From Hannah Goldfield's piece, Rice Is Both Culture and Comfort at FieldTrip, in The New Yorker. Most people in the house think it's not a proper meal if there's no rice on the table; it's merienda.
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
Monday, September 21, 2020
Before and after
Spent the morning writing the draft of a book chapter I've been commissioned to do. The first draft is done. Glad it's over. I'll update you what happens next.
Here's a quote from Margaret McCartney's Medicine: before COVID-19, and after, published in The Lancet.
Sunday, September 20, 2020
Stress and passion
The Science Advances editorial, "Medical education in the time of COVID-19," ends with a quote from Simon Sinek.
Mema lang po.
Working hard for something we don’t care about is called stress, while working hard for something we love is called passion.I would say: Looking good while working hard is called fashion.
Mema lang po.
Saturday, September 19, 2020
Happy birthday, Rac!
Service Six. From right: myself, Racquel Bruno, Josh Abejero (back), Julie Gabat, Raymond Lozada (back), Amy Lopez, Jing Lagrada, Bea Eusebio (back), and Mia Licyayo. (Related: my first month of internal medicine residency).
My dear friend, Racquel Bruno, celebrates her birthday today. I have so many things to say about her: her brilliance, kindness, grit, and strength of character. But what people don't know is that, at some point, she and I were champions in the Department of Medicine table tennis doubles. We won because our opponents' smashes almost always landed outside the table. We looked on like passive observers, while the points were credited to us.
She is now an internist and endocrinologist practicing in Iligan City. She was a vital presence in my residency training experience at PGH. This photo was taken at Ward 3 (now converted into a COVID-19 ward) with our senior, Madam Julie Gabat, whose mentorship was instructive and life-changing. Josh Abejero, the January rotator, is now a neurologist based in Cebu City. Seated on the bench were our amazing interns: Amy, Jing, Bea, and Mia. Raymond (who was my med school classmate), was standing behind.
I miss you, Rac!
Beautiful diligence
Tim Challies reflects on the duty of diligence in the Christian life (1 Thessalonians 4).
Under this heading of “diligence,” [Paul] tells the Thessalonians to live quietly, to mind their own business, and to work with their hands. When he tells them to live quietly, he means for them to be content to be unknown and unnoticed, to make it their ambition to be free from worldly ambition. They are to be content with their lot and to know that this contented diligence is how they can best honor God. When Paul tells them to mind their own business, he means for them to focus on their own work and to avoid being busybodies. And when he tells them to work with their own hands, he means for them to carry on in their work, even (or especially) if that work involves manual labor. He could call them to all of this because their work had intrinsic value simply because it was their calling—their God-given vocation.
Friday, September 18, 2020
Where empathy fails
Sandro Galea's Art of Medicine piece in The Lancet (Compassion in a time of COVID-19):
And yet, it is worth reflecting on the extent to which our response to the COVID-19 pandemic has been informed by an understanding that we are all in this together, that the virus does not discriminate, and that as a result it benefits us all to comply with physical distancing guidelines to protect others and ourselves. Our empathy, our capacity to envision that we too could be affected, has been a powerful tool in the public health arsenal. But, in large part, it is hard not to notice that our empathy is informed here, as it often is, by an appreciation of our own personal risk. We feel regret and feel terrible about those who are suffering, in no small part because we can imagine that suffering being our own.Just when you think it's going to be one of those corny essays laced with motherhood statements, Galea jolts you:
But is it true that this suffering is our own? Is it true that COVID-19 does not discriminate?He unpacks his reply:
It turns out that COVID-19 does discriminate, and that those who are already vulnerable—for example, the unstably housed, people on low income, those with poorer education, and individuals with less access to reliable nutritious food—are more likely to both become infected with the virus and die from COVID-19.
And this is where empathy fails.His solution is not merely empathy but compassion.
This calls ultimately for compassion as the animating force behind our thinking about health, and our thinking about how we go about informing the decisions we make to contain a novel threat like COVID-19. Compassion extends beyond empathy. It does not motivate our action because we too may be harmed. Compassion motivates action because the phenomena we observe are unjust, not worthy of the world we would like to live in. Martin Luther King Jr spoke often of compassion, enjoining us to see that compassion ultimately motivates not to “[fling] a coin to a beggar” but to “see that the edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring”. Compassion pushes us to understand how we have structured the world, and to ask how we can structure it better, not because we may suffer but because others are suffering and that is not how the world should be.
In the final paragraphs, Galea reimagines a different, more compassionate world. It is an honest and refreshing perspective, massively different from the toxic self-absorbed rants on Twitter. I encourage you to read it.
Thursday, September 17, 2020
Growing at the ends of the earth
Early morning treat: At the Ends of the Earth by Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from the German by Kurt Beals.
There is nothing better for a child than to grow up at the ends of the earth. There’s not much traffic there, so the asphalt is free for roller-skating, and parents don’t have to worry about any bad guys roaming around. What business would a bad guy have on a dead-end street?
I often look out the street where I used to play games with the kids. It used to be a dirt road. Ours was an unassuming, working class neighborhood, in a quiet and almost unheard-of part of the country. So much has changed since I left to study in Manila. But kids, I'm happy to say, often roam around, usually in the afternoons, perhaps after their online classes. As I was reading a book in the porch, hidden by the overgrowth of white bougainvillea that has remained untrimmed since the pandemic, I overheard a conversation between friends, "Siguro marami kang jowa, 'no?"
Wednesday, September 16, 2020
A poem is a meeting-starter
How Poetry Shakes Up the National Desk’s Morning Meetings by Marc Lacey of the New York Times.
When the National desk gets together to discuss stories, it can be a grim half-hour. We dissect natural disasters. We reconstruct mass shootings. We delve into political scandals and all manner of domestic tumult. Recently, though, we added a new feature to our morning meetings aimed at inspiring us and boosting our creativity before we embark on another long day of editing the news.We read a poem.
I don't have morning meetings today, but I treated myself to poetry, anyway. It's a poem written by my dear Kuya John D. called "Bundeena" in 2019.
The southern beaches are quiet
Their shores unruffled
The sea breeze is thick with the muffled sound
Of the scattered rippling of waves
And the chirping of birds
Of random unfamiliar muted chatters in Mandarin and French
And the solid staccatic barking of the moneyed's white boat engines --
I did a little bushwalking, too
Passing thru 2000 year-old aboriginal arts engraved in stones
Finally stopping by Jibbon Beach
Laid down my handwoven mat
Pressed my left ear to the ground
As I slowly walked my fingers to the sand
Holding a pinch and forming circles
Until the crystals fall off
Shifting my head to the sky
Squinting my left eye
Followed by the closing of the right
The vastness of the curved blue sky
Consumed by the pitch blackness
Of a quiet sleep
By the beach.
The nearest beach (the peaceful coasts of Sarangani and General Santos) is at least an hour away from Marbel. I think of beaches as places to nap.
Tuesday, September 15, 2020
On medical humanities
In my background research for a book chapter I'm contributing to, I came across Dr. Salvatore Mangione's editorial, The stethoscope as a metaphor. He argues that "the link between humanities and the bedside remains crucial."
The stethoscope is too closely bound with the doctor’s image not to be a metaphor for something larger. To me, it’s a metaphor for medicine as both an art and a science, wherein the humanities are—and of right ought to be—a fundamental part of the education. Hence, if we want to rekindle the bedside, we must rekindle the humanities. After all, this is what both Lewis Thomas and Sherwin Nuland have urged us to do. My hunch is that this would need to be done sooner rather than later, because if it is possible to make a scientist out of a humanist (it was done for centuries), it might be considerably harder to make a humanist out of a scientist. The experience of the past few decades seems to support this conclusion.
The alternative is a future full of tricorders and technicians, but sorely lacking in healers.
Stethoscopes are crucial to my practice. I remember my Littman II (med school to residency) and my lost Littman III (residency to fellowship). I celebrate my new Littman III, which arrived in August.
But I can say the same thing about books and stories; they make me a better doctor.
Monday, September 14, 2020
Happy doctors
Ink: Waterman Black. Pen: Pilot Custom 823 broad nib that glides in bliss. Paper: Advance Yellow Ruled Pad. This is a quote from an interview with Dr. Abraham Verghesse, whose novel, "Cutting for Stone," transported me to Addis Ababa and New York City.
Sunday, September 13, 2020
Life otherwise
Trisha explores the evolving concepts of home and ambition in her essay, My Life Otherwise. Her blog, TM Chronicles, takes you all over the world, including her home. The photographs are delightful.
There was a time in my youth when my hopes for the future were uncomplicated. My world chiefly revolved around my hometown and the towns and cities in its vicinity. I never imagined leaving Marbel for good, much less leave the country altogether. Marbel did not become a city until the turn of the millenium so I figured I would at least go to the next big city for college. I had a perfectly crafted vision in my head of how I would go to the Ateneo de Davao to study accountancy because my grandparents always said accountants make good money and I was better in math than in the sciences anyway. My friends whose dreams more or less resembled mine would also go to Davao for college. We would rent an apartment together because we thought the fun shouldn’t have to end in high school. The idea made us gleam with excitement. Our first real taste of freedom and escape from the invisible leash our parents had us on. Though to be fair, we were always accorded some liberty on account of our being responsible star-section kids. I’d like to think we gave our (grand)parents a fairly easy time. Manila was out of the question. We didn’t have family there, it was too far and my retired grandparents couldn’t really afford it with their modest farming income. Of course, it would come to me later that it really does take a village to raise a child.Ateneo de Davao was an option for me; its proximity was an advantage. Another school was West Visayas State University. Tuition was affordable. If I wanted to become a doctor, I could get a BS Biology degree and study medicine there. It was well within our means. Friends would later tell me they knew of Catedrals from that city—doctors and classmates and friends-of-friends—but I hardly know any distant relations from Panay. Manila was almost out of the question. Like Trisha, I had no relatives in the capital.
Manong paved the way two years ahead of me, so I had my life planned out. He got into UP Diliman, whose tuition our parents could at least afford. Ateneo and La Salle were out of the question; they were too expensive. In those days, one semester in UP cost about 5000–6000 pesos.
Tatay and Nanay didn't have a leash on us—they just let us pursue our dreams. And the Lord so graciously provided. We never lacked any good thing (Psalm 34:10).
Saturday, September 12, 2020
Handwriting practice
I'm surprised that the cheap Advance yellow paper accommodates fountain pen ink well.
Friday, September 11, 2020
Pathography: second night
Second session of Pathography. Five pieces of creative non-fiction up for discussion—so much humanity and compassion in those pages. Learned so much from the crowd. Felt close to the participants despite the distance: ah, the wonders of technology. These meetings: my kind of Friday night fun. Professor Marj and Dr. Joti made insightful comments—so many aha moments for me, the first-time panelist. The thrill of literature is its intricacy. So many layers to unpack, analyze, interrogate, but beneath all the scholarly criticism is the childlike enjoyment for the written word. What a blessing!
Thursday, September 10, 2020
Fog
Anna A.'s essay, which we discussed in the first session of Pathography, used fog as a literary tool. I remember her work after seeing these images from an old Japanese tourist spot.
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
Happy birthday to our Chief!
Rich King (his real name) celebrates his birthday today. Rich was our chief fellow during medical oncology fellowship. Through the years, I've known him to be a kind, energetic, and smart man who prioritized our interests more than his own. I admire him greatly: he is a prolific researcher, a terrific and compassionate physician, an organized administrator, and a loyal friend. What others might not know about him is that he walks out of the room when it gets noisy; incessant babbling disorients him. When I sit beside him, I restrain myself from talking. When I do, he often starts the conversation. I often reply by praising his flat abs. That gets him in a laughing fit. Such scenes defined our mornings at the Onco Clinic.
Rich at ESMO Asia 2019 in Singapore.
Trapped in heavy rain, Rich sits on a bench. We were on our way to a fountain pen store in Singapore. In that trip, he'd treat himself to a TWSBI Eco.
In one of his most energetic lectures in a graduate classroom. He opens with a spiel about Miss Universe.
Tuesday, September 8, 2020
Monday, September 7, 2020
MCMMO
Yesterday was UP Manila's first online university grad. I streamed the ceremony on YouTube. My congratulations to all graduates, especially to my med onco buddies! (Screencast credits: Rich)
Missing the rowdy clinics and this stress-free company.
Karen 
Rich 
Freddie 
Raj 
Myself (misspelled last name—mukhang nag-autocorrect) 
(Photo credit: Raj)
Sunday, September 6, 2020
Evensong
Listening to Evensong: A Collection of Hymns and Lullabies at Close of Day, the newest album of Keith and Kristy Getty.
Kristyn Getty says, “These are lullabies and hymns we have sung to and for our four daughters. Singing God’s truth into both the more quiet and vulnerable moments of the day has been a centerpiece of raising our own kids. I know I need true words spoken into my heart and mind to help de-clutter all that presses in upon me from day to day. I hope these songs help people dwell on the Lord and His promises; to release a burdened mind, to calm a restless heart and point us towards real peace in Christ.”
“The Bible has long encouraged believers through the ages to sanctify the night to the Lord,” Keith Getty says. “And the church’s ancient tradition called “evensong” is for spending time before the Lord in prayers and songs at the end of the day. The album is in some ways an echo of that tradition; the songs and the album were born out of the thoughts and conversations, the prayers and songs that fill our home, particularly when the sun goes down.”
Praise be to God for these modern-day Psalmists! You can stream the songs in these channels.
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