After working in public health for most of my professional life - first as a Doctor to the Barrio, then in the DOH Central Office, then as a researcher - I've decided it's time to enter residency. Scrubs these days are expensive AF. Did not buy. For the uninitiated, residency is that special time in every specialist doctor's life where you work and train in a hospital for 3 to 5 years to become a specialist in something - in my case, Psychiatry. For the initiated, this is 3 to 5 years of being an overworked, underpaid zombie. My friends and family know I've agonized about this decision for a long time now. I already applied to a Psychiatry program last year, but decided not to push through to stay in the DOH. Last December I decided to quit DOH anyway and take what eventually became a "slow year." I was lucky enough to be offered a few research and consulting gigs, and to some extent, I was able to do things on my own terms. For the first time ever I was 100...
We went to the doctor today for a follow-up. (Yes, doctors need doctors too.) His name is Dr. Jaffy, and this was only our second visit to him. I was supposed to see him five months ago, but I stubbornly put it off until things got worse. (Doctors also make the worst patients.) "Worse" is what my hands look like today. As soon as I sat down in the clinic chair, Doc Jaffy took my knobby, red hands and gently tapped on the joints as he counted. "Looks like all your PIPs are inflamed." Proximal Inter-Phalangeal joint. PIP. Such a cute word but whenever my doctors bring it up, the context is never cute. "Where else?" he asked. I said, my knuckles, elbows, knees, and toes, and then felt kinda stupid for reciting them to him in this order like a kid. He put his finger to his masked chin and thought for a while. " Mag- biologics na nga tayo ," he said. Biologics are a class of drugs meant to suppress my immune system and keep it from attacking my own ...
It is 10:42 AM, the morning of my 32nd birthday. Rap made me breakfast of toasted bread, sausages, and coffee, waking me up from a bizarre dream (we were vacationing in some rural town in Korea, riding a dingy rollercoaster that had a rectangular track, and our dog Nawa was on it too). As I sip my coffee and nibble on the toast lovingly prepared by him, I check social media and reply to greetings. To my surprise, our ninong Luke has greeted me too, but of course in the form of a backhanded compliment. Still, what a nice gesture. I reflect how it is 10 AM on a Monday morning, and I'm having a slow start to my day at home. I can't help but compare it to my 30th birthday, which I had spent in an office, feeling sad. On that morning, I'd rushed out the condo at 6 AM to get to the office by 7, so I could leave the office by 4, so I could make it to a dinner with my college friends. I was sad because I wanted more than anything to just go home. Office life is weird...
you're welcome aims =)
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