Back From The Dead

(sorry for the really long post. It’s about two weeks’ worth of my life so please bear with me.)

My idea of a summer vacation definitely does not include spending a week in a hospital.

But there you have it – I just spent last week lying not in an outdoor hammock but in a bed at the UST Hospital, with my right arm hooked to an IV instead of it holding a glass of ripe mango shake. Well, you couldn’t blame me – I asked that I be brought to the hospital because I was having a really tough time dealing with my sickness.

As it turned out, I was down with typhoid fever. Ever heard the term “na-tipus”? It seems that it’s not just some “kanto” term, and typhoid fever, when not treated immediately and properly, could do things to one’s sanity. Fortunately for me, I had the right sense at the right time to have myself admitted to the hospital, or I would have lost my marbles because of my stubbornness and lack of concern for my health.

You know how it began – I started having chills Sunday night of April 22 but continued to go to work for the next two days. I started losing my appetite Tuesday that week. Wednesday I took a sick leave; I continue to lose my appetite and managed to eat a few mouthfuls of rice and Sky Flakes. My fever worsened the following day; my temperature climbed to 39.5 degrees, and I started having stomachache because I haven’t been eating and I’m taking medicines on an empty stomach. Friday I had to report to work because there are no traders at the office (my boss and one of my officemates have to attend a convention). I also started vomiting whatever I ate. I went to a clinic later that day for a checkup. The doctor requested for a complete blood count test because she suspected I might be afflicted with dengue fever. The results of the test turned out fine, but the doctor asked that I return on Monday for another CBC test to check if my platelet count would drop. She advised me to drink lots of fluids and to eat, for goodness’ sake.

That weekend was my worse ever in recent memory. I tried to eat and drink, but I ended up vomiting whatever I took in. It was so frustrating and depressing. I’ve never felt so miserable for my inability to eat enough, and for my tendency to puke whatever I did manage to eat. I can understand what I went through before when I couldn’t eat because I was depressed, but it’s different when I was feeling depressed because I couldn’t eat. I was so tempted to text my friends to tell them I’m having a miserable time but it seems childish and selfish to make them worry over me so I decided to tough it out. I was still having chills, and my temperature was hovering between 38.5 to 39.8 degrees. The last time I puked was Sunday night – I puked the only thing I’ve taken that night, which was Gatorade, and then I vomited air. It was just me making stupid retching sounds and much as I want to stop, I couldn’t, because even on an empty stomach my body was acting like I have something to vomit and I just couldn’t control it. I wish to God I was puking something, anything instead of making myself hurt for nothing. I started crying then dahil ang hirap hirap sumuka ng wala namang isusuka. I felt I was trying too hard, but failing spectacularly. I think it was right then when I decided that I wanted to check myself in at a hospital; I wanted to do something to stop the pain.

It did stop for a while because my mom asked me to take another medicine that will stop the vomiting. While I don’t really want to introduce another drug to my system (since I’m already taking three different medicines that time), I had to because I needed to eat something. I still wasn’t comfortable, but at least I was getting nutrients.

On Monday morning, I decided not to return to the clinic. We instead went directly to the emergency room of UST Hospital. I was relieved when they took my temperature there and it read 37.8 degrees; I thought I was getting better. But while waiting for the results of my CBC and urine tests, I started having chills again, and by the time we got the results, my temperature shoot up again to 39 degrees. The results were again okay; although my platelet count dropped, it was still within normal levels. The doctors were flummoxed because while my tests results were okay, I was clearly not. They decided to admit me for further observations. The next doctor to check on me specializes on infectious diseases and she suspected right at the beginning that I might be sick with typhoid fever. She asked questions on where I usually eat, if I have eaten anything not fully cooked lately, the source of my drinking water, and she poked my stomach when I told her that I have stomach pains. She requested for a blood culture to determine if their suspicions were correct (the med tech who came in later that day took a lot of blood from both my arms; so for that day alone, about three needles were injected on me just to get blood. Until now the areas where the needles were injected are still greenish.). For the meantime, she advised me to drink plenty of fluids and eat. If only things were that easy.

Being stuck in a hospital is definitely not fun. For one, hospital food sucks. Or maybe it’s because I really don’t have an appetite and taste for food. Whatever, I still have trouble eating. But they’ve given me a medicine for my stomach (or something) so I was not puking anymore. My mom kept asking me what food I want to eat and she was obviously keen on making sure I eat better this time. Even if I was really struggling, I don’t want to be a brat and I tried to eat whatever food there is and to drink lots and lots of water and juices.

Another thing, I was still having chills. I was trying not to be a brat, and I wanted my visitors to be at least comfortable, but I really couldn’t stand it when the airconditioner is turned on. So for the first two days, everyone endured the heat in my room – until a certain nurse commented on the heat and turned on the aircon. I didn’t get her explanation about how it is better for me to be cold than comfortable (something about the heat or fever in my body getting out of my system faster on a cold environment, or whatever) my mind was busy thinking ways to torture her when I get better. They made me take off my sweater on the first day, wasn’t that enough? Am I not paying them to make me feel better? So everybody else was comfortable except me. The patient. The one who is sick to the bone. Clearly there’s no justice in this world.

And yeah, I was hooked on an IV and that, more than anything else, made my hospital stay dreary. At least the needle was just plastic and not the metal type like it was before, but the insertion still hurt. Having a foreign object stuck to your vein for a period of time is not the best feeling in the world. And, oh my God! It hurt a lot worse when they injected antibiotics through the IV! I can feel the fluid coursing through my veins – and they just had to inject the medicine at around 7 in the evening! My nights at the hospital were really uncomfortable, what with the nurses continually checking on my pulse, temperature and blood pressure and making me take biogesic at ungodly hours, and the stupid dextrose which, aside from being a pain in the arms because of all the fluids doing excursions around my veins, is preventing me from sleeping on my side. I (carefully) tossed and turned to find the perfect sleeping position, but even if I can find it, there’s no way I could shut out the throbbing in my right arm because of the IV. Not to mention that I have a hard time eating, changing clothes, and doing my uh, daily rituals. Basically, it hinder my movements and make me feel like I’m really, really sick and inutile because I needed assistance in doing just about everything.

Between worrying about the work I left behind, whether the Dallas Mavericks will make it to the semifinals (they didn’t. grr.), and wondering how on earth Daisy Siete is still being shown on TV with the kind of (non)acting going around, I keep asking myself: how did I get typhoid fever? I know I’m not picky when it comes to food, it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten street food, and I eat in places that I’m pretty sure has good sanitary practices in terms of food preparation, so how come I suddenly got afflicted with this disease? Okay, fine. Medyo maarte ako sa pagkain. But only in the sense that I’ll never ever eat under any circumstances certain foods (like raisins, ensaimada, apple, to name a few), that I’ll never eat spaghetti from fast foods, and that hindi mo mapapaubos sa akin ang pagkain kapag talagang ayoko na. Other than that, I’m not a difficult person when it comes to food. Which possibly makes me a good candidate for typhoid fever. Sigh. Ewan ko ba. All I know is that I was a lot susceptible to get typhoid (and hepa) when I was still in school (in UST, incidentally) than now because I tend to eat food with shady origins (read: mga pagkaing nabibili sa kalye o mga pagkain sa mga karinderya sa tabi tabi) back then. My immune system is probably stronger then than it was now. God, I miss my youth. Ganito pala pag tumatanda. Hahaha.

By Wednesday night, my fever was slowly going down. Thursday morning, the doctor told me officially that I have typhoid fever but based on my chart, my body is reacting well to the medicines. They no longer have to inject the antibiotics and I can just take the medicine orally. They removed the IV that night (yehey!) but I still had fever around 2am. But when they told me that I can choose to go home the following day, I did not hesitate. (The doctor told me I can go home Saturday. No way, honey) I don’t think I can stay there for another day. I ended my tenure at the hospital Friday afternoon – still feeling a bit dizzy and weak and with a bit of sinat, but I was happier than I’ve even been for that week. I am going home, I finally know what’s wrong with me, and I can do something about it.

While at the hospital, I had two simple wishes: number one, that I could eat, not just because I needed to, but because I wanted to. You know what I mean? I wanted to really taste the food, to really appreciate good food. Number two, that I could get a restful, comfortable sleep. I finally got number two and I’m on my way to getting number one. It doesn’t help that I am fussier now when it comes to food (since I cannot eat food that aren’t cooked and I can only drink bottled or canned drinks) and just this afternoon , I was feeling sort of resentful when we had a lunch out and I couldn’t eat caesar’s salad. But at least I can eat now. And to think that things could have been worse… I’m lucky to be back.

I used to be real stubborn when I’m sick. I keep thinking that it will go away if I just ignore it. I normally forget on purpose to take my medicines, and I still insist on going about my business even if I’m not feeling well. Maybe this is my body’s way of saying it had enough of my stubborn ways. If you’re as stubborn as I’ve been, well, it’s time to change our habits! I never wanted to feel again the way I did when I was sick, and I sure as hell don’t want to lose my sanity!


I would like to take this opportunity to thank my friends who continually checked on my status and well-being, who texted or called to make sure I’m okay. Thank you to everybody who wished and prayed for my speedy recovery. Thanks to everyone who visited me and insisted that I eat and drink more and who didn’t complain to my face that the heat sucks and who make sure that I won’t get too bored at the hospital. Thanks to my tita who stayed with me at the hospital and subbed for my mom to make sure she could also get a rest. But thank you most especially to my mom, the greatest ever, who make sure I eat and drink (to the point na siya na ang nagsusubo sa akin) even if I was being bratty about it, who continually apply cold compress on me to lower my temperature, who was always close by when I was puking my guts out to make sure I didn’t pass out, who basically took care of me when I was so, so sick. Some of the things you did, you didn’t have to, especially since I’m old enough to take care of myself. But you were always there, not just for me, but also for my siblings, and that’s how we know how much you love us. We love you, too. You’re the best.

Winter In Manila

Karma sure has a way of shutting up my streams of complaints about how terribly hot this summer is.

Since last night I was having chills. Chills, damn it, chills. During the hottest summer in the Metro.

While the weather hasn’t been really fun, beating the heat by being sick is not the way to do it. Maybe taking a bath twice a day wasn’t such a good idea.

I woke up around 2 in the morning shaking profusely and thinking, “there has got to be some mistake!”. But nope, there wasn’t any mistake. Bigla kong pinatay ang electric fan, nagsuot ako ng pajama at nagtalukbong ng kumot dahil sobrang ginaw na ginaw ako. What’s weird is that I have this sort of conscious, sort of going-into-dream train of thought that I was living in an alternate reality (blame it on Back To The Future, Part 2, which I rewatched earlier that evening). I keep checking my watch and my celfone and I seemed to be pretty convinced that both clocks are at least an hour late! Heat and fever has a way of addling one’s brains.

The office isn’t exactly conducive to my current state. The only thing I look forward to when going to work was that at least I am in a really cold environment, but right now all I want is to go anywhere where there is no aircon or electric fan. I am wearing a coat and a shawl, for goodness’ sake!

I hope I get well soon. And I promise to reduce my complaints about the weather to a bare minimum. Brrr!!!

MAD WORLD

I first heard the horrific news yesterday about the shooting rampage in Virginia Tech from a friend. When I got home, I tuned in to CNN to watch their coverage and learned that the assailant, 23-year old student Cho Seung-Hui, managed to kill 32 people and wound 17 others, before turning the gun on himself.

I realized that it wasn’t just morbid curiosity on my part that made me watch the news. I was shocked and angry, but mostly I was sad - for the victims and their families for their painful loss, for the survivors who had to live with the memory of that day, and for the young killer, who will always make people wonder: what happened to this person that made him capable of doing such deed? All we know so far is that he was a loner, and the plays he wrote for his English class were quite disturbing and violently graphic and seem to be written by a very, very angry man. But do these things truly explain his motives?

I’ll reserve my opinion about guns and “the people’s right to bear arms” for another day, but it made me angry to find out that the killer used a semi-automatic handgun in his shooting rampage (not even a big gun or an assault weapon), a gun capable of firing 15 shots in just seconds. A gun so deadly in just about anybody’s hands.

And then all around the world are other news of violence – in Japan, the mayor of Nagasaki was killed when he was shot point-blank by an organized crime chief who was angered when his car was damaged by a hole in a public works site and was unsuccessful in getting compensation from the city. In Nigeria, a mob burned a police station and killed the officer-in-charge, his wife and 11 other officers. In Brazil, 20 people died in a shootout between rival drug gangs and police.

I dearly wish for a safe and less violent world but I know it takes more than a blog entry for us to achieve lasting peace. But now I take this moment and say a prayer for the victims of this senseless violence.

...went to school and I was very nervous, no one knew me, no one knew me, hello teacher tell me what's my lesson, look right through me, look right through me. And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had, I find it hard to tell you, coz I find it hard to take, when people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world...

Mad World, Tears For Fears

What Now, Pacquiao?

This time I finally succeeded in finding a live streaming site on the web so I was able to watch a commercial-free Manny Pacquiao-Jorge Solis fight. That folks is a lot of relief considering the alternative - seeing the commercial of Recom Echiverri dancing Boom Tarat Tarat (what an assault to the senses!).

To be honest, I really don't know what to feel about Pacquiao right now. A few days ago, I told friends that I wanted him to lose the fight and the elections. But today, right before the fight started, I wanted, badly, for him to win his fight spectacularly. This despite Hermie Rivera's overhype (seriously? Ang kanyang puso at katapangan ay kasinlaki ng utang panlabas ng ating bansa. What sort of garbage is that?!).

The fight was a bit boring in the early goings, but picked up when Pacquiao got an accidental cut on his left eyebrow (like, he literally saw red and went on a rampage). I'm amused by their constant reference to Pacquiao as a "congressional candidate".

I am still excited about his win, but not as much as I used to. I guess Pacquiao lost a bit of his magic in my eyes when he decided to pursue a political career. Because, really, Congressman Manny Pacquiao?! Sounds and feels all kinds of wrong. But that's just me.

Unbroken

From PostSecret:

Fooled

Bakit walang nag-react sa entry ko kahapon?! You're supposed to believe what I've written!

I guess the joke's on me. =P

Belated April's Fool Day!

Fool

I had been secretly married for 5 weeks now and none of my family and friends know about it. I think now is the time to come clean.

I made a monumental mistake. And now I'm leaving him.

I was caught under his spell. He made me feel loved and protected. I was happier than I ever was. He was the knight in shining armor I've waited for my whole life.

Everything felt so good, so right. There was no time to tell people about him. I've only known him for two months before we got hitched. I was reckless, madly in love. I should have known better.

He betrayed me. I caught him seeing someone else. He was seeing another man.

I was shattered. My heart has been crushed, broken, trampled upon. Funny how I can feel so much pain in that place that has been left hollow, the place where he used to be. I wish I've never known his smile, his smell, his embrace, his kiss. I wish there's an end to all this pain.

I wish he would die. Slowly. Painfully. The way my heart died.