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| Sunday, October 08, 2006 |
| I could |
write about performing vaginal inspections,
complaining about the difficulty of visualising a cervix and the most uncomfortable exam a woman probably has to undergo - the bimanual exam.
ponder the significance of life,
after having seen a man die on my first day on call, his daughter not even wanting to claim his physical remains; and having a friend's granddad pass away as well on my shift. Opening a chart and seeing the letters "DNAR" and trying to explain it to her is not easy. Not easy indeed. The clinical whispered mutterings among the staff to increase the morphine dose past the "safe" levels, because the "safe" dose isn't doing anything for his pain anymore. The removing of the oxygen mask that sustains him because he does not like the feel of a strap around his face, though doing it ensures his passing.
blog about the long days and even longer nights,
running around chasing charts, looking dumb in front of consultants, mixing up doses and medications (good thing the consultant has to cosign everything), reviewing patient... after patient... after patient... after patient... after patient... after patient...
rhyme about that penultimate quest,
LOVE,
for many, nay, more than many, of my brethren and uh... sisthren across the seas lack, wonder about, mourn this emotion.
Though seperated by hours and miles, the wonders of modern technology bridge these distances.
And though I isolate, I feel the dearth of positive energy in the face of looming cynicism.
Where have all the cowboys of our youth gone too
Where have all the flowers of our spring time withered too
Where have all the rainbows and sunshine of young infatuation faded too
only to be replaced
violently replaced
thoroughly replaced
We are getting old, friends.
Indeed.
emo emo emo emoememoemoemoe
BUT
since it's thanksgiving, I will stop moaning and be thankful,
for having the basics, a roof, 4 walls, a shirt on my back (and pants on my bum), water and food
for a family that's somewhat stable
for a cultural background that stretches into the thousands of years
for sight; that I might appreciate beauty and art
for sound; the full wonders of which I am yet to understand or quantify, I doubt I ever will
for touch; that I might know this world
for smell and taste; that I might know asam laksa, seremban ngau lam fun and durian cendol
for prose, through the weaving of which we connect
for the ability to have fun
for random laughter
for the chance to be educated, and the knowledge of my forebearers
for mental clarity (though some might argue here) and physical health
and probably most importantly,
for the many, many, many people who have coloured my life, past, present, and future; and the technology that allows me to stay in touch with them.
I would have no one to complain about my culture too
critisize bad art or good music with
enjoy senseless jokes over indomee goreng and limau ais
while yelling "GOOAAAAALLLLLLLLL"
or stress out over studies with
if it weren't for you guys.
emo! |
posted by theycallmecruel @ 8:43 AM  |
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wheeeeeeeeeee
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