Ravenous

Appetite returned.

It’s been days and the smile in his eyes returned. Throat was still raw, but the worst was over. Couldn’t breathe the days before. Chest congested. Coughing clear phlegm. Sneezing like a sprinkler. A half roll of toilet player lay next to his pillow. His floor littered with crumbled up snot swipes. 

Still, it was better.

His stomach ached from his strained breathing. Eyes watered less and his nose was raw red from his many exhales.  Air smelled better. Its been awhile. He hadn’t smelt a thing for days. Short blasts of abuterol gave moments of reprieve these long days. Couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t breathe. Gasping for air, his whole body was congested.

Slept in the bathroom for bits. The running shower acted as humidifier. Pelted by the streams from the shower head, it eased the achiness he felt. Like mini massager on his lactic acid filled body. Beads of water washed out soreness inside. Slept for an hour. First good sleep in days.

No more soup left. Chicken Noodle, Turkey and Rice. Tomato Cream to warm his inside. All were gone. Used them all up. In one minute, out the other in seconds. Medicine for the everyday. Hot tea with Lemon. Gargled salt water. Vicks vapor rub worn as perfume.

His hair still ached from the restless night. Strand this way, Curly cue that way.He was a yeti. It was a storm and he lost this fight. Found in the night by the alley cat searching for food, but finding his head instead. Not a pleasant sight, I’ll admit. Looking like something the cat dragged in, but changed his mind. Beat up, turned out, ripped to shreds. A roller coaster from a thousand feet up. This how he felt these last couple of nights.

Started with a scratch in the throat. Thought it was allergies at first, so he kept his bedroom window closed.  Thought it would subside, but it didn’t. Losing sleep made him less cognizant. Couldn’t think straight.  Thought it was the food. Nope, he began to ache and wanted to sleep. Laid down early that night. Woke up with an eruption in his pants.

No, he was lucky. He got to the bathroom in time.

Door shut.  Couldn’t reach the light and make to seat. He chose to sit instead in the dark. Its probably best. Didn't quite hit the target, not unless you count lid.

Judy yelped. Awaken from her sleep. The manicured mutt was startled by horrible noise in the bathroom. A coughing and a scream.  Judy just put her head down and closed her eyes. The canine thought to herself, one orifice at a time. Humans, don’t they know they will pop a blood vessel.  The coughing and screaming continued, but Judy was fast asleep.

Its over now. 

Fever broke and his appetite returned. Good thing, the smell was getting bad. Not that he could tell. It was the way family’s eye winced. It was how Judy refused to “Come.” It was the way his eyes watered when nothing made him sad. Its appetite time and time to shower. Fever has broke, let the new day begin.

Just after the shower, though.

Marriage By ROSELYN NADONZA

Re-posted from Facebook.

WRITTEN BY MS ROSELYN NADONZA

To those who are married, .. Not married .. and soon to be married, I hope you will be touched with this story...
 
MARRIAGE
When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I've got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes. Suddenly I didn't know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce.. I raised the topic calmly. 

She didn't seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why? I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn't talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Dew.

I didn't love her anymore. I just pitied her! With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company. She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Dew so dearly. 

Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now. The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn't have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Dew. When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again. 

In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn't want anything from me, but needed a month's notice before the divorce. She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month's time and she didn't want to disrupt him with our broken marriage. This was agreeable to me. 

But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day. She requested that everyday for the month's duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door ever morning.. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request. 

I told Dew about my wife's divorce conditions.. . She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully.. My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mummy in his arms. 

His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don't tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office. On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn't looked at this woman carefully for a long time.. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.





On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me. On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn't tell Dew about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger. 




She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily. Suddenly it hit me... she had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her head. 

Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it's time to carry mum out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day. But her much lighter weight made me sad. 



On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, I hadn't noticed that our life lacked intimacy. I drove to office.... jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind...I walked upstairs. Dew opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Dew, I do not want the divorce anymore. She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead.. Do you have a fever? She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry, Dew, I said, I won't divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn't value the details of our lives, not because we didn't love each other any more. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart. 

Dew seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away. At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I'll carry you out every morning until death do us apart. 

That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run up stairs, only to find my wife in the bed - dead. 

The small details of your lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property, the money in the bank. These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse's friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy. Do you have a real happy marriage! If you don't share this, nothing will happen to you. If you do, you just might save a marriage. Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up

THANK YOU ROSELYN NADONZA

Hospitals: Today's Battlefield, Today's Front Line. Its Where Angels Roam

Every Day, Every Night--The Good Fight Dropped Mom at the hospital again. She goes almost every single day. Every day, life and death. Day in, day out. Taxing to the Body. Taxing to the Soul. Taxing to see so much struggle. A lifetime of healthy living, going to the gym religiously, eating well. Unexpectedly and all of sudden. Person is struck down by a stupid car accident. Or going to the hospital could be the result of a lifetime of bad habits. Smoking 2 packs a day, a diet of fat, greasy food, a regimen of lying on the couch, years in front of the boob tube watching other people live life.

Grew up in a hospital Its a second home. Mom's a nurse. Most of my aunts are LVNs and RNs. Uncle Juhn and Uncle Torney are in database. Uncle Alex works Presybyterian Memorial. Uncle Ruth is Engineering at Kaiser, Panorama. Aunty Dely is in Lab. Aunty Myrna worked in the cafeteria. Aunty Ellen and Aunty Cello are in business services. Uncle Alvin is Respiratory Tech. Cousin Jason and Russel's girl are both in RT school now. Leilani is at USC for Occupational Therapy. Ron Mitchell's in X-ray Tech. (Picture of Ron Mitchell and Rochelle Below) Going to the hospital is like going home. All my family members are there.

As a child, I'd roam around the hospital, running here and there. Road the elevators to the different floors. NICU. Lab. Med Surge. Each time the doors opened it was like changing channels on the TV. Each floor had a different show. ICU/ CCU, slow and somber. People stood around so quiet. NICU--Families crying and smiling. ER--fast and exciting. X-ray has secret doors that hid the cool humming sound. Lab--test tubes and microscopes. Morgue, I see dead people. Ate in the cafeteria since the food was free. Learned how to use the computer in database. The hospital was my second home. Always felt comfortable here.

I Hate Hospitals
That all changed. Rochelle got sick. She had stomach cancer. Hospital was not so fun. Seeing my cousin not getting better. Getting worse. Not so much fun. She was dying and I was . . . crying. Losing a playmate. Seeing her plugged up to the ventilator. Canulas in her nose. Tubes in her wrist. IV bag drip. Hearing the respirator breathe for her. Watching the heart rate monitor flash numbers. Systolic, 100. Diastolic, 60. Respiration, 50. Its like watching the stock market. The Flash of P Wave. QRS Wave. T Wave scroll across the screen. Those are the squiggly lines telling us that her heart's still beating. We're waiting for some sign, something miraculous. Hoping, she would magically be better. Rochelle would pop out of the bed to come play with us. C'mon, Rochelle, lets play. Lets go run around the halls. Go to the cafeteria and get our favorite green jello Aunty Myrna made. Take the elevator rides.

Her funeral has come and gone. But we're in the hospital again. Tatay is sick. Years of smoking caught up. Cancer, again. Lung this time. Here we go again. More tubes. More drugs. More time at the stupid hospital. Tatay passed, too. He's buried next to Rochelle. I hate the hospital. Never want to go back.

Got a call. Back to the hospital. Mike, my half-brother. A brother I did not know until a few months ago. The stranger stopped by a few months back. I was angry. I was jealous. I was stupid. Did not know that Dad had another family before us. A truck, 16-wheeler made a wide left. Apparently, the driver did not see Mike while making the turn. Dirt got in his brain. Looking down the Hospital hall. Dad, he's sitting down. Face buried in his hands. His body convulses. My father's sobs echo down the hallway. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Why?" That's all I hear. Another funeral. Another burial. Cemetary, again. More people dressed in black crying. Losing another loved one. Fucking Hospital. I hate this place.

God, Stop. Hospital Bad. I get the point.

Wait, there's more, God answers back. Pushed off a slide. Broke my arm. Damn, hospital. Knelled on glass table. Stitches for my knee. Can't go swimming. Hospital. Got to get shots, hospital. Cousin Edwards on the third floor, appendix removed. Hospital. Dislocated elbow. Patient in next bed keeps talking about yellow spots everywhere. A mere hospital curtain between us. I hear the clanking of the police hand cuffs. Drug overdose. Every one sick and hurt are at the hospital. I don't want to go. So much pain. So much misery. So much. Too much for me. I hate hospitals.

I need a party. Hospital party, well, I guess so. All family friends and co-workers are from the hospital. Their kids I can play with. That's not so bad. Played volleyball. Game winning spike. Gift shop is okay. Doctors and nurses are alright, I guess. Security guards say Hi. Ambulances with the blaring sirens and flashing lights are cool. Hospital green jello is my favorite. I still don't love the hospitals like I used to.

Code. . .Huh?
Time passes. Took mom to the hospital, Again. LCH. Lancaster Community Hospital. 6 in the morning. Pick her up at 7:30 at night. Used to drop her off at 7 at night, then pick her up 7 in the morning. No more graveyard shifts. She's got to watch her Dancing with the Stars. 8 pm it starts. She walks in. Automatic doors open. Says "Bye" to the nurses leaving. Stethoscope around her neck and lunch bag in hand. She walks into the battlefield. She goes into the struggle where life and death happen every single day. As the door open, over the speaker. "Code: Blue. Code: Blue. Code: Blue." It means, everyone get ready.

Code Blue: Heart attack patient coming in. Code Red: Fire. Code Green: Combative person using physical force. Code Brown. defecating person. Code Amber: Child Abduction. Code Pink: Infant Abduction. (Sometimes, its nurse being harassed by doctor. Keep this on the down low, not a very pleasant occurrence) Code Grey: Combative person no weapon. Code Orange: Show of force. Code Yellow: Missing patient. Code Rainbow: Riot.

Angels Roam the Hospital
My mom is one of them. She battles every single day. She works in CCU. Her patients are the terminally ill, post op from heart surgery, Swine flu, isolation. 500 lb morbidly obese that need 6 nurses to roll over. Stabbed inmates. Failed suicide attempts. Car accidents in full body casts. Psych patients that did not take their meds.

Mom guards her patients from the Grim Reaper. She also welcomes and introduces them to Death. Ravages and pains of cancer riddles the young and old. Like Rochelle. Like Tatay. Or accident cases. Like Mike. Like Andreas, my neighbor's son. She has a cordial relationship with Death. There is a Hate/ Not-so-much Hate with Death. Its just the way it is. She goes on with her business. Like every female Filipino, its her calling. Nursing. She liked the white uniform. She wears blue scrubs these days.

Mom gives the patients meds. She checks IV bags and life monitors. Gives her reports. Replaces dressing. She reviews student nurses work. She problems solves. For two shifts, nurses were wondering why there was no stool in plastic bag. Patient report read symptom, diarrhea. Last night, mom scolded the male student nurse. She asked why the tube is not in the patient's anus. Its in the other orifice. She sternly asks if he knows the difference. (She's laughing on the inside) They insert the tube in the correct hole. 700 cc. Jackpot. Its a gusher. NICE. Yuck.

Kaiser, I Hope
I've decided. I will work in the hospital, too. Not because I want to wipe, I don't. As a Pharmacy Tech, I hope. You see, the hospital is my second home. I grew up here. Good memories and bad experiences. And everything in the middle. I'd like to see more angels before I go to heaven. Haven't seen too many Angels lately. Seeing Angels makes me believe in a higher source. Anyways, here she comes. Dancing with the Stars starts in 30 minutes. Tom Delay broke his foot. He's out. Leaving for the hospital. Maya is not bad. Kathy Ireland is stiff. Who is going to get eliminated? Yes, I know the the car is too cold. I will roll up the window, mom. Got to get her home. Her show starts in 15 minutes.