Grim

It’s been a while since I’ve seen death. I have tried to avoid such visitor during the hours of my shift, or if possible, during the years that I’ve been and will be practicing my craft. But this time, I have seen him coming and coasting on the empty beds and long hallways of my workplace. I have felt him through those piercing eyes which I hardly tried to avoid whenever I check my patient’s carotid pulse for fair bounding of a heart beat. I heard him through the wails and quiet shrieks of the relatives after the time of death is announced. And it’s hard to sympathize while being empathic whenever you try to comfort those who are left behind.

I excused myself from the grieving loved ones and tried to perform the last intervention one should do when death arrives: Post Mortem Care.

As I deflate the water balloon anchor of her foley catheter, I wonder whether the current practice was discussed during college. If it was, I should’ve remembered them by fear and by heart accompanied by a cringe within.

I pulled her foley catheter slowly as if she would still feel pain just like the first time it was inserted. I have also used the same technique when I pulled her nasogastric tube out of her nose. The tube which used to provide almost adequate nutrition to her dying canister. A tube that was once clear, now stained green and dark. The other catheters inserted to her (intravenous catheters, intra-jugular catheters) are also removed. With the stiches cut, one should press hard enough at the punctured site so her blood would not ooze and drip.

I deflated the air cuff that anchors her endotracheal tube. The tube inserted to her mouth down to her lung airway. It is what provided her the deprived air that we breathe freely. You should’ve known how it felt to pull that tube slowly out. The resistance and the griting feeling of the tube against the spastic trachea. Amongst all the tube that I needed to pull out, it was with the endotracheal tube I felt the most dreaded feeling.

I covered the cadaver using a white linen. The folds, tucks and tugs serve their purpose while respecting the “art” of its execution. Three ties made of IV tubings are placed to prevent the cadaver from being exposed during transport to the morgue. One is tied to the lower leg. The second one is tied to the torso. And the last one is tied to the neck. After doing so, that’s the time I saw death already looking back at me. His kinder look on a sheet of white presented in front of me. An imagery that for sure would haunt me for days.

Minutes later, my workmate shouted “Code!” that echoed along the hallway. And that’s when I know..

Death is still just around the corner.

Phobia

I once glanced at you during that time when we thought we were free. You stared too long at the fine glass table throwing your reflection back at you, which you didn’t even noticed. Your mind was full of thoughts and seeing them all would be like a sightseer in the middle of the dessert facing a deadly sandstorm. Dark. Deep. Dangerous.

I brought you back to reality with a tap. I smiled and looked through your eyes. You smiled back and that’s the moment when everything changed. The sun suddenly turned dark, and the wind stopped blowing, and everything seemed to pace from slow to a stop. The world seemed to halt as I started to feel fear from within. You’ve made me felt a familiar feeling. A sensation I had before that made me seek escape and runaway. And it felt like I’ve been trapped on a time loop. That the things I’ve been trying to forget started happening all over again. A single look in your eyes made me feel that I’ve been staring at the same person who caused me so much hurt and trouble in the past. Someone who awakened and trained the tamed devil inside me. I shivered at the thought as the imagery of the past started to flash in front of me. The struggle, the fear, the anxiety, and the anger in which I’ve been trying to bury haunted me again by that single flash of smile.

I can’t say whether I triggered my phobia (which I wasn’t sure if I already had) after encountering the experience but I was bothered so much that I binged sleeping.

But not for long. For the escape I seek in my sleep was conquered by the fears taking their form into living nightmares, making me more exhausted upon waking up than prior going to bed. I am struggling to have the rest I need without letting the torment steal my sanity.

So I have to take a step back. To a hole. Six feet below. And be dead for me to be again alive.

Visions of the Past

It was your decision to call it quits during the second week of the advent. You reasoned out that the infidelity you’ve made was just because of a previous act, which may I remind you, a baseless allegations coming from your part.

It was a conscious act of flirting, hooking up and seduction in which you fueled by rage and false assumptions. You did it without hesitation and reluctance despite knowing such would mean a slap on my face. You did it because you thought that such would be the best reciprocate of the disloyalty you believed I did.

And here you are in front of me standing proud with your claims and your crooked reasoning that never even gave justice to what you’ve done. And you have caught the perfect moment to strike me back while I was unstable and been hitting rock bottom for few weeks now.

To tell you honestly, it wasn’t your unfaithfulness that caused me pain. It wasn’t your allegations that made my heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t your doubtless declaration of a sinister act that made me step back. It was your outward motive of revenge that made me broken to pieces just because of your inability to trust. A revenge directed towards a heart I thought you’ve loved and cared so much. A heart which never ceased to love you.

“If you want to break up now, might as well do it while I’m depressed. Pagod na ako..”

Rehab

Lying on the floor, I was staring at the white ceiling in a quiet sunday morning. Combined with the white walls, they give me the feeling of being constrained in a prison cell locked on my own thoughts. The floor was cold, no traces of warmth other than the part where I was lying. A proof that (1) no one has (ever) been here since and (2) I haven’t move even a bit for my heat to radiate across the room.

And I tried to remember the last time I went down on the floor and wonder. Of the things I’ve been through and the people who played some part on this journey. Of the lessons I’ve learned, the smiles I’ve given and the mistakes I’ve made. 

It seems so much change have happened since. I barely recognize myself by the way I deal with situations and atrocities presented in front of me. I’ve left the attitude of determining the white and black of things. I’ve been doing bad things because they make you feel good, and realized that doing some good things make you feel bad. 

I have opened myself to anyone, but never let a finger touch me within. I was like a heart filled with laughter, but my soul was rotting like an oxidized autumn leaf. I held on to that beauty and purity too high and now they’re crumbling down for the life choices I’ve made. I listened to my will to do things I want no matter how bad or good the consequences may be. 

And now I have woken my senses up to free myself with the self-induced euphoria. I have to stand up and break myself out from the prison of my conscience. Act on what needs to be done even though sacrificing own happiness is a prerequisite to turn things around.

Still I wonder..

If doing the right things causes pain and a broken-heart, do you still consider the act good?

Foreword

It was dreamlike but vividly clear at the same time. I was looking at your face basked under the moonlight. But really, it was just the incandescent light coming from the balcony of your room. Still, the effect looks the same. The light illuminates the curve of your face. Your shoulders. Your chest. I can feel the warmth radiating through your body and the scent of your skin. Earthy. Natural. With no hint of grandiosity and pretensions. Your eyes glow against the darkness that surrounds us. It looked warm. Deep. Sad. And I am compelled by the possible adversities hidden behind those stares and usual smiles. That something inside seemed to be seeking answers to questions of reasons and meaning. 

I thought of the circumstances that led me here beside you staring in awe. The casual coffee and conversation invite. Books waiting to be read. And french music deciphered poorly by recognition of tone. 

And as someone who believes that we are all     a part of the great universe, which consist of same atoms as ours, 

I asked “why?”

It was the same question we exchanged from time to time. Yet the answer we expect should convey either an assurance or an explanation. 

“Why?”

Despite the diversity of our paths, they have crossed. But neither would employ star-crossed drama you normally see during the plays you attended. 

“Why?”

I wonder the reason of submission. Why a lone-wolf hold no fear nor hesitation, but rather openness and relief in the face of a predator. 

“Why?”

The same question I asked myself.

“Why?”

I answered, “nothing.”

And I wasn’t sure whether I meant that just to answer your questions or to cease my nuisance.

Anamnesis

I remember those nights when we never cared for the next sunset. As if the only full moon of the month is our last. We drove around to open night breeze inching towards the fancy restos and antique shops along the road away from your crib. I looked at you and how you’re rockin’ your bedside hair that speaks ‘ain’t giving a fuck’. You smile at me back treacherously as your scent imprints and lingers on my dreams that night. Yes, I never told you, but I’m digging it all.

I remember how you wanted me so bad in your bed and still let me do what I want. The way your body responds to every touch, to every whisper, to every kiss thrills me within and sends me to euphoria. You have given me the freedom and the same liberty I admit I denied to you when I refuse to consider the truth. It was those nights where I believe that I did own you, and I submitted myself to be owned. That you were my fortress. My shield. My strength. But all of it came to rust once doubt from my heart spread out across my body. An every inch of me questions everything about you.

And sunrise came, I had to go. I woke up with swollen muscles, doubting thoughts and crushed morals. The exhaustion seeps in despite a restful night followed by the question of “what have I been doing?” And “what do I really want.”

I may not like what I’ve been doing. I may had struggled before. But I like you for sure. 

And tonight, maybe I’m just tired. And I’m missing you. 

But I don’t want you back.

Recedere

I blended well but can’t identify myself with the crowd. I was hazy, they were sharp. Yet I cast shadows formed by the lights against my back. But I feel invisible. I immaterialize quickly as another wave of feelings surge from within. I felt it spreading from my gut. To my lungs. To my extremities. I shiver from the coldness  that suddenly wrapped the insides of my skin. But I superficially perspire as I struggle to move ahead despite the heaviness of the earth reaching for my back.

I wanna let go. Fall back flat. Slowly towards the open soil and let the heat of the earth incubate the pain I had six feet below. Return to the safe haven of an unborn fetus comforted by that strong maternal protection. 

And I would immediately let go and forget holding on. Let my fingers and limbs coil and flex within. Let my body necrotize like an abandoned cannister as my soul seek of freedom deprived by the living but can be granted by death. I will forget who I was and the reason for living. Until my heart halts beating and I would no longer feel anything. Everything will eventually turn dark and I would stop seeing the memories of the past and the pain of the present. And the flowing tears soon would end. 

They said hearing would be the last among the senses to be lost once the death came to fetch. How perfect it is that the last good byes and farewell bids would still find their way to you. But no words can undo what has been done, no declaration of love and begging of forgiveness could return what is lost. Everything would no long matter.

In the end, you return to nothingness.

Dysphoria

I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. They brought me here for reasons too shallow to be considered. They say I stopped eating for days. It wasn’t much a surprise for me to lose my appetite. I am already full of emotions building inside me, heavy enough to suppress it. They say I stopped talking to anyone. Yet in my mind, I have thoughts echoing and rolling like thunder. I just don’t let them out. They said they’ve seen me crying for no reason. I say, I cry for reasons they do not know. 

It was summer. I am watching the last sunset of the summer solstice. I feel the warm wind blowing on my face. And the scent of the sea fills my lungs. The waves hushing low below me. I am sitting at the rock formation caved and formed by the thousand rages of the sea. Yellow and orange hues competes at the sky canvass. 

Do you know that feeling? When something beautiful is in front of your face, but you felt like it’s leaving you behind? And you have to wait and bear the cold dark night unsure whether you’ll witness such magnificence again?

I feel that. All the time. Waiting for that person. Who never came but already left me behind. Now I’m stuck with the agony of waiting in vain, for a hopeless love brewed and could be rotten in time. And I’m holding on with my sunset’s words of “wait for me..” not sure whether such return would bring me to a new sunrise or another sad goodbye remarked on a sunset by the sea; all of this as I clamor myself in the darkest of the night looking at the stars. 

I never noticed the years passed ever since. But I remember everything especially when the sun starts to set. When its rays pass through my car window as I drive the long urban road, or when it shines through my glass-walled office. I remember as I watch at the peak of the mountains, or at the calming seas. I would stop and leave this world and swim on my thoughts of me and my future stuck in the past. And let the tears run dry by the sun. 

They say I’m crazy, and I need to be cured.

I’m not crazy. 

I’m broken. But I don’t need to be fixed.

Psycho

First post I made for my current institution; why I wanted to but can’t just easily leave despite being unhappy.

“I’m starting to notice the growing number of moments when I question where I am as of the moment. Whether I am supposed to be where I should be. And if I am, why am I not feeling happy. 

To determine such, I have found myself looking back to the roots of my dreams. And found a (my) heart aimed to serve. A passion rooted at home, nurtured by a profession, but tested in an institution.

An institution founded, managed, and sustained by determined individuals, whose visions and dreams are greater than own-self. Whose desires too strong to discern that thin line of right and wrong. With a workforce emboldened by their own passion yet pushed by lucre provisioned with control by those seated at the higher hierarchy. With varying personalities placed in a stressful working environment, one can easily see the darkness of each identity. Where one oppresses the other to reach a higher ground; where one questions another’s ability just for the sake of feeding an almost depleted ego; where one engage in dirty politics to win favor of those with power mismanaged and used for personal gain; where people challenges your knowledge, your skills and your right to be where you are. 

These are just some of those I encounter each day. And despite the tasks placed on my shoulders, I never settled to other people’s judgment whether I am worthy to be in a place like this based on whether I was able to do what they’ve asked me to do or not.

Yes, it indeed is an honor to be accepted to a place where the knowledge gained through years of studies be applied; and conclude that written papers and thick books doesn’t encompass the learnings acquired during these daily experiences

But there are just days like this I even question myself, my ability, and sometimes, my sanity. 

I am already tired.

But I am still holding on to that one single passion I started with. Far more important than the monetary gains I could have. Far more important than those travels I could have made to feed my wanderlust.

I am holding on to my place with a strength derived from a belief that I am making a (good) difference to the lives I encounter each day I stayed in this institution. And quitting, though possible, isn’t quite the right choice because I have wanted and waited for this spot, for this chance; unlike those who got their spot like a graduation package. I’ve been giving my best each day even though it seems that it isn’t always enough.

I know that I am not the only one who’s been swimming in the sea of mediocrity. And I know that soon, these creatures will rise above the surface and let the glory of excellence shined by the sun bathe their fins. Because one’s strength as a nurse (doctor, medical technologist, pharmacist, social worker, other members of the health care team) isn’t and couldn’t just be determined by a grade, or a shift, or a task. 

As long as we have that passion to serve, with the guidance of the Great One, we will find that inner strength we need that hopefully would lead us to that moment of contentment and pure happiness.

I am tired. But I still believe.”

Name

“What’s your name?”, you asked me one time when our glances caught each other on the night of the great ball.

“My name is just a word used to identify but not solely define my identity.”, I answered. 

With a smile in your face, you asked “who are you then?”

“I am the shadow in the dark;

With a fading light within. 

Rejected by the devils;

But neither is a saint.

I am the flower on the wall;

Left alone to watch.

Blood-stained petals

Quickly withers in a touch.

I am the last bird during the sunset.

The white crayon in the deck.

Misused. Forgotten without regret

I’d rather leave than connect

I am the mystery left unsolved.

The criminal with no conscience to hold.

The murder which time had dissolved.

The victim left beaten. Dead. Cold.

Who am I? I am someone you just recently met. And soon you’ll just forget.