.reawakening.

Earlier this afternoon, a blockmate and friend showed me an article from the Manila BUlletin that his dad wrote. It was noteworthy because surprise, surprise... it was about him.

Entitled "Our Son, The Graduate", the article virtually published the reflection paper Miguel wrote on his Palawan elective prior to clerkship year. It details much of his thoughts on public health, the misgivings of our current system, and what we, as young physicians in training, can do for the improvement of the entire nation's health care delivery system.

Funny thing. I was in that elective, too.

I told Miguel that the article almost reduced me to tears, and I was not exaggerating when I said that. I almost cried, not because the article was so gut-wrenchingly touching (although it is great), but because it triggered something in me that I thought I had long forgotten.

You see, way before I had managed to convince myself (at least I thought I had) that I wanted to become just another one of your typical white-coated doctors roaming the hospital halls, I actually wanted to become a community physician. Way back when I still had my ideals, my principles, and my convictions, I wanted to become something more than just your average clinician welcoming patients in well-lit, airconditioned rooms, getting paid big bucks for every word I say and every glitch I solve.

There was a time in my medical education when I wanted to change the world.

I really do not know what happened. I remember my third year in med proper when I was going crazy over the fact that I wanted to get involved in something public health-related and I absolutely had no idea how to begin. There were times when I purposely went to the COME office just to talk to Dr. Portia Marcelo and ask her about possible researches and projects I can do (all of which, sadly, by the way, did not yield any output). I was 100% convinced that hospital work was not for me... I was ready to kiss PGH goodbye as soon as I got my license.

Somewhere along the way, I got scared. Spending days and days in a less-than-ideal government hospital, where the most desperate of all people come expecting to receive the best treatment possible, the disappointment on their faces upon finding out the harsh reality of health care in PGH soon got to me. It didn't take long before I became jaded and discouraged by the sheer vastness of problems to be taken care of. The immensity of it all, compared to how helpless and small a single person like me seems to be, overwhelmed me. I lost faith in the power of passion. It just was not enough.

So I took the easy way out. I hardened myself to every voice crying out for help, and started to look out for myself. I cannot, CAN NOT, lay my life down for them at the risk of that amounting to nothing. I had to protect myself and the life I thought I wanted. It's a dog-eat-dog world, and the prize does not always go to the person who has the most noble intentions... the prize, more often than not, goes to the most cunning and deceitful minds. It's flawed, true, but it works. And I wanted a chance at that prize. At least, I thought I did. The easiest thing to do would be to cling to what seems to be "life-giving" and hold on tight, no matter how much it suffocates me. The problems of my country are not mine to solve. I may never see the changes in my lifetime anyway, so why bother? I wanted to see results, and I wanted them immediately. I decided to leave these things to my colleagues who know more about it and who appear to be more into it than I ever was, and turned my back completely on what I thought I could stand on.

But, no matter how much we try to bury it in our soul, our hearts' cry will always shout out.

The road less travelled is still an option, after all.

Most likely, I will still go into residency. Most likely, in a few years, I will probably even take up a subspecialty. Most likely, I will hold clinics in many private hospitals and make a very comfortable living off that. Most likely, I will have a stable job and all the comforts of life that that entails. Most likely, I will proudly wear my white coat and become your friendly neighborhood clinician.

Most likely.

But sometimes, the least likely happens.


************************************************************************

Dear, I know you have so many plans for the future, and I know sometimes you think I don't approve. But I do. I will support you in whatever you decide to do. I will always be here for you. We may have our differences and our paths may not always appear to cross, but just know that wherever your passion in life may take you, you'll always have me to come home to.

Besides, no matter what you say, I still take credit for why you fell in love with community medicine in the first place (think back to third year deawie...mwahahahaha!). You will never convince me otherwise. So when you begin to take big steps for the Philippines, the Philippines will have to thank me. And when the world honors you, then it honors me, too. Mwahahaha!

Kidding dear.

I love you Homi ko.

.seven years.

With just 5 days to go before internship is over, indulge me as I go all sentimental and reminisce on the past seven years of my life.. the seven years I spent in med school.

Unlike most of my classmates, being in med school has never been that big a deal to me. It has never been the end-all, be-all of my existence. It was more like a stopover of sorts before I continue on toward my real destination in life. What THAT might be, your guess is as good as mine.

I still vividly remember my first few days in UP Manila as an Intarmed freshman. First year was, of course, scary and intimidating. I remember feeling insecure next to my "bigtime" classmates, all of whom graduated with honors from well-known science high schools and exclusive private schools. Intarmed was most definitely a humbling experience. Not as science-oriented as I would have liked, I failed my first few major exams, found myself "lost" during lectures, and basically just messed up lab activities. Like a splash of cold water right in my face, I realized I wasn't as brilliant as I thought. The Little Miss Stellar that I was in high school, apparently, no longer existed.

I figured I wouldn't survive, so I decided to take the easy way out. I made arrangements to shift back to my first love, which was Broadcast Communication. Everything was all set, but amazingly enough, that was not to be my fate. Somehow, a power much stronger than my frustrations kept me from bailing out - the power of true friendship. I was not alone. I made great friends who effortlessly managed make to make me smile and laugh every single day. And at that moment, that was enough to keep me going.

Second year was a bit simpler, if not easier. Getting the hang of my lessons, failed exams were getting to be fewer and farther in between (although they were still there). Time only served to strengthen the friendships that were established in the first year. I missed out on a lot of "fun" activities since I used to travelled back home every day, but that did not hinder me from becoming closer to the people I had learned to love. I was quite selective when it came to friends, and I picked the most beautiful gems of them all to share my life with. Stories were told, secrets were shared, moments were spent together, lessons were learned. Every day was another step taken in the journey that was not my own.

We soon entered the realm of medicine proper, a bit too young perhaps, but prepared nonetheless. We were thrown into a sea of 160 faces, 120 of which were older, wiser, and with much more academic experience than the 40 of us. Yet we just dove in and managed to merge with them beautifully. Third and fourth year crammed our minds with all the wonders of the human body, both physiologic and pathologic. Innumerable cups of coffee helped us to stay awake enough to make attempts at memorizing impossible amounts of information. Everyone tried to find his or her own way
of coping - this was the year when every student was either trying to get into a fraternity, sorority, or whatever organization, or delving into other non-medical activities. We all had to survive - and insanity was not an option.

We all did.

Fifth year was probably the lightest year of all. With our hospital exposure limited to the outpatient department, time management was no longer a problem. We learned much from our patients, but at the same time, we found ourselves with so much time on our hands. Suddenly, I could do whatever I wanted again. Around this time, I decided to throw myself fully into ministerial activities with our local church. I got involved, learned more of the Word, and allowed myself to be discipled by mature Christian leaders. It was amazing when I realized that I could be a medical student and a minister at the same time. I was learning about diseases, and at the same time growing in faith in my Divine Healer. I was maturing as a physician while developing my character as a Christian.

I now know why.

Sixth year, or Clinical Clerkship, came as quite a shock. From the benign ICC year we had, we were then confronted with more-than-24-hour duties filled with mind-boggling emergencies and patients dying almost everytime. We delivered babies, intubated unconscious patients, assisted with major operations, and performed advanced life support. We were doctors, but not quite yet. We still had to monitor entire wards, complete loads of paperwork, insert IV lines, catheters, and NGTs... and we had to balance all those things with academics. We had to learn. With everything we had to do, it was easy to lose our temper, yell at patients and their watchers, and ignore calls for help. We made shortcuts to make life easier for us. We had our first few glimpses of dehumanization, and we clutched on to it like a lifesaver to keep us sane.

I was no different from everyone else. I had my fair share of "poopy" moments that I would rather not remember. But somehow, I know it was the grace of God working in me that set me apart from all the rest. I was highly favored. I was blessed. I knew whatever happened, God was pleased with me. And that was what kept me going.

Internship, our seventh and last year, came soon enough. It was a lot like a repetition of clerkship, only this time, we had more responsibilities. We were privileged enough to have been allowed to wear the badge of "Dr." on our nameplates, but that came with much accountability. We were the first in line to assess and evaluate new patients, and somehow, our opinions seem to matter more now than they used to. We worked tirelessly with our residents, and at times even consultants, and we learned what it was like to be part of the medical team handling the patients. We also learned to work together. Med school is tough enough as it is, and to get through it alone is out of the question. With our tired and overworked minds and bodies yearning even for a slight reprieve from it all, heated arguments arose from division of labor, duty schedules, and such like, with resolutions of varying creativity coming up. Family time became even more precious as some holidays were still to be spent within the hospital walls. Internship asked a lot from us, and we gave in to much of its demands, sacrificing time for self and loved ones along the way, but I know we all got better for it.

And now, here we are. Just a few days away from the end of it all.

I will always remember UP College of Medicine for all that it has taught me. I will remember all the concepts I have learned (yeah, right!), the skills I have obtained from doing numerous procedures, and the courage I have developed in facing patients of different levels of toxicity.

But the UP College of Medicine will never be my home.

My home will always be in the hearts of the people who have, along the way, touched my life in such astounding ways, molding me to become the person I am now. In the past seven years, I have found friendships that stood the test of time, pressure, and diasagreements. I encountered colleagues and mentors who inspired me to dream big and expand my vision to go beyond the usual and the expected. I met patients who showed me that sickness will never be a hindrance to living a full and happy life. Realistically though, I also saw people who allowed depression and sadness to take over their whole beings, and I would hate to become like them. Most importantly, I learned to appreciate the unconditional love of my family that gives and gives, a love that I was only too eager to reciprocate. This is also the love that has extended beyond my immediate family to include the one I look forward to a beautiful tomorrow with. =.)

I used to think that for the past seven years, I have been working hard to make myself better. I used to believe that I had to work hard to ensure a good future for myself and for my family. I now know that I got it wrong. It has never been about me. I was never the center of it all. The truth is, it is God who has been working on me for the past seven years to bring me right to where I am now. He orchestrated everything so that I would meet the right people, learn the right things, and acquire all that is necessary to prepare me for the bigger tasks ahead. Med school was merely a stepping stone towards the real work that is up ahead. And with God on my side, guiding me all the way, success is definitely inevitable.

The assignment is quite daunting, but I would be nothing if not up to it. I am fully equipped. My God has made sure of that. With much faith, courage, and boldness, I am looking forward to taking the next step.

I am happy. I am strong. I am right where I am supposed to be.

It's about time I give something back.