Two nights ago, the night of the still-birth, was a VERY busy night. In all we had 12 births that day. That's with only ONE birthing bed and four post-partum beds. It was insane and two midwives. We're all rockstars.
But anyway--I've mentioned before how difficult it is to get women to breastfeed! Especially here and in most countries of Africa, Nestle did some serious work on the mothers here about 30 years ago basically making them believe they either didn't have enough milk for breastfeeding or that it wasn't as good as formula. Since then formula use (costing more per can per week than most people's weekly income!) has become the norm and the response I get from new mothers regarding breastfeeding is ALWAYS "Walang gatas." I don't have any milk.
BA!
This makes me so angry and frustrated! Breastmilk, in a place like this, is the one good, life-saving thing that babies can get and mothers can give FOR FREE!
Oh my gosh.
And the midwives here, either by being overworked or just uneducated, won't make sure those breastfeeding myths are dispelled and mothers are breastfeeding their newborns.
So last night, in a fit of rage and fear and exhaustion and once our last delivery had delivered and everyone was settled into their beds and cots, I looked about the room to find one ONE of 6 mothers breastfeeding. Of those 5 one ONE of them had tried and NONE of them had even fed their newborns....ANYTHING! since birth (which for some was a few hours). This explained the non-stop infantile crying.
SHOCKED!
So, I rolled up my sleeves and set to work. Within half an hour it was dead silent save for the occasional sucking and cooing noises. Ahh...order restored.
I turned about the room with my hands placed triumphantly on my hips and I said 'I'm having a shower and going to bed.'
And I did.
I haven't drempt much since I've been here. I don't know if it's because of the restless sleeps I'm having on a hard bad and thin pillow, or because I'm exhausted at the end of the day. But anyway--I had the most lovely dreams about 'my' baby. That happens a lot among midwives---it's one of the perks.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Was I ready for this? No. Clearly I wasn't.
I can't believe I cut my hair off.
It just hit me. I'm practically bald in the back whether I can see it or not.
That's all.
I'm...reeling.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, go to a previous post titled something like 'Are you ready for this?'.
Then you will know what I'm talking about. And then you will pity me.
It just hit me. I'm practically bald in the back whether I can see it or not.
That's all.
I'm...reeling.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, go to a previous post titled something like 'Are you ready for this?'.
Then you will know what I'm talking about. And then you will pity me.
Of helplessness and power struggles.
I wasn't going to post anything today. It was going to be a break. I've been posting so often that I've been neglecting my reading for school! But such is the life here--things never stop.
There was a first today. And the more I think about it, the more shocked I am. I witnessed my first stillbirth just about an hour ago. Can you believe I've been to over 200 births and this is the first death? That's excellent! It's wonderful statistics for me, but surprising considering the number of women I see are/have been malnourished etc.
So anyway--yes, a stillbirth. It was a little boy. Very little boy--3 lbs 9oz. He must have been dead for a couple days because of the quality of his skin and the umbilical cord. Cause of death is IUGR, or Intrauterine growth retardation, when the baby just isn't nourished enough. The placenta was tiny too--about the palm of your hand. Normal placentas are about the size of a dinner plate (sorry for the visuals...)
The mother came in pushing, got herself up onto our delivery table and pushed him out. She didn't have any indication beforehand that he wasn't alive. We tried to resuscitate him, but not for long as we quickly realized there wasn't a chance to revive him now. And then he just lay there. His little toes all porcelain white and his baby-belly small, but round and soft. His mouth gaped open as his head fell to the side and I thought 'Oh. So this is death.'
The mother mourned a little. Not much. I think I appeared more devastated then she let on to be--but how could her heart not be breaking?
Then the story started to unfold; her mother has TB, oh, and her husband too. Did they forget to mention that? And yes, she (the mother) has been suffering from a cough for a while. I note the families appearance--dingy clothing (when Filipino's are compulsively clean), holes and thread-bare tops, worn feet and hands, tired eyes and gummy mouths. It all started to add up.
I had a lot of experience with very poor people when I lived in Mandaluyong back in 2005. The clinic I worked and studied at was in proximity to Welfareville--where some of the poorest people in Manila live--(besides those who live on the streets). Those were our clients and so thread-bare clothing and calloused feet was pretty standard. But here, in Antipolo, most of our clients are lower class, yes, but upper-lower class...? Not quite middle yet.
As I'm thinking about this, Diana, our newest and very lovely, sensitive midwife, looks at me as she's examining the baby. Then she turns to the mother and asks 'Did you have a fight with your husband?'
God. Can it get any worse?
The baby's head was fractured and...well we just couldn't make sense of the bones we were feeling and not feeling.
I just sat back into one of the waiting-room chairs and...well, frig, I just sat. I was helpless.
How do you battle poverty, disease like TB, lack of education, malnourishment, abuse, everything?!??!
And then I look at his mother, Jennifer, and I want to go to her. I ask the midwives, "How is she?" and they say "Her b/p is 110 over..."
"No, I mean," and I don't know the word for 'broken heart' in Tagalog so I say "in here," I point to my heart. "How's her heart?"
Diana nods and says, "Yes, she's been crying. She knows he's dead."
And I'm fighting everything in me to go over to her and say "I'm sorry." but I CAN"T! I just can't! I know I'll LOSE it and probably embarrass her and her family and the staff here. So I slink off like a coward and drink my cherry coke in my room with the fan blowing on me going over what I was going to write about this on my blog. God, I'm lame. I'm not being hard on myself, I'm just being honest. I suck.
So, now they've taken his body away to prepare it for burial. His mother is still here. When I left the room she was sipping at some soup, coughing here and there.
I wanted to take a picture of his little feet--they were like a marble sculpture; bluish-white, precise and creased and just as cold. But I didn't feel like asking if I could take a picture of their dead baby. The timing seemed all wrong.
So, from one extreme to another. Another midwife I'm working with, she's really great. She is. But it's become very clear that we're having a ping-pong game of power struggles. I gave up a while ago because she's been here longer etc etc. But it's still hard sometimes. I'll put time the time of a birth as 11:34am and she'll correct it to 11:35am. Things like that. And that's fine. She can exercise her autonomy and authority as much as she likes. As long as it doesn't interfere with her patient care.
I just found it funny that in the case of life and death, we're so helpless, but we're sure to correct a workmate so we can be accurate when we record the time of death.
There was a first today. And the more I think about it, the more shocked I am. I witnessed my first stillbirth just about an hour ago. Can you believe I've been to over 200 births and this is the first death? That's excellent! It's wonderful statistics for me, but surprising considering the number of women I see are/have been malnourished etc.
So anyway--yes, a stillbirth. It was a little boy. Very little boy--3 lbs 9oz. He must have been dead for a couple days because of the quality of his skin and the umbilical cord. Cause of death is IUGR, or Intrauterine growth retardation, when the baby just isn't nourished enough. The placenta was tiny too--about the palm of your hand. Normal placentas are about the size of a dinner plate (sorry for the visuals...)
The mother came in pushing, got herself up onto our delivery table and pushed him out. She didn't have any indication beforehand that he wasn't alive. We tried to resuscitate him, but not for long as we quickly realized there wasn't a chance to revive him now. And then he just lay there. His little toes all porcelain white and his baby-belly small, but round and soft. His mouth gaped open as his head fell to the side and I thought 'Oh. So this is death.'
The mother mourned a little. Not much. I think I appeared more devastated then she let on to be--but how could her heart not be breaking?
Then the story started to unfold; her mother has TB, oh, and her husband too. Did they forget to mention that? And yes, she (the mother) has been suffering from a cough for a while. I note the families appearance--dingy clothing (when Filipino's are compulsively clean), holes and thread-bare tops, worn feet and hands, tired eyes and gummy mouths. It all started to add up.
I had a lot of experience with very poor people when I lived in Mandaluyong back in 2005. The clinic I worked and studied at was in proximity to Welfareville--where some of the poorest people in Manila live--(besides those who live on the streets). Those were our clients and so thread-bare clothing and calloused feet was pretty standard. But here, in Antipolo, most of our clients are lower class, yes, but upper-lower class...? Not quite middle yet.
As I'm thinking about this, Diana, our newest and very lovely, sensitive midwife, looks at me as she's examining the baby. Then she turns to the mother and asks 'Did you have a fight with your husband?'
God. Can it get any worse?
The baby's head was fractured and...well we just couldn't make sense of the bones we were feeling and not feeling.
I just sat back into one of the waiting-room chairs and...well, frig, I just sat. I was helpless.
How do you battle poverty, disease like TB, lack of education, malnourishment, abuse, everything?!??!
And then I look at his mother, Jennifer, and I want to go to her. I ask the midwives, "How is she?" and they say "Her b/p is 110 over..."
"No, I mean," and I don't know the word for 'broken heart' in Tagalog so I say "in here," I point to my heart. "How's her heart?"
Diana nods and says, "Yes, she's been crying. She knows he's dead."
And I'm fighting everything in me to go over to her and say "I'm sorry." but I CAN"T! I just can't! I know I'll LOSE it and probably embarrass her and her family and the staff here. So I slink off like a coward and drink my cherry coke in my room with the fan blowing on me going over what I was going to write about this on my blog. God, I'm lame. I'm not being hard on myself, I'm just being honest. I suck.
So, now they've taken his body away to prepare it for burial. His mother is still here. When I left the room she was sipping at some soup, coughing here and there.
I wanted to take a picture of his little feet--they were like a marble sculpture; bluish-white, precise and creased and just as cold. But I didn't feel like asking if I could take a picture of their dead baby. The timing seemed all wrong.
So, from one extreme to another. Another midwife I'm working with, she's really great. She is. But it's become very clear that we're having a ping-pong game of power struggles. I gave up a while ago because she's been here longer etc etc. But it's still hard sometimes. I'll put time the time of a birth as 11:34am and she'll correct it to 11:35am. Things like that. And that's fine. She can exercise her autonomy and authority as much as she likes. As long as it doesn't interfere with her patient care.
I just found it funny that in the case of life and death, we're so helpless, but we're sure to correct a workmate so we can be accurate when we record the time of death.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I love rain.
I don't think there's any other naturally occurring phenomenon that I enjoy more than when it rains. Any kind of rain--soft, misty rain to hard, loud rain.
That's how it's raining right now. It's typhoon season here at the moment. So we're anticipating for the electricity to black out at any moment. I pray this doesn't happen because it can take weeks to be reconnected. WEEKS! And that's common.
The cool thing is, it doesn't just rain; it thunders and lightnings for hours and hours, from about 4 or 5pm until midnight. I seriously cannot think of a lovelier way to fall asleep than to lay your head down on a new pillow with the melodic, rhythmic pulse of heavy rain falling on the trees and jungle undergrowth outside your open window. Gusts of rain-inspired wind breathing through the screen, eliminating the need for a fan, for once...
And for once there is silence--no obnoxious growls of tricycles, or disoriented roosters crowing, or yard-bound dogs whine/barking.
Just rain. Cleansing, nourishing rain. And gentle rolling thunder. But later, when it's over, but your skin can't tell the different from the moisture in the air, the bull frogs will start their reverie. One, one and two, two, three, four, five and more of them join in; a true mass choir of amphibians!
Nice way to fall asleep, eh? Yeah, you can be jealous over this point. But that's all I've got to be jealous about. For now.
But here's a link to a sweet and very similar sounding poem about rain by Wadsowrth-Fellow. Uh, i don't know how to put in Links yet, so just copy and paste this here: www.eliteskills.com
...The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain...
Here's what Loopy has to say about all this rain:
That's how it's raining right now. It's typhoon season here at the moment. So we're anticipating for the electricity to black out at any moment. I pray this doesn't happen because it can take weeks to be reconnected. WEEKS! And that's common.
The cool thing is, it doesn't just rain; it thunders and lightnings for hours and hours, from about 4 or 5pm until midnight. I seriously cannot think of a lovelier way to fall asleep than to lay your head down on a new pillow with the melodic, rhythmic pulse of heavy rain falling on the trees and jungle undergrowth outside your open window. Gusts of rain-inspired wind breathing through the screen, eliminating the need for a fan, for once...
And for once there is silence--no obnoxious growls of tricycles, or disoriented roosters crowing, or yard-bound dogs whine/barking.
Just rain. Cleansing, nourishing rain. And gentle rolling thunder. But later, when it's over, but your skin can't tell the different from the moisture in the air, the bull frogs will start their reverie. One, one and two, two, three, four, five and more of them join in; a true mass choir of amphibians!
Nice way to fall asleep, eh? Yeah, you can be jealous over this point. But that's all I've got to be jealous about. For now.
But here's a link to a sweet and very similar sounding poem about rain by Wadsowrth-Fellow. Uh, i don't know how to put in Links yet, so just copy and paste this here: www.eliteskills.com
...The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain...
Here's what Loopy has to say about all this rain:
Monday, May 28, 2007
Stealing blog material
Hey hey! So props, yes props, go out to Dr. Jessica (said with an instant chinese accent) and her new blog! Check it out--it's under Linky Links.
Also, and I haven't yet added this to Linky Links, but my friend (and fiance) Valerie has a blog! Who knew?! I stole this idea from her who stole it from her sister who I think stole it from Annie.
I randomly went through my iPod--selection is surely limited as I deleted a bunch of songs off there before I left AND replaced those songs with worship ones (because I figured I'd be pretty desperate...)
So here it is---the soundtrack to my life movie, which, by the way would be titled
LIFE AS DEATH:
My Soundtrack---
Opening Credits> Getting Better--The Beatles (friggin yeah)
Waking Up> Thugs--The Tragically Hip (everyone's got their breaking point...)
First Day of School> Hard Time Killing Floor Blues-- Chris Thomas King (ha!)
Falling in Love> Straighten Up & Fly Right--Nat King Cole (laaaaaame)
Fight Song> Hold On--Sarah McLachlan
Breaking Up> Minus--Beck (Chorus: Radiation/ Feeling the force/ Karaoke/ Vomiting morons)
Prom> Go--Innocence Mission (which is funny--bc I didn't GO to my prom..)
Life> God Bless the Child--Billie Holiday
Mental Breakdown> Hung Up On the Way I'm Feeling--The Redwalls (hahah!)
Driving> La Grange--ZZ Top
Flashback> Road--Nick Drake
Getting Back Together> O Death--Ralph Stanley (uh....that's not good or is it a pun?)
Wedding> Give Me One Reason-Tracy Chapman (What the heck!!)
Birth of Child> Stg. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band--The Beatles
Final Battle> Let It Be--The Beatles
Death Scene> Everybody Hurts--REM (this movie ROCKS!)
Funeral Song> From Now On--Supertramp
End Credits> Low--Coldplay (chorus: All you ever wanted was love/ But you never looked hard enough/ It's never gonna give itself up)
Wow, what a friggin depressing movie that would be, eh? It's a little creepy acutally. Any prophets out there want to play around with this? Frig.
Also, and I haven't yet added this to Linky Links, but my friend (and fiance) Valerie has a blog! Who knew?! I stole this idea from her who stole it from her sister who I think stole it from Annie.
I randomly went through my iPod--selection is surely limited as I deleted a bunch of songs off there before I left AND replaced those songs with worship ones (because I figured I'd be pretty desperate...)
So here it is---the soundtrack to my life movie, which, by the way would be titled
LIFE AS DEATH:
My Soundtrack---
Opening Credits> Getting Better--The Beatles (friggin yeah)
Waking Up> Thugs--The Tragically Hip (everyone's got their breaking point...)
First Day of School> Hard Time Killing Floor Blues-- Chris Thomas King (ha!)
Falling in Love> Straighten Up & Fly Right--Nat King Cole (laaaaaame)
Fight Song> Hold On--Sarah McLachlan
Breaking Up> Minus--Beck (Chorus: Radiation/ Feeling the force/ Karaoke/ Vomiting morons)
Prom> Go--Innocence Mission (which is funny--bc I didn't GO to my prom..)
Life> God Bless the Child--Billie Holiday
Mental Breakdown> Hung Up On the Way I'm Feeling--The Redwalls (hahah!)
Driving> La Grange--ZZ Top
Flashback> Road--Nick Drake
Getting Back Together> O Death--Ralph Stanley (uh....that's not good or is it a pun?)
Wedding> Give Me One Reason-Tracy Chapman (What the heck!!)
Birth of Child> Stg. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band--The Beatles
Final Battle> Let It Be--The Beatles
Death Scene> Everybody Hurts--REM (this movie ROCKS!)
Funeral Song> From Now On--Supertramp
End Credits> Low--Coldplay (chorus: All you ever wanted was love/ But you never looked hard enough/ It's never gonna give itself up)
Wow, what a friggin depressing movie that would be, eh? It's a little creepy acutally. Any prophets out there want to play around with this? Frig.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The all-consuming question of purpose...
I have short term identities and purposes.
Like for now, for instance, I'm a hungry person and my destiny is to eat. A little broader example is: I'm almost a midwife and I'm here in the Philippines to help graduate.
And yeah, sure, my identity and purpose is ultimately to worship and glorify God (same thing...) but the question is HOW is that walked out? Clearly I'm not supposed to just stand around singing hymns all day.
But then there's something to that too, isn't there? Kinda like 'pray without ceasing' we are to worship without ceasing just by who we are. Ok then, yeah, WHAT does that look like?
For some people it's pretty clear. They're clear about their 'calling' and their giftings etc. Those people bug me. No they don't--I'm just a jealous person.
For some people, like myself, I know the areas I'm called to; I have a general idea what my gifts are; but making that into a...lifestyle...something that glorifies God, well that's another friggin ball-game, mon cherie.
I'm not feeling so badly about it at the moment--just mildy bad about it. I know this is where I'm supposed to be--and I know there are some really wonderful things to come out of this time here...so why am I complaining?
Sometimes, when it's dark, it's hard to remember what you knew in the light.
And that's what I feel like: like I'm Gandalf falling through that never-ending crevis in the earth--disoriented, crashing into the rocks around me on the way down, feet first, head first, no clue which way, tired, and very uncertain about where the bottom is and WHAT the bottom is...but ultimately knowing that I'll be transformed in the process.
Why does junk food have to be so bad for you? Why do drugs have to be so bad? Why are fun, indulgent things generally a good time and 'healthy' things always a struggle?
Like for now, for instance, I'm a hungry person and my destiny is to eat. A little broader example is: I'm almost a midwife and I'm here in the Philippines to help graduate.
And yeah, sure, my identity and purpose is ultimately to worship and glorify God (same thing...) but the question is HOW is that walked out? Clearly I'm not supposed to just stand around singing hymns all day.
But then there's something to that too, isn't there? Kinda like 'pray without ceasing' we are to worship without ceasing just by who we are. Ok then, yeah, WHAT does that look like?
For some people it's pretty clear. They're clear about their 'calling' and their giftings etc. Those people bug me. No they don't--I'm just a jealous person.
For some people, like myself, I know the areas I'm called to; I have a general idea what my gifts are; but making that into a...lifestyle...something that glorifies God, well that's another friggin ball-game, mon cherie.
I'm not feeling so badly about it at the moment--just mildy bad about it. I know this is where I'm supposed to be--and I know there are some really wonderful things to come out of this time here...so why am I complaining?
Sometimes, when it's dark, it's hard to remember what you knew in the light.
And that's what I feel like: like I'm Gandalf falling through that never-ending crevis in the earth--disoriented, crashing into the rocks around me on the way down, feet first, head first, no clue which way, tired, and very uncertain about where the bottom is and WHAT the bottom is...but ultimately knowing that I'll be transformed in the process.
Why does junk food have to be so bad for you? Why do drugs have to be so bad? Why are fun, indulgent things generally a good time and 'healthy' things always a struggle?
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Some dry humour.
Yeah I know I've been posting a lot--but there's good stuff here!
This...this might be a little...je ne c'est pas. Take with a grain of salt. It's my social commentary on the Philippines and how WACKED they are sometimes.
I know you can't read all of it so I've provided captions below:
L to R
1. (My parents live in a shack...look how far I've come...) thinking to himself
2. Whoa! Is that my cousin begging for food over there?
3. (I can't believe I spent a quarter of my annual income on the phone...) thinking to herself
4. (I'm in this ad because I look white.) thinking to herself
5. Hey! We're one of the poorest countries in the world!
6. I'm not anorexic, silly, teehee, I'm just malnourished, teehee...
7. (If I let go of this wiper blade, I'll collapse...) thinking to herself
.....................................................
Anyway--I just think it's bizarre how A LOT of Filipinos live in really horrible conditions, yet own pretty nice motorcycles (albeit crotch-rockets). Or how they can't always eat well, but they always have load on their phone for text messaging.
I guess it's the same in any culture--we prize strange things like cell phones or our cars and neglect seemingly important, ney, fundamental things, like eating well and family.
This...this might be a little...je ne c'est pas. Take with a grain of salt. It's my social commentary on the Philippines and how WACKED they are sometimes.
I know you can't read all of it so I've provided captions below:
L to R
1. (My parents live in a shack...look how far I've come...) thinking to himself
2. Whoa! Is that my cousin begging for food over there?
3. (I can't believe I spent a quarter of my annual income on the phone...) thinking to herself
4. (I'm in this ad because I look white.) thinking to herself
5. Hey! We're one of the poorest countries in the world!
6. I'm not anorexic, silly, teehee, I'm just malnourished, teehee...
7. (If I let go of this wiper blade, I'll collapse...) thinking to herself
.....................................................
Anyway--I just think it's bizarre how A LOT of Filipinos live in really horrible conditions, yet own pretty nice motorcycles (albeit crotch-rockets). Or how they can't always eat well, but they always have load on their phone for text messaging.
I guess it's the same in any culture--we prize strange things like cell phones or our cars and neglect seemingly important, ney, fundamental things, like eating well and family.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Boys
Wow--so I've assisted in quite a few deliveries and as of just now, have yet to assist in the birth of a girl. Weird.
Here's a shot of one little boy from last week. He's not too happy about his bath.
And here's another shot from, oh, 12 minutes ago. He's a wee little guy but I couldn't for the life of me make him cry.
And here's a poem about boys:
Why God Made Little Boys
God made a world out of His dreams,
of magic mountains, oceans and streams,
Prairies and plains and wooded land.
Then paused and thought
I need someone to stand, on top of the mountains,
to conquer the seas, explore the plains
and climb the trees.
Someone to start out small and grow,
sturdy and strong like a tree and so
He created boys, full of spirit and fun
To explore and conquer, to romp and run
With dirty faces, and banged up chins
With courageous hearts and boyish grins.
And when He had completed the task He'd begun,
He surely said, "That's a job well done."
Here's a shot of one little boy from last week. He's not too happy about his bath.
And here's another shot from, oh, 12 minutes ago. He's a wee little guy but I couldn't for the life of me make him cry.
And here's a poem about boys:
Why God Made Little Boys
God made a world out of His dreams,
of magic mountains, oceans and streams,
Prairies and plains and wooded land.
Then paused and thought
I need someone to stand, on top of the mountains,
to conquer the seas, explore the plains
and climb the trees.
Someone to start out small and grow,
sturdy and strong like a tree and so
He created boys, full of spirit and fun
To explore and conquer, to romp and run
With dirty faces, and banged up chins
With courageous hearts and boyish grins.
And when He had completed the task He'd begun,
He surely said, "That's a job well done."
Short story 2:
They flop and shuffle over to me at my big desk from the prenatal bed, my back to them in a posture of superiority--aloof. I check their dates, make sure everything adds up, and then, inwardly die a little on their behalf as I ask "Meron donasyon?" Do you have a donation?
Donations are made towards the cost of delivery at the clinic. It's minimal; about CND$12 per delivery including suturing. But at each visit we ask if they'd like to make a donation; a contribution to their delivery fees. This isn't an easy task. That's why they're here in the first place. Because we're a charity.
I usually make eye contact and smile, trying to say 'It's ok...' with my face. But sometimes, rarely, I can't. I don't know who I'm protecting: myself from feeling horrible for them, or them from seeing how badly I feel for them.
They say "Meron", I have, and hand me a soft, warm, sticky, crumpled bill--but I can't always tell how much it is at first because the balled up bill is slid into my hand, or directly into the donations box and the amount murmured is too quiet and accented to understand at first.
"Twenty pesos?" I ask. That's no more than CND $.45. "Magcano?" How much? I ask. Because you can't always be sure they don't want change from 20 pesos.
"Ten, po." So I smooth out the 20 a bit before I put it in the box and then I fish out two 5 peso coins. "Sigi." I say, which is a broad expression for 'Ok, we're finished' or 'Alright then.'
And out they flop and shuffle, waddling to various degrees, stuffing their change into their change purses. That money will go to pay for the tricy ride home, or perhaps a jeepney and lunch. Nothing nutritious, of course. Rice and coke most likely. And I sigh, and wonder what the heck I'm supposed to do, because we were taught how to handle a lot of things in midwifery school, but not how to handle this; this gluttonous beast called poverty.
Donations are made towards the cost of delivery at the clinic. It's minimal; about CND$12 per delivery including suturing. But at each visit we ask if they'd like to make a donation; a contribution to their delivery fees. This isn't an easy task. That's why they're here in the first place. Because we're a charity.
I usually make eye contact and smile, trying to say 'It's ok...' with my face. But sometimes, rarely, I can't. I don't know who I'm protecting: myself from feeling horrible for them, or them from seeing how badly I feel for them.
They say "Meron", I have, and hand me a soft, warm, sticky, crumpled bill--but I can't always tell how much it is at first because the balled up bill is slid into my hand, or directly into the donations box and the amount murmured is too quiet and accented to understand at first.
"Twenty pesos?" I ask. That's no more than CND $.45. "Magcano?" How much? I ask. Because you can't always be sure they don't want change from 20 pesos.
"Ten, po." So I smooth out the 20 a bit before I put it in the box and then I fish out two 5 peso coins. "Sigi." I say, which is a broad expression for 'Ok, we're finished' or 'Alright then.'
And out they flop and shuffle, waddling to various degrees, stuffing their change into their change purses. That money will go to pay for the tricy ride home, or perhaps a jeepney and lunch. Nothing nutritious, of course. Rice and coke most likely. And I sigh, and wonder what the heck I'm supposed to do, because we were taught how to handle a lot of things in midwifery school, but not how to handle this; this gluttonous beast called poverty.
Post MONSTER!!
Oh you're regretting coming to this blog now, aren't you? There's too much to read!
Sorry! But I think you'll enjoy it.
Along the lines of giving more details about life here I'm including a couple little short stories (?) I've written since arriving.
The fighting cocks still crow--even though it's almost 4pm. Their excitement must be the equivalent of me exclaiming "It's too hot!" The children next door are playing the country's favourite sport: basketball. Three older boys and one young girl--she's giggling hysterically leaving herself no strength to throw the ball which in turn only annoys the boys. I remember that age--swooning and laughing over my brother's friends and being young enough to have it be ok, and even cute.
Somewhere the radio is blaring 1950s Americana love songs--quaint little tunes no longer than 3 minutes each with that familiar tempo epitomized by Patsy Cline or Frank Sinatra. Hearing it sounds so much like home, but then it clashes badly with the rough brush brush brush of a handmade bamboo broom scratching along packed down, bone-dry earth. At least they're in time with each other.
Thank God for my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan (on speed 2 of 3)--even though it gathers and heaves in my face the smoke from the rubbish fires burning outside.
Yes, thank God for my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan.
The children have stopped playing and now there's the harsh sound of rocks landing on a tin roof--what the...they're throwing rocks at me!
I peak out the window to see them throwing broken pieces of concrete bricks up and gently arching through a tree in their yard (and partly in ours). With each expert toss, by the boys mind you, some green vegetation is brought down too---is it buko? Coconuts? Oh, green mangoes.
The girl tries a few tosses amid giggles--ah, she's the one hitting our roof. The boys have squatted down with their afternoon marienda and are peeling the sour, unripe mangoes with their machetes, then dipping them in sugar? Or is it salt?
...Oh, I'm a genius; it's both. But never together Maricor tells me. Maricor doesn't tell me much except through her body language and lack of response to me, bar giggling or 'O po.', that she doesn't understand me.
Thank God I've made it through the worst part of the day. I can relax now and maybe turn the fan down a notch.
Sorry! But I think you'll enjoy it.
Along the lines of giving more details about life here I'm including a couple little short stories (?) I've written since arriving.
The fighting cocks still crow--even though it's almost 4pm. Their excitement must be the equivalent of me exclaiming "It's too hot!" The children next door are playing the country's favourite sport: basketball. Three older boys and one young girl--she's giggling hysterically leaving herself no strength to throw the ball which in turn only annoys the boys. I remember that age--swooning and laughing over my brother's friends and being young enough to have it be ok, and even cute.
Somewhere the radio is blaring 1950s Americana love songs--quaint little tunes no longer than 3 minutes each with that familiar tempo epitomized by Patsy Cline or Frank Sinatra. Hearing it sounds so much like home, but then it clashes badly with the rough brush brush brush of a handmade bamboo broom scratching along packed down, bone-dry earth. At least they're in time with each other.
Thank God for my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan (on speed 2 of 3)--even though it gathers and heaves in my face the smoke from the rubbish fires burning outside.
Yes, thank God for my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan.
The children have stopped playing and now there's the harsh sound of rocks landing on a tin roof--what the...they're throwing rocks at me!
I peak out the window to see them throwing broken pieces of concrete bricks up and gently arching through a tree in their yard (and partly in ours). With each expert toss, by the boys mind you, some green vegetation is brought down too---is it buko? Coconuts? Oh, green mangoes.
The girl tries a few tosses amid giggles--ah, she's the one hitting our roof. The boys have squatted down with their afternoon marienda and are peeling the sour, unripe mangoes with their machetes, then dipping them in sugar? Or is it salt?
...Oh, I'm a genius; it's both. But never together Maricor tells me. Maricor doesn't tell me much except through her body language and lack of response to me, bar giggling or 'O po.', that she doesn't understand me.
Thank God I've made it through the worst part of the day. I can relax now and maybe turn the fan down a notch.
You asked for it--I will deliver.
A lot of you (RuBy) have been asking for a little more insight into life around here...well, right NOW I'm going to go harass the poor midwives and then I'll post those pictures. ....
Tapos ng! (I'm finished!)
Here is Diana, our new probational midwife: she has an AWEFUL toothache/impeksyon(infection) at the moment. Poor thing. She still comes to work though because she's on probation. Here she is typing up birth certificates for our pasyentas (patients). She's tried showing me how to do this but I kept making typos like 'Lesjane' instead of 'Leajane' or not taking it off caps and putting @))& instead of 2007.
And here is Maricel organizing said birth certificates (said with Filipino accent: birt cerbtifikits). She's only 23 and she's a prostar midwife. She's pretty cute too.
And here is our current and only patients...um, not sure of their names, but their last name is Nellis, or something. This is their first baby and it's a girl! They're actually excited about it.
And outside, let's see, it's raining! Thank GOD.
And here are the dogs that hang around the clinic. They are Loopy I and Loopy II respectively. Mavis (aka Mabis; said with Filipino accent) named them thus because she thinks they're loopy for lying on our cool cement garage floor when it's hot out. ...I'm not sure she's the one who should be calling anyone Loopy I or II.
Tapos ng! (I'm finished!)
Here is Diana, our new probational midwife: she has an AWEFUL toothache/impeksyon(infection) at the moment. Poor thing. She still comes to work though because she's on probation. Here she is typing up birth certificates for our pasyentas (patients). She's tried showing me how to do this but I kept making typos like 'Lesjane' instead of 'Leajane' or not taking it off caps and putting @))& instead of 2007.
And here is Maricel organizing said birth certificates (said with Filipino accent: birt cerbtifikits). She's only 23 and she's a prostar midwife. She's pretty cute too.
And here is our current and only patients...um, not sure of their names, but their last name is Nellis, or something. This is their first baby and it's a girl! They're actually excited about it.
And outside, let's see, it's raining! Thank GOD.
And here are the dogs that hang around the clinic. They are Loopy I and Loopy II respectively. Mavis (aka Mabis; said with Filipino accent) named them thus because she thinks they're loopy for lying on our cool cement garage floor when it's hot out. ...I'm not sure she's the one who should be calling anyone Loopy I or II.
Teehee...don't tell Mavis I have a blog...
This is such a hot picture of me I just had to add it---but it's the only one I have of Mavis and I:
Here are a couple of my favourite little snippets from my time with Mavis:
(said in a sing-song voice after I asked Mavis how she'd like me to take notes on suturing)
"Second degree teeeeeeeeeear sutured with 2 caaaaaatguuuuuuuuuuut to vaginal waaaaaaaaaalllll and four catguuuuutt to perineummmm."
Oh. Thanks Mavis. I'll be sure to remember that.
She was in the habit of talking to me while not actually facing me or even being in the same room.
"Claire? Oh there you are. (I'd been there for 4 hours) I was looking for the photo album of deformities (yes, we have an album of deformities--it's a real conversation piece) and I found this old photo. I have been looking for this everywhere, and you know, it's always in the last place you look...(wanders into the other room)....and I searched high and (door slams shut) low and.......(muffled talking...)
..............20 minutes later..............
"...and can you believe it! There is was. Right beside the address book I was looking for last year..."
Et cetera, et cetera.
Have I mentioned she's 74?
Here are a couple of my favourite little snippets from my time with Mavis:
(said in a sing-song voice after I asked Mavis how she'd like me to take notes on suturing)
"Second degree teeeeeeeeeear sutured with 2 caaaaaatguuuuuuuuuuut to vaginal waaaaaaaaaalllll and four catguuuuutt to perineummmm."
Oh. Thanks Mavis. I'll be sure to remember that.
She was in the habit of talking to me while not actually facing me or even being in the same room.
"Claire? Oh there you are. (I'd been there for 4 hours) I was looking for the photo album of deformities (yes, we have an album of deformities--it's a real conversation piece) and I found this old photo. I have been looking for this everywhere, and you know, it's always in the last place you look...(wanders into the other room)....and I searched high and (door slams shut) low and.......(muffled talking...)
..............20 minutes later..............
"...and can you believe it! There is was. Right beside the address book I was looking for last year..."
Et cetera, et cetera.
Have I mentioned she's 74?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Home sugary home
Well Mavis left about five hours ago and since she's left I've made a few changes:
-remove all little thingies, doilies, figurines, frames with no pictures in them, lamps that don't work, etc
-replace moldy pillow with unmoldy one
-change sheets
-put fresh flowers in the places I'll be the most
-find old relics and display like they're antiques
-prop my bedroom door open so that the girls feel welcome to come and go
-buy pizza and have it delivered (this, mind you, consisted of a 'family' sized pizza (8 slices and there are no bigger sizes), two orders of spaghetti, one order of sausage rolls, packets of hot sauce, 2L of pepsi, a plethora of lollipops and this 'dessert' of chewy chocolate...only in the Philippines)
-replace all the bloody, meconium-stained towels and mats with clean towels and mats
-find a way to play my iPod through the existing computer speakers or through the ghetto-blaster from 1988...still working on this one.
-set up multiple fans in my room so that I'm cooler
-move the printer paper etc from the bedside table to the computer desk
-spray EVERYTHING with Benefect
....and you get the idea....
And since I have free reign over the computer now (free rain?) here are some shots I took inspired by this delicious little apple I bought.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
How embarrassing...
Uh, yeah, so clearly I have internet access and a lot of it. So, if you're so inclined you are most welcome to email me at punkareux. No need to post messages on the blog. Well, I LIKE messages on the blog, but if you actually want to write me...oh frig it. You know what I mean.
You can just email me.
I'm going to go my ground beef and ham carbonara pasta now. It's as tasty as it sounds.
You can just email me.
I'm going to go my ground beef and ham carbonara pasta now. It's as tasty as it sounds.
Monday, May 21, 2007
I am the ruler of the PC domain!
Today, after many hot hours of building and rebuilding the slideshow for Mavis to take with her to the UK, I finally defeated that beast known as the PC.
Oh, I was craving for my Mackintosh lover, but alas, I had to figure things out old school.
This is my triumphant fist pump of completion:
I am a PC wizard in these foreign lands. They call me the Claire the Sweaty. And ohhhhh how I smite the wicked PC beasts in their tracks!
Oh, I was craving for my Mackintosh lover, but alas, I had to figure things out old school.
This is my triumphant fist pump of completion:
I am a PC wizard in these foreign lands. They call me the Claire the Sweaty. And ohhhhh how I smite the wicked PC beasts in their tracks!
Coincidentally...
I've been meaning to mention this for days, but if you're looking for a good movie to watch, frig, rent The Painted Veil. It's with Ed Norton and...Naomi Watts (?)and oh man it is a seriously excellent love-story. A REAL love story. It's amazingly redemptive considering it came from Hollywood.
Anyway--go rent it. You'll thank me.
So, I've been here over a week now, and as I suspected the time has flown and crawled by. I feel like I just arrived and yet already been here for months. It's not a good feeling. And the heat--oh-my-lord--you haven't experienced a heat like this. I don't care who you are or where you've ever been, you have NOT experienced a heat like I have the last week. But finally! it rained today. Friggin rained mang. It was so heavy it looked like it would hurt if it hit your skin. And was coming down so fast it created a strong wind. It was sweet. AND thundering! It was thundering for quite a while too. An overall satisfying day.
Now all you can hear is the loud bass of the bull-frogs, the crickets, and the occasional tricycle. Oh, and the screaming baby. Whoever said newborn cries aren't annoying was wrong. They're just wrong. It can get annoying. Trust me.
That baby out there is just SCREAMING and has been for about half and hour because its mother won't breastfeed it. Why? I don't know. Hindi ko elam. But I'm sure it's come excellent reason such as 'there isn't any milk' or 'the baby has a fever'. Of course, as EVERYONE knows, all contraindications to breastfeeding.
Man.
So the pictures today, my little SkyFlakes, are 'what the heck am I going to do tonight?' pictures. I hope they delight you.
You know what's coincidental about the rain today? It was interesting to note that I've been waiting for one week for it to rain--one whole week. Asking everyone daily "When does rainy season start?" when I know bloody well that it starts in June. Each day I look up at the sky and say "Oh, it's going to rain today for sure--I can feel it. Can't you feel it?" But it never did rain.
Finally, today, I heard thunder (which can be, and has been, mistaken for a motorbike...) And sure enough, it rains; rains like God is trying to float an ark. And here's the funny part--today I had my first little cry after hearing some unexpected news from home. I had my own little thunderstorm, if you will. I'm so in tune with nature, clearly.
Anyway--I'm meeting up with an old classmate of Mercy tomorrow--very exciting and, here's that word again, coincidental that she's working in Antipolo too! It IS a small world after all.
Anyway--go rent it. You'll thank me.
So, I've been here over a week now, and as I suspected the time has flown and crawled by. I feel like I just arrived and yet already been here for months. It's not a good feeling. And the heat--oh-my-lord--you haven't experienced a heat like this. I don't care who you are or where you've ever been, you have NOT experienced a heat like I have the last week. But finally! it rained today. Friggin rained mang. It was so heavy it looked like it would hurt if it hit your skin. And was coming down so fast it created a strong wind. It was sweet. AND thundering! It was thundering for quite a while too. An overall satisfying day.
Now all you can hear is the loud bass of the bull-frogs, the crickets, and the occasional tricycle. Oh, and the screaming baby. Whoever said newborn cries aren't annoying was wrong. They're just wrong. It can get annoying. Trust me.
That baby out there is just SCREAMING and has been for about half and hour because its mother won't breastfeed it. Why? I don't know. Hindi ko elam. But I'm sure it's come excellent reason such as 'there isn't any milk' or 'the baby has a fever'. Of course, as EVERYONE knows, all contraindications to breastfeeding.
Man.
So the pictures today, my little SkyFlakes, are 'what the heck am I going to do tonight?' pictures. I hope they delight you.
You know what's coincidental about the rain today? It was interesting to note that I've been waiting for one week for it to rain--one whole week. Asking everyone daily "When does rainy season start?" when I know bloody well that it starts in June. Each day I look up at the sky and say "Oh, it's going to rain today for sure--I can feel it. Can't you feel it?" But it never did rain.
Finally, today, I heard thunder (which can be, and has been, mistaken for a motorbike...) And sure enough, it rains; rains like God is trying to float an ark. And here's the funny part--today I had my first little cry after hearing some unexpected news from home. I had my own little thunderstorm, if you will. I'm so in tune with nature, clearly.
Anyway--I'm meeting up with an old classmate of Mercy tomorrow--very exciting and, here's that word again, coincidental that she's working in Antipolo too! It IS a small world after all.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
I love inner growth!
Oh man--are you ready? Ready for THIS? I am so...turning into someone I hoped I would be, but never thought I would.
This trip is so not about the midwifery, I'm discovering. And that's exciting, because midwifery, psh it's been done. No no, Dad, don't worry--I'm graduating. It's just that, yeah, I've learned all that and I'm a good midwife, so that's why it's nice to be learning some NEW things on this trip.
Can I just mention, it's only been four days since I arrived and I feel like I've been here an eternity. Is that a good sign? Hm...
Anyway--here's an excerpt from my journal from...yesterday, no! the day before:
At the time it was quite profound to me--but I know to a lot of you it will be quite...trite, perhaps passe. No, never passe, just...well, duh! Of course. Is there a word for 'well duh, of course' ?
It was inspired by reading the words the worship group at my church gave me--this was my way of summarizing:
" Faith. Just believe. Trust.
Have faith He fulfills His promises.
Faith I heard Him correctly;
Faith in who I've been created to be.
Just believe He is good.
Believe He has a plan;
Believe it's a good plan.
Trust He's got me.
Trust He won't abandon me here and now or ever;
Trust it's not by my own strength--only by His grace.
And rest.
Rest in His plans.
Rest in the knowledge of His infinite love and tenderness.
Rest and have faith to hope;
Rest and believe in Him who is faithful;
Rest and trust I'm taken care of.
I'm careless in the care of God."
Holy corny, eh? I'm thinking of submitting it to some Christian publishing house and request it's printed on a fridge magnet with a sunset in the background. Or perhaps a c.u. of some wild-flowers. Yes. Wild-flowers.
(photo of the clinic on clinic days--110 people yesterday)
Oh, can you tell I have internet and I have a lot of it? Frig. The midwives here are SO fully capable it's frustrating and the nursing-students...well there are many of them so anything I go to do...is being done. But I know it won't always be like this. I'm anxious to get working, but not THAT anxious. I'm not an idiot.
Ah, another baby boy. Really clotty birth--I had to leave. Some of you know, clots are my downfall. Nothing can make me gag faster. Just so you know. And come on! You can't expect to not hear SOME details. Hahah..suckers.
This trip is so not about the midwifery, I'm discovering. And that's exciting, because midwifery, psh it's been done. No no, Dad, don't worry--I'm graduating. It's just that, yeah, I've learned all that and I'm a good midwife, so that's why it's nice to be learning some NEW things on this trip.
Can I just mention, it's only been four days since I arrived and I feel like I've been here an eternity. Is that a good sign? Hm...
Anyway--here's an excerpt from my journal from...yesterday, no! the day before:
At the time it was quite profound to me--but I know to a lot of you it will be quite...trite, perhaps passe. No, never passe, just...well, duh! Of course. Is there a word for 'well duh, of course' ?
It was inspired by reading the words the worship group at my church gave me--this was my way of summarizing:
" Faith. Just believe. Trust.
Have faith He fulfills His promises.
Faith I heard Him correctly;
Faith in who I've been created to be.
Just believe He is good.
Believe He has a plan;
Believe it's a good plan.
Trust He's got me.
Trust He won't abandon me here and now or ever;
Trust it's not by my own strength--only by His grace.
And rest.
Rest in His plans.
Rest in the knowledge of His infinite love and tenderness.
Rest and have faith to hope;
Rest and believe in Him who is faithful;
Rest and trust I'm taken care of.
I'm careless in the care of God."
Holy corny, eh? I'm thinking of submitting it to some Christian publishing house and request it's printed on a fridge magnet with a sunset in the background. Or perhaps a c.u. of some wild-flowers. Yes. Wild-flowers.
(photo of the clinic on clinic days--110 people yesterday)
Oh, can you tell I have internet and I have a lot of it? Frig. The midwives here are SO fully capable it's frustrating and the nursing-students...well there are many of them so anything I go to do...is being done. But I know it won't always be like this. I'm anxious to get working, but not THAT anxious. I'm not an idiot.
Ah, another baby boy. Really clotty birth--I had to leave. Some of you know, clots are my downfall. Nothing can make me gag faster. Just so you know. And come on! You can't expect to not hear SOME details. Hahah..suckers.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Pictures?
Yes.
It's hot and I'm tired. Time for some self-portraits:
My first assignment: taking pictures. For what, you ask? For Mavis' trip to see the Queen. Pardon, you say? Yes, the Queen of England. Elizabeth. So, you say, your pictures will be shown to the Queen of England? Yes. Yes they will. And it's about now (AFTER I took all the picture and THEN learned WHO they were for) that I'm really regreting the use of my flash. It's shameful really.
Anyway, here's Mavis and some nursing students and some patients before clinic this AM. The church next door has a little worship time and then bible study. It's quite the production. Here is everyone doing the actions to one of the songs.
Bebe. The one I assisted with when I arrive on Monday. Look at his little turtle neck. What a cutie. He was really enjoying his bath too. No really--sometimes they hate baths, but he stopped crying immediately.
Yes. Pictures.
I've done my job well and even beyond what Mavis had hoped when I told her I could download the pictures onto her computer, edit them and then burn them to a disc....to show the Queen. Gold star for me. No, just the right to play around on here now. Ha!
Today I get to make the journey to MegaMall, the 2nd or 3rd biggest mall in the world. Some of you may remember the countless hours spent at Mega when I lived in Manila. It will be like going home. Oh man, I'm going to get a Sbarro pizza slice and a garden salad....oh I'm salivating. Then I have some things to do THEN I'm getting a mango smoothy from Seattle's Best. Oh my gosh.
Alright then...that's it.
It's hot and I'm tired. Time for some self-portraits:
My first assignment: taking pictures. For what, you ask? For Mavis' trip to see the Queen. Pardon, you say? Yes, the Queen of England. Elizabeth. So, you say, your pictures will be shown to the Queen of England? Yes. Yes they will. And it's about now (AFTER I took all the picture and THEN learned WHO they were for) that I'm really regreting the use of my flash. It's shameful really.
Anyway, here's Mavis and some nursing students and some patients before clinic this AM. The church next door has a little worship time and then bible study. It's quite the production. Here is everyone doing the actions to one of the songs.
Bebe. The one I assisted with when I arrive on Monday. Look at his little turtle neck. What a cutie. He was really enjoying his bath too. No really--sometimes they hate baths, but he stopped crying immediately.
Yes. Pictures.
I've done my job well and even beyond what Mavis had hoped when I told her I could download the pictures onto her computer, edit them and then burn them to a disc....to show the Queen. Gold star for me. No, just the right to play around on here now. Ha!
Today I get to make the journey to MegaMall, the 2nd or 3rd biggest mall in the world. Some of you may remember the countless hours spent at Mega when I lived in Manila. It will be like going home. Oh man, I'm going to get a Sbarro pizza slice and a garden salad....oh I'm salivating. Then I have some things to do THEN I'm getting a mango smoothy from Seattle's Best. Oh my gosh.
Alright then...that's it.
Sitting endlessly generates a lot of thought...
Today was my recoup day--however that only got started around 3pm. I stayed at the clinic last night, and was going to move into a guest-house around the corner this AM, but that turned into noon, then 3pm. Oh my gosh I was exhausted and sweaty. It's abnormally hot at the mo, which is fantastic, and typhoon season starts any day. What timing.
Anyway--I finally moved into my room at the guest house--had a luke-warm shower and fell asleep in the air-con. It was bliss.
Wake-up time is determined by the animals. Which means all the fighting cocks start to cockle-doodle-do (ka ka-ka ka-ka...Gob...)around 5am. The sun actually makes its appearence around 6am--so it's a little premature. Nonetheless, 5am wake up calls everyday. And it's not just once or twice--it's from 5am until about 10am. Sigh.
There are clinic days (out-patient check-ups) three days of the week, from about 8am to 1pm. They see a lot of people though--today it was over 70--which is an amazing number of people to see with only three beds.
The 10 or so Filipino nursing students help a lot by taking blood pressures, weight etc. But wow--add another 10 people to the mix and it's a friggin party all the time!
I'm just trying to give you a rough idea of what it's like here--feel free to skip ahead.
Ohhh....baby. It's a boy. I'd say 90% of the time labours and deliveries are not what you think they'll be. Thought for the day.
Right---um--the clinic is located on a mountain--think LOST only 10 years down the road after they discover the hatch. It's very tropical, very humid....moist almost. Yes, moist. The cool mornings end too quickly and then it stays pretty damn hot until sun set--and then the evenings are nice and cool again. Thankfully because we're on a mountain, there's a nice breeze almost all the time. (Don't worry Mum, it's going to cool off a lot by the time you get here.)
Oh--and on that note, received some news yesterday that there's still one four-week position to be filled here at the clinic! I'm a little anxious about that--but I'm thinking that if I ignore the problem, someone else might notice it and do something about it. That's usually an excellent way to screw things up, isnt' it?
Well--I should go. I'm wiped and I have to start working tomorrow--first job: taking promo pictures for the clinic. Weird. How is it that I go on a missionary-midwifery trip and my first order is to take pictures? Not complaining! Just...thoughtfully accounting.
Oh, and I haven't had the nerve to play around with pictures yet--however I did set up Mavis' speakers, so I feel like maybe tomorrow I'll have more computer-time leverage.
Alright---night!
Anyway--I finally moved into my room at the guest house--had a luke-warm shower and fell asleep in the air-con. It was bliss.
Wake-up time is determined by the animals. Which means all the fighting cocks start to cockle-doodle-do (ka ka-ka ka-ka...Gob...)around 5am. The sun actually makes its appearence around 6am--so it's a little premature. Nonetheless, 5am wake up calls everyday. And it's not just once or twice--it's from 5am until about 10am. Sigh.
There are clinic days (out-patient check-ups) three days of the week, from about 8am to 1pm. They see a lot of people though--today it was over 70--which is an amazing number of people to see with only three beds.
The 10 or so Filipino nursing students help a lot by taking blood pressures, weight etc. But wow--add another 10 people to the mix and it's a friggin party all the time!
I'm just trying to give you a rough idea of what it's like here--feel free to skip ahead.
Ohhh....baby. It's a boy. I'd say 90% of the time labours and deliveries are not what you think they'll be. Thought for the day.
Right---um--the clinic is located on a mountain--think LOST only 10 years down the road after they discover the hatch. It's very tropical, very humid....moist almost. Yes, moist. The cool mornings end too quickly and then it stays pretty damn hot until sun set--and then the evenings are nice and cool again. Thankfully because we're on a mountain, there's a nice breeze almost all the time. (Don't worry Mum, it's going to cool off a lot by the time you get here.)
Oh--and on that note, received some news yesterday that there's still one four-week position to be filled here at the clinic! I'm a little anxious about that--but I'm thinking that if I ignore the problem, someone else might notice it and do something about it. That's usually an excellent way to screw things up, isnt' it?
Well--I should go. I'm wiped and I have to start working tomorrow--first job: taking promo pictures for the clinic. Weird. How is it that I go on a missionary-midwifery trip and my first order is to take pictures? Not complaining! Just...thoughtfully accounting.
Oh, and I haven't had the nerve to play around with pictures yet--however I did set up Mavis' speakers, so I feel like maybe tomorrow I'll have more computer-time leverage.
Alright---night!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Kumasta!
Mabuhay--oh no, you're thinking, she's in another country for one day and she's acting like she speaks the language alllll the time.
Anyway!
Hey!
I made it to Manila this afternoon--after 48 hours of travel. I shit you not. 48 hours. So I'm a little tired/delirious.
But, there is no rest for the weary--I've already assisted a delivery. And, gag, witnessed my first episiotomy. It was horrible. We were trained how to do one in an emergency, but this wasn't an emergency. It was just gross. I may have stressed the mother out while it was happening too because I was squeezing her knee with my white-fist ed hand. (How sardonic, eh Bek?)
I have pictures--but I'm taking it one step at a time. The lady I'm covering for, Mavis, is in her 70s so getting online was a feat on its own. I'll leave tampering with her digital imaging programs 'til she's gone.
Yeah--but I just wanted to say hi and tell everyone I made it here ok. I don't know what the next few weeks hold for me---but...well there is no 'but'. I just don't know what this time here holds for me. Period.
If you want to contact me post a message here. If it's a long message then email me, but don't message me at facebook or myspace, please. That's just too time consuming and seeming far to frivolous right about now.
I'll post pictures asap!
Anyway!
Hey!
I made it to Manila this afternoon--after 48 hours of travel. I shit you not. 48 hours. So I'm a little tired/delirious.
But, there is no rest for the weary--I've already assisted a delivery. And, gag, witnessed my first episiotomy. It was horrible. We were trained how to do one in an emergency, but this wasn't an emergency. It was just gross. I may have stressed the mother out while it was happening too because I was squeezing her knee with my white-fist ed hand. (How sardonic, eh Bek?)
I have pictures--but I'm taking it one step at a time. The lady I'm covering for, Mavis, is in her 70s so getting online was a feat on its own. I'll leave tampering with her digital imaging programs 'til she's gone.
Yeah--but I just wanted to say hi and tell everyone I made it here ok. I don't know what the next few weeks hold for me---but...well there is no 'but'. I just don't know what this time here holds for me. Period.
If you want to contact me post a message here. If it's a long message then email me, but don't message me at facebook or myspace, please. That's just too time consuming and seeming far to frivolous right about now.
I'll post pictures asap!
Friday, May 11, 2007
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?
People have been asking---are you shaving your head?!?!
No. I'm not.
But it might as well be at the back.
Yes.
This is my own head.
This is me being pensive about the new 'do.
This is the back of my head.
See the terror and confusion in my eyes? It's sincere, my friends.
I LOVE the front--it's perfect in the front. But somewhere between my ear and my neck something very terrible has happened.
It is my hair.
Two weeks. Give it two weeks. Then everything will be ok. Yes. Two weeks.
No. I'm not.
But it might as well be at the back.
Yes.
This is my own head.
This is me being pensive about the new 'do.
This is the back of my head.
See the terror and confusion in my eyes? It's sincere, my friends.
I LOVE the front--it's perfect in the front. But somewhere between my ear and my neck something very terrible has happened.
It is my hair.
Two weeks. Give it two weeks. Then everything will be ok. Yes. Two weeks.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Chopping up my glory
I have this strong conviction that my hair is my glory as a woman. I've been holding onto that glory for a long time. I chopped it off once--before my trip when I was 17. And I've been in the process of growing it out ever since. Why? Ugh...here's the truth: for my wedding.
Long hair is the epitome of femininity. Short hair is a cause for lesbian remarks. The whole system is...frustrating.
A lot of you know I've ALWAYS wanted to shave my head---and well, I'm not going THAT far yet, I am cutting off all my hair.
Look at it:
It's too long--and it's always in my face and I don't know what to do with it. I feel like Cousin It.
So tomorrow...
Yes...tomorrow.
Along the lines of this whole self-discovery kick I'm on, which encompasses the marriage, or lackthereof issue, I feel like it's time to say goodbye to marriage. Not like it won't ever happen--but to move on with my life. Damnit, I want short hair, and the possibility of marriage in the next year isn't going to stop me!
What a stupid concept, eh?
I don't want to cut my hair.
Why not?
Well, because I might be getting married.
Oh, to who?
No one in particular. I just might be.
Oh. Soon?
Yeah. You know, just keeping my options open.
Sure. But you're not seeing anyone?
No. In fact, there isn't a single person on this earth that I know of to marry.
Uh huh.
Yeah. So that's why I can't cut my hair.
Because you might get married.
Yes. Exactly.
It makes me shake my head too. Shake my head in disbelief and wonderment.
I am me and I'm going to live me.
Yes, I said I'm going to live me.
And heck, if the hair-dresser screws up, I'm shaving it. Just give me a good reason, mang, and I will do it.
Lastly---I watch a gay made-for-tv movie about this balletrina who battles anorexia and bulemia. The purpose of the movie is to educate us on the aforementioned eating disorders and to scare others into not making the same mistake. Funny thing is, I spent most of the movie thinking, oh, wow she's got great legs. I wonder if I can make myself throw up. Hm...there's a thought. Anorexia, you say? I think you're onto something!
Backwards. Or, Sdrawkcab.
Long hair is the epitome of femininity. Short hair is a cause for lesbian remarks. The whole system is...frustrating.
A lot of you know I've ALWAYS wanted to shave my head---and well, I'm not going THAT far yet, I am cutting off all my hair.
Look at it:
It's too long--and it's always in my face and I don't know what to do with it. I feel like Cousin It.
So tomorrow...
Yes...tomorrow.
Along the lines of this whole self-discovery kick I'm on, which encompasses the marriage, or lackthereof issue, I feel like it's time to say goodbye to marriage. Not like it won't ever happen--but to move on with my life. Damnit, I want short hair, and the possibility of marriage in the next year isn't going to stop me!
What a stupid concept, eh?
I don't want to cut my hair.
Why not?
Well, because I might be getting married.
Oh, to who?
No one in particular. I just might be.
Oh. Soon?
Yeah. You know, just keeping my options open.
Sure. But you're not seeing anyone?
No. In fact, there isn't a single person on this earth that I know of to marry.
Uh huh.
Yeah. So that's why I can't cut my hair.
Because you might get married.
Yes. Exactly.
It makes me shake my head too. Shake my head in disbelief and wonderment.
I am me and I'm going to live me.
Yes, I said I'm going to live me.
And heck, if the hair-dresser screws up, I'm shaving it. Just give me a good reason, mang, and I will do it.
Lastly---I watch a gay made-for-tv movie about this balletrina who battles anorexia and bulemia. The purpose of the movie is to educate us on the aforementioned eating disorders and to scare others into not making the same mistake. Funny thing is, I spent most of the movie thinking, oh, wow she's got great legs. I wonder if I can make myself throw up. Hm...there's a thought. Anorexia, you say? I think you're onto something!
Backwards. Or, Sdrawkcab.
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