extended

Catching up with work and stuff.

Turned out to be another extended weblogging rest day.


________________


On second thought,

just some notes re today:

* My friend finally had this long-postponed surgery and we're all glad it's finally done and that everything went well.

* We had a horrible double death at the hospital.

* A patient amazingly survived a through-and-through gunshot to the body; no vital organs were hit by the close-ranged 45-caliber shooting.

* It was the graduation of the Post-Graduate Interns yesterday and we had a programme and dinner last night.

Dgte

returning.
reeling. remembering.
resting.

focus, focus, focus

Today I promised myself that I would stop thinking about lakwacha and adventures and concentrate instead on the many lectures for the day. It took some effort but the good lecturers and the interesting topics helped and I learned a lot of really useful medical things.

During the latter half of the afternoon, a certain company was enthusiastically demonstrating a new (and very expensive) product, The Power Lab, which included hardware and software that are used for physiology experiments. They have a new program that is much more user-friendly than the older version. I've been specifically sent to this convention to learn how to use this new gadget, a daunting task for me because I am not really into techno stuff. So we've come up with good arrangement: the company's techno support will be coming to Dumaguete next month to better explain and demonstrate all the hows and whereofs regarding The Power Lab.

revisiting

The convention I'm attending began today at my alma mater. The hospital looked run down and needing a fresh coat of paint, at least. I walked the nooks and crannies of the place where I learned medicine and felt like a ghost, roaming unseen and unnoticed, trying to recall memories from a very distant past.

The pedia ward has been moved to the upper floors. I remember the pedia ward used to be on the first floor and that was where I lost the desire to become a pediatrician, seeing so many children suffering, it was so depressing to go on duty, wondering who survived the night and who would need continued ambu bagging and who would need a difficult new IV insertion.

The emergency room is still in the same place. I remember how we could not go home for two weeks straight when we were assigned ER duty.

I could not find the nursery, where I remember being so tired I slept on top of a very narrow shoe rack.

There's a new hemodialysis unit in the Pay Building. During my time, we interns had to monitor and change the bottles for the peritoneal dialysis. All through the night.

The loonies are still in the loony bin.

The jampacked parking lot, which used to flood when strong rains came.

The dirty Pasig River at the back of the hospital complex.

just saying hello...

It's a lazy and busy Sunday in the metropolis, so I'm just saying hello for now... don't know when I can get internet access again.

Where I've been to this am:

Remedios Circle

Malate Church

Roxas Boulevard for the sunrise, aerodancing (yes, I joined this, yipee), closely watching everything else to see (kayaking/swimming at the bay), massage by the boulevard, fresh fish vending at the shore, bikers/joggers/walkers. As I was taking pictures, a boulevard 'resident' asked, "Ma'am, are you someone famous taking our pictures? Maybe we'll be on TV? Are you Che-Che Lazaro in disguise?" Wahaha.

Breakfast with Jose Rizal at the Luneta

... more Sunday events developing...

just another day...

It's been just another day of mountain hiking and swimming, what else is new in this weblog?

Except that today the mountain I climbed was Mt. Pinatubo in Zambales/Tarlac/Pampanga and the swimming was at the green waters of the crater of the sleeping (?) volcano.

Awesomely awesome day.

Dr. STF and Dr. SLF Clinics

Doctors' clinics at the SU-MAB


Dr. VTR's

Dr. BPF's

Dr. AES's

Dr. RMTO's

Dr. EBQ's

Dr. DVO's

____________________________

Dr. Sheila Flores, Pediatrics

Dr. Simon Flores, ENT-HNS

Apo, at Long Last

gateway to Apo Island

island of limestone and corals

the 1.5 hectare Marine Sanctuary

Just three steps from the shore and it's coral heaven already. There's an amazing other world beneath these waters.

________________________


I want to write some more about our Apo adventure, but am so sleepy now... Plus, I have to fix my stuff... for another adventure is coming straight up...! So, early to bed for now, then wake up at dawn to do all the things I need to do. As for all my other unfinished travel/lakwacha posts, my 'promise' to myself is "one day, someday, I will write more about that." As to when, that is the big question. Hopefully, before I totally forget them.

P.S. Okay, only this very brief one: My back is red and sore. Especially the back of my thighs. It is painful to sit and to stand from sitting. Aaaaww-ouch! Looks like the amount of sunscreen used was not proportional to the amount of time snorkling. But, definitely, no regrets! All these little discomforts (including the gash on my foot when the waves dashed me against the rocks when I wasn't wearing protective shoes, and the numerous cuts and what nots on my arms and legs earned while hiking up the mountain) are all worth it.

I wanna go again! And not just for a day. Kulang! So next time we go, we'll pitch a tent, find that elusive turtle, and climb up to the lighthouse. Always wishing, dreaming, planning. :-)



_________________________

Apo, at Last

::out swimming::

::and snorkling::

::sa Apo Island::

Considered as one of the top ten dive sites in the world and touted as more dense and diverse than the Great Barrier Reef, "It is home to over 650 documented species of fish and estimated to have over 400 species of corals."

::!!!!!::

Dr. DVO's clinic

Doctors' clinics at the SU-MAB:

Dr. VTR's

Dr. BPF's

Dr. AES's

Dr. RMTO's

Dr. EBQ's

___________________________

Dr. DVO's

books and trinkets


in green and silver gray

Look, Ma, No Chemicals!

If you like fresh air, lots of trees, mountain hiking, swimming in crystal clear spring waters, then Balanan Lake is the place for you! As it is for me. So very, very so! I Lurvve this place.

Top: The spillway from the lagoon
Middle: Lake Balanan
Bottom: Pristine spring water in layers of infinity pools down the sloping hillside

I've heard a lot about Balanan Lake already but somehow never got the compulsion to go there. Until I saw Dr. Mark Macias' fabulous Balanan photos in Facebook.

So we went up to the mountains of Siaton last Sunday and loved every minute of it. Including the sweat-breaking, lung-expanding mountain trek. And crossing the lake via the hand-pulled bamboo raft! We weren't able to reach the Balanan waterfalls but next time, next time, definitely.

Remembering René

My dear, dear friend, René Piñero, joined our Creator yesterday, April 18, 2009.

Family and friends are bereaved and unspeakably pained by the separation. Yet we rejoice that she is finally free of the illness that ravaged her body, though never her spirit.

We love you, René, because you loved us first, ever so fiercely.

bodies of water

The hotter summer gets, the more I am attracted to bodies of water. Doc Geena kindly calls me 'tanned' which is a nice way of saying 'lagum na ka, doc', lagum being a yuckky kind of tan caused by pool chemicals as I've been swimming more in pools than in the ocean.

After twelve laps at the Teves Aqua Center this morning (my ambition is 32 laps for a mile-long swim bwahaha), I was still hungry for more water. Thus a trek to Casaroro Falls, which is just so near our house, began, but was aborted before the 300-step descent into the valley as it was raining moderately and I could not risk breaking some bones on those slippery slopes.

I loved hiking in the rain but was worried for the camera in my backpack. Then I saw three lads holding big anahaw leaves over their heads. What a brilliant idea! I quickly got myself a big banana leaf and viola! Instant umbrella.

Driving home, I remembered our OR nurse, Nimrod, telling us about a private house that opened their big pool to the public so I checked it out as it was along the way to our house. Here it is, the Huiz Pool Swim Park.






They have a big adult pool (8 feet deep on one end) and a smaller kiddie pool plus a little waterfalls. My nieces and nephews would love this place! And so near our residences. In their manicured garden, they have cottages for rent at 200 to 1000 pesos per unit. Guests can bring food or barbecue food there but drinks have to be bought from them. Entrance fee is 75 pesos for adults and 50 pesos for children.

Location is along the Cadawinonan-Talay Road, just beyond Silliman Heights and The Gardens Memorial Park. Contact 420-1397 for reservations.

Binisayang balak

ni RV Escatron


balaki ko, baki!

unya na ug sawum-sawum, tiglum-tiglum
sa lin-aw. layat dayun, marika! dali! sa akong pantaw

istoryahi ko sa imong mga damgu
isugid ang imong mga pamagdoy

kay sa sunod natung hibuylas ini'g balik
sa ting-ulan, patag na ang lin-aw, hagbay na nga
naani ang mga tang-kong, gilarut na ang katchubong

ug ako na say mag asoy sa mga napaksit
natu'ng pangandoy.

binahang hardin

Sa loob ng kalahating oras mula ng kinuha ang litratong ito, tumaas pa ang tubig ng mga dalawang talampakan. Nagmistulang ilog ang aming hardin noong nagkaroon ng flash flood sa Dumaguete at sa mga kalapit na mga bayan noong ika-7 ng Pebrero.



Within half an hour from the time this shot was taken, the water rose by about two feet, transforming our garden into a raging river during flash flood that hit Dumaguete and neighboring towns last February 7.

Ito po ang aking lahok sa Litratong Pinoy sa linggong ito na ang tema ay Hardin.

Dreampark, Sibulan

Reminds me of a scene from an old movie, The French Lieutenant's Woman, starring Meryl Streep. It was a complicated movie, a story within a story, the plot of which I can't remember exactly, other than that it was lovely. The flotsam and jetsam (plastic and garbage) snagged in the coral/rock is a blast of reality for what would have been a nostalgic scene.



Remnants of an old pier. I wonder how many boats docked here. And how many loved ones waited on this pier for those who left and never came back.

Dr. EBQ's clinic

Doctors' clinics at the SU-MAB:

Dr. VTR's

Dr. BPF's

Dr. AES's

Dr. RMTO's


_______________________________________________________


Dr. EBQ's


reception area

door between the reception area and the examining area



red-walled examining area

I am a sulfur-breathing dragon. Rwaarr!

I did something today that I've never done before: drive up a steep mountain. Destination: Red Rock Valley, aka Pulang Bato, in Palinpinon, Valencia. The girl at the tourism office said, "Oh, it's just a 20-25 minute drive from downtown" and the woman on the highway said, "You don't turn right or left, you just go straight and straight (dere-derecho lang)" and the man at the end of the straight and straight said, "Oo, sure, your car can reach the waterfalls mismo, the roads are paved. Kayang-kaya ra na."

With all those thumbs up, only a chicken would back out. And I definitely don't say cluck. Even when all three attestations were slightly off the mark.

It was only when the engine was straining as it climbed up the steep mountain slopes that it dawned on me that the more difficult part of this drive would be the going down. It was so Eskeri, to borrow Jordan's word. As I drove upward, I kept praying, Lord, please help me get down, please help me get down. I dreaded climbing higher but it was too late to turn back now. Besides, how would I turn around? There was the cliff on my right and the mountain wall to my left.

This was going on for a while already and I stopped to ask a young boy playing hoops with a motorcyle tire where Pulangbato is. He calmly told me, "The waterfalls? You've passed it already."

But of course! So I asked him, "Uh, how do I turn around? What's up ahead?"

He said there's nothing up ahead. Just a basketball court. Thank goodness Filipinos love this sport, despite our height. Thank goodness also, even if the court turned out to be a one-fourth court only, it gave me enough room to turn around and drive down the mountain verrry slooowwly.

I met a man and an old woman on a motorbike and we stopped to say hello. He said, "Nilapaw ka sa." I said, "Yeah, I didn't see the sign." Well, seeing that they were so friendly and I was desperate, I hurried to add, "Oh, I'm quite scared of going down the mountain, can you please come back and check on me...? See if I made it down..." He said, "Sure, just remember to go slow."

That's what I did. Go ever so slowly down the slope. Until I reached this sign:

and this orange gate.

Pulang Bato Waterfalls, mismo



O my luve is like a red, red rock...

Smokin' Mountain

You've probably heard of Smokey Mountain in Tondo. Here's one really Smokin' Mountain in Palinpinon for you. This mountain is breathing steam and it is the power from this steam that is harnessed by the geothermal plants to supply electricity to several provinces in the Visayas.

Sulfur is one of the gases emitted here. And tonight, I can still smell the sulfur in my lungs. After that mountain drive, I now feel like a sulfur-breathing dragon. Rwaarr?

blood in my hands

Working in the operating room, I am accustomed to the sight, smell and feel of blood. In the sterile setting, I carefully monitor, measure and replace blood loss as needed. It is a totally different thing when the fresh blood in my hands is gushing profusely from a young woman's lacerated head and face right on to the smouldering asphalt of Siquijor's market road. The girl was hysterically crying out "Si Ma'am! Si Ma'am! Kasab-an ko ni Ma'am!" as she continually brushed away the crumpled denim jacket a man was trying to press on her badly cut up face.

That she was able to stand and wail was a good sign that her injuries, though grossly bloody, were not acutely life threatening. She was thrashing and trembling by the open passenger door of a sedan that had rammed into an electric post, the car's hood wrecked into a V and the windshield totally shattered. With the keys still in the ignition, it looked like it was a freak accident where the car's parking brakes somehow got disengaged and the vehicle, with the girl in the passenger seat and the driver out, careened downslope and slammed into the post.

I held her flailing arms so I could look closer at her wounds. They were stellate and some were deep but she was showing good coagulation. If only she would stop jumping about there wouldn't be so much blood thrown around. Soon her "Ma'am" arrived, an elderly woman, obviously bewildered, who kept asking, "Ngano man ni? Naunsa man ni?" looking at her smashed car and not minding her bloodied girl. Onlookers quickly bundled girl and Ma'am into a pedicab that brought them to nearest hospital for debridement and suturing of wounds.

With sticky blood drying quickly in my hands, I went on my way to find the habal-habal driver that would take me to the mountains and to the sea. Thus began my sojourn in la Isla del Fuego, the Island of Fire that glows in the dark, Siquijor, one shimmering hot April day.

Shrek to the Trine

I mean, Trek to the Shrine.

Pardon me if my letters are jumbled, I am still a bit winded from yesterday's hike to the Japanese Shrine, nestled 1,200 meters above sea level on the foot of Mt. Talinis in Sagbang, Valencia.

The road to the Shrine was picturesque (Dumaguete, several towns, even Cebu island and the Tanon Straight were visible at some points), shady (plenty of trees along the way) and cliff-hugging as it twisted and turned around the mountainside. But it was still a road, so the experience felt more like trudging up an incline rather than a mountain.

After almost an hour of walking, we saw a local man shimmying down the side of the mountain and we asked him if the Shrine was still far. He said if we followed the road, it was still far, but if we went by the mountain path that he just came from, it was nearer. A mountain path! Now, that would be real mountain climbing.

Quickly we left the main road and clambered up the narrow footpath barely visible under lush vegetation. This was a steep climb up the wall of the mountain, and at some point I had to crawl on all fours, clinging to every root and vine available, to be very sure that I wouldn’t fall off the bakilid. I contemplated that if worse came to worst and I indeed lost my balance, my ample fats would cushion my hopefully-not-yet-osteoporotic bones from breaking on the rocks below. However, I was not very sure that the camera in my backpack would survive such a tumble unscathed. Needless to say, I climbed very, very carefully.

So, what is this Japanese Shrine?

The Dumaguete Info Website describes it this way:

Perched high atop the hilly ranges of Valencia is the historical monument called the Filipino - American - Japanese Amity Shrine (Fil-Am Japanese Shrine). It stands on a sacred battle ground where where an encounter during the World War II actually took place. It was built to remember the many lives taken by the vicious war. It was also to provide closure to a sad era and to mark the beginning of peace and friendship between the three countries.

The monument itself is a three-sided pillar rising high unto the sky, the three sides representing the Philippines, America and Japan. The park grounds are hilly and well manicured. There was a woman cutting grass with a manual grass cutter while her two young daughters milled around her. There were three sickly looking goats grazing under the canopy of the big trees. There was a hen and her chicks running about. Drinks and snacks were sold in a small sari-sari store where guests paid the ten-peso entrance fee. There was also an old wooden hut that was "skeletonized" as some of its walls were missing.

Quite frankly, I was disappointed with the Shrine. And irritated, too. Loud rock music blared from a portable stereo right at the foot of the three-sided pillar. There were several young adults who looked like they were camping, desecrating the shrine with their vulgar music and their shirts hanging all over the place to dry. Isn’t a shrine supposed to be a sacred place? Did they even know that on this very hill the blood of countless Filipinos was shed in the name of freedom, Filipinos who could have been our grandfathers had they not succumbed to wounds that were beyond medical succor? Any soldier wounded in these hills in a moderate to major way would have a hard time surviving as the hill was too far up the mountain and help would be a long ways off.

Yet how could I fault those young people if they thought the Shrine was just another cheap, clean picnic place not unlike the town parke? For nowhere, none at all, in the whole Fil-Am Japanese Shrine could one find a clue as to what he place was all about. I mean, there was not a word, a plaque, an etching on cement or marble, a brochure, no nothing, at all. Sure there was a big blank concrete wall, but that was just what it was. Blank.

The Japanese Shrine was a disappointment. But the trek was not. I would go there again. If only to practice my mountain climbing muscles. And to remember and honor the men who fought for my province and my country during World War II.

desecrated shrine

(click on the image to see more photos)