May, 2008 Archive

i didn’t ask, but the patient told me that his nurse the night before was T.

“she was mean and i didn’t like her. i’m glad they changed her because i don’t really want her to be my nurse anymore”, he said. he elaborated on incidents why he felt she was mean. i listened quietly and for lack of anything sensible to say, said “okay”.

i felt a little bit awkward because T’s a friend and she was working that night. when the night settled down, she confirmed to me that the patient refused her and that she didn’t know why. “what did he tell you about me, why did he refuse me?” she asked.

caught on the spot and concerned that i will hurt her feelings, i lied. i said the patient did not say anything.

i know.

this is not the first time i lied about stuff like this. if something like this happens again, there must be something else i can do other than lie. 

how do you tell the truth without offending the ones involved?

i don’t know which side i was on.

her family wanted to keep her a full code. even without elaboration, i think i know exactly why.

her doctors were persistent about changing her code status. they want that DNR, and i know exactly why.

in 2006, she got infected with west nile virus. i don’t know where she got it. if i remember correctly that was the time i heard all about it in the news here. i didn’t have the guts to ask her daughters if she was here in the US or in vietnam (or maybe cambodia?) when the pesky mosquito had a go at her blood.

anyway, encephalitis and seizures turned her into this creepy looking woman. she stuck her tongue out most of the times, that it looked so dry no matter what. she was very contracted and did nothing much but drool and shake her head constantly. no sounds, no looks of recognition. just a breathing body with diaper and feeding tube, constantly sweaty and helpless like a newborn baby.

her daughters took such good care of her. you can tell by the fact that she had no skin breakdown and she was very clean and well nourished. the four of them usually come at around 8 and they work with her quietly, like members of an orchestra who knew their responsibilities were important as a whole, but insignificant by itself. they would take turns in talking to her in their native language. then, they gather around her bed and offer their prayer. after they kiss her goodnight, they would ask for the nurse and report what they have done.

there is something about being told “she’s all clean now and we just turned her” that is somehow intimidating. like i am supposed to feel like i was not doing my job. but that is a post for another day.

not to digress, and to put it bluntly, the healthcare people don’t seem to see the point of her being a full code. if her heart stopped and everything was done to make it work again, aside from it being a long process, it also seemed like an act of futility. after all, what is a beating heart if it is inside a person staring blankly, curled into a ball, helpless? “vegetable” they say.

the family did not say, but i think the idea is that, it didn’t matter to them that she was just there doing nothing. what mattered to them was that she was there.

a couple of days ago, they finally caved in and signed the DNR form. the doctors must have felt victorious, the family must have felt powerless.

it took weeks for them to decide, and i don’t blame them. things like these are not easy. they never were, and they never will be.

“i don’t know how to do this but…”

i hate it when somebody starts talking like that. he was breathing really fast and i can almost see his heart coming out of his chest. we were standing on top of a little hill. it was a little park that has a lot of character. i can hear the kids screaming and giggling. it was a little bit windy but it wasn’t the kind of wind that was annoying.

“…i figured you probably noticed it anyway, so i might as well just tell you…”

again, that beating heart almost visibly falling out of his chest. i didn’t look at him, and i’m pretty sure he thought i wanted him to continue and get done with it already. the truth was, i wanted him to shut up. i just wanted him to shut up.

“i know you think i am such a jerk for saying this, but i just want you to know i have felt this way for a very long time now. i just don’t know how long i can keep it to myself anymore. your sister will probably kill me if she finds out, but i…”

the girls were screaming. their mom was running after them, pretending she can’t keep up, pretending she was a scary mommy monster. my litle sister. her two girls are growing so fast but i still can’t grasp the whole idea of her being a mother. i’ve always thought we will enjoy the experience together. our kids will be playing together, stuff like those. while she has gone thorugh all the pregnancy and motherhood ups and downs, i was just at the sidelines. cheering her on, jealous.

“i’m in love with you…”

i didn’t look at him but i told him to stop. i told him to shut up.

“but that’s the truth. i just want you to know. if you feel the same way, i’m willing to leave your sister…”

i’m sure the girls were still screaming and giggling. but i didn’t hear any of it. i only heard his uneven, shallow breaths.

“ i’m so sorry. it’s just that last week, when we were alone and you looked at me, i was convinced you felt the same…”

i told him to tell my sister and the girls that i had to leave early. that i wasn’t feeling well. i ran, my knees wobbling. i didn’t say goodbye. i should have.

i sat in the car shaking. my heart beating so fast i almost felt it falling out of my chest. crying wasn’t really planned but it happened anyway. i didn’t know what it was exactly that i was crying about, but there i was, forehead on the steering wheel, both hands on my face, sobbing like a little girl.

i don’t remember how long i was there. or how i got home. or how many hours i slept. i don’t even know why i was so sure the messages on the phone were from him, but i pressed “play”  anyway.

“please. let’s talk, i’m so sorry.”
“call me. please.”
“i didn’t mean to hurt your sister. i loved her when i married her.”
“let’s figure this out. i want you.”

his words were soothing. it sounded fluid and certain. it sounded solid but doubtful. i listened over and over. and it felt so right. so perfect. how can something as beautiful as this be so terribly wrong?

how can he be so sure about last week?

how is it that a fleeting moment of looking at someone can mean a thousand words? we were in the kitchen. when our skin touched, it wasn’t the first time. being around their house often, there were countless of times when we have had those awkward encounters. i have always been guarded and i was convinced he didn’t sense a thing.

last week was different. it was stupid, i know that. it was an instant of just letting the feeling flow. no inhibitions, no words, just unspoken expression. it wasn’t even a second, but his skin seemed familiar. very familiar. i thought i tried to be discreet. i  wanted that moment to last forever. i looked at him. a quick look by itself, but the kind of look that penetrates the soul. the kind of look that only lovers comprehend.

how he sensed, in all its honesty, the meaning of a fleeting moment, i do not know. what i know now is that he understood that for both of us, it was one of those unexplainable, amazing moments. i didn’t know it will even come to this. there is an unending list of questions.

unfortunately, i don’t have any acceptable answer.
i love my sister and the idea of betraying her is beyond unthinkable.
i don’t know how, but i know exactly why i shouldn’t.

i realized that i know people who had more pain than this. i know this thing will pass. i know that. the only thing is, i can’t seem to look beyond today, beyond the agony.

there is one more thing i don’t really know.
i don’t know what is more painful.
a love purposely repressed.
or a love finally expressed but will never be.

i used to get depressed. once in a while.

when i say depressed, i don’t mean the severe kind in which one is too overtaken by the loss of reason to live and too unenthusiastic to go on that they do not look after themselves and their family, or they don’t meet their responsibilities, and eventually attempt to take their lives to end the meaninglessness of it all. i don’t mean that, i only mean the kind of sadness that goes deeper than the usual loneliness. sometimes, way deeper.

i would have this heavy feeling of blah that made me feel like a real loser. i would look at other people who were happy and i would curse my bad luck for being so unlike them. i would then hide in my imaginary hole, sulk, read a book, and when all else fail, write about how crappy my universe was.

i have learned that the reasons why i got depressed were always because i found it absolutely pathetic that i had nobody to share my life with when i was so ready to have that kind of relationship. or, that my family was this dysfunctional family, who unconsciously did and said things that tore my heart to pieces on some occasions.

the whole process usually took a few hours of my day, not very often. after identifying the emotional trigger events that caused me to feel alone, and basking in the feeling for some time, in no time, before i even knew it, i was ready to be my bubbly self again. like nothing happened.

six years ago, when i got pregnant for the first time, the ambivalent feelings of joy and fear crept up on me and caused a different kind of depression. the kind of depression that usually did not have any logical basis.

i coped by reasoning that other than the hormones skyrocketing, it was also because of the big life changes that happened to me all at once. i moved here, got married, got pregnant, was not working, had to take the nclex, was not driving, had very little social contacts, was literally alone while waiting for my husband from work. it all happened in five months. we’re talking major life stress units here, so i didn’t even worry about it.

after i passed the nclex, got a job, had my two kids, learned to drive, i expected things to get back to how they were. i do not think occasional loneliness is such a bad thing, so i welcomed the idea of being depressed once in a while, like i used to. i thought i can use it as a time to ponder on things that i should be grateful for and somehow, just like the good old days, in some bizarre ways, it will eventually make me realize i am blessed.

but that’s not what happened. month after month after month, i would cave into this undescribable sense of emotional hopelessness that got deeper and deeper. the feelings of blah turned into a more serious feeling of nothingness that made me feel way beyond a loser.

i would have thoughts of my life being pointless and i would mull over the idea of all people being better off dead than suffering in the hospital or in a war or something. i would wake up unenergized and without purpose. i would drag myself to whatever it was i was expected to do, and would not find any satisfaction or accomplishment despite the hard work i’ve put out. i would look at my husband and my kids and miss the joy that normally overwhelms me just by having them in my life. i would hang out with family and friends and amidst laughters, i would miss out on the fun, feeling alone, like standing outside, uninvited, desperately looking in.

i would walk, breathe, live aimlessly and worthlessly behind a fog that lasted two or three days every month. unused to this helpless state, it boggled and scared me that i was such a mess. my attempts to seriously talk about it usually turned into self retraction, because most people thought i was either exagerrating or joking.

when i finally had the sense to analyze the pattern and regularity of my misery, it dawned on me that i didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that this has something to do with my hormones. i self diagnosed it to be related to hormonal changes when i am ovulating or when i am about to have my period.

although it is true that knowledge is power, it is not enough to win the battle.  i still found the whole ordeal tiring and draining, that i just wished i knew what to do and how to do it just to fix myself. i have nothing about seeing a doctor for depression but unfortunately, i am one of those stubborn human beings who would like to try to fix it first before asking a professional for help.

i read on the topic, then i developed a plan. i wanted to talk about it to people, especially women. i wanted people, especially women, to talk to me about it. i thought we can learn from each other, then we can encourage each other. i used to think i am all alone in this and that i should be ashamed to talk about it because nobody else feels this way, but the the books and articles on this topic proved me wrong. i wanted to break the ice and heal, then share the process with others.

the only set back is, inside my immediate personal community circle, depression, christianity, and being a filipino (and i am saying this based on my personal experience, not in any way generalizing all christians and filipinos) do not really mix that well.

what i mean when i say that is, coming from the philippines, which is a third world country, people automatically think you really have to be messed up to be depressed. with a lot of people struggling where to get their next meal, what is there to be sad about when you can have way beyond your basic needs?

and when you are a supposed devout christian, there is no way you can get depressed if you just lift your heart in prayer, and believe, in faith, that Jesus will grant you real joy and peace.

again, i am not saying all christians and all filipinos feel this way about people who get depressed, but i have met a lot of us who brush depression aside like some pesky, unreal, narcissistic dilemma that doesn’t need to be addressed, or even discussed.

if you ask me, this is a very sad thing. it is a very sad thing when those who you think are closest to you are the ones who do not want to take you seriously.

i do see the logic in looking at depression this way, because i know how irrelevant my woes are compared to the ones who really have reasons to mourn, but that doesn’t mean that what i am feeling is unreal. i also believe and have experienced being spiritually lifted with a “peace that passeth understanding” by prayer and meditation, but that doesn’t mean that if i do not experience that healing right away or all the time, my feelings need to be dismissed.

i have strong feelings against people bashing depressed people because i know exactly what depressed people are going through. i only experience it two or three days each month, but those days are the most miserable days of my life, that every happy moments i’ve experienced usually gets blurred in the background.  can you imagine going through it everyday? every. single. day. aimlessly walking through a fog. everyday.

i guess the whole point of this very long post is to beg those who treat depressed people in a very condescending “just get over it and move on already” kind of way to please just be tolerant enough if you can’t be kind to be supportive. i understand it is difficult to empathize when you have not experienced the same thing, but it doesn’t take much effort to at least be open to what depressed people are saying. depression already hurts as it is, and dismissing its reality magnifies the pain to the point of shame.

dealing with depression of any kind or magnitude is a process. a lifetime process. even if that doesn’t sink in, that doesn’t change the truth that it is the fact.

as it is, there are wars, disasters, crime, poverty and hunger going on in so many parts of the world that there is really no reason for us to significantly add more to the suffering of individuals who deal with depression on a day to day basis.

there is no reason why there should be an unspoken environment of animosity and hostility towards those who suffer in silence. or those who dare to speak out only to be silenced.