Chasing Life

I love to run. As if you don’t know that by now from all the posts I have about running. But when I say run, I mean an all out run.

When I do my morning run of about 2 to 3 miles, the last 100 to 200 meters, I would break out in an all out dash as if I’m Flash catching a runaway train. This gets my heart pumping, my energy juices flowing, and my head in a daze in some kind of rush. Though it can also makes me wheeze like a beaten down carburetor.

Sprint is my first love before I got hooked on long distance running. Back in my high school and college days, I ran 100 and 200 meters race. I was good enough to win in local club meets and church sportsfest, but not fast enough to make it to school varsity. In college, during our physical education class, I was clocked just a hair over 15 seconds in a 100-meter dash, that is without formal coaching and training. That was probably a stroll though, compared to Usain Bolt who holds the record at 9.58 seconds.

But my fastest sprints were not in the oval track nor was it in a sports competition.

One early morning a long time ago, I was jogging in the streets of Manila when a fierce-looking stray dog decided to chase me. Maybe I smelled like a dog in heat. I ran so fast, I believe I broke the sound barrier! Or maybe it was not my speed but my girl-like scream that broke the sound barrier, and woke up our still slumbering neighborhood.

Then there was this instance after I emigrated and was living in New York City. My wife and I went out for an errand and when we returned in our apartment, there was a stranger inside our apartment. I thought first that he was repairman sent by the superintendent. But upon seeing us he bolted out the door. Without thinking, I ran after him through the building hallways, down three flights of stairs, and across 2 blocks of busy New York streets while shouting “Thief! Thief!”. But I was not fast enough to get him. Or maybe he got lucky, I lost him among the crowd of people. So you thought “akyat-bahay” was only in Manila?

Looking back now, that was really foolish of me of pursuing the burglar. What if he had a weapon or an accomplice waiting? What if I was able to overtake him, he certainly would not just surrender, but probably would fight for his life, right? And I know I was not strong enough nor trained enough to subdue him for he was bigger and more muscular than me. The only Kung Fu I know was watching it on TV. I could have been badly hurt or worse killed. Maybe being not fast enough was a blessing. But I certainly gave him a good chase.

When I was 4 or 5 years of age, my family went to a recreational facility, I believe was Balara Park, which was across UP Diliman and in the heart of Metro Manila. Balara was actually a water filtration plant but also has a park and swimming pools. It was a premiere weekend destination during those days. We had a picnic and spent the day swimming.

When it was time to go home, I continued to play despite of my parents telling me to get ready and help them pack our things in our car. It must have been that I was told to get ready multiple times but I was oblivious to their call. Maybe I don’t want a perfect summer day to end.

The next thing I remember, my family were all inside the car and my father started to drive the car. They were leaving without me! Boy, did I ran! Of course I realize now that my parents were just teaching me a lesson, but in my young mind, I thought they were leaving me for real.

I ran after our car for several yards as fast as my little legs could carry me, while my father drove “slowly” away. Finally the car stopped, or perhaps I overtook it, I don’t really remember now. Perhaps that was first time my parents found out that I have wings in my feet. It was in an enclosed compound, and there were no speeding cars around, so I was not really in danger – except for the peril of being left behind, at least that’s how I saw it in my naive memory.

I learned my lesson though. Aside from the obvious, of heeding your parent’s call right away, I also learned that if you want something so badly, you chase it down. Run, as if your life depended on it.

It is amazing that now, after 40 years, I am still running. Chasing things that matters to me. My dreams. My family. My faith. And life itself. Perhaps, my legacy too.

I hope that when the time comes, when I have no more spring in my legs for a 100-meter sprint, or barely have strength just to put one foot in front of the other, that I can humbly say: I have run a good run.

Move Over House MD

A couple of days ago, when I was examining a new referral, who was another patient with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), the patient’s family asked me, “Are you the doctor we saw on TV?” Then it dawned on me that the TV News footage that was shot in our office two weeks ago (see previous post here), must have been aired already.  Am I now a celebrity?

After I asked them when did they see me, they told me that the TV news clip about the patient with ALS, whom I examined was shown the night before. And I did not even see myself on broadcast. I missed my own TV premier!

Fortunately the video clip was in the local TV News website, which I checked later that day. Finally I was able to watch myself on the news. Man, I was really on TV. Move over House, MD!

I'm a TV smash. This type of smash!

As I remember it, the TV news crew was in our office for more than an hour shooting that footage, including the patient performing the breathing test and me examining him. I was with the patient for about 20-25 minutes getting his history , performing my examination, going over his breathing test, and discussing management plans and prognosis with him and his family. The camera was rolling throughout and I even had a microphone placed on me the whole time.

When I viewed the final product of the film clip which was 6 minutes long, I found that they showed me for a total of 2 seconds. Only two seconds! They showed a close-up of my hand holding a stethoscope even longer than they showed my face! Don’t they like my Brad Pitt-like image?

But that’s alright, at least I was not edited out altogether. And besides the news clip was not about me but about my patient who was raising awareness of his untreatable disease and raising funds for an organization he founded to help other patients with ALS and their family. My appearance was incidental.

Later that day, a friend from our church e-mailed me and told me that they saw me on TV. Then when I was making my rounds in the hospital the other day, a nurse approached me and beamed that she saw me on the news. Even people from our office told me that they also saw me on TV. Obviously, even with my 2 seconds of fame, people have recognized me. In the word of my kids, “Dad, you’re famous.”

So for good measure, I am now carrying a pen all the time. I am being ready, just in case somebody approach me and ask for an autograph.

(*image of TV from here)

Out the Window

Windows. I like windows. And I don’t mean Microsoft Windows. For I prefer Mac. But I digress.

I am talking about real windows that provide us views of the outside world. I am pertaining to windows that when we open them, we let fresh air (or not so fresh, depending on where your are) and warm sunshine in.

Windows can also provide portals where our thoughts can escape from the humdrum of daily chores at hand. A gateway to daydream if you will. You can also jump out of the window but I will not recommend that, especially if you are on the second floor or higher.

Here are photos of mundane things around the house in the background of dreamy windows. Go ahead, stare outside the window, and daydream.

homework

laundry hamper

dirty dishes

washroom

ironing chores

ironing chores

Food Scent-sation

Cucumber melon, white peaches and creme, pear with green tea, Hawaiian ginger, peppermint, and nectarine with sweet honeysuckle. If you are wondering what those are, you may think they are flavors of a fruit punch, or yogurt, or perhaps frozen dessert. But they are not. They are variety of soap, handwash, bodywash or shampoo scents that I found lying around in our kitchen sink, toilet wash basins and bathrooms.

I don’t understand this obsession of putting food flavors and scents in our soaps and washes. Do we really like to smell like a fruit stall or a fruit salad? I agree they are sweet-smelling, but sometimes I have to control myself of not eating or drinking them for their aroma is so good.

And while we are at it, why not develop a fragrance more appealing to men, like cheeseburger and bacon, or wood-grilled steak, or pork-barrel barbecue. By the way, when I checked on this, there is now a cologne with a barbecue scent! Really.

This practice is not just here in the US, but everywhere else. Back in my home country there are soap fragrances with calamansi, green papaya, fresh coconut, and pandan scents. I wonder if they will develop a “Halo-halo” flavor complete with ube and leche flan. Or if they want to be really exotic, why not develop a durian scent! For people not familiar with durian, it is a tropical fruit that tastes good and its scent you can smell a block away. But its odor is far from sweet-smelling but rather putrid, like rotting flesh. That will certainly get your attention.

When I was growing up, folks from our province always talks about the “Dalagang Pilipina” (Filipina dame) as “amoy pinipig” (smell-like pinipig), which country folks equate with sweet-smelling. If you don’t know what pinipig is, it has nothing to do with pin or pig. It is actually toasted glutinous rice flakes. Maybe even in the olden days, the native ladies do mix pinipig in their water when they are bathing. But the only place I want pinipig is in my ice cream – like the Magnolia Pinipig Crunch.

The first account of soap were in Sumerian clay tablet dating back 2500 B.C.. Egyptians bathed regularly and they use animal and vegetable oils combined with alkaline salts to create a soap-like substance for washing. Cleopatra was known for bathing in milk, and perhaps the pioneer in this trend of using food in washing. Ancient Rome gave soap its familiar name and they were well-known for their public bath.

Back to today’s fruit scented soaps and bodywashes, this is such a big business. There are numerous shops and stores that cater just to these products. I see them everywhere in almost every mall. It is hard to escape them. These products are not cheap either. Maybe you can save if you concoct your own fragrance from produce you can buy from the farmer’s market.

Lastly, these soaps and bodywash have interesting names too. Like Gentle Rain, Summer’s Eve, Morning Glory, and Butterfly Kisses. My favorite is a facial soap with the catchy name “Kiss my Face.” There is also a feminine wash. Its name is not what you think, you silly head.

Beyond our Shores

(This article was published in Manila Standard Today, Diaspora section, February 9, 2012. This is an English translation of my earlier post “Ibayong Dalampasigan.” The original Tagalog piece may be more nostalgic, but I hope the message transcends beyond the translation.) 

Eighteen years. It seems like yesterday.

It feels only the other day that I woke up to the music of speeding tricycles and the crowing of Mang Karding’s fighting cock. Not too long ago when I walked down our narrow street in Sampaloc. Only yesterday that I inhaled Manila’s warm breeze and the belching smoke of the jeepneys. It was like I just blinked my eyes, and yet eighteen years have passed since I left our motherland.

I am one of the millions of Filipinos who migrated to another country. I grew up in a world where one of the eminent dreams of many of our people is to leave the country. Though it may not be directly indoctrinated in us, but we often hear from older folks, “study good my child, and when you grow up, you can go to another land and have a brighter future.”

As a child I heard stories of our neighbors who went overseas. Like Mang Juan*, who lived three houses down from us. He left for Saudi and there he earned “tons of money.” Tons of money – at least that was what we conceived in our young mind. That money was what Mang Juan used to erect a small sari-sari store in front of their house, where my mother used to send me to buy vinegar.

Or Junior, the eldest son of Ka Linda who lived across our house. He became a seaman and sailed to different places around the world. I could tell if Junior was home, for he always threw a small party for his drinking buddies and there would be a noisy bunch of merry men in our street again. Even Junior’s younger brother also became a seaman. Because of this, Ka Linda was able to renovate the house they offer for rent.

And Nena, who lives in the apartment down the street. The slender and beautiful Nena. She went to Japan.

Even in my own relatives the stories were the same. There was Tata Emo, who sold a few hectares of their field in Bulacan, so he could go to Saudi. However he did not withstand the loneliness of Saudi. He came home and went back to farming. At least his carabao was happy to have him back.

Another is Tito Rey who also departed for the Middle East. He stayed there for a number of years where he endured the searing heat, homesickness and loneliness. There were many birthdays of his children that he was not around to celebrate. But in exchange he was able to send them through college, and they even afford to build a house of their own in Marikina.

There were also my two aunts, nurses who made it to America. I know that without their help I would not be able to chase my dream. Up to this day, these aunts of mine continue to support our relatives in the Philippines. May God continue to bless them.

(photo from here)

But not all who went out of the country had a happy ending. Let’s return to Mang Juan. I know that financially they were better of. However, one of his sons, and perhaps due to the fact that he grew up without a father figure, became lost and got hooked to drugs. I always saw him in our street, with eyes so red, while walking and flying at the same time. If Mang Juan only knew what would happen to his son, would he still have chosen to work overseas?

And Nena. The slender and beautiful Nena. What really happened to her?

Despite these, we do not dwell on the sad stories, for we need to do it for the future of our families. That is why it is not surprising that our generation followed the footsteps of the one before us, and we also took our chances to find our luck beyond our shores. I have cousins who are in Saudi, Singapore, Macau and Canada. I have friends who are now in Australia, China, Middle East and here in America. We are like dust, blown by the wind and scattered to the different corners of the earth.

If I really think about it, only a few of my friends and especially my classmates stayed in the Philippines. The great majority left for foreign lands. Such a sad state for our country. And just like the song of Gloc-9, truly “Walang Natira.”

Eighteen years have I been living in the land of Uncle Sam. There are many things that have changed. I shed my carabao English as my tongue is not twisted anymore, and I can speak English now with an American diction. I don’t call somebody by saying “Psssst!” anymore, but I still turn around when somebody hollers “Hoy!” I now prefer spaghetti sauce that are somewhat sour like real Italian sauce, rather than the typical Pinoy sauce that is sweet. However I still like dried fish and salted eggs.

But there are things that still have not changed. My nose is still flat and I have no plans to have it changed. My color is still dark even if I don’t spend a lot of time under the sun anymore. My Tagalog is still impeccable. Still coursing in my veins is the noble blood of my ancestors. True, I left our homeland, but that does not mean my love for her has changed. Never a day passed that the country of my birth, have not brushed my mind.

One more thing: The new generation of our people still dreams of getting out of our native land. Would it ever change?

(*some names were changed).

Reflections on a Wintry Morning

Pinoytransplant Home Productions presents:

starring: snowstorm

background music: my daughter playing piano during the winter storm

film location: home porch, somewhere in Iowa

camera: iPhone 4s

cinematographer: my wife

screenplay: pinoytransplant

Shooting Star

I arrived in our outpatient clinic the other day and the local TV News crew was there waiting for me. No, I have not become a celebrity. Far from it. A fugitive maybe? What I learned was that they were not really after me, but was following the patient who was referred to us, whom I was seeing for the first time.

Before I walked into the exam room where my patient was, the TV news reporter whom I immediately recognized, as she was also the local evening news broadcaster, greeted me and asked permission if they could shoot footage of my interview and examination of the patient. How could I say no, when the camera was already there in front of my face?

The TV reporter then put me at ease, as maybe she sensed the tension in my face, and said that I should just do my regular routine as if there was no camera recording me. Easier said than done. I just wished they notified me a few days in advance so I could have at least prepared and had my hair done too. Oh I forgot I have no hair. I checked then if there was something in my face or something stuck in my teeth, so at least I won’t look gross on camera. They hooked a small microphone on me, and said I was clear to go. It was show time!

I entered the room with the camera rolling and following me. I met my patient. He was a young man, in his early 20′s, tall and muscular, but walks with a cautious gait. I also noticed some weakness with his handshake. With a nasal-twang voice, he told me that he was trying to increase awareness of his devastating disease and that he was raising funds for a foundation he had set. Such a noble cause. Such a noble gentleman. That was the reason the TV crew was there.

My patient has ALS.

ALS or Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis is a relentlessly progressive, presently incurable disease. It was first described in the 19th century, long before the famous New York Yankee baseball player Lou Gehrig was afflicted with it, for whom the disease was now named after. It has an incidence of 1 to 3 cases per 100,000 people worldwide.

(image from here)

The disease affects the ‘motor’ neurons (nerve cells) in the brain and in the spinal cord. These neurons supplies the muscles that are responsible for our movement (hence the name ‘motor’). Thus the common presentation of patients with the disease is progressive weakness – may first present with clumsiness in writing or inability to hold a glass of water and advance to full paralysis of the arms and legs, that they become wheelchair-bound.

They also present with hyperreflexia and spasticity as if they are performing Michael Jackson’s dance moves. Their speech becomes garbled as if they have swallowed their tongue, for our tongue is a muscular organ and thus gets affected. Eventually their muscles atrophy as it loses its function.

It is rare that ALS would impair the cognitive or intellectual functions. Though about 15 % or more will develop some form of dementia. So the sad part is that they are fully alert, with their mind so clear, while their body gets weaker to the point that they could not move, imprisoning them inside their own body.

So you may ask, what was the patient, with a purely neurological disease, doing in a our pulmonary clinic?

Sadly to say, the life threatening features of the disease involves pulmonary. Weakness involves the muscles of respiration too, therefore breathing becomes more labored as the disease advances. Progressive respiratory failure, in fact, is the most common cause of death in ALS. That must be an awful feeling, as if you are drowning and you are not even underwater.

They can also have problems with swallowing as time goes on, making eating difficult, if not impossible. This trouble with swallowing and problems clearing their throat, combined with ineffective cough, predisposes them to aspiration with resultant pneumonia, which is another common cause of their demise.

I had the patient perform a breathing test in our office. This was to assess if his ventilatory capacity was already compromised. Once the lungs’ vital capacity drops to 50% of normal, it is associated with significant respiratory symptoms and would need intervention. If it drops to less than 30%, the risk for respiratory failure or sudden death is quite high.

What intervention can we do? Patients with significant respiratory compromise can be placed on Non-invasive Positive Pressure Ventilation (NIPPV) when they sleep, as well during the day if desired. It is like putting a fighter pilot mask and attaching it to a blower. This is similar to the Continuous Positive Airway Pressure (CPAP) machine that people with sleep apnea use. The NIPPV helps them breathe better and improves their quality of life, though whether it prolongs their life is still debatable.

Of course if the breathing status gets really bad, a tracheostomy can be done and they can be hooked permanently to a mechanical ventilator. Though only fewer than 10% of patients with ALS choose to have this. I guess people accept the fact that these invasive intervention, like tracheostomy, is just prolonging the agony and does not prevent the inevitable, that is death.

ALS is indeed a ravaging disease. It is an unrelenting condition, and ends only with dying. The mean life span of patients with ALS is 3 to 5 years after the diagnosis. And at this point, there is no known cure. It is a death sentence whatever angle you look at it.

After examining my patient and reviewing his breathing test, I told him that his vital capacity was still way above 50% and that he does not need any intervention…..yet. A glimmer of good news in an otherwise gloomy outlook.

Life is short. In my patient’s case, it is short-er. Much shorter.

Live life to the fullest, even how short it may be. For it is not how long our light shines, what matters is how bright it glowed in the dark night. My patient is a shooting star.

“I might have had a tough break, but I have an awful lot to live for.” – Lou Gehrig

*****

P.S.#1: I hope I have raised awareness of this disease on my own, in behalf of my patient.

P.S. #2 : I hope I see myself on TV. (*mulls over a showbiz career*)

Ibayong Dalampasigan

Labing walong taon. Ngunit parang kahapon lamang.

Parang noong isang araw lang ay gumigising ako sa ingay ng arangkada ng mga traysikel at ng tilaok ng tandang na pangsabong ni Mang Karding*. Tila ba kailan lamang ay laman ako ng masikip naming kalsada doon sa Sampaloc. Parang kahapon lang ay linalanghap ko pa ang simoy ng hangin ng Maynila at usok ng mga jeepney. Parang kumurap lang ang aking mga mata, ngunit labing walong taon na pala ang lumipas nang aking lisanin ang ating inang bayan.

Isa ako sa mga libo-libong Pilipino na lumabas ng bansa. Ako ay namulat sa mundo na kung saan ang nangingibabaw na pangarap ng marami sa ating mamamayan ay ang makaalis ng Pilipinas. Hindi man direktong itinuturo sa aming mga bata, ngunit madalas naming marinig sa mga nakatatanda, “mag-aral ka nang mabuti hijo, at pag-laki mo’y maari kang mangibang bayan, at magiging maganda ang iyong kinabukasan.”

Kahit nang ako’y batang paslit pa lamang ay naririnig ko na ang mga kwento ng aming mga kapit-bahay na nakipagsapalaran sa ibang bansa. Gaya ni Mang Juan, na nakatira tatlong bahay mula sa amin. Siya ay tumulak papuntang Saudi, at doo’y kumita ng “limpak-limpak” na salapi. Limpak-limpak na pera – ganito ang dating sa musmos naming kaisipan. Iyon ang ipinundar niya upang makapagtayo ng maliit na tindahan sa harap ng kanilang bahay, kung saan ako inuutusang bumili ng mantika.

O si Junior na anak na panganay ni Ka Linda sa tapat ng aming bahay. Siya ay naging isang seaman, at nakapaglayag sa iba’t-ibang ibayo ng mundo. Alam ko kapag nagbabalik-bayan si Junior. Lagi itong nag-papainom sa kanyang mga kaibigan, kaya may maiiingay na namang nag-iinuman sa tapat ng aming bahay. Kahit ang nakababatang kapatid niya na dating tambay lang lagi sa kanto ay naging seaman din. Dahil dito ay napaayos nila Ka Linda ang kanilang bahay-paupahan.

At si Nena na nakatira doon sa may apartment malapit sa kanto. Ang balingkinitan at magandang si Nena. Siya ay lumipad patungong Japan.

Kahit sa aking mga kamag-anakan ay ganito rin ang istorya. Nandiyan si Tata Emo, na ipinagbili ang ilang hektarya ng kanilang bukid sa Bulacan upang siya ay makaalis papuntang Saudi. Ngunit hindi natagalan ni Tata Emo ang lungkot ng Saudi. Siya ay umuwi at nag-saka na lang muli. Naging masaya naman ang kanyang kalabaw na muli siyang makasama.

Isa pa ay si Tito Rey na lumabas ng bansa patungo ring Middle East. Mga ilang taon din siyang namalagi doon, tiniis ang init, pangungulila at lungkot. Maraming birthday din ng kanyang mga anak ang hindi niya nasaksihan. Nguni’t kapalit naman noo’y ay napatapos niya sa pag-aaral ang kanilang mga anak at nakapagpatayo pa sila ng sariling bahay doon sa Marikina.

Nariyan din ang dalawa kong tiyahin na nurse na nakarating dito sa Amerika. Masasabi ko na malaki ang utang na loob ko sa kanila sa pagtulong nila sa akin na maabot ang pangarap kong makatapak dito sa banyagang lupain na ito. Hanggang sa ngayon ang mga tiyahin kong ito ay patuloy pa rin sa pagtulong sa aming mga kamag-anakan doon sa Pilipinas. Nawa’y patuloy silang pagpalain.

Hindi lahat ng mga nangibang-bayan ay may masayang kasaysayan. Balikan natin si Mang Juan. Oo nga’t naging mas maginhawa ang kanilang buhay. Ngunit isa sa mga anak niya, dahil na rin siguro sa lumaki itong laging wala ang ama, kaya napabayaan at nalulon sa droga. Madalas ko itong nasasalubong sa aming kalye na pula ang mata at sumusuray na naglalakad, habang lumutang sa paglipad. Kung alam lang ni Mang Juan ang mangyayari sa kanyang anak, pipiliin pa rin kaya niya ang umalis ng bansa?

At si Nena. Ang magandang si Nena. Ano nga kaya talaga ang nangyari sa kanya?

Ngunit hindi namin inalintana ang mga malulungkot na kwento, sapagkat kailangan para sa kinabukasan ng pamilya. Kaya naman hindi kataka-taka na ang aming henerasyon ay sumunod sa mga yapak ng mga nauna sa amin, at nakipagsapalaran din na lumabas ng ating bansa. May mga pinsan akong nasa Saudi, Singapore, Macau at Canada ngayon. May mga naging kabarkada akong napadpad rin sa Australia, China, Middle East, at ilan dito sa Amerika. Para kaming mga alikabok sa lupa na hinipan ng malakas na hangin at ikinalat sa iba’t ibang lupalop ng mundo.

Kung aking iisiping mabuti, iilan lang talaga sa aking mga kaibigan at lalo na sa aking mga kamag-aral, ang nanatili sa ating bansa. Karamiha’y lumisan para sa ibayong dalampasigan. Isang malungkot na katotohanan ng ating bayan. At gaya nga ng kanta ni Gloc-9: talagang “Walang Natira.”

Labing walong taon na akong naninirahan sa bayan ni Uncle Sam. Marami nang nagbago. Nawala na ang pilipit ng aking dila at natuto na akong mag-ingles na parang Amerikano at hindi na ako “Carabao English” ngayon. Nag-iba na rin ang ilan sa aking nakagawian. Hindi na ako sumusutsot kapag kailangang tumawag ng pansin, pero lilingon pa rin siguro ako, kapag may sumigaw ng “Hoy!” Pati panlasa ko’y nagbago na rin. Gusto ko na ng maasim-asim na spaghetti sauce ngayon, gaya ng tunay na Italian, at hindi manamis-namis gaya ng sa Pinoy. Pero masarap pa rin sa akin ang tuyo at itlog na maalat.

Ngunit mayroon pa ring hindi nagbabago. Pango pa rin ang aking ilong, at wala akong balak magpatangos nito. Hindi pa rin pumusyaw ang kayumanggi kong kulay kahit hindi na ako masyadong nagbibilad sa init ng araw. Matatas pa rin akong mag-Tagalog. Nanalaytay pa rin sa aking mga ugat ang maharlikang dugo ng aking mga ninuno. Tutoo, linisan ko ang aking bayan, ngunit hindi nangangahulugang nagbago ang aking pagmamahal sa ating bansa. Walang araw na dumaan na hindi dumampi sa aking isipan ang lupa kong sinilangan.

May isa pang hindi nag-bago. Nangangarap pa rin ang bagong henerasyon ng mga Pilipino na makaalis ng bansa. Ang tanong ay hindi bakit, kundi hanggang kailan?

(*names have been changed)

Cool Running of the Black Ninja

Running is a simple sports. You don’t need a lot of equipment or gears. Just a good pair of running shoes and the endless road ahead of you. Well, not quite. Not if it is cold.

There is winter running apparel available in sports stores, that are light and yet warm. However, even with these gears, once the temperature is in single digits (Fahrenheit), or worse if it’s below zero, they don’t feel warm enough at all. And I am not recommending running with a parka on.

Of course one can run indoors in a gym. Although, running in a treadmill is so unnatural for me. It is really boring. If it is just a mile, well, I can bear it. More than that, I just feel like I’m running and not going anywhere at all. For that is exactly what it is!

There are also indoor running tracks, which fortunately the gym where I am a member has. One lap is 0.1 mile. Actually, this is where I usually run in the winter. Again, after running more than a mile or so, it feels dull and repetitive. It is like running in circles. Then again, because that is exactly what it is!

I still prefer to run outside. Feel the wind in my face. Breathe the crisp cold air. Enjoy the beautiful winterscapes. Run and really go somewhere, and not just in circles. As long as I don’t freeze to death.

Last Sunday morning, our temperature wandered above the freezing point. 33 degrees Fahrenheit (0.5 Celsius) to be exact. I know it was still cold but I decided it was a good day to run outside.

My wife said that I was crazy. I admit, maybe  just a little bit. She even took pictures of my craziness.

heading out our walkway

I donned my cold weather running gear, complete with thermals, gloves and balaclava headgear, which I just call my Ninja mask. There  was snow on the ground but the road was plowed and cleared. No problems, so I thought.

Ninja runner. Where's my sword?

When I stepped outside, it was foggy and even gently drizzling, but it was not too cold at all. However, I have not gone far when I noticed that something is not quite right. It was very slippery! With the temperature right about the freezing point, the fine rain freezes when it hits the ground forming a very thin coat of glazed ice on the road surface. They usually call this “black ice,” as it is unnoticeable until you step on it or drive on it, thus making it very dangerous. If there is Black Ninja, there is also black ice. I was not prepared for ice running or should I say ice skating.

I had no choice but to turn back and return home disappointed. I may be a little crazy, but not crazy enough to risk myself slipping or falling and breaking a leg.

returning back already on our driveway without even breaking a sweat

I wondered, if there is winter tires for cars, maybe there is winter running shoes with ice and snow traction. As I googled it up, I found out that there really are. I must have one of those.

Or maybe I can even have Ninja spikes shoes so I can tramp black ice and can also scale walls and trees. Who said I’m crazy? Huh? Are you talking to me?

Time Under Heaven

One Friday afternoon one of my partners signed out to me the patients in the ICU. I was taking over and would be going on-call that weekend. One of the patients endorsed to me was the patient in ICU Room 26*. Her story was quite sad, to put it mildly.

She was in her early 40′s and was diagnosed with a very aggressive type of breast cancer, several months back. She had underwent radical surgery, followed by radiation therapy and intensive chemotherapy. However, despite of all the exhaustive interventions, the cancer still proved to be more aggressive than the treatment. It continued to advance.

The cancer had spread to the lungs and pleura (sac around the lungs), causing fluid to accumulate  in the pleural space. It also spread into the pericardium (sac around the heart), also causing fluid to build up inside the pericardium. It had involved the liver and studded the peritoneum (lining of the abdominal cavity) as well, causing water to seep out into the abdominal cavity. In fact, the cancer is everywhere, that it was hard to imagine that she was still alive. Well, barely.

For the past couple of months, the patient had been in and out of the hospital, that she literally lives in the hospital than home. Due to multiple complications of the widely metastatic cancer, she had undergone several surgeries and procedures. She had surgery to put a pericardial window (made a hole on the heart sac), so fluid could drain out and would not drown the heart. We also placed  tubes on both sides of her chest to drain the fluids around her lungs to prevent her from suffocating. She underwent multiple drainage of the abdominal fluid as well, to decompress her distended, pregnant-like belly.

Several times she thought of throwing in the towel, and considered hospice care. Hospice is the type of care that focuses on comfort and palliation of terminally ill patients. In other words, it is a philosophy allowing a dying and suffering patient to pass on peacefully by letting nature takes it course. Hospice is no way the same as euthanasia, which is illegal in the US. Euthanasia is a subject on its own that I will not divulge in here, but suffice to say that I believe, is morally wrong.

But once she felt a little better she would change her mind and would like to go full court press, and be as aggressive as ever with the treatment again. She was tried on investigational treatment and was even referred to a top cancer center in the US, but had received the same disappointing verdict of “nothing else we can do.”

Now, she was transferred in our ICU for severe shortness of breath. She struggles, but still fights with every breath, clinging for dear life. Still hoping against hope, that somehow she would survive one more day or one more night.

My partner then told me, that if I have time, maybe I could sit down and talk with her, and discuss alternative options of management, like palliative care or even hospice, and the further direction of her care.

We have heard the cliché that it is not quantity but quality that is important. Perhaps you also heard of the adage that it is not how long we live, but how we live is what matters. I am a firm believer that living is different from mere existing. Alive does not always equates with “a life.”

With the modern medical technology nowadays, we can support a person to continue breathing and his/her heart pumping, even though “life” has long been sucked out of the body. Sometimes medicine, as a discipline, do interventions just because we can do it, but may not be necessary for the best interest of an individual. I believe that there comes a time that death should be received as a repose to the suffering and not always be feared as an unwelcome guest. For death is as natural as birth to all humans. There is a time to be born, and a there is a time to die.

The next day, as I made my rounds in the ICU, I was ready with my “heart to heart” talk with our patient. As I entered room 26, I was caught unprepared with the sight I saw. The patient was silently lying in her bed with her eyes closed. Her breathing was labored as she heaved with every breath. A boy, probably 7 or 8 years of age, whom I assume was her son, was sitting very close to the bed. The boy’s head was buried in bed, muting his sobs, as he leaned against her mother’s side, while her feeble hand gently strokes his head.  It was so heart-breaking to witness: a mother who was on borrowed time, and who was in much discomfort, yet still trying to comfort her son.

All the reasonings I have in mind, and the discussions I have prepared, went out the window. Who am I to say to that boy, that his mother’s caressing hand was not worth living anymore here under heaven, even if it just for another day or even for another hour. For that boy, it was still worth it.

I walked out of ICU 26, without uttering a word.

(* room number was intentionally changed for privacy)