prescription right in front of me because he thought I was prescribing too many tablets (he was due for check-up in a month, with 3x daily medications, hence the number). He came with his wife, and he got agitated because he said vitamins helped him sleep anyway, so he wouldn’t need the sleeping pills I prescribed as well. His wife was embarrassed for him, and this irritated him, so after a while, he got antsy and started to talk in a louder voice, saying that he knew some important people in the senate and that the former vice president of the Philippines was his uncle, so he’d be given medications, no doubt about it.

Somehow, that tearing of the prescription scared me, and it made me move away farther from the patient, and it made me annoyed because despite all my patience, he still wanted to assert himself. I took a deep breath and tried to diffuse the situation. It was hard, because the way he carried on, it was as if he was going to hit his wife…and if I pushed it, maybe even me.

I resisted the urge to call security, but in the end, I took the risk and decided to play along with it, talking to the patient calmly but firmly (I hope). Eventually, he recanted, and he even made the promise of bringing me a carton of vitamin supplements that he was selling, and giving it to me for free. Just because.

It worked, thankfully. In fact, in the end, he was even apologetic.  He somehow got some insight, calmed down.  He was easier to talk to afterwards.

He ended up being nicer, promising to take the medications (I slipped his wife another prescription, but this time, it was for a full month).

Patient: “Doctor, how would you like vitamin E supplements? I’ll give them to you for free…

Me: Thank you sir, you are very kind, but Vitamin E makes me break out in pimples… (It does.)

Patient: Do you have a boyfriend? I think you’d get along well with my co-teacher who is also single…

Me: (not letting him finish) Oh, it’s ok sir, thank you. Yes, I do have a boyfriend. (I don’t.)

-----

I like to think that I am the type of person who can remember whole conversations, especially if I see people’s faces, and see their gestures, and observe them gesticulate in their own peculiar ways.

----

My friend Chamie is about to give birth…to her baby we have named Chimichanga!

----

I am a lucky girl. And it’s a priceless feeling.

(Thanks Ma, Thanks Pa.)

-----

A girl in the elevator was singing her version of James Ingram’s “If ever you’re in my arms again…”

Happy thought. J

----

I’m reporting on Trance and Hypnosis tomorrow. Volunteered.

(me and my big mouth.)

:-S

------

Oh, we heard a good comment earlier from one of our consultants, and I paraphrase…

”We were a great batch, with a good work ethic.” (He meant us first year psych residents, of course.)

*heartwarming*

-----

A famous author once said, “Anyone’s first draft is shit.”

(Lol. I don’t care.)

-----

Natch, you know what, maybe one of these days, I’m going to get me a boyfriend who’ll ask me at the end of a long day, “So how was your day?” so you wouldn’t have to put up with my long day revue.

*sigh*

-----

But you know I love writing to you anyway, right? J

(Good.)

----

Love,

S.

P.S. So...How was your day?

Oh, this made me laugh while watching Modern Family last weekend. Give it a go! :-D

"Cause it's FUN"

I only had one patient waiting for me at the outpatient department where I was supposed to go during the afternoons after our lectures/didactics.  I was looking forward to seeing this patient, as he was one of my first admissions, and as such, he was my first discharge. 

He was a young man, barely out of his boyhood. He was a smart kid…an achiever when he was in grade school and high school. Everything seemed fine until he ended up being greatly disappointed because of a family matter. It all went downhill from there. He was initially brought in for check-up because he had problems coping (suffice to say, he had problems I can’t describe right here for ethical reasons). The mind, including the ego, is a strange, and powerful thing… at the peak of your youthful talent, if it breaks and turns against you, you will never be the same again.

(Or you could still go back, but it’s going to take a lot of work.)

 At 22, a couple of  years after he fell mentally-ill, he had already been admitted into the psychiatry ward of my hospital twice. Because he was smart, he had looked up what his illness was all about…what highs and lows of it were, and how being a patient was supposed to be like. Actually, it was quite amusing when I first met him at the emergency room. He was pacing, would sit down and then get up again, and then do some martial arts forms (he strongly believed he was a martial arts master) before sitting down back again so we could  talk to him. One time, he looked me in the eye and then said, “Are you really a doctor? How come I know my disease better than you do?”

Despite my wearing the prescribed “empathic poker face” (which we are supposed to use while talking to patients), I couldn’t stop myself from cracking an amused smile. (The dude had a point.) So of course, yes, I told him I was a doctor, and that yes, I was going to help him. And so, followed the days in the psychiatric ward where the “wholistic” treatment, covering all the biopsychosocial aspects were implemented. He got out and I remember him thanking me profusely, and his mother wanted to talk to me on the phone when he got out.

J

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And just this afternoon, when he showed up for the pre-scheduled check-up after his disharged, I couldn’t help but notice how, with just the right tools, enough support, and proper medications could really change a person. It could make or break his/her future. The man/boy who went for his check-up with me was a neat, debonair gentleman, dressed in a clean shirt, dark denim jeans and leather shoes, with his hair well-combed, and a bright countenance on his face. Quite an improvement from the restless, high-energy, young patient I had first seen at the ER a month ago, who didn’t know what he was doing with his life.

This patient was now able to take his medications on his own, able to realize what was wrong with him…and taking another stab at the bright, hopeful future ahead of him.

It was quite a long process, and his being there took a lot of effort from a team of people who helped him; myself, the nurses, his family…which finally made him realize that he held the central role. Everyone was going to be there for him, which allowed him to pull himself together. J

(I admit, it doesn’t sound as dramatic as the  scenes one sees on Grey’s Anatomy, or as mind-boggling as House’ , but I can’t deny that the feeling of knowing that you helped give a person another chance at life, and giving him hope when he broke down because he had none…is nothing short of magical. J)

(Upon leaving, he thanked me, and promised to show up for the next follow-up schedule. He also apologized for his behavior in the ER (he still remembered that he had doubted my being a doctor the first time.) I, in turn, reassured him that I thought nothing of it, of course.)

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Trina, Mer  (my co-residents) and I were at the callroom earlier just hanging out, each doing some work on his or her laptop… “I can’t get it, why can’t people see that Psych is fun?” somebody said, after we were talking for a while, and the conversation somehow ended up on that line..

We all just laughed. (“I know, right?”)

-----

I just love my job and the opportunity it affords me to help people in a not-so-conventional way.

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One time, I found myself talking to an old med school classmate at the hospital entrance while we were waiting for the oath-taking ceremonies to start that morning. He was telling me about his job, saying how stressful it was (he’s an Anesthesiology resident), and how, in crucial moments, he had to make sure that he was able to do the procedure of putting his patient “to sleep”, and then bringing him out of the chemically-induced sleep again…all the while making sure that so-so patient is breathing properly. And all this with a consultant/attending, a senior resident breathing down his neck.

Him: “It’s so stressful.”

Me: My job is stressful too, you know.

Him: Aren’t crazy people crazy already? Nobody’s going to die there, unlike in my specialty.

Me: Well, (pause) if they come to me crazy, I have to make them “uncrazy”…doesn’t that sound stressful and important as well?

Him: (Silence…) Hmm…true.

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Got tons of paperwork to do…but I just had to update you, lest I fall into the deep pit of Burnout oblivion. ;-)

Thanks, you’ve been a great audience.

Love,

S.

Luneta Park

I was feeling sick on Friday, it was a pretty slow day for me.

Nothing serious, just a day that happens to most everyone at times...things don't seem to be going your way, and sometimes its an effort to get out of bed. (The fact that I had paperwork to catch up on, and an impossible assignment to report about, didn't help my condition at all.)

Well, to add to that, I missed the UST fireworks (I love fireworks..). My friend JC had told me about it, and he said that they were probably going to have fireworks again. Tito Father said that I should go, it was going to be fun in UST. It didn't push through, much to my chagrin.

Anyhoo...whenever I have these "down times", i usually just sleep it off, or sometimes talk it out with a close friend. For Friday night, my "radio host" was my cousin Christo. I have a phone on the Sun network i use for patients, which is also pretty convenient to use to call home, so we chatted on that. After a long time of catching up, and pep talk, here was the gist of the story, " You know, S., you're where you want to be, doing the job you want to do. This is not the time to let anything, or anyone get you down."

(heck, even a psychiatrist needs a little pep talk every now and then.)

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Saturday morning was a beautiful day...the clouds were cirrus (which meant great weather later), and the air was crisp and cool. I didn't have work, so I decided it was time to see the city's sights, or one of them, at least. From my window, I could see nearby Luneta park, just some blocks away. It would be fun to take pictures. (Taking pictures of people always was a joy.)

I left my camera at the Hospital call room, so I decided to fetch it before setting out. My phone has the same megapixel power as my camera, but there's nothing quite like the feel of a Canon. (Especially Mine. *love*)

It was still pretty early in the day, but apparently not for other people. I saw a friend walk by that morning, obviously in a hurry. I figured he had a 7AM time in schedule, which was pretty much why he was walking in quick, long strides. I was just going to trail behind him, because I was in no hurry, but he called me over when he saw me. He chatted a bit, but didn't break the pace. He looked like he just hopped out of bed (that probably wasn't his own, judging from the size of his backpack, or the clothes he was wearing, :-S)  and dressed in a hurry for work. I was going to tease him about it, but then I realized that I shouldn't...I myself hadn't showered anyway, and besides, it was none of my business to.

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Anyway, when I went to the park, I did a bit of sightseeing...quite like a regular tourist. the last time I'd been in Luneta was years ago, and I was a different, younger person then. :-)

It was a bit of a walk, just the perfect cardio exercise to perk me up. For some reason, the air was quite fresh, for manila. Instead of doing the quiet walking around, and being lost in thought, I was doing my favorite role...the tourist-type photographer, but for people. ;-)

Which makes me a photojournalist?

:-)

Blogger is not cooperating and letting me upload my pictures, so you'll have to check them out here. Captions provided, for your reading pleasure.

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Saturday morning was a good learning experience. One of the mature defense mechanisms, as we all know is Sublimation, which involves us taking our anxieties and troubles from inside and taking them out, reworking their energy into something useful. I may not be able to do it all the time I get into a funk, but trust me, if you're in one, doing something constructive definitely helps. Heaps.

(photos here.)

Happy Sunday!

The Instrument

This afternoon, I found myself on all fours…

…checking out the lowermost shelf of pens at the national Bookstore, looking for something special.

(haha.)

Actually, I was there initially to pick up my TRODAT (that stamp thing that ISO-certified PGH requires all residents to have). I had mine remade to add the department where I was from (very necessary). That TRODAT stamp was something I won in a bet I made with someone…er, special/cute/nice/amazingly awesome/ or whatever(but that’s another story.) :-p

Anyhoo, today’s blog entry’s cheesiness level will be kept at a minimum, of course. You and I both know that the emotional Sonia (that’s me, occasionally) is not very entertaining. (Drama is not a dish we like to listen to everyday for dinner, right?)

Anyway…

It all started during one ward meeting we had at the Psych department, when I saw one of the internst sign the attendance logbook with a shiny black and gold fountain pen. I couldn’t help but look. Long (I couldn’t take my eyes off it.) I couldn’t resist asking him:

Me: Hey Jim, could I see that pen?

And he sort of gave a little laugh while I reached for the pen, and examined it closely.

It was black, shiny, elegant…and my favorite, it was ergonomic. J And when the nib touched the paper, anything I wrote, every stroke and every line came out (and stood out) like…

                        Black gold.

(Ok, so I’m overreacting, but hey… you know the feeling.)

So, while I was flipping it around, rolling it around my fingers twirling it, and all the while admiring the balance of a perfectly good pen, I could not help but sigh.

Me: Where did you get this?

Him: I got it in Binondo, Ma’am, in Escolta, at a place called “Louis’ Pen Store.”

Me: For real? Maybe I’ll go there and check the place out one of these days…

Him: It’s virtually got a lot of pens there, mostly high-end ones so I had to pick out an affordable one.

(And then he started talking about Parker pens, and saying names like “F14” and comparing his pen with other Parker models. For a while there, it almost  seemed like he was talking about cars. Which was good, and I think the kid knew about his fountain pens. )

Me: But hey, this is pretty cool…do you write?

Him: Yes, a little…but I haven’t the time lately.

Me: (handing the pen back to him), “Cool. Take care of that pen.”

Him: Yeah, this pen is going to outlive me.

Chamie, my co-resident who was also at the table with me also joined in the exchange. She knew about my thing about pens (and paper), and tried out the black pen, as well. She was pretty amused, but thought the pen too short…a longer pen, she said, also made you write in more beautiful strokes.

And myself, being the purist that I am, said solemnly, “No, it doesn’t really matter, the pen is the pen… it’s like, wow.”

(LOL. I don’t think that made much sense, though.)

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My job as a resident requires a lot of writing. Writing down notes and observations of patients, referrals…psych histories (and boy, are they long).  A good pen really does matter. Like our mentors always say, “ You, yourself, are the instrument. You don’t bring anything, no stet, no CT scan (although you have to order that in some cases), no flashy equipment that will tell you what is wrong with the patient, just yourself.

And a good amount of output involves writing out lengthy histories, like I said.

And good writing involves a good pen.

(And I got one today. It’s blue, and plastic, and has a cartoon of a penguin licking a popsicle, being licked in turn by a polar bear.)

Ok. The end. 

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Defense Mechanisms, 101:

ISOLATION OF AFFECT: This defense involves a split between thoughts and feelings. Painful, troublesome, frightening feelings are removed from the thoughts they usually accompany and forced from conscious awareness. This defensive style is recognizable in the person who is able to talk about things that would ordinarily make a person wince without any noticeable feeling. A doctor describing a mutilated accident victim in cool clinical terms is someone who is adaptively using isolation of affect.