Blood, Needles, and Vajayjays

I acted like a complete ass (or as the British would call it, “arse”) during my first time to assist a delivery.

There I was, looking so important in my grass-green scrubs, gazing intermittently at the glass partition between the delivery room and NICU, making sure my hair was in place. The clinical preceptor was giving an orientation and final instructions, and I just nodded my head and joined murmurs of “Yes, Ma’am!” We were finally out of the classroom and laboratory, away from plastic mannequins and simulated environment. We were finally let loose into the clinical area.

“Gravida 2, 5 cm, her bag of water ruptured already!!” An orderly was wheeling in a pregnant woman in labor, her face contorted in pain.

“Vital signs and FHT now!” Barked our preceptor.

I felt like I was in the middle of Grey’s Anatomy episode (or Scrubs, more like it) as we scrambled to assist the woman to her bed in the labor room. One student took her blood pressure while we get a blanket to cover her lower extremities so we could expose her swollen belly to do Leopold’s maneuver. I could finally hear the baby’s heartbeat through the stethoscope; I counted, then marked the spot for future monitoring.

“BP 130/80 mmHg, the FHT is 130 bpm, contractions regular.” I said, wiping my brow.

“Another patient for C Section! I need two of you to scrub now!” Another patient came in a stretcher, and two students from our group scrambled for their OR gowns and start preparing.

Just as we thought it couldn’t get any worse, our preceptor screamed again. “Multipara, 10 cm already, I need you (pointing at me) and you (pointing at a friend) with me at the delivery room NOW!” The rest, stay with the other patient and monitor the progress of her labor!

“B..bb...but, Ma’am she’s not my patient, my patient is the one at the labor room.” I stammered nervously.

She just glared at me and walked hurriedly to the delivery room. I followed.

“Where’s the whiteboard marker for recording the time of delivery at the whiteboard?” She asked loudly while the patient was being assisted into the Lithotomy position.

My classmate and I looked at each other. “You didn’t tell me about any marker!” I hissed.

“Where is the Methergine ampule? Where are the sutures for the Episioraphy? Where’s your BP ap?”

“Uhmm.. ah.” I looked around in panic.

“Prepare those things NOW!”

And off we went. “Where were you during orientation?” My classmate demanded. “Oh shut up let’s just find those things.”

“Crowning!” The midwife and our clinical preceptor were instructing the mother how to push. Then the midwife did something that would take weeks to disappear from my mind: she took a sharp Mayo scissor and cut the woman’s perineum to widen the birth canal. The woman screamed in pain. Blood oozed.

I felt faint, I thought I’d collapse into the big bucket where they dumped the placentas. I wanted to slide the woman to the side so I could lie down for a while. Kidding.

The baby came out faster than I expected. No observable “internal rotation”, “extension” and all that cardinal movements we memorized in the classroom. The birth itself took no more than a few seconds. Just like that a person was born into this world.

“BP?”

“130/80mmHg.”

“Inject Methergine 1amp.”

I prepared the medication and administered it via intramuscular route. The woman was almost delirious; she did not even notice I stuck a big needle on her arm. The neonate was brought to the NICU for cord care.

We assisted the woman into her clothes and did the after care. As we watched her being wheeled away in a stretcher, my clinical preceptor asked me:

“Ok, so did you learn anything new in this exposure?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I said as I fanned myself.

“…Listen to instructions.”

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I never thought I'd say this, but I miss duty days :->

Young and Stupid

November 1994

I had known Nathan since I was eight. We went to the same Catholic Elementary School. He was a cute chubby kid who happened to have the same interests as I did- we both collected comic books and trading cards, we were both in the children’s choir, and we were both into drawing.
He was my best friend, up until the first year of High School, right before he left for the states. I remember a particular time, it was during the second grading period, when he started hanging out with other kids.

I had no idea, whether it was because I missed him or that I was jealous that he was keeping others company instead of me, but I made a dramatic outburst in Homeroom. We were gathered in a circle (consisting of students in our row, he was at the far end of the room with another group); I started telling my mates that I noticed Nathan and I hardly spent time together anymore, unlike before when we were inseparable. Midway through my story I had begun sobbing, Maricel Soriano style. Our teacher made her way to our group, and patted my back gently to comfort me.

Towards the end of our first year in Divine Word University HS, he told me that his family will be moving to the US. As a goodbye token, he gave me this sort of shiny master key to remember him by.

On the way home that day, I took it out of my pocket and held it to the light. Then I swung my arm as hard as I could and threw the key in the air. It glinted for a moment before it disappeared behind the cogon grasses beside the road.

And then I never spoke about him again in front of my other friends.

You're Fired! (Or so I thought I said)

While the perfect timing of my shift from the UK to US track proved advantageous (a fast-tracked promotion that only took three months from Supervisor to Team Manager, when it usually it takes about a year minimum), I was also thrust into a new world of cutthroat statistics to be met per team, people management (i.e. managing people in their thirties and sometimes forties, while I merely turned 23 that year), work politics, deadlines, progress reports, punishing schedules, and more deadlines. We had Verizon as our major client; the US office had also just signed a contract with Sprint, which meant the call volume would skyrocket. Everyone braced themselves for the impact; it was going to be a crazy 3rd quarter.

I was barely even finished settling down my things on my new station, after the contract signing, when I was given a barrage of things to attend to. One, go to the Training Dept. to meet some of my future CSRs. Two, shadow a Team Manager as she went about her tasks, and at the same time orient myself on the processes and SOPs of the company. Three, activate my Outlook and set my trackers- QA, CPT, Attendance. Four, learn Kronos software, TCS, and AVAYA all in the same day. By lunchtime, my head was spinning. I felt nauseous, and I seriously considered quitting. I took a sip of my coffee, which had gone stale in my mug.

“Thad, ok ka lang?” A friend asks, as I stare blankly at my PC screen.

“Ha?” I said distractedly. “Yeah, I’m on break. Jen, I really feel like going on sick leave today. I feel sick.”

“Gagah, kaka-promote mo pa lang! Haler, just suck it up. You have a few hours to go before the shift ends.”

“Beyk, I’ll go to the sleeping area and close my eyes for a while. Windang na talaga ako.” I said as I made my way to the 12th floor. Even years later as a TM, it would become my daily habit to nap during my one hour break (I’ve mastered the art of stuffing food in my mouth during 15 minute breaks).

Little did I know that most difficult part of my job had yet to come. Three days into my being a TM, I inherited several CSRs from a Team Manager who resigned. I was backtracking and ironing out their records when I realized the previous TM had left a lot of work to be done. The CSR’s records were last updated months ago, and as I filled in the Attendance records from TCS, I got the first feelings of dread.

Nina was a CSR on probationary status. Her Quality scores and Call processing time were satisfactory, but her Attendance was far from pleasing. She had incurred enough occurrences to merit a Final Warning. Per the probationary contract, it is stipulated that a Final Warning automatically disqualifies them for regularization; ergo they are to clear out their lockers and pack their bags should that day come. I consulted with an ACCM, since the CSR was not informed of her status nor was she coached or issued the preceding Verbal and Written warnings, I was able to initially get her off the hook. I prepared her written warning, to be served the following day.

I was able to go through the process without trouble, and persuaded her to work on her attendance. But fate must have had other plans, because the following day Nina called in sick again. Upon her return, I had no choice. I approached her and asked her to log off the phones.
“Nina! Why were you absent yesterday?”

“Sorry boss, I was really not feeling well.”

“We just discussed this days ago. Nina, you are aware that you are already on written warning, and just days away from your regularization date. Do you have a Medical Certificate to support this? I can file it as an LOA if it’s supported by a Med Cert from a Medicard-accredited physician.”

“No, I don’t have a Med Cert.” She said, sitting up.

I took a deep breath. “I will be serving you a Final Warning for absences.” My heart started to pound, I swear she could hear it. Oh dear, I thought- I’m about to fire my first CSR! I heard through the grapevine she was two months pregnant, and this added to my apprehension.

“Unfortunately, this effectively disqualifies you for regularization. Sorry Nina, but you are already- ” I squirmed in my seat.

“Termed?” She said, looking me in the eye.

“Yes!” I sighed with relief. (Gosh, I was really an amateur!) “I’m really sorry but you have to surrender your badge, and clear out your locker today.”

I went back to my station and collapsed on my seat after that episode. EJ, a fellow TM, walked by and looked at me sympathetically. “Rough day? Let me guess, you fired someone.”

“Tell me about it.” I said.