Easing back into it
Remembered something my high school friend Makay told me as we met up for lunch one afternoon. She said I should invest in a domain, as in a .com domain, to make my blog more legit. Internally I thought, what the hell, my blog is my collection of pointless ramblings about mundane things. Owning a .com will be pointless if the content I make is just this same old drivel.
Decided long ago to make my blog a family-friendly diary, but have forgotten to keep it updated. I do feel bad whenever I let a day go by undocumented or unwritten about. I feel like my only connection to my past is through my own writings. For instance, I don't remember much about my childhood, but I'm glad that I kept a diary even then. Perhaps I shall advocate for writing to be the cure to memory loss.
Was reading through my some old personal stuff I wrote and was quite surprised at how good the writing was. Yes, I'm claiming it: I actually wrote something good. But am now feeling sad and strangely envious of my former self. Thanks to med school I've been out of practice for so long, both in reading and writing. (Reading and writing for med school is a different story.)
Was excited to write in my blog now because I just finished reading Cloud Atlas yesterday. My favorite character in the book is probably Robert Frobisher. The movie didn't do him justice. (I know, movies never do their books justice.) I can somehow relate to him, even though we're timelines (and realities) apart. I love his spontaneity and determination. And there's something about him I just can't put a finger on. I guess some people would call it moxy. He's gotta lotta moxy.
Anyway, after I finish a good novel, I always get the sudden inspiration to write something. Hence my brief presence on this blog. Also, I was inspired by Timothy Cavendish and Robert Frobisher to write this sort of entry in this sort of tone.
Brother got chickenpox three weeks ago, and because my family only ever sleeps in the same room, inevitably the virus was passed onto me. Two days ago I started noticing a weird itchy rash on my chest, which grew into a vesicle the next day. Today I've got a lot of these itchy vesicles on my trunk, arms, legs, back, and head. Am feeling like human bubble wrap. Wish to pop all of these sago-like pearls but of course that's just painful and unnecessary.
This chickenpox bout has derailed so many things in my life. Because I'm infectious, I have to miss my flight back to Manila on Tuesday. And Caitlin was scheduled to spend the weekend home to celebrate mom and dads' birthdays, but since I'm contagious, parents made her stay in Manila. Wasn't the worth the risk, they said. Very sad. We were supposed to take a road trip to see the Enchanted River in Surigao, which Dad has been wanting to go to for years now.
Even worse, I'm missing out on my scheduled activities in Manila. Missing out on ACSIS planning seminar. And, more importantly, my research group's data collection! We needed everyone in the group to hand out surveys and such, but alas I'm stuck home with these itchy pearls. I haven't even told them yet because I don't really know how to. What's the best way to tell someone that you're abandoning them to stay at home and do nothing? This sucks.
On the topic of things that suck, last night I took my first visit to the ER as a patient. I've been taking an immunosuppresant, methotrexate, for about two years now as treatment for rheumatoid arthritis. The problem with having chickenpox while on methotrexate is that my immune system might not be able to fight off the infection without some assistance. So last night, dad took me to the Polymedic ER to get me a prescription for an antiviral.
When I got there, the nurses politely ushered me into the "privilege room," which was a sorry-looking big box lined with white tile. The room was empty, save for some monitoring equipment on one wall, and a sole white hospital bed in the center. I felt like it was a very sad place to die in. Anyway, so the nurse comes in, takes my vitals, leaves, and then returns to tell me that the doctor ordered a complete blood count (CBC). Dad, who was in the room with me, was shocked and asked why the doctor ordered the test without even meeting me first and knowing my problem. After some negotiations (I feel very sorry for the nurse because my dad can be scary when he's crossed), the nice nurse left to go fetch the doctor.
After waiting for a while, the doctor then pops into the room. The first thing she does is ask my dad how old I am. WTH, like I'm some incompetent child incapable of answering that myself. She also broke Rule Number One in dealing with patients: Introduce yourself first. Sucks. Anyway, after some talking and whatever, she finally understands the problem and prescribes me an antiviral. Valacyclovir. Very expensive. :(
Ok, parent is here and I have lost the will to blog any further. Being in the same room as another sentient being always makes me conscious of my own writing. Til next time.
Decided long ago to make my blog a family-friendly diary, but have forgotten to keep it updated. I do feel bad whenever I let a day go by undocumented or unwritten about. I feel like my only connection to my past is through my own writings. For instance, I don't remember much about my childhood, but I'm glad that I kept a diary even then. Perhaps I shall advocate for writing to be the cure to memory loss.
Was reading through my some old personal stuff I wrote and was quite surprised at how good the writing was. Yes, I'm claiming it: I actually wrote something good. But am now feeling sad and strangely envious of my former self. Thanks to med school I've been out of practice for so long, both in reading and writing. (Reading and writing for med school is a different story.)
Was excited to write in my blog now because I just finished reading Cloud Atlas yesterday. My favorite character in the book is probably Robert Frobisher. The movie didn't do him justice. (I know, movies never do their books justice.) I can somehow relate to him, even though we're timelines (and realities) apart. I love his spontaneity and determination. And there's something about him I just can't put a finger on. I guess some people would call it moxy. He's gotta lotta moxy.
Anyway, after I finish a good novel, I always get the sudden inspiration to write something. Hence my brief presence on this blog. Also, I was inspired by Timothy Cavendish and Robert Frobisher to write this sort of entry in this sort of tone.
Brother got chickenpox three weeks ago, and because my family only ever sleeps in the same room, inevitably the virus was passed onto me. Two days ago I started noticing a weird itchy rash on my chest, which grew into a vesicle the next day. Today I've got a lot of these itchy vesicles on my trunk, arms, legs, back, and head. Am feeling like human bubble wrap. Wish to pop all of these sago-like pearls but of course that's just painful and unnecessary.
This chickenpox bout has derailed so many things in my life. Because I'm infectious, I have to miss my flight back to Manila on Tuesday. And Caitlin was scheduled to spend the weekend home to celebrate mom and dads' birthdays, but since I'm contagious, parents made her stay in Manila. Wasn't the worth the risk, they said. Very sad. We were supposed to take a road trip to see the Enchanted River in Surigao, which Dad has been wanting to go to for years now.
Even worse, I'm missing out on my scheduled activities in Manila. Missing out on ACSIS planning seminar. And, more importantly, my research group's data collection! We needed everyone in the group to hand out surveys and such, but alas I'm stuck home with these itchy pearls. I haven't even told them yet because I don't really know how to. What's the best way to tell someone that you're abandoning them to stay at home and do nothing? This sucks.
On the topic of things that suck, last night I took my first visit to the ER as a patient. I've been taking an immunosuppresant, methotrexate, for about two years now as treatment for rheumatoid arthritis. The problem with having chickenpox while on methotrexate is that my immune system might not be able to fight off the infection without some assistance. So last night, dad took me to the Polymedic ER to get me a prescription for an antiviral.
When I got there, the nurses politely ushered me into the "privilege room," which was a sorry-looking big box lined with white tile. The room was empty, save for some monitoring equipment on one wall, and a sole white hospital bed in the center. I felt like it was a very sad place to die in. Anyway, so the nurse comes in, takes my vitals, leaves, and then returns to tell me that the doctor ordered a complete blood count (CBC). Dad, who was in the room with me, was shocked and asked why the doctor ordered the test without even meeting me first and knowing my problem. After some negotiations (I feel very sorry for the nurse because my dad can be scary when he's crossed), the nice nurse left to go fetch the doctor.
After waiting for a while, the doctor then pops into the room. The first thing she does is ask my dad how old I am. WTH, like I'm some incompetent child incapable of answering that myself. She also broke Rule Number One in dealing with patients: Introduce yourself first. Sucks. Anyway, after some talking and whatever, she finally understands the problem and prescribes me an antiviral. Valacyclovir. Very expensive. :(
Ok, parent is here and I have lost the will to blog any further. Being in the same room as another sentient being always makes me conscious of my own writing. Til next time.
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