Pictures II

Green Means Go

Shadow Over Apples

Orange Globe

Fruit of the Earth

Bounty

Shaded Beauty

Hiding from the Sun

And my favorite pic of the day:

Autumn Willow

Destination Anywhere

I have stumbled upon this documentary from one of the write ups of the opinion section of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.  It's opening line is like an uppercut to the diaphragm: Imagine a nation where the #1 career choice is leaving the country. Yes, it is talking about us, the collectively heralded heroes of the present, the overseas Filipino worker. 

The Pen Artist

Funny, I only realized that after my puberty was over, there were only two things that persisted: (1) my acne and (2) the fact that my best days of impassioned writing was over.  Yes, I still do write poems and essays such as this every now and then.  But I know not how I managed to conjure up an obra maestra of letters and verses in one sitting.  Where once I could sit and write a love poem in less than half an hour inspired by the works of Edgar Allan Poe and Maningning Miclat, I am now resigned to squeezing my brain to write even a single verse for my wife or to type a blog entry that probably only a couple people will read anyway.

I did not know when I lost the passion for writing.  Its slow but inevitable death probably has started when my mom told me I will not take up Creative Writing at UP Diliman.  She told me poetry and short stories will not feed a family.  You will live and die by the poverty that the pen can only bring.  She told me to pursue my passion for the arts yet remain grounded in the fact that too many artists died starving before a Picasso becomes priceless.  Keep writing she said, but make it a hobby not a career.  Now that I think of it, she made sense but it did bring the near-death of my writing passion.  I don't think I would have been recognized as a great writer anyway, a good one yes, but not good enough to be great.  I don't think I can play with words as well as Patricia Evangelista or Conrado de Quiros.  My essays are pretty much decent, but even I don't think they are special.

Yeah, yeah and you give me the litany of believe-in-yourself-believe-in-your-dreams-keep-dreaming-and-someday-you'll-achieve-it bullcrap.  There are hundreds of thousands of people told to follow their dreams no matter what other people say or no matter the odds.  Almost all of them died with eyes wide open and skin pressed deeply against their ribs.  Those who didn't die chose a day job way different from their first passions.  To think of  it, how many people try and try again and fail to produce a Michael Jordan or a Michael Phelps or a Michael Jackson? There are literally thousands upon thousands of cabaret and bar singers who at one point in their lives really thought they stand out and that they would make it.  The world is hard on artists, that is a fact, and when the truth comes crashing down it dawns on you that you have been strumming that guitar for twenty years now, writing that novel for fifteen years now, or playing in some random rundown theater for ten years now and still the break that you were looking for is far from your grasp.  How long will it be before you realize that nobody listens to your songs anymore, or your graffiti which drew oohs and ahhs from way before remain that?  How long before reality breaks you down and poverty transforms your creativity to despair?  At one point in their lives, artists of pen or brush or song will struggle. 
Struggle and the triumph over it is what defines each artist and will engrave his legacy.

Ah, but how wonderful it was when I was an impassioned writer.  How I miss the magic that my heartbreak brought or my desire to save the world can do.  Pain is what drove me.  Pain of an unrequited love.  Pain of adolescent rebellion.  The passion that rages in your chest and flows in your blood to the ink of your pen.  Life seemed more... vivid then.  And now I just chill.  As I stare into this entry that wasn't supposed to be an entry, I wonder what drives me now.  Now that the pain is gone and the heartbreak has healed a long time time.  Where do I get that fire? Where do I get the itch to pick up a pen and write down a story or a poem so spirited my blood will roll again into my canvass of letters.  The moment is now.  The time is now. But like all has-beens do, I'd say nay and put off the obra maestra till tomorrow or until probably forgotten. 

GRANDMA

My former boss sent me a text last Friday.  She rarely texts me other than news about Grandma.  I smile when I remembered her.  She was my former patient at my old facility.  Her name is Marion Rapalee.  She was born January 20 or 21st (not sure) 1919.  She is ninety-three years old but claims to be two hundred.  It doesn't matter how many times other patients tell her that she can't be two hundred it's impossible.  She strongly believes that she is and that is that.

I never knew anybody who didn't like Grandma.  She was sweet and kind and always looks at other people with empathy.  I remember one day we were in the gym exercising, and another patient rolled in in a wheelchair.  Grandma asked her what happened to her.  She told Grandma that she missed the chair when she sat, slammed her butt on the floor and broke a hip.  Grandma came close and gave her a hug and consoled her: Oh you poor thing.  Later, we found out why she was so compassionate about other patients.  Grandma Rapalee was a nurse her whole life.  She told us (over and over) again that she had been a nurse for sixty-three years (this too cannot be confirmed but we all know she had been one for a long time.) 

Grandma was also a wonderful singer.  She told us she sang in the choir and in church.  Everybody would amusingly hear her singing her heart out along corridors or in her room.  When you don't hear her sing, it means she's sick.  She belts out Somewhere Over the Rainbow again and again.  Or Someday my Prince Will Come.  She also likes Elvis' Blue Suede Shoes, Love Me Tender and Can't Help Falling in Love.  But because of her dementia, she makes up her own lyrics to the songs, admit that she's making them up and we'd all laugh about it.  Something like: Someday, my prince will come; Someday, I'll find my love; And the moment that he comes to me; I will hang him up the old apple tree...

I remember the first few times we met.  We were in the parallel bars and I asked her if she remembered who I was.  She told me no.  I told her: Well, Ms Rapalee. I'm the mayor of this town. Her eyes widened and looking all surprised she asked me: You're not.  I said: I am, really.  She replied: Wow! Then suddenly looking disinterested said: If you say so! Then, we both cracked up.
What I didn't realize is that she truly identified me as the mayor.  And she would talk to the nurses and other residents about meeting the mayor.  In the dining room, she would loudly introduce me to her table-mates as the mayor of the town much to my chagrin.  The name stuck though and some of them started calling me Mayor in jest.  I started calling her Grandma when she told me she will adopt me.  Apparently, she told a lot of people she will adopt them according to her family.  I've seen her daughter and granddaughter visit her several times a week.  Both of them were attractive older women who are about as sweet as Grandma.  One day while she was doing her therapy at the gym, they came to visit her.  Grandma insisted that they take her home immediately without delay.  They told her: But, Grandma, you're too old to go home. Nobody will stay at home with you all day. We work.  You're two hundred years old remember?  To which Grandma replied: Two hundred's not old.  It's not like I'm two-fifty!  I burst out laughing again right then and there.

Three weeks ago, the same former boss texted me to tell me that Grandma is back on caseload.  She had bowel obstruction and they picked her back up after hospital discharge.  Grandma remembered the Mayor and the therapist (my boss) who's seeing her as my step sister.  I told her to tell Grandma that I miss her a lot and she better get well soon.

Last Friday, she sent me a text again.  She told me Grandma was on a decline since last week and they finally sent her out to the hospital in the morning.  She told me, Grandma passed at the hospital.  It broke my heart.  Funny, how that same morning, I heard Somewhere Over the Rainbow being played on the piano by one of the residents.  I thought of Grandma then, just as I am thinking of her now.  It is amazing how God plans our lives.  There are some people who stay in your life for a long time and not leave a mark at all.  And yet there are some who pass for the briefest of moments and leave an indelible print in your being.

I will miss Grandma so very much.  And I thank God for giving me her for even just a short time.  I know who I want to be as a healer.  I know who I want to be when I grow old and gray.  She must be making all the angels laugh up there and making heaven an even happier place than it's ever been.  So I bid her adieu, until we meet again, somewhere over the rainbow.

Click and View please

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oL4lzKCYDEw&feature=youtu.be

Certified Nursing Assistants

Today, Fiona, my boss who's an OT, and I went to do an in service for a pt who was referred by nursing for transfer training using a sit-to-stand lift.  This patient uses a Hoyer lift for transfers, meaning he is completely dependent in the transfer.  In attendance were maybe five or six CNAs (certified nursing assistants) (in the Philippines, we refer to them as caregivers) to check out the transfer technique.  After showing them how to do it, we were greeted by a straightforward response from them:  Transferring the pt through the sit-to-stand lift is cumbersome, inefficient and very time consuming.  It is not plausible, they claim, to use it on him cause it will just take too much time and there also would be a safety concern when they try to use it.

I understand what they are getting to.  They have to see many patients at a time and using the technique that we just taught is gonna take a lot more time that using a Hoyer.  In a way, I feel for them.  CNAs do the dirty job that the nurses don't do.  They are at the bottom of the pt care hierarchy: an RN is usually the unit manager and then you have the LPNs (licensed practical nurses) and then you have the CNAs.  The CNAs literally do the dirty job: clean up the pt, bathe the pt, dress the pt, change soiled clothes, feed the pt, get pt up and back in bed when needed.  They also get a measly pay, maybe several dollars more per hour than minimum wage.  What they do is physically taxing and I would not wonder why they would entertain thoughts of using the Hoyer on my patient right now because it is faster and convenient.  However, I also would want my pt to get better and that means I need him to have more active participation during the transfer which the Hoyer could not offer.

It is disappointing and sad when sometimes patients tell me that they have clicked on the nurse's call bell cause they need to go to the bathroom and nobody shows up until thirty or forty-five minutes later.  By then, they have already soiled themselves or have slid down on their wheelchairs from exhaustion.  Because of repeated instances, some of them no longer use the call bell and instead attempt to transfer themselves to the bathroom which eventually leads to falls and fractures.  They put the blame on the hapless and helpless CNAs.   Yes, like in every profession, there are good ones and bad ones.  But then again, maybe one or two CNAs are assigned for maybe up to ten beds at one time.  It is possible that while a patient turned the call bell on, the assigned CNA was helping another patient in the bathroom too.  But still they get the blame if they don't get out there and assist as soon as possible.  

It is a sad reality.  But we cannot always give the best care we want for our patients.  And, though, I would still insist on recommending the use of the sit-to-stand machine for toilet transfers with that particular patient, for now I would take time and appreciate the CNAs who were present there today.  At least they told us face front: We're not sure if we are gonna use it often with him, but let us at least try.  So for now, here is a hats off to my seldom recognized teammates in health care: the certified nursing assistants. 

The Bourne Legacy

Last year, when I learned that a new Bourne movie was coming out but Matt Damon was no longer the lead role, I didn't really care much for it.  But eventually, I wanted to watch the movie because it was shot in Manila, capital of the Philippines.  On the day it was released, I checked out rottentomatoes.com to see if it fared well with them.  It got a rating of 55%, not a really rotten tomato but not a red juicy one either.  It means that this movie seemed mediocre at best.

I just got to watch the movie today, more than a couple weeks since it was released.  For me, at least, it didn't disappoint up until the end when the conclusion of the film just came crashing like a sack of potatoes without warning.  I understand that they have to leave the movie hanging to keep the audiences expecting a sequel, but I really did wanted to have them pen a better ending. The rest of the film, though, was fast-paced, well shot and has gotten its act together so I highly recommend it.  

The new lead roles played by Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz were played very well.  It wasn't flawless but they did very well.  They also had the chemistry to match it with.  I did not understand why some critics say that their relationship was not established well in the movie.  I think they were able to develop the relationship at a good pace and did not seem contrived at all.

My main concern about the movie is that the plot is neither cohesive nor is it novel.  It almost resembled the first three Bourne movies without a new twist into it.  In the former movies, the CIA went after the tagged-rogue agent Jason Bourne and eliminate him to shut Operation Treadstone down.  Jason Bourne escaped and caused collateral damage in his path to save himself, his lover/wife and fight back against the agency he formerly worked for while discovering his identity and trying to stay very low profile to keep the agency off his back.  In this new movie, all Bourne-like operatives have to be eliminated inorder for a new set of Bourne-like-without-the-emotional-connection-aka-drama operatives could be set in place.  Renner, of course, survives the assassination attempt, was able to discover that he had his genes mutated by a virus to have permanent physical enhancement (increased strength, reflexes etc) and with the help of Weisz, travel to Manila to have his genes mutated again-- this time to have permanent neurological enhancement ( increase nerve regeneration, sensation etc).  Now, the CIA is tracking them down, wanting to kill them but because they are the stars of the film and there is a need for a sequel (with sarcastic rolling of the eyeballs), they manage to get out of it all, kill the lone Bourne-like-without-the-drama operative and in the end were sailing smooth along the beautiful lagoons of the Hundred Islands (this I am not sure of).  ---okay, just now I've been told it is El Nido, Palawan :-)

In order to keep the movie sequel interesting, Renner should have a real meeting or even a collaboration with  the real Bourne, Matt Damon in the movie.  They called it the Bourne Legacy, but Damon didn't even make a cameo appearance in the film.  I don't think the franchise will survive without Matt Damon, the face of the Bourne franchise, in the film at all.  

The shots taken in Manila was surprisingly very good.  It really caught me off guard.  I was expecting a less than savory portrayal of the Philippines as a third world country.  The film, however, managed to showcase a picture of what Manila and the entire Philippines is all about.  It is about a nation who is rising from the clasp of poverty and is getting ready to take center stage as a booming economy that could no longer be taken for granted.  The film showed the high rise buildings along with the simple, old, tin-roofed apartments and they even have a shot of Renner losing his footing on one of those roofs.  (I was wondering at first how Renner could have run on top of those tin roofs without having one of those roofs crash down.  Well, one of them eventually did.)  The movie also showcased the people traffic along the overpasses of EDSA, which was also accurate especially if you pass there at rush hours.  The portrayal of a woman screaming magnanakaw (thief) when she discovered a stranger (Weisz) in her home is also accurate.  The same could not be said of the ensuing events that followed.  In reality, the policemen will be last to answer the call for magnanakaw and God-forbid by the time they get there, Weisz would've been beaten black and blue by the townspeople. Hahaha! It was good though, how the movie portrayed how industrious our factory workers are and even that pharmacy lady who opted to give out medicine for free to the foreigner.  That would surely have escaped the eyes of all movie-goers except the real Filipino patriots like muah.

All in all, I would rate the movie a 7.5/10.  The storyline was legit and I don't think the movie would have gotten fairly harsh criticism if only it wasn't compared to the original Bourne trilogy which is a classic.  It's like  nothing was ever as good or nearly as good as The Godfather trilogy until GoodFellas came along (and perhaps none since).  Furthermore, it was able to project my country in a new light, something full of hope this time not of despair.  It featured the Philippines and its people with vibrancy and dynamism, an economy that is growing and healthy and it did showcase the beauty of its islands for which it should be known for as it should be.  Kudos to the cast and crew of the film and I am looking forward to its next installment.

(P.S.  for the Pinoys who were in the film [I googled them, of course] we have Antonette Garcia as the landlady, John Arcilla as the security guard and comedian Lou Veloso as the fisherman/owner of the fishing boat).