Mark Angeles Fury Tales
Monday, February 11, 2008
Mark Angeles Fury Tales
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Looking at pictures of our internship year
(For my Med School Buddies)
When we were much younger,
And we had much more oil in our faces,
And we were trying to be doctors at the same time,
When we couldn’t sleep
And envy the janitor’s roosters
When we slept and regretted,
When we were half asleep
And couldn’t put in an intravenous catheter,
When we were exposed to the myriad variations
Of vulvae and penises,
Of appendices and breasts,
When we drank and got merry
And blame ourselves the next day,
When we couldn’t eat
when we didn’t have time to eat
when we were faced with the choice
of sleeping or eating,
when we had to wear the same
briefs and panties for more
than twenty four hours
(i know because I looked)
When dreams were fresh
When dreams of becoming
Greater than ourselves
For the sake of others
Were a mantra
Silently repeated in the deep
Silence of our brains,
Because all we did was curse,
On how so much sickness
Can be in this world
And land in your OPD table.
That was the time we fell in love with this occupation and preoccupation,
For like a woman we had to fetch water for and chop wood for,
Medicine was coy and lovely,
But not now, she said.
“Everything”, she said,
And the wooing was just fine,
Outside her gates,
We chose to stand
And labor while she waits.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
May 24, 2007
On your left is the last photo that I had of him, sitting on top of my CPU till the early morning, staying up with me as I manage Workington FC (in Football Manager) in the Conference National. That was yesterday.
Today, my Patrick Star was kidnapped by an unscrupolous kid and grandma duo armed with crying fits and mercy-seeking missiles.
Today, Patrick Star had to be a hero. The kid was suffering from one week of intermittent fever, from 38-39 degrees, vomiting for the last two days (on physical exam, she had none-minimal dehydration, the bad intern cannot decide). Her eyes were welling with tears. As always the inspection of the tonsils was the most difficult part. She was struggling for dear life, like a porn queen trapped in an aquarium with a hammerhead shark unfed for the last three days (now, an interesting metaphor...). Patrick had to step in. he is a veteran at shutting kids up. His cute little smile, and deceptive belly dancing techniques are enough to quiet anybody, including critics of his no-can't-do-work attitude.
Patrick was sitting in his eternal hands locked together position. The child eyed him. when asked by the lola to shut up, the kid did. Fixed on the eternal mystery of a pink starfish in green ridiculous shorts, she was awestruck by the power of a single man's (Patrick is a humanoid with good intentions) belly button turned inside out. She got hold of him, and like so many kids before her, she decided to cooperate, as long she had the Patrick. Ah, she'll grow up to be a good woman perhaps, valuing her man, in this case, a good practice would be to love a humanoid starfish.
When the examination was finished, the bad intern pulled out his stocks of great antibiotics, the greatest being amoxicillin, the wonder drug which cures anything and everything, even viral infections (hehe, you must have false truths in any business, and in this business, a good antibiotic cures anything) (wink,wink).
The unspeakable happened. The lola asked for the toy. She said, "Doc, we'll borrow the toy (the nerve! of calling my main man Patrick, the most loyal child-shutter-up in the history of naked starfishes!)."
The toy is mine, I revolted from inside, but the kid was looking at me. To hell with you kid, I said, I'm keeping the humanoid, thank you, I said inwardly. But something in those eyes, a mixture of powerlessness and hopefulness, an underdog's faith in good outcomes, a smile behind ten layers of about-to-cry's, made me ashamed of publicly slapping her.
She won. Every Christian bit in me said I'll have my reward in heaven. When she left, the kid said "Thank you, Doc" while towing along my Patrick.
Coming from a kid kidnapper, it was most bittersweet.