What if...

People who know me know that blood makes me weak. I step into the hospital, and that all-so-familiar scent of cotton balls damp with alcohol brings me memories the needles that would prick me when i was a little girl.

I remember my dad carrying me away from the doctor's clinic at the end of a hall way at the third floor of the Makati Medical Center, where my pediatrician saw patients. I was probably about four or five then. I had just recieved my yearly "birthday gift" from the doctor (this was the only reason i didnt look forwrd to my birthday, coz i knew that within a few days, i was going to be vaccinated for something). Lollipop in my mouth (my favorite was grape, of those jack-and jill ones with the little drop of candy that settles between the stick and the thing that is the candy itself when they made it-it was my favorite part). I was already some 300 meters away from the door of my pediatrician's clinic, "Tito Mike" we called him. It seemed he was the pediatrician of all kids my age. Even if it was deed was done, I was still crying. Crying and trying to keep my lollipop-flavored saliva from drooling out of my mouth. I had my arms around my dad's shoulders, i looked down and i felt WAY tall. I felt safe. It was over, and the elevator that was the first promising sign that i was going home was closer to me than Tito Mike's clinic. I was leaving, and I wasn't going to terrorize the other kids innocently waiting for their turn to be "bitten by the ant".

There were other similar instances too. My teeth were a long-term project that started when i was nine or ten. I had a severe case of over-bite, and to make it worse, big teeth. If something was not done, my teeth would have crowded my mouth like china with its population well over a billion. The saga starts with my seeing the family dentist. I remember as vividly as i remember that moment my dad carried me out of Tito Mike's office, the day i saw the injection for anesthesia that was to prick my gums. I was horrified.

I sat at the chair, nervous, but didn't really know what was going to happen, so i sat, and waited patiently, wasn't too scared-didnt know what there was to be afraid of-YET. Then my cousin, some 3 years younger than i, daughter of my uncle, appears holding this giganormous injection. Worst of all, the whole thing was stainless steel (im scared shitless by stainless steel things that pierce my skin, it looks cold, painful, mercyless). It even had something to support the thumb to push the needle in. I freaked out. The last thing i remembered was that my cousin was scolded and told to get out of the cubicle, and then it was all tears, bloody saliva swirling down the little drain for spitting, and blood-drenched cotton buds I had to bite into.

I don't remember ever going back to see my uncle anymore after that, because we had started working with an orthodontist and a "pediatric dentist" she reccomended to us. So i went to see her.

We came into her clinic, my mum and i, somewhere in Makati Ave. The clinic was "all so pretty". Toys, bright colors everywhere. But I wasnt going to be decieved. Not even by the dentist's attempt to sound gentle and sweet as she talked to me. I sat still, waited for what was to be my fate in her chair. What was there that had to be hidden by all the bright colors and fluffy stuffed toys? It was only a matter of time before i found out...the first thing she did was open a drawer full of fancy supposedly "fun and cute" sunglasses. I may have only been ten, but how dare she think i was born yesterday! I remember thinking that she wasnt fooling me. "Which one would you like to wear?" She asked with a smile. And i said, "None. I wana see it." One thing that always made my mum laugh was that i would be scared shhitless but i always wanted to see what was going on. And so she proceeded to extracting one of my molars, while trying to hide the pliers from my horrified face. It looked friendlier than the injection at my uncle's office, but i still somehow knew this was gonna hurt. I imagine it was a struggle for her to get her job done, coz the next time i had an appointment, she put me to sleep. I was to drink this green medicine, and wake up one-tooth less without even knowing it. But then...i woke up right at the middle of it. As i opened my eyes, and my vision cleared, i saw the pliers right at my face, and who knows what other instruments in my mouth! I panicked, almost swallowed that molar that was just extracted right at the time i woke up, got up from my chair, and ran out of the clinic, down the stairs, and into the street. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't care. I wanted to be anywhere but in the clinic.

And then, i grew up. I was recomended to another dentist, and with him, my fears were finally calmed down, and i was no longer afraid. His clinic was all bright and spacious. He came in, had all his instruments prepared, and layed them all out infront of me. My mom was surprised at what he did and asked him why he wasn't hiding them, and he said, "Why should I? Shes going to see them anyway." And then i knew THIS was my kind of dentist.

As usual, i wanted "to see". "Let me see! Get me a mirror!" I had a mirror held up to my face so i could see all that they were doing. He explained everything to me, step by step, and prepared me for what was to come next. It went very well. I would freak out at the sight of blood, as always, but it was all cool. I had many other appointments with that same dentist, and wasn't even afraid when they surgically removed all my wisdom teeth some years later.

Fast forward to the present, i've been addicted to watching "Anatomia de Grey", or "Grey's Anatomy" as most of you might know it. Best of all, my flat mate is a 3rd year med student, so i have someone to pay attention to answer my questions, "Why did that happen? What caused that? Is that bad?" I watch it with the same interest and attention i had when i studied first aid with the Philippine National Red Cross in Manila. Strange enough, even if i can't stand the sight of gory wounds, blood, etc, i am amazed by the art/profession of Medicine. I browsed through some of the books my flatmate has in his room, and i saw all the intricate details that make up the human body, its design. That it has limits, that it heals, is all beautiful.

As i watch "Anatomia", i marvel at the lives of these doctors. Your life is your work and your work is a vocation. You don't get any rest, you practically live in the hospital. You don't always get to eat, sleep even rest when you want to. Everyday you learn something new, each patient, each case is unique as the human beings that are taken into the hosital. You grow a little everyday. And then there's dealing with the patients, their families, their lives are in your hands. THEIR LIFE IS IN YOUR HANDS. Your profession is one that literally improves, and saves lives. I don't know if the camaraderie between interns, doctors, and all that work there together is as sweet as they portray it in the series, but even that looks great.

So what if...i had chosen to study medicine...just what if...

Naah, id be more harm to the patient if i faint at an operating room. I wouldn't be any good to a child that comes into the emergency room with with his knee open from a bike accident if i closed my eyes right?

I guess ill just have to leave it to the doctors then. Kudos to them all!

My New Beetle

I have found a new way to experience the joys of going on the road! And there's even more to it than the beetle i left behind; it is easier to park, doesn't need gasoline, doesn't emit harmful elements into the air, is easier to maintain, and could run on more areas than just the street! It even has less tires!!

Yup! It's my bike!

Same sunlight-on-my-face (and pollution too), wind in my hair WITH MUSIC (thanks to my mp3 player) experience i had with my beloved beetle, but now more environment, and pocket friendly.

I've been riding my bike since early this year, taking me to and from work, and just about anywhere i want to go that is within biking distace. But never have i used it and enjoyed it more than now.

As i left school today, i unchained my bike from the rack set aside for bicylces at the university, and set off for the bike lane. Going home from school is always my favorite part of the day, because not only does it mean that i'm done with my study hours for the day, but coz it's all downhill till the apartment. Wide roads, tree-lined bike lane, (having a bike lane is plenty already) people walking past, people walking toward you not looking where theyre going, a pigeon that almost flew onto my face, rollerbladers, mommies with baby seats at the back of their bikes, businessmen in suits on their bikes. I raced down our street, catching the green lights, switching the road for the side walk whenever it was convenient.

Instead of going into the apartment building, i did an extra round around Plaza España today. The light outside was just too tempting to resist. It was 6pm, not dark, nor too sunny, people just getting out of work, winding down, taking their kids out to the park. I had my ipod on, and it was playing a good selection of songs. I drove past more tree-lined streets, past Plaza Joan Miro, went along the Gran Via. I stayed out biking a little while more, just enjoying everything all at once. There's something so great about just being able to go out there, clear your mind, and go where the road takes you, for as far as your legs can take you.

More places and people should really be more bike friendly. It's good exercise, it doesn't pollute the air, doesn't create traffic. And best of all, it's just pure fun.

Strawberries and Cream

The days i had my little strawberries-and-cream (for those who don't know, and there are MANY, the color is actually slightly pink), now 44-year old, engineering wonder were some of the most enjoyable days of mt life.

It was love at first sight.

I remember looking at what second hand vintage beetles were being sold at the yard of a VW shop in pampanga. There were 70's models being set-up, some having parts changed to suit its owner's taste and personality. There was an orange one with cream interiors, small wheels (VW Beetles have relatvely larger sized wheels than newer cars), a sporty new small steering wheel. Another older one was being restored to something more y taste; it was a mid-late 60's model, and being restored to its original state. It was forest green, had its original interior set-up, details, etc.

We proceeded to the yard of the shop to see what other beetles were being sold, and there was a sporty apple green 1302 being sold. Fully restored, ready to be driven out. We looked on, saw a few others. And then there was this particular one that stood out. An old, somewhat neglected white one. It had a little rust (normal for cars of its age), was full of dust, didnt have a good back seat, it lacked one window winder, among other things, but it was beautiful. The owner took it to the shop to have a minor repairs done, and decided to have it sold, and left it to the shop owners to find a buyer.

Compared to its more modern counterparts, this 1962 beetle was pure class. It was elegant. Its curves were gentle, streamlined. I sat inside. It smelled of that distince old-leather apholstery scent unique to VW Beetles. The interiors, if completed, were to be a collection of little timeless pieces; made and designed with the attenion to detail and care characteristic of the time it was made. It was made to last and made to be beautiful. Before the day was over, it was mine.

After a little over 2 months of restoration, i drove my beetle home. It was almost evening then, and the shiny and new mild pink/white paint glowed in the late afternoon sun. The once almost neglected beauty was now new again, looking smart, proud, and strutting its stuff. I turned the ignition to start the engine and it came alive to that special sound only VWs of its kind make. I looked around me and saw that what had previously been a water-stained winshield and windows were now crystal clear. The ceiling had a fresh new cream material stretched into place. Thanks to the mechanic, i had new original tan-colored rear seats in place. I opened the vent wings, and the windows, turned on the headlights, and drove into the road. It was so beautiful, i was intimidated. I was driving a piece of art, a machine that has proven itself through time, classic engineering, with plenty of history behind it, and many stories to tell. It was pure bliss.

I lived quite far from school, compared to most people that went to the university. On a good day, (light traffic) it would take me 45 minutes to get to school, and on a normal-heavy day, 1 1/12-2 hours to arrive. But it didn't matter. I enjoyed driving, and i enjoyed driving my beetle. Every part of it was fun; from the ritual of winding down the window and opening the vent wings, before you drive off and after you arrive at the place, to opening up the front hood to load bags and groceries. From shining the bumpers to the little chrome parts inside. Washing it with care not to scratch, or let water in areas where they might drip into the interiors. Even maintiaining it was fun, i thougt the engineering was genious. It proves that the most basic designs are still the most reliable, and is has and still is outliving most new cars of recent years. I got a kick out of figuring out how it worked, what made it different, special. The trunk was up front, the engine at teh back. No need to place water in its radiator because it is air-cooled. The space tire was up front, the brake fluid container behind it. The batteries were underneath the rear seats. There was to be only one side view mirror (i didn't even have any yet, hadn't replaced the old one i took out).

When i drove it, i was happy, i would have the windows open, wind blowning on my face and hair, my cd player playing some of my favorite music. Each time i walked to it when i would leave a place, or walk away from it after i arrived, seeing it would make me smile.

Many of my friends would think i was crazy, "...no aircon? How do you survive?" and things to that effect, but it didn't matter to me, it made every day that much more enjoyable.

The love story of my beetle and i had to come to an abrupt end. I had to leave for Spain and left it with an uncle.

These days, ive been driving what i would like to call "My new beetle". Makes me almost just as happy, but in a new way...