Musings on a mosquito, the hospital & me
Having acquired the status of senior citizenry earlier in the year, there were a few illusions that I rationalized, cherished and held to be true. So stupid of me! One was that having never succumbed to dengue, I now had an “Immunity Pass” for the rest of my life reasoning that any selfrespecting Aedes mosquito would prefer young, fresh blood to impale their proboscis on — than to feast on such antique blood as mine.
Of course, that belief didn’t consider Denny G, the Aedes underachiever of the year. Denny is the mosquito who, under normal circumstances, would be the first one to get “fried” by those garden electrical gadgets or slam himself into the swatter. But for some no-good reason, on one particular October night, Denny decides he does like vintage blood and saddles me with an experience I would not wish on my worst enemy. The crazy thing about dengue is that modern medicine still has no real cure or protocol other than letting the fever take its course while one is on IV, and watching out for the more serious symptoms such as internal bleeding.
And that’s the cue for the local herbalist to nod sagely as they’ve been treating dengue ever since it raised its head on Philippine soil — in its most virulent hemorrhagic strain, after the Second World War. Extract of kamote tops or boiling the tawa- tawa weed are the Top 2 recommendations when it comes to actively fighting the fever. Also mentioned are the papaya leaves and quail eggs. I did go the route of kamote tops and it didn’t taste bad at all — like a blander version of sugar cane juice. Hopefully, it helped but it certainly wasn’t the miracle cure I was fervently praying it would be. The tawa- tawa was like bland salabat, so very easy to ingest. Papaya leaves are bitter. So on taste alone, I didn’t want to go back to that suggested remedy.
Hospitals operate on a system and that I’m sure have been well thought out by the doctors, administrators, the staff and so on down the line. But sometimes, I do wonder if patients form part of the process. In my experience of dengue, I was pummeled by constant diarrhea, sleepless and feverwracked nights and the instructions to take constant oral rehydration — leading to even more recurring visits to the bathroom. First, what is the rationale for doing the daily blood culture extraction at 3:45 a.m .? Are phlebotomists secretly vampires? As think about it, it would make for a perfect cover. And if you’re going to have me constantly running to the bathroom and having to wheel the IV stand each time, wouldn’t it have been wiser to just give me a receptacle I could pee into from the bed? Or at the least make the floor of the bedroom segue smoothly to that of the bathroom. Am weak, sleepy, tired and I have to raise the stand over the floor divider and the slight difference of floor levels? Believe me, after the third or fourth trip in a single night, you can add grumpy as a fourth adjective.
Saving the best for last, let’s talk about fecal analysis, a.k.a.s tool samples. I find it hard to fathom that with all the strides in modern medicine, science and technology, we can’t find a more efficient, even hygienic, system for producing the samples. Handing me a small container not much more than three fingers wide and a middle finger deep and I’m supposed to “shoot” my you- know-what into that opening had me searching for the right adjectives. They are the Great Equalizer though — as whether you be the reigning Miss Universe, the President of the United States or Bill Gates, when it’s time for that executive check- up and a stool sample is asked for, can’t imagine any of them asking for an aide/assistant to enter the bathroom with them to “assist!”
To the doctors, nurses and staff of St. Luke’s BGC, my heartfelt gratitude for making my stay as pleasant as possible, given the circumstances. You guys were great, but hope you’ll understand if I hope we don’t see each other in the foreseeable future.
Both Hawkins and Cook are first time novelists; while Zevin may be a dab hand, but known more for her work in the Young Adult genre, as well as a screenplay writer.
Uniformly, these books hold much promise, and deliver.
The Girl On the Train by Paula Hawkins (available at National Book Store) Executed in grand Hitchcock fashion, this novel may first remind the reader of such films as Rear Window, but Hawkins quickly dispels that and impresses by marking out her own territory of psychological crime thriller. I loved how she makes none of her main protagonists very attractive characters: one alcoholic, manic- depressive, rubbernecker ex- wife ( Rachel), one homewrecker, trophy/current wife (Anna), and one neighbor who’s practically a nymphomaniac with dark secrets of her own ( Megan). And we haven’t even begun on the men who populate this page- turner of a story. And in the final analysis, this is what draws the reader in—the wonderful pacing, the narrative structure that keeps us second- guessing, and brilliant execution.
An Exaggerated Murder by Josh Cook (available at Fully Booked) When the reclusive gazzilionaire Joyce mysteriously disappears at his own Joyce House; the mystery deepens as all the proficient and dedicated police detectives are pulled off the case, and it is left to brainiac PI Trike Augustine to pick up the pieces and solve the case. Ably assisted by Max, an exFBI agent, and Trike’s paramour, artist Lola; the novel has as much to do with character study as it has to do with the case itself. Like some hipster/geek detective yarn, Cook has created a memorable character in Trike. With a mind more like a sieve or computer, Trike goes into these fugues as he ransacks the “cabinets and files” of his mind to tease out the pertinent information he requires to assume super Sherlock Holmes powers. A very unusual type of mystery thriller.
The Storied Life of A.J.Fik ry by Gabriel le Zevin (available at National Book Store) Here is a novel that celebrates books and why we love them. Written like an old-fashioned story, it’s also a love story but one that eschews being overly sentimental or cliched. A. J. owns the only bookstore on Alice Island. A grumpy, misanthropic widower; when an unusual “package” is left in his store, this reawakens his “lust for life,” and what follows is a whirlwind tour of his “rich and storied” life. One enthralling aspect of the novel’s structure is how each chapter borrows its title from one of A. J.’s favorite short stories. They act as little lessons he is leaving his daughter, and they set the stage for particular chapters of his life. Delightful, one to bring both smiles and tears in good measure. This is one I can highly recommend!