I don’t know where to start. That’s the way I felt when I first saw the disaster that is now our house. And that’s the way I feel now as I attempt to write about the experience that will forever be the turning point of our lives. I’ll try to do everything chronologically, to indulge my perfectionist tendencies.
Saturday morning. I woke up at 8 AM, which was late, as I had planned to study the whole day for my biochem exam. Already the rain was pouring heavily. I kissed my mom goodbye before she left for a family gathering in the South. As I was eating breakfast, my dad noticed that rainwater was starting to collect on the streets outside. He anticipated the flood (which had twice before occurred, the water entering our house at knee level) and asked me to help him move our three remaining cars (as one was with Mama) to higher ground, which was just at the end of the street.
To prepare for the possibility that the water would enter our house, Papa, Yaya Arlie, Yaya Sonia, Monch, and I started moving our downstairs furniture upstairs (which is a mere four steps higher). We moved the ref, various tables, chairs, even our dog, Mookie. But the water was rising alarmingly fast. Papa said pag umabot na ‘yung tubig sa third step ng stairs, alis na tayo. This happened in what seemed like minutes. But we could no longer leave, so we decided to go up to the highest point in our house—the tiny attic. We brought everything we could, while the two Yayas still scurried to bring up everything they could. They managed to bring up three TVs, paintings, various appliances while we upstairs were calling tama na yan, akyat na kayo, iwanan niyo na yung mga gamit. Only when they were neck deep in the water (on tiptoes) did they finally heed our calls.
So the five of us (six including Mookie) were stuck in the attic all of Saturday night until Sunday afternoon. We had some food to eat, just a few bottles of mineral water, and only a makeshift toilet. You can bet I was feeling sooo Anne Frank. Haha. Though I was as worried and scared as the rest of them, I knew I had to be the calm, strong one, especially for Papa, who is hypertensive and diabetic. I led them in praying the rosary, the Memorare, the prayer of Jabez, the novena to the Infant Jesus over and over and over again as we could do nothing else. We could hardly sleep; we would pass the time by watching the water level rise (over our gate, almost until the ceiling of our garage).
We had five cell phones with us in the attic but the signal was limited and very erratic. We also had to conserve our battery because we didn’t know how long we would be stuck up there. Mama was very worried about us but we assured her that we were all okay and that we had enough food and water for the night. She was trying very hard to contact people who might be able to rescue us. The rain finally stopped late that night, but it would start drizzling every now and then. Every time it did I would pray again Lord make the rain stop, please make it stop, please let the floods recede, please let this all be over.
Sunday morning. We received a call from Mama that she had contacted Papa’s boss, the president of San Miguel Corp, Mr. Ramon Ang, and he told her that he would send a helicopter for us right away. Mrs. Lydia Ragasa, the woman in charge of all of SMC’s aircrafts, said that they could do this at 5am at the earliest. So beginning 5am, at the sound of an approaching chopper, Papa would climb up to the roof (no easy feat for him) and wave an improvised flag. After a few false alarms, SMC’s chopper finally arrived at around 11am. Unfortunately they could not land on any of the rooftops or even descend low enough so that we could climb aboard (they had no ladder and it was unsafe for them to land due to the electric cables all around the houses). They resorted to dropping a life raft to us and telling Monch that he would have to row us to a place where there was no water and they could land for us to climb aboard safely.
While figuring out how to get the life raft to inflate, our savior arrived in the form of Kuya Armand, a school bus driver employed by one of our neighbors and a guy Monch gets to play basketball with sometimes. Since the day before he had been swimming around (yes in the filthy, muddy water), helping in whatever way he could—bringing the little food or water he could find to those who had not eaten, for example. Kuya Armand helped figured out how to inflate the raft for us and assisted us as we climbed aboard it. But more than that, Kuya Armand pushed and pulled our little raft all the way until the foot of Manggahan bridge where there was no more water. It took him a good two hours! Along the way, other men would help but would drop out because of fatigue or cramps. But Kuya Armand was tireless. He was even cheerful, cracking jokes to lighten up the depressing mood.
As we made our way slowly through the waters, I was overwhelmed by everything I saw. Riverside Village and Ortigas Extension had become one long river. All houses, establishments, vehicles were submerged; none were spared. People were wading through the waist- to chest-deep flood. We passed by several of our neighbors in Riverside, those who had not been able to go home. The same questions were asked over and over: Saan kayo galing? Mataas ba ang tubig sa inyo? Nakita niyo pamilya ko? Naku, kumusta na sila?Some were in tears worrying about their family members, others were attempting to bring food home to their children who had not had anything to eat since the day before. We left the life raft with Kuya Armand, who we heard went back to save more people and did not accept payment when some tried to give it.
We were finally picked up at the Jollibee by Sto. Rosario church by Mama, Tito Popot and Tito Elmer. It had never felt so good to see them all again. We all headed to Diamond Hotel, where we are staying until now, thanks again to the generosity of Mr. Ramon Ang who told us we can stay as long as we need.
We are overwhelmed by the generosity of so many others. Already we have received four different offers for places to stay while we fix our house. Countless have also offered to help clean up. Our relatives have given us clothes, shoes, toiletries, food. I also can’t help but be proud of all of the relief efforts that are ongoing. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are all heroes.
My family is still lucky despite everything. Our clothes can be washed, our furniture and appliances replaced, our cars can be repaired. Let us pray for the others who lost their entire homes, and especially for those who lost their loved ones. Let’s also pray that the other storms that are also making their way here do not arrive. I think we can all do without the rain for awhile.
She passed away today. Ate Mary Grace Lumogda-Quintela. My heart sank when I read Fr. Francis' text in the middle of class today. I knew it was only a matter of time, which prompted the emergency wedding in the first place, but I still felt such a sadness, a heaviness in my chest. I could no longer pay attention to Dr. Abdulla's lecture.
It happened just a week after her wedding, too. It was Mother Mary's birthday then. And today was the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Ate Grace must really have a special place in Mother Mary's heart. She sure does in mine.
Please help me pray for the repose of her soul, as well as for the family she left behind--Kuya Titus and their daughter.
After a weekend of blessings spent with my family, and 21 years of blessings behind me, I wanted to give thanks. It has been a tradition of mine to hear mass on my birthday, and this year I specifically wanted to attend the mass at the PGH chapel. I was hoping that Fr. Francis Alvarez would officiate the noon mass. I’d heard him say mass at PGH several times before, and his homilies were truly inspiring. I was eager to find out what his homily would tell me on my birthday.
Unfortunately, when Mama, Papa, Monch, and I arrived at the chapel, we found out that the noon mass had been cancelled because it was a holiday. So Mom suggested we go to the chaplain’s office on the off chance that Father would be there, and ask for birthday blessings. Luckily enough, he was around. And after exchanging pleasantries and praying over me and my family, Father mentioned that there would be an emergency wedding at the PGH wards the next day, and if some of us med students could possibly take time out to help. I wholeheartedly said yes, thinking it would be the perfect way to celebrate my birthday.
Fr. Francis explained that the patient who was to be married was a woman named Mary Grace Lumogda. She had been diagnosed with cervical cancer just a few months ago. She and her boyfriend of several years, Titus Quintela, had been saving up for a dream wedding, but the funds they raised ended up being used for her hospitalization and treatment expenses. They also have a one year-old daughter with hydrocephalus. Mary Grace’s doctors said that she could go any day, thus the reason for the emergency wedding. Fr. Francis described to me how Mary Grace’s eyes had instantly lit up when he told her that she and Titus could still get married. Father was able to somehow make arrangements for Titus to be flown to Manila from Antique, and so that Mary Grace’s relatives could buy a simple white dress from Baclaran. He asked me for help with the makeup, just enough so she could feel special on her special day. For that, I asked Julie, 2014’s resident makeup artist.
The Lumogda-Quintela wedding was held on September 8, 2009, at Ward 14B of PGH. A number of us gathered to witness the occasion. Julie did the makeup, some of us took pictures, and some members of the MedChoir sang It Might Be You, Mary Grace’s favorite song. Mary Grace was even singing along softly. Titus held on to Mary Grace as Fr. Francis took them through the rites and the vows. And when he proclaimed them man and wife, you could see nothing but joy in their eyes. There was no cancer, no sickness, no pain. Only love for each other.
I am so thankful to have been a part of such an important event in the lives of Ate Mary Grace and Kuya Titus (I was even one of the witnesses in their marriage contract!). Some have said their story is straight out a Nicholas Sparks novel or a Maalaala Mo Kaya episode. But this was no fictional love story created from someone’s imagination. This was real, it happened right inside PGH--a miracle of the Blessed Mother, on her birthday. A miracle because a woman was made to smile and sing even at the point of death. A miracle because two people were brought together and were married, against all odds.
I look forward to many more miracles, both big and small, within the wards of PGH and beyond.
Two posts in one day? After not posting for a month? Shocking. I shock myself. But I was disturbed by this note that has been going around Facebook. And I just had to set the record straight.
HOW TO DATE A MED STUDENT 101
1. Don't expect to see them. Ever.Exag. I still get to see Ruari every week. My family and high school friends still get to see me. And we in UP Med have highly varied extracurricular activities. I know one who is on the dragon boat team that trains every morning before class. A few of my classmates participated in an international chorale competition with the UP MedChoir. The sororities get to hold fashion shows, for goodness' sake.
2. Accept the fact they will have many affairs. With their books.This is true. Netter, Moore, Berne, and I have become quite intimate these past months. Oh, and Acland. I can't forget Acland.
3. Learn to hide your “ew, gross” reactions when they tell you all the stuff you never wanted to know about your bodily functions. Pwede. This can also apply to the stories we tell about our cadaver dissections. Haha.
4. Support them when they come home after each test, upset because they failed—and gently remind them after they get their well above passing grade how unnecessary the “I’m going to fail out of medical school and never become an MD” dramatics are. I've been there. And you've left out the more important part--when we rise up, move on, and do better the next time around.
5. Each week they will have a new illness. Some will be extremely rare, others will be more mundane. Doesn’t matter. They will be certain they have it (no second opinions necessary.) Med school can, and will, turn even the sanest into a hypochondriac. Date them for long enough, and you’ll become one too.I've been warned about this "medical student syndrome." It's not true. We do sometimes complain of myesthenia gravis (when we're tired at the end of the day) or ptosis (when we can't keep awake during lectures)--but only as a joke. Learn to tell the difference. And not to generalize.
6. There will be weeks you'll forget you even have a boyfriend—friends will ask how he is and you'll say, “What? Who? Oh....right. He's well...I think.” Not true. Throughout our two-year relationship, Ruari has been in med school. We still see each other every week, and we communicate constantly.
7. They'll make you hyper-aware that germs are everywhere and on everything. Even though you used to walk into your home with your shoes on, and sit on your bed in the same clothes you just wore while riding the subway, or sat on a public bench in, you'll become far too disgusted to ever do it again. Believe me, it's going to get bad...you'll watch yourself transform into the anal retentive person you swore you'd never become. And when you witness others perform these same acts that, before you began dating your med student, you spent your entire life doing too, you'll wince and wonder, “Ew! How can they do that? Don't they know how many germs and bacteria they're spreading??!” Er...maybe in higher years? But I doubt. And honestly, I know some med students with less than hygienic personal habits. Haha.
8. Romantic date = Chinese take-out in front of the TV on their 10 minute study break. Ruari and I watch movies, go out for dinner, go out with each other's friends--just like normal couples. We do study together, and that's the nice thing about us both being in med.
9. A vacation together consists of a trip down the street to Walgreens for new highlighters and printer paper. Excuse me. We're not that sad. A classmate of mine went wakeboarding with her boyfriend over the long weekend. I know someone else who's going to Boracay.
10. Their study habits will make you feel like a complete slacker. For them, hitting the books 8-to-10 hours a day is not uncommon, nor difficult. You'll wonder how you ever managed to pass school on your meager one hour of studying per night.Eight to ten hours a day??? After nine hours of class? You've got to be kidding.
11. They're expected to know everything. Everything! The name of the 8 billion-lettered, German sounding cell that lives in the depths of your inner ear, the technical term for the “no one's ever heard of this disease” disease that exists only on one foot of the Southern tip of the African continent. But ask them if your knee is swollen, or what you should do to tame your mucous-filled cough, or why the heck your head feels like someone's been drilling through it for oil for two weeks straight, and they won't have a clue. I have classmates who have done circumcisions, even before first year started. And we are already allowed to conduct medical missions, which involve patients consulting about just that--swollen limbs, coughs, headaches, and more. The whole point of med school is to prepare us for practice, not just to teach us the theories.
12. “My brain's filled with so much information, I can't be expected to remember THAT!" will be the standard excuse for forgetting anniversaries, birthdays, and, if you get this far, probably the birth of your first-born. Birthdays are birthdays and anniversaries are anniversaries. We still celebrate those. I'll celebrate my birthday even if I have to take a biochem exam then. Haha.
13. You'll need friends with unending patience who pretend never to get sick of listening to your endless venting and complaints. Or, you'll need to pay a therapist who will pretend never to get sick of listening to your endless venting and complaints. It's your choice if you want to spend your four or five years in med school complaining. But you should think about it if you do; maybe you shouldn't have taken med in the first place.
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Of course I can only speak for UP Med students (and St. Luke's hehe). But seriously, whoever wrote this obviously is not a med student. Or maybe a med student from some sadistic med school. Don't underestimate us. We're still human. We're capable of more than just studying.
...after almost a month since my last post, and as I enter my fourth month in med.
For one thing, kaya ko naman pala. After two heartbreaks, I think I'm getting the hang of this. Of studying, that is. I've accepted the fact that I'm not naturally smart, and I don't have magical testmanship skills either. I've learned that it takes more than highlighting a trans to really understand it. Starting early really helps. And so does studying with a friend (CarlaBon!). I learned also not to believe in all feedback about exams or subjects i.e. 204 (Head and Neck) ang pinakamahirap sa OS series. I actually enjoyed 204. I hated 203 though (Skin, Muscles, Bones), and I'm am looking forward to 205 (Thorax).
To anyone else, my life now may seem quite routine and monotonous. Class from 8 to 5 everyday, with just an hour for lunch. I've never consumed so much coffee in my life. It is not only recommended that we study every night, but necessary that we do so. Starting three days in advance is already cramming. The circles under my eyes are darkening by the week. The only TV I get to watch is on weekends, and my internet time has been reduced to checking the class Yahoo! Groups for trans errata. As I drift off to sleep at around 2 a.m., my neurons are still firing with thoughts of sternocleidomastoids, thyroid ima arteries, inferior obliques, ansa cervicalises, lesser occipital nerves, foramen rotundums, etc etc etc.
But I'm happy where I am. I know that even as I sit through lectures upon lectures, willing myself not to fall asleep, that this is exactly where I want to be. I prepared myself for this throughout college, impatiently counting down the months, weeks, days until the first day of class. I want to be doctor more than anything. And if studying like mad for five years is what it'll take, then I'll do it. If memorizing the stages of swallowing or the roots and branches of the cervical plexus will help me save a life one day, then so be it. Always with the end in mind.
Of course, we all need our "small holidays." For me, a cup of yogurt topped with strawberries in syrup, mango, and cheesecake does the trick. So does time with Ruari, which I find myself longing, no, aching for as each week ends. And as much as possible, I don't compromise time with my family. No matter what exam is coming up, I have to go home for the weekend. I have so much to go home for, and I can only be thankful.
I know also that my life in med school can only get better, richer even. I'm looking forward to the second semester, and the years beyond with the wonderful girls who all made the same decision. I hope many more will do so. :)
An exam has been scheduled on my birthday. Biochem, nonetheless. So in anticipation of my special day, I will have to master the metabolism of carbohydrates, proteins, and lipids, bioenergetics, metabolic integration, metabolic regulation--all of which are completely new to me. Birthday blessings please? :)
