Confusion.

I have been entirely preoccupied, which makes me uncomfortable. Everything else suffers and I can feel myself wasting away, already. Tch.

The last thing I expected from going to hospital on a Saturday morning was a philosophical discussion that lasted close to 3 hrs. Haha.

Did a night call last week, memorable only for the admission of someone whose name changed every 3 hrs or so.

The golden key.

Ah… you all got me good. Again. Now I have more stuff than I know what to do with.

Thanks for everything.

Past midnight.

I am blessed to have these friends. I was not emo-ing the whole day lah.

Thanks for sacrificing your sleep and time and night calls. It did mean a lot to me.

I was sobered at the end by a realization of what is probably my biggest flaw; that despite my best intentions, I still bumble around the world with all the subtlety of an atomic bomb. I’m sorry for causing you hours of unfounded anxiety. I am an idiot.

So I woke up late today and stared at all my shortcomings in the mirror. I pray that God will do the impossible, and somehow mould that unworthy creature into someone more like Christ.

Pottery.

It’s been exhilarating. I come back home and slowly crumple into a cocoon of mutism.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. You are my comforter, my rock in times of need, my source of strength and hope, too often forgotten but never away. Thank you for carrying me here.

Setting.

Today was first day of med posting at TTSH! It’s all very structured, the “feeling” is very different. I miss the lounge, though.

Our core tutor is this big guy with a cheerful disposition and wide smile. We sat down today and he gave us a choice, like at the start of a computer game.

Easy, Medium, Hard, or Hell.

At least we can say we had a choice. Haha.

M3.

I had meant to write a proper goodbye for F204 – the room with a better view than C305, which I cleaned less and slept more in. But that’s not really what I’ll miss about hall anyway. If anything, it’s the people, with all their quirks; dinner and conversations, studying, the “surprise” birthdays. All those times I stopped outside Jon Chan’s door to disturb him. And I’m afraid of losing details, like the password to Shepherd’s Path.

It’s scary to know that tomorrow we’ll be M3. A crazy steep learning curve, no more invisible shield to deflect the wrath of tutors, no more excuses for not knowing certain things. It’s not the same that pre-M2 feeling – back then, microb was a scary prospect, but it was still all textbooks. This is terrifyingly vocational.

CSFC at CGH was a good introduction to the wards. First, there was the awesome lounge. Spacious, with sofas, personal lockers, TV, loads of games on the PCs, a separate room for tutorials with a practice bed. The tutors were nice and willing to teach. The pace was good, relaxed. The food at Ward 1 was pretty decent, and then there was Eastpoint with 18 chefs and that “Turkish” spot we only found on the last day.

Then of course there was the awesome lounge. Spacious, with sofas and all.

I’ll rmb Drs. AK & AC for their patience and pro-ness, Dr. JK who still took us despite being pathologically busy, Dr. H for her relationships with patients, and Dr. CSC who tried to scold us but really, it’s not in his nature. All the HOs who gave us patient lists and told us where to go, plus the one from Ward 37 who gave us an impromptu tutorial without us even asking.

Most of all, it was a privilege to learn from patients. I’ll remember Mr. N, the first patient I talked to (or tried, at least, for a few days running). Also the last patient I saw, Ms. L, to whom I owe eternal apologies / thanks. Then there was Mr. L, who affected us all.

I learned very late that not all patients want to be your friend.

A personal challenge – to be occupied without being preoccupied.

3 weeks has been just barely enough time. Still, the PHP trip was exactly what I needed. We really saw God’s provision throughout the trip. The first 2 days it was raining like mad, and we were told that if it didn’t stop, the trail up to Malia would be too slippery. The forecast was rain for the whole week. So there I was, praying very “conservatively” – Lord, if it’s Your will, pls clear the weather so we can climb. But if You want us not to climb that’s ok too, I’m sure You’ll work out Your purpose in us.

On the morning of Day 3 (the first day of clinics), we were at the jetty waiting for our boat when miraculously, the drizzle cleared and a rainbow appeared in the sky. Following which the weather became scorchingly hot for precisely 6 hours while we ran the clinic in Mangingisda - then after we’d returned to Puerto, the discomfited sky released all its pent-up frustration again in a massive rain storm.

We arrived in Amas that evening. It had rained a few hours in the afternoon, so the worry was again that the trail up to Malia would be impassable. To “prep” for the next day’s climb, Sh shared from Ecclesiastes 12 – Remember your Creator in the days of your youth… But I was quite skeptical that the weather would hold up. And it rained again, while we were sleeping that night.

Day 4 was the first day of the whole trip that it dawned bright and sunny. Unbelievable. We’d originally planned to climb at 2pm, but this was subject to the weather. So the decision was put off until essentially the last minute, then we had a mad rush to pack everything before setting off.

That morning, we did health ed and clinics in the school in Amas. They cancelled our de-worming plans, which was disappointing cos we had these cute albendazole tabs with “Christ Lives” printed on them.

So we set off for Malia at 2pm. The weather was perfect for climbing – no rain, but the sun disappeared behind the clouds so it wasn’t uncomfortably hot. After 3 days of rain interspersed with scorching sun, this was something of a miracle. S’s ACL started to affect him within the hour, so we stopped to pray. I rmb recalling how he’d tried and failed to make it up the mountain once already -  again I doubted when I should have trusted. This time, he overcame the pain and finished with us.

The views as we were climbing were absolutely stunning. But the trail was still quite wet, muddy and “SS” in places, as Jo-Ann likes to say. There was a lot of slipping and scrambling around trying to find something to grip onto. Clean shoes got caked stylishly with mud. ZZ’s and SK’s shoes decided they’d had enough and got rid of their soles, but that just made it worse.

After 4 hrs of climbing, we walked into a coconut plantation (although it escapes me why someone would choose to plant coconut trees in such an ulu place). For 5 pesos each, the owner shimmied up a tree and chopped a fresh buko down for each of us. They let us chop & open our own. This was absolutely without question the BEST COCONUT I have ever had and probably ever will have. After 4 hrs of trekking, to have a coconut right out of the tree and in your hands, cold and sweet and opened by yourself… and cheap!

We ended up taking 5 hrs to climb, and it became totally dark about 30 mins before we reached Malia. Someone quoted a verse, apt but I can’t rmb. The pentorch is actually a very good flashlight, but it’s not working anymore so I guess it’s probably not designed for the outdoors.

There’s a beautiful view of the sea from the communal hall in Malia. At night, you can see tiny lights from the coastal towns twinkling below. Every now and then, clouds will sweep in over the ridges nearby. It’s all very peaceful and quiet. The best part is, there’s a 5-bar signal so you can call home. PHP Globe has excellent coverage.

It didn’t rain the whole time we were up on the mountain. As we were coming down the next day, we noticed that there were some ominous gray clouds creeping in. Impressively, the weather stayed cool and cloudy, and at one point we looked up and noticed that there was a huge gray cloud in front of us, and a huge gray cloud behind us, and directly above us the sky was clear.

At the end of the trip we recalled the rainbow on the first day of clinics. It had been one of those rare ones that makes a complete arc across the sky. ChS was reminded of God’s covenant with Noah, and it made us think about how the whole trip just fell into place – the weather, the timing, the people. For me, it felt like He was saying, Do not doubt what I can do.

So I won’t, now. I will be praying in earnest.

The gentle whisper.

I woke up on the morning of Day 5 at about 2am. Kuya Ricky’s elbow was pinning down my right shoulder, his knee was jammed uncomfortably into my leg. A few experimental wriggles showed that if I were to move just a fraction left, I would roll into the sleeping SK, and of course Jo-Ann’s head was still about 10cm away from my feet.

So I lay there for about another 2 hours, ramrod straight and petrified to move, drifting in and out of sleep, listening to steady breathing and quiet snores, my feet cold and wrapped in the single blanket I’d brought up from Amas. At 4am I gave up and went outside.

I remember that the dog was sleeping on the table. Gringo has been following ARP expeditions up to Malia for nearly 5 years now, acting as a guide and companion. I can think of possibly 2 reasons why - idealistic (he likes the adventure) or practical (so he can eat our buko and leftovers). Maybe it’s both.

The moon was obscured by the clouds, but it was still bright enough that you didn’t need a flashlight to see. We stayed in the village communal hall, which has an outhouse, a faucet producing natural spring water, a table and a couple of benches, and (incongruously) a basketball net. Kuya Ricky, who climbed up to Malia (800m ASL) at least once a week for 2 years, is able to reach the village in less than an hour – enough time, he says, for him to start climbing after 4pm, and still have time left to play basketball with the locals before it gets dark.

This in stark contrast to our performance. We’d started the climb at 2pm the previous day and took 5 hours, finishing the last half-hour in total darkness.

That morning, the sun started to rise at about 5am. It was clouded over, cold and quiet, and I felt that as I sat alone in that village on a mountain, God was closer than He’d ever been before.

Meet Dug.

Selfish.

That’s me.

Wake up Ray.

More lessons.

Wheeling you back to the ward, tears began to fall from your eyes, and you said, desperately – “Doctor, you must save me.”