Old?

You're only as old as you think you are.  

It sounds like a cliche ain't it?  Age is just a number.  Or really is it?

Working in a nursing home made me realize that yes, this statement is true.  Among the most fascinating people in this world are elderly.  It is hard to picture them interesting.  Most people only see the elderly in two pictures: (1) the wizened old oak who will share the secrets of the universe before he passes and (2) the decrepit invalid who soils himself and you wish never to become.  Both perceptions are also inaccurate.  Not all old people are wise, I'm telling you.  Aging is universal, maturity is not.  This explains why you can find 40-year-olds living in their parents house cause they don't want to find a steady decent job to pay for house rent.  This also explains my dumbass 50-something year old schizophrenic uncle who gives tantrums like a two year old when he's not given booze.  In fact, maturity is a choice and is highly likely to be influenced by surrounding circumstances.  I mean, people in the Philippines grow up to be pampered and coddled by their parents.  This means it is not embarrassing or taboo to be 30 and still living under your parents' roof.  I was that person too.  Until I moved out here to the US where I realized at 27, I am still a baby.  I have to be mature or at least act mature so as not to look dumb. 

The second statement is also inaccurate.  Those who are considered bed-ridden vegetables are but shells of real people with real lives.  They are existing, albeit no longer living and have all gone to their tiny pieces of heaven without having their spirits cut off from the mortal world. Yet.  It's like they are waiting for their number to be called so they could go into eternity. 

Age really is just a number.  I have seen an elderly resident putting on makeup and mascara and makes friendly flirtations with the guys.  She calls me her little China doll and I playfully as her to prepare for our date.  There is also an elderly guy who calls all the ladies baby, cause he says, I wanna take care o' all o'em!  These exchanges are funny as hell when you meet them.  And the laughter it brings them surely adds years to their lives.

It may seem weird seeing the elderly act like youngsters but truly, fascinating it is  to see people with spirits that cannot be broken by time.  Whose enthusiasm drowns out all the negativity in the world and replace it with a smile.  I wish I will always have a spirit like that.

Three days ago, I worked with a patient who i expected would be b***h.  Turned out to be one of the coolest grannies I've ever met.  She is almost 90 and lives in an assisted living facility.  She told me: nothing scares me honey.  I have had three heart attacks, five strokes, a broken wrist, two broken hips, a broken rib cage and a broken leg and I am still raring to go!  I always do what I set my heart into.  I never consider myself old.  My spare parts are beginning to break down but what the hell.  I was skating at 75 years old!

Me: Is that why you broke your hip?

With a smile she replied: Yes.  And I broke my wrist and ribs climbing up a tree, too.  :-)

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Shock

It was warm this morning.  I woke up late, rushed through my morning routine of fixin' my breakfast and packed lunch and strode to work.  I strode with as much gusto as coffee can give you whilst listening to Fall Out Boy on my Ipod to work.  This day will be good I can tell.  Everything was going smoothly until I walked into the door.

I clocked in.  Several seconds later my boss told me the bad news.  Nope, nobody of importance died.  Nope, I am not getting fired.  Nope I am not getting sued.  She told me somberly, they want us out of this facility by the end of the month.  I gave her a confused look and a 'huh?'-face.  She said yes, you heard me right.  They want their own people coming in to replace us.  It took kinda long for me to digest what she just said.  Then I saw Curtis, a PT assistant, reach for the phone and called Lucy Corr if they got a position open for him there.  Yes, there will be a shakeup and we are definitely moving out.  It's not a rumor anymore.  We are being kicked out.

I am not losing my job.  I still have a job, I just don't know where.  And wherever that is, I'm sure it will be stressful.  It is a proven scientific fact, that moving to a different place and getting a new job are among the most stressful events in one's life.  It is a strong possibility too that I will get both by the end of the month.  I hate to relocate.  I hate to start over again.  But I have no choice.   It's not the work that bothers me, it's the adjustment that I have to make all over again.

Just when I thought I was transitioning rather smoothly to living my American dream, here goes the shake up.  I've worked here for four months and during that period I have learned a lot from the people I am working with now.  I remember several months back that the people there just come in to work, do what they have to do and go home.  It's like there is no personal connection among them, everything is purely professional.  But lately, we have been sharing some laughs together, stories, nonsense and we kid around all the time.  It makes work light and even the patients who do their therapy there take part in  the camaraderie that we all enjoy.  I would like to think that I have helped a whole lot in making this transformation by opening up and doing silly stuff around which made them think I am not uptight and reciprocated my playfulness.  I consider them now as a small family.

A small family about to be broken up even before we made stronger bonds.  And now I will be forced to make new bonds with no assurances that the people I will be working with next aren't a-holes.  That the place I will be relocated at will be as convenient and accessible.  Until now, I don't drive.  And that is an immense handicap I have to face. 

I don't know what the future holds.  For now, I will sleep.  Still confused.  Still in shock.

Exchanges

I have been here working in the US for more than three months now.  Three months away from family and friends, familiar faces and places, grinding daily on my own.  Yes, I have adjusted to the work and the workplace.  And no, I still am not driving which sucks bigtime.  However, let me share some of the lighter stuff with you.  I work with amazing people and though there are some patients who can be pains in the butt from time to time, most of them are funny, sometimes intentional, sometimes not, but I laugh my heart out nonetheless.  These small and big laughs I share with them is like a ray of sunshine amidst the gray clouds of loneliness and helps keep me going day after day after day.

To keep patient confidentiality I will not reveal their real names but I will name them with their initials.  But for one patient in particular, I shall call her Grandma as she is the star amongst these funny retorts. Grandma is hard of hearing which makes it even funnier. Here we go:

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Julie (Speech Therapist):  You are very likeable.
Grandma: I'm like a Baptist?
J: No, you are very likeable.
Grandma: I'm like a boy?
 J:  ...........   (facepalm)
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Julie: I live in Midlothian
Grandma: You live in the middle of the ocean?

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Julie: What did you have for lunch today, broccoli or green beans?
AT: Well I had broccoli.  But everyone else calls it green beans.

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 After lunch I went to see a patient in the dining hall to see if she was done eating.  I came down there as she was eating her dessert.

Me: Ms MS.  How do you like your apple pie?
MS:  Oh, it is wonderful dear!  Now get me out of here before I vomit!
Me:  (burst out laughing)

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 MS: Ooooh those buttercups are pretty but mind you they could be poisonous.  One day I saw my pets eating them and oooooh those cats were as sick as a dog!

                        Irony, anybody? :-)
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    Grandma watching people going out the rehab door..
Grandma:  Everybody in my neighborhood has a big behind.  (Looks at me with curious eyes)  Now tell me why is that?
Me:  (laughs) I dunno Grandma, ask them.

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Julie:  Oh, I feel dumb today.
AT:  I can tell by the way you look.   (hahaha!)

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Amy (my boss, rehab manager):  Grandma, you look lovely today! Who cut your hair?
Grandma: My grand daughter (she mistakes her daughter for her grand daughter often)
Amy:  How can I get a haircut like yours?
Grandma: I don't know.  You have to bring your head over there.

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Ambulation training.
Me: Okay, Grandma, remember! Walker, bad leg, good leg.  Ready?
Grandma: Okay.  (Stands up but farts loudly along the way)
Me: Oh, c'mon Grandma, you farted!
Grandma: There is no such word.  Try poop.
Me: Bwahahaha Grandma that's even worse.  Sit down.  (laughs uncontrollably)

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In the dining hall

Me: Grandma, where do you sit here?
Grandma: On my ass.
Me: ......

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Yes, our work as physical therapists is physically, mentally and emotionally demanding.  We earn our living by balancing being nice and stern.  But not everything that matters is work and earning money.  If you love your job, such as I do, and spiced up with this quirky retorts from people I serve, it seldom even seems like real work at all. Till next time! See ya!

Impulse

Tuesday it was when my internal conflict began.  It was warm outside 75 to 80-ish weather with the spring sun up high in the almost cloudless sky.  I hate the sun on my face.  I don't hate the sun itself, mind you, and I can deal with the heat.  But I hate the sun on my face.  It burns my face up like a dried leaf and fertilizes my face for new acne growth.  Acne which I should have gotten over with after puberty, but no.  It lingers on forever, a flaw I assume God Himself assured to make me human.  Without my imperfect skin, damn, I would be the perfect Homo Sapien specimen on the planet.  Oh yeah!

Well, anyway, at midday during lunchtime, I suddenly had a craving for ice cream.  Ice cream is one of the few sweets I love and I am craving for it now.  I wanted a Rocky Road or a Cookies and Cream right then and there.  That is when my internal strife began.  Part of me wanted to go to Walmart after work and grab myself an ice cream to satisfy my craving.  But then again, it was too hot outside and the sun will be on my face.  I hate the sun on my face.  And still I crave for ice cream and the only way to get rid of the craving to buy one from Walmart.  But it was too hot outside and the sun will be on my face.  I hate the sun on my face. And so goes my internal conflict about whether to get that ice cream or not.

It went on through the afternoon.  Me debating  with myself over the ice cream.  Not eating ice cream will not kill me and between want and hate, hate is a stronger emotion. And I hate the sun on my face.  So I decided, I will walk straight home after work.  No more trip to Walmart for a half-quart of ice cream which I probably will just leave inside the freezer for a long time before discovering I didn't really want ice cream after all.  So that was that, no ice cream, I am shading my face from the sun with my trusty stolen white folder going straight home. 

After my last patient, I logged my minutes out, locked the therapy room and headed out the door.  I had a cap on, my backpack, my Ipod playing James Blunt's I'll Be Your Man and my folder on one hand.  As I walked along the roadside, I realized how I no longer am the YesMan I used to be.  And that is a shame. When I was younger, I prided myself on the fact that I am one driven by my impulses and I follow them with much gusto I didn't really care what everyone else wanted.  I wasn't swayed by the crowd.  At times I even sway the crowd.  If I had the impulse to eat something from somewhere, by hook or by crook I will get that by the end of the day, no matter what it takes, by God, I will get that!  That was who I was.

I like to think that that is still who I am.  But, no, as I grew older impulses give way to rational thought.  There is nothing wrong with rational thought, of course.  In fact, it is a sign of wisdom.  But hell, it makes things predictable and boring.  Would I really give up my childish impulses which reminds me of my youth, to the convenience of rationalizing everything so I have an excuse to say no?  I don't think so.

So today my friends, I am young again.  I decided the ice cream was worth fighting for.  I still hate the sun but giving in to that one silly impulse, for a moment, gave my heart a sense of victory, something so remotely distant for people who are starting to forget how it is to be young.  For a moment there, I was young.  I was free.

Mother

It was a lazy afternoon when we spoke.  If I remember correctly, she was the last patient I saw for that day. For confidentiality's sake let us call her Ms S.  Ms. S is one of my favorites.  She is easy to be with, has a sarcastic sense of humor which is of course to my taste, and we often talk about silly things during therapy.  But what started out as a light conversation while she was on the exercise bike eventually led to something serious, sad even.  Here is Ms S' story:

Me: Ms S, you seem to have pretty eyes, what color were they before you got old and wrinkly?
                *we both laugh*
Ms S: Well there were blue, but now it's more of a blue-gray.  I also had rich blonde hair.
Me: You must've been beautiful back then.
Ms. S: I'm not sure about beautiful, but I think I was pretty.
Me: Wow talk about confidence huh?  *we both laugh* I'm sure many guys wanted to date you.
Ms. S: Well yes I did have many of them.  Until I met my husband.
Me: Is you husband handsome?
Ms S: Yes he was.  The girls were always chasing him.
Me: Even after he married you?
Ms S: More so even after he married me. Hihihi.
Me: Seriously? So you mean he had an affair?
Ms S: Oh yes he did.
Me: With different women?
Ms S: Not really.  He had this one woman for so long...

As Ms S shared her story with me, I can feel like she is holding back tears.  She opened up her heart for me, and out gushed her emotions.  Something she kept by herself for so long, to so few.  I must be one of the precious few she trusted enough to hear her story.

Ms S: I always knew he was unhappy with me.  We had three girls already and I can't seem to make him feel happy or proud of me.  There is a distance in his eyes and his arms that stops us from getting close.  And then I got pregnant again, and this time it was a boy.  I thought having a baby boy for him would make him happy, but I was wrong.  He grew more distant.  And though we lived under the same roof, I knew he didn't love me.  He loved his other woman....

And so it went on.  I learned that the other woman stayed remained until they got old and gray.  I asked Ms S., " So did you fight back? Did you fight for your husband?"

She said, "I wanted to but I didn't.  I didn't want any trouble. I was busy anyhow tending to the kids. But one day I almost did.  He took his woman with him to our home. Well she didn't come in but I saw her pickup truck outside.  I wanted to grab her and slap her.  But I was thinking of the kids. It would break them.  I'd rather they have an illusion of a happy home that shatter their lives by revealing to them that their dad is a cheat.  I'd rather keep the pain to myself than bear it on the children.  So I never told them.  Even until now, they don't know..."

"I kept thinking what made him unhappy with me.  It's maybe because I don't drink too much or party too much like he does.  I don't have his lifestyle.  So I can't make him happy.  But I took care of him when he got sick.  I took care of him until he passed. That woman never even came to see him"

"Do you love him that much?"

"I don't know.  I love my kids more. I was a mother first and a wife second. You can call it love, you can call it loyalty.  I did the best I could.  You know I never tell many people about this.  Not even some of my closest friends know."

"So I guess I'm special huh?," I smiled.  She gave a small laugh, "I guess, honey, I guess you are."

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Life is a matter of perspective.  You can call it unconditional love, unwavering loyalty or spineless martyrdom. Her story took a lifetime to realize.  She wanted to protect the unhappy marriage because she wanted to protect the kids.  Is this sacrifice a sullen form of idiocy, a sad and lonely state of passive aggression or is it because she wants to set him free?  Is it worth it in the end? Is your love worth fighting for after all?

Pikchoors

Just because I don't have an expensive camera and I  absolutely have zero know-how with photo editing doesn't mean I can't take good pictures.  And take note: I just took snapshots I didn't really focus too well on every detail. Enjoy! (as if you'll enjoy this hahaha)

Dusk Amidst A Perfect Sky

Light and Shade

Entrance of Colors

Arms Raised to the Heavens


And my favorite picture:

Cherry Blossoms

Shame

Today is the 9th of March, a couple of months has passed since I got here to find myself a more decent livelihood, perhaps a better life for me and my family.  In my two months, I've had a lot of fun learning experiences I want to share with you, if you still manage to read my blog.  Anyway, here we go.

Let me start by saying that I haven't cried yet since I got here.  Crying is supposed to be one of the stages I have to pass through being away from family and all.  But no, I haven't, although at one point I almost did.  I suppose I'm happy to distract myself by watching TV and playing computer games and drown the world out.  I am learning again how to work with patients, something I haven't done in a long time.  I am learning how to be relevant again in my chosen career and by the grace of the Heavenly Boss little by little I am regaining my confidence in patient care.

Today, the 9th of March, I felt so ashamed of myself.  I am a proud man most of the time.  But today I am ashamed of myself.

Amy is my boss at the workplace and Jenny is a PT assistant.  They were the first PTs ever when the facility I working in now opened more than a couple years ago.  I have great admiration for both of them.  I don't know if I can call them my friends, or what friendship entails in this part of the planet, but I admire both of them.  Not only do they have great ethic at work, they embody what a physical therapist should really be.  On the sides, while I'm working with my patients I steal glances and learn how they deal with their own.  I am amazed by the smoothness and grace of their patient handling, their efficiency and how well they manage their time with patients.  Most of all, my greatest admiration comes from their ardent desire to fight for every patient, to ensure that every patient gets the best care they need.  With Jenny especially, she has this tremendous passion to help her patients.  Now where does the shame on my part fit in here?  Lemme explain.

Several days ago I evaluated a patient with a bagful of complicated pathology including a viral encephalitis that he got from simple knee arthoscopy.  He looked like he was in terrible shape and that no amount of therapy would ever get him back to where he was before.  I told some people at the office that I didn't know why they even him to a skilled nursing facility when they should've sent him to hospice.  He clearly is gonna be a vegetable and it's pointless to even give him therapy.  It then surprised me during team meeting a couple days after when his name was mentioned and Jenny goes on a barrage of let's try this, let's try that on him.  And in my mind I was like Oh c'mon goodluck on your dream to have him get any better +2 max assist on everything zzzzzzz.  Jenny said, I am not ready to give up on him just yet.

I am not ready to give up on him just yet.  I am not ready to give up on him just yet....

Today, I saw the patient sitting on a good new wheelchair fitted for him by Amy and Jenny.  He was sitting with good trunk control.  He does look better.  I wouldn't really know how much progress he will make but yes he does look better.  He didn't seem as useless as I expected him to be.  I felt ashamed of myself.  Here I am calling someone useless, never gonna get better without even giving it a try.  I judged him based on that first assessment and condemned him to being an infirm, an invalid for the rest of his life.  I haven't given it my all.  I had given up too quickly.

I am not a religious person but I consider myself somewhat spiritual.  I will not say God-stuff just to impress people or what ever bullcrap you do with it.  But I know one thing.  Me seeing Amy and Jenny work their asses off to help that patient was no accident.  It was part of my Heavenly Boss' masterplan for me.  He showed me why I am a physical therapist, why He pushed me towards service for others.  Through Amy and Jenny, He showed me my purpose in life.  With that, the shame starts ebbing away and a new sense of determination slowly sets in. I may not be the best therapist there is clinically, but hell I will try.  I will not take the easiest way out each time I encounter a difficult case.

This is my mission.  God hasn't given up on me just yet and so will I to the patients I serve.