Recovery Room

Wow. It's been another year tumblr. And yet, you stay here like a forgotten errand, a pending transaction, like me, you're just like a work in progress. I examine the page and the description says, this is a journal of a 21 year-old-girl, but I no longer am. I've aged, I started wearing glasses because the ophthalmologist prescribed them. I was hesitant at first, carefully squinting at him until he wrote in the prescription " For clearer vision 2015". And I believed him. 

I stopped wandering around the world wide web like I used to before. And it's not so bad. I'm still in constant search for meaning. Except for the profound realizations and some household blunders, I guess nothing much changed.

While everyone else is starting their day, my day is about to end. And i'm appending it by wrapping a corpse in a hospital bed. No, not your ordinary gift wrapping technique. It didn't bother me until today. The job calls for it.  I had series of wrapping episodes but not one struck a nerve or a reflex. Not until today.

Me: I just spent the last 16 hours sleeping. What is wrong with me?!

Sister: Nothing's wrong with you bestie. You just know your priorities.Hahaha!

Me (after an hour): Y U NO REPLY?

Sister: I'm working on my thesis.

I opened the curtain and greeted the couple good evening. It has been a routine for me. To say “Hi. I’m your nurse for tonight (or for today, depending on my schedule) and I will be be here from __ to ___”. Yes, it’s a fill in the blanks kind of conversation. 

It’s Valentine’s day and the patient was a woman, about to be discharged the next day. It was a case of breast cancer. There’s a big wound on her chest, too large, it has to be covered with a diaper. And there’s the husband, patiently caring for his wife. They play Christian songs every morning. As if it’s their wake up call.They kept a bible on the bedside table, along with a long bond paper — their running hospital bill.  

The husband walked towards me and handed me chocolates –the labels say “Toblerone” and “Snickers”. He said “Thank you for your concern”. I said “Thanks” and the woman smiled, she said “Thank you”.

Anne: Did you know that you can't get lycopene from raw tomatoes?

Me: What?You can?Or you can't?

Anne: Huh? The point is when you eat it raw. Duh.

So, I missed the point. But at any given moment in our life, don't we all? We miss the more essential details of the picture because we are too focused on something else.Often times, we don't even see the picture.

I was at my losing point for the past months. I have become an apathetic twenty something. I stopped volunteering at the ER department of a public hospital. I stopped doing the laundry and everything became a chore. I didn't even know where am i going. Yes, like the scalar quantity in your physics class -- who doesn't have a  direction. But maybe, that's the point of hitting the rock bottom and maybe that's the point of quarter life crisis. Maybe we are all meant to undergo that cycle to regain our drive -- to live and to dream. (Excuse the cliche.)

I asked a technician to visit the apartment the other day. The mini fridge broke and I found a "refrigerator doctor" nearby who could fix the problem. I've never had this problem before. I've never had a refrigerator broke in the middle of the week.

I haggled over the price he is asking. "You see mister, we have to meet halfway.", I told him.(This is the part where I haggle over the price of appliances --not clothes, not food, but home appliances.)

He explained how they need to clean the freezer, block the leak and recharge freon. I didn't know what freon was. The only freon I know is the infectious agent . (Oh, did I mean, Prion?)(Props if you realized that I just cracked a joke) 

Maybe I didn't care what freon was. When you're bargaining with God with lots of things that has been going on with your life, you just want to be successful in bargaining for the price of repairing refrigerator. 

The refrigerator doctor scratched his head then he finally agreed. They picked up the refrigerator after 10 minutes and advised that the turn-around time is 2-5 business days.

"Good morning Doc!", I beamed at the doctor at the emergency department. He looked at me, smiling, "Good morning! Linggong, linggo, nandito ka? Wala kang buhay no?".

Staff nurse: (with a very serious look in his face) Multiple injuries secondary to mauling. Pumunta kasing Robinsons, ayun nagka injury. 

"You see those white waves approaching? Hop on your body board then go with the trail of white waves. This is how you do it", the man instructed, pointing to the white waves from afar,then he did it.

I had my  introduction to the concept of "go with the flow" last Saturday in a beach in Zambales.That trip made me understood other people when they say they have a love affair with the sea. (Like the sea was a mistress.Wait, does that sound sexist? )

I tried to catch a wave that day. I advised the mentor I could only handle small waves-- that I cannot go afar because I don't know how to swim. He said, you just need to go with the wave. I told him my concept of time was broken, I might come later than the wave.

Then I did it. Or perhaps, I believe I did.

"What do you think?",they asked.

"It was a thrilling experience. Something, that leaves you wanting for more", I responded.

The man handed me the surf board, pointing to a slightly farther area from the seashore " Then try again."

"Maybe next time? When I have enough courage to go that far?"

Then I walked passed him, moving towards the hammock by the sea. I find myself lying there for a few minutes, contemplating. 

Me: Isn't that the band? Gerund Gerund?

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Morphine", he said.

"Like the drug?"

"Morphine, like the drug", he echoed.

She said "Please, huwag ka nang sumigaw", (Please stop screaming!). I told her I've not screamed that loud for a long time. And she looked at me confused almost always saying "So, that's an excuse?". Because it seemed like I did not breathe for two minutes just to scream. 

And I thought about some days when I wanted to scream real hard -- out of happiness and sometimes out of frustration, sometimes, out of fear.  Like last Monday, when my best friend relayed to me a good news and both my parents said "Very good". Like I was in grade school again, wanting for acknowledgement for a job well done. Like some days when you're pissed off about something work related. (only now, you don't have work, so you have nothing to scream about). 

I remember you firing a gun one night when I was 5 years old. And then it scared me because I only see those scenes in the boob tube, it never dawned on me that I’d witness it in real life. I remember you lighting one cigarette after cigarette, I didn’t forget, it was how you acquired the disease. I remember you asking for 3 sips of water before you said Hello to Hades.I was your little nurse then. To date, that’s the best reason I could think of when they ask me why I took up Nursing. (But who am I kidding?)

I remember grandmother telling me you were a former police, then you became a leader. You had a flag laid atop your coffin.

I remember being your favorite grandchild because I was the first born of your only daughter. Although you never really said that out loud. And then there are other things that lingers in memory like how you brought and fetched me during my first day at the day care, how you laid on your deathbed, can barely speak but still telling stories.

I have few vivid reminiscences. Few years passed, I’ve grown up,  I realized death was irreversible and I’ve been trying to find the way out of the labyrinth of suffering.

We were once advised by the people next door that we should only bring our black bags(a.k.a garbage bags) out of the unit if the following conditions are satisfied 1) we hear the standard garbage truck honk 2) we see the garbage truck and the garbage collector in flesh. It was followed by a narration of how the stray cats (oh, feline friends, what did you do?), would wreck the contents of our black bags leaving an unpleasant sight in the street. This was presented as a problem because no one stays at home in the morning of weekdays which means we'll need to pile up our black bags and wait for the weekends.

So there, I found myself at home on a Saturday waiting for a garbage truck. The blue truck that carries the burden and the skeletons of the world. The one that catches the hand me downs, the left overs, the worm infested, the ones we deem necessary.

We have the garbage collector of course, the ones who carry badges of courage. Like superheroes, they  do not show a slight fear at the sight of the formidable bags and not to mention, the odor that these bags would exude. The ones clad with dirt and whose only protective equipments consist of gloves and some improvised face mask. As if they had the best white blood cells in the world to combat an impending infection.

I'd wait for the garbage collector every Saturdays. While he would comply, most of the time, there was this one time when he didn't. He didn't show up, like we're suppose to meet but he ditched me.

Because there comes a point in  your life when all you need is that one garbage collector. The ones who cleans up the clutter in your little apartment before the rodents and the invertebrated creatures called worms feast on them

It's like waiting for someone to pick up the ugly part in us, throw them somewhere else for other people to see the better picture, the better slice, not the rotten side of the fruit. Like waiting for someone brave enough to un clutter your mind and embrace your imperfections.

Someone asked me today if I am willing to wait for 3 years. And he said it like  I was in a fast food chain, because I wanted it now but I can't have it. So he  explained how they usually cook the food, every detail of the process, and then he asked, willing to wait?For 3 years?