Saturday, June 23, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
The brush was dipped into the palette of brow powder and then swept across my grandmother's eyebrows. It contrasted against the beige foundation which was sponged smoothly from her face to her neck, and rouge the color of crushed roses tinted her cheekbones. But my grandmother wasn’t going to a party, her body was being prepared by the mortician for viewing, and I was there to help dress her.
Given that I barely slept a wink in the last forty eight hours, I could have just collapsed from exhaustion right there in the morgue, but I was determined to hold my composure. I did not even weep that morning in the hospital when she passed away, nor here at 2:00 am waiting on the mortician as he embalmed her body.
I bought a simple white dress, stockings, and a pair of fancy silver sandals. It was as though she was on her way to a dance, and Nanay being someone who loved shoes, would have approved that I placed very beautiful footwear upon her feet. It almost did not fit because rigor mortis had set in, and the heeled sparkling sandals required the feet to be arched.
The whole thing went as a blur: the funeral, working on the paperwork which was surprisingly complicated, the interment, the nine day novena, and the forty days prayer for the dead. It only hit me when I went home one day, after all of our neighbors had gone home, that we arrived at an empty house. I will definitely miss Nanay feeding the doves outside in the yard in the morning, or watching TV while we are having dinner, talking about what our relatives were up to. During the summer of her death there were days when I engrossed myself in projects so I would not dwell on our loss, yet somehow this profound sadness would catch up with me, triggered by seeing a picture of her, or seeing the walking cane I gave her.
One afternoon, I was telling a story about Nanay to a friend when out of the blue I just started crying. I don’t know, crying because I missed her, because I missed my parents too, who left this world not too long ago, crying out of exhaustion, self-pity, despair, guilt, and relief. I was irked because she never “came to my rescue”, unlike so many times she stepped in to defend or rationalized others’ shortcomings, confused because I was in favor of her mastectomy operation to remove the tumor, which unfortunately triggered a heart attack leading to her demise, frustrated because I felt like I could have done more.
But in that same afternoon, beneath the soothing canopy of butterfly trees in my friend’s garden, I came to accept that it was over- that all I could do now is just whisper to the wind and allow all of the pent-up emotions and frustrations to surface.
I think I did find some sort of closure, after being able to explore how our loss affected me. Losing one’s support system that you’ve had since your childhood isn’t easy; I knew I was changed forever. But I also knew I became stronger and more self-reliant. I remember during the funeral people who drop by to give their sympathies would tell me, “It’s going to be alright.” It does not really happen that way- like your grief will just vanish in a few days. The truth is, you alone know how and when the grieving process takes place.
One day, sitting in our terrace, I smiled to myself remembering some of the funny moments I’ve had with Mama, Papa, and Nanay. Right then, instead of feeling sad again, I was filled with nothing but gratitude for having those memories with them. That was the day I knew I was going to be alright.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The good news is that this is only 1/4 of the overall General Weighted Average for my MD, and there is still chance to achieve the dream of graduating with honors from medical school. Sometimes one really needs to ask oneself the values of certain things in life, really look into what is important and why it is important, in order not to feel lost when the going gets tough. I need to perform well because my med school isn't among the top in the country, and achieving a good rank in class is tantamount to a ticket to the best training hospitals in the country.
Let me set one thing straight: all I want to be is a good doctor. Compassionate and capable of giving the best care to my patients. I'm running out of words to say because that actually sums it up- the hardest part is the day to day struggles in medical school. Well, at least I am clear on what to achieve, and taking the steps toward it would be the next, most tedious thing. But as I promised to myself and my late parents and Nanay, I'll endure all hardships to make that dream a reality.
Classes are about to begin next week, and I'm ready to face sophomore year. This time I'm not going to be satisfied with just one or two readings. I've learned from first year, that the best thing to do is to actually summarize and integrate the lessons using concept maps and illustrations- whatever it takes. The best part about this is that those notes are useful during midterms and finals.
Writing, leadership roles and everything else takes a backseat- besides, I don't think I'll ever lose those skills at all. I have a good feeling of this coming years because the same things happened in Nursing school. My first year grades were not stellar- I was just among the ranks of about 50 Dean's Listers, but it was during the OB/ Psych/ Medical Surgical and clinical exposures where my grades rose steadily and finished 4th in the graduating class.
I'll miss traveling, going out with friends, and all that but as long as I have the basics: family, my partner who supports me, I know I'll once again look back and say all the effort is worth it. Be it public speaking in case presentations, tracing and explaining pathophysiology, deciphering those slides on the microscope- I'll do it. I'll do it with gusto until it becomes part of me, because the only way I can be a doctor is to get the MD degree with flying colors, and there is no more Plan B.