poem

my last exam is on friday...hollah!!!! (no, I don't actually say that in real life) This semester has been in palliative care and loads of movies on death and dying in class....seriously my prof is not happy unless we leave class bawling...THEN, yes, THEN made us write a grief paper and pour out our grief story; we couldn't not do this assignment or else we would fail the course...we were given a mark for our grief....I am not going to express how I feel about that paper and my mark because doing so would require words I don't normally use...then to pour salt on the wound the prof said that upon reading and marking each paper the papers were then erased from memory, the reason being we would not be seen as our grief, as in, "Oh, your that paper..." So, once again, verbal diarhea sent out into the universe only to be stamped out and erased by someone who read it...we are taught that nursing is not taking on your patients problems, so she released my grief to nothingness...the profs would have us believe we have enough on our plates, we have stressful work loads and jobs, therefor, we do not take on others problems...ever...because (short version) if you do that you will get sick and die. but then I remember that Jesus said if they ask you to walk one mile, walk two. He took our griefs and nailed them to a tree...but he was there too. Realistically I am not Jesus, but nurses get sick and die all the time even when they don't carry patients grief...and somewhere in all this rambling I think I have come to the conclusion that so many people do share my grief, so if my load is light, maybe I can share some other peoples too....basically although class would have me believe that I can live longer living for myself....I hope I forget that part and go back to gradeschool when I learned how important it is...to share things.

this poem is called...you think your special cause you can make me cry for a whole two hour class???? Well your not, I can make myself cry at the drop of a hat...so there...
on monday while this week you start 
I lay here, waiting to depart
on plastic matresses and white sheets
and soft murmuring lulls me
till I can no longer think
or tuesday with a storm approaching
thunder shatters, lightning crashing
this angry orchestral company
echo's the battle inside me
drowning, underneath I sink
wednesday too, would be alright
just hold me in arms tight
rock me back and forth again
with my grandma's aphgan
comfort, my last link
thursday at home in my bed
visions dancing in my head
of every moment, sweet and dear
now I fly far from here
eternity, on the brink
by chance on friday, I might go,
but as to when, no one knows

the tune to their parting song
till we meet again, not long
to this promise, drink
saturday, underneath the sun
golden, through a day of fun
slipping down to softly rest
on the horizon going west
silence; in hazy pink
but if on sunday
my final watch you keep
sing me to sleep
sing me to sleep
sing me to sleep

maybe....

recently a brother of mine posted about social justice...and the fairness of God...he ended his post with fairness is ours to make...which really threw me...really. seriously threw me.

social justice being man made efforts to solve a God sized problem...I got that part...but the whole fairness is ours to make...was a HUGE jump for me...i mean i get social justice is flawed...he did have a lot of meat and good stuff in between the whole jump from social justice philosophy and fairness in ours to make. but it was the one-liner at the end....maybe i shouldn't get fixated on the non-meatier parts and go back a few paragraphs...

but fairness is ours to make...still thinkin about that one...

the soundtrack for the past few years

First year of nursing school when I was still trying to get in....well I went back to the 80's and early 90's...

Tina Turner
Whitney Houston
Mariah Carey
The Pointer Sisters
alittle Aha
Micheal Jackson
Weezer
Toto
Keith Green
and some 70's Simon and Garfunkle
and of course chicago...do not know why I love that group so much but literally chicago has always been something I will listen to....super ashamed. but yeah...release it....:)

Then in Second year I decided to get alittle more currant with some Adele, Killers, Brandon Flowers, The Fray and Snow Patrol, Mika, Robyn, Sonic Flood but still Chicago reared it's ugly head and all things glee oh and...alot of classical music....Rachmoninov and Debussy being some of my ultimate favorites but I do like Wagner, Liszt and Schubert too...but I really do like Rachmoninov....
I think at this point I thought I was getting smarter and could actually become a really amazing student...

Enter 3rd year...not a great year for grades...but a great year for much even musically....I discovered Ellie Goulding, and Bassment Jaxx has a remix for everything....ps when your writing papers and memorizing...you don't need alot of depth....just beat...so enter new favorite song Adele's cold shoulder remix....but for some reason during this time I had to go back...I had missed out on the whole U2 craze...but this was when I became an official U2 junkie...and CBC radio one...or is it two...well anyway I played it and listened to all the eclectic music it offered. Oh and Fun....on repeat....lots of repeat

And now...year four...I am not quite sure what I listen to anymore...but today I was feeling well...ragey...and well...on went the u2....Where the streets have no name....empty ragey thoughts of hate toward all things school...and now I am bawling...to end off with alittle soothing liszt so I can actually study and go to clinical ....not crying...why do I cry you may ask...because. thats my answer.

I want them to know...

I want them to know you take pride in keeping crazies out of your country. I want them to know you sometimes (well, actually really most of the time) enjoy inspiring a little fear in American's hearts every time they meet you. I want them to know you have a huge soft spot for anything family related, you have somehow finagled your wife to care for the dog you can't part with. I want them to know your the only person in my extended family who has stood up to my oldest sister and you have the African profile head to prove it! I want them to know you like vinyl records, and graphic novels and you coach your kids soccer teams. I want them to know you pray with your kids at bedtime and you eat something called rachlette. I want them to know this as they care for you not as a room number, type of cancer or gendered nameless person....but as you. the # 1 cuz.
But if they don't I know you. It won't change all these things that you are! and I also know you won't make it so easy for them next time they drive up from a down under shopping trip...oh no, a little pay back might be in store:)

words

the other day i was telling a doctor something and said the word peeing. apparently doctors don't understand what peeing is in relation to illness and in medical terminology one must say voiding. I was chastened and realized that when I talk to professionals I must use professional terminology, and then conversely, I have to make it understandable to my patients by using lay-terminology with them.

deep down inside me something rages when things like this happen.

I rage because I wonder if the medical profession really thinks they can distance themselves from illness and death by putting a new name to everything. dyspnea. don't say he can't breathe, say he is experiencing severe dyspnea.

I don't care how you should say it, just help me fix it.

but then I realize I am supposed to understand this new language to it's fullest extent so that I can see how things are happening in the body at a clinical level...and I grow from being ragey to terrified. because, soon they are going to set me free on some ward somewhere and tell me to be a professional....not simply study for a test, observe the real professionals or get someone to watch me do something so i don't mess up. No...in a few short months I will be it. I will be the one as they used to say ...way back...in the philippines...so here I am getting ready for my last rotation, the night before I start....freaking out about how I am probably going to talk about peeing and pooping instead of voiding and bowel movement...

A Magical Christmas

Once, a very long time ago, a little girl along with her Father, Mother and 2 sisters and brother arrived in a busy airport. Across the great room, through a glass door, stood a tall white haired gentleman who turned towards them with a gentle smile, "That's grandpa!" her Father told her. The little girl remembers being slightly awed by the distinguished looking man as he guided them through wintery streets to his home. Not just any house, it was a real, human sized gingerbread house with chocolates on walls and doors. Each new hallway was a candy surprise and the loveliest of women greated her with hugs and kisses. This woman was magical because although she was a grandma, she seemed about as old as a child. In the mornings this Grandmother would serve the whitest of buns with red jam that tasted like heaven and evenings were spent playing games and listening to Christmas choirs sing on the radio. One morning while getting ready for church the Grandmother was putting on lipstick and blush in the bathroom, and as the little girl watched her, she said with a twinkle, "Young girls like you don't need any help to be beautiful, but once your old you need more help to make you presentable". The end of each magical day with grandpa and grandma were always full of hugs and kisses goodnite and "I love you's" and "sweet dreams". The little girl couldn't wait for Christmas day to arrive.
One day, the little girl remembers being piled into a red car with new friends with big brown eyes and driving up a winding mountain to stay in such things as chateau's and visit castles. One evening there was skating and when everyone would gather in this large common room there was laughter and stories and more chocolate and a beautiful woman with silver hair. The little girl followed this woman into the kitchen, I believe she followed this woman around quite abit, and in the kitchen she watched the beautiful lady peal apples for apple pie. It was here she learned that apple skin was the healthiest part of an apple and was given as much as her little heart wanted while the beautiful lady created an apple pie. And when they finally celebrated Christmas the little girl was given a beautiful golden haired doll with a red knit jumper and white blouse. The little doll was the most beautiful doll she had ever seen, and the clothes were made by her grandmother, the little girl was quite sure that she had gotten the best gift that Christmas. For on Jesus birthday, and rememebering that Jesus came as a baby. The little girl was given a baby, and better yet, the baby could pee. This was a truly magical baby doll.  
The holiday continued and on a visit to her friends with the red car's house she discovered Bing Crosby, in the evening they, the two families and all the children, gathered to watch a movie which she promptly fell in love with, White Christmas. After many lovely memories the visit ended. And once again the little girl boarded a plane and flew far away from the gingerbread house. But, like every magical place, that Christmas is only a thought away, from the first moment when she spotten her grandpa turn with welcome to the stories of her father''s childhood, and the playpark down the street from where they stayed.
Epilogue
The little golden haired doll lived a rather hard live being dragged from continent to continent. Where upon being fed flour water in the tropics she developed a clog in her system and could no longer pee. However, because she was a magic doll, she remained alive long after she could no longer process any sort of food or fluids. And then one day, going the way of all toys, simply disappeared. magicly. 

prosaic

I was reading a news article in class and came across the term prosaic; the article was about the phone hacking scandle in England and how it brought down an empire but then adding after all the events which lead putting news media on trial...the truth was probably more procaic than all the sensational happenings that have come out of it.

Prosaic.

I looked it up. It means dull, ordinary.

One tiny little word changed the whole article.

Mostly I felt stupid cause I actually had no idea what prosaic meant, I luv the word prosaic. Saying it. It has such a pretty sound, like mosaic ( which is so not a dull word) and comes from the root prose...which, lets face it people...words have infinite possibilities to excite, calm, inspire, comfort, and what is prosaic about that!