moving on

Absentmindedly, I pressed the unlock button on my phone and looked at the time.

5:30 am

Like a wave taking me back to the shores of reality, I jumped out of my bed….literally.

My flight was at 6:45 am and It’s outrageous that I’m still in my pajamas. My thoughts raced. Where the hell was Boston? She said she was going to pick me up at 4am since we were booked on the same flight. I checked my phone again—there was a message from Boston saying that she was on the way.

I have never been this late for a flight ever in my entire life.

I shouldn’t have stayed up last night, packing my books in a Balikbayan box for shipping to Manila. I was exhausted to a pulp yesterday—-spent the whole day meeting friends and buying stuff  to bring. I had lunch at a restaurant overlooking Iloilo river while having the weirdest conversation with a friend. Dropped by  Bacchus to buy Gudam Garang Cigarettes for a friend who was desperately asking me to buy her those lights because she can’t find them in the metro. The lady at the counter gave me a weird look when I asked for 5 packs which she fished under the counter. I capped the day with dinner at Ramboy’s, the home of the best liempo in Iloilo City, with my brother and Lala. I did last minute packing until 2am then fell into deep slumber, surrendering to exhaustion. The only smart thing I did was take a bath before I dozed off, I was probably predicting this worst case scenario.

I squirmed into my jeans and shirt, woke my brother up and subsequently heard Boston sounding her horn at the gate. I hauled my backpack over my shoulder and picked up another duffel bag. I gave my brother a quick hug and jumped into Boston’s car.I looked at her  and laughed…she was also running a comb through her hair while I was putting on my socks as her brother zoomed to the airport like a jet. When we arrived, the airport clock read 5:45am, which simply means we were still following the airline rule that check-in should be done at least one hour before the flight.

Saved again.

Boston and I are on another journey together.

Hello Manila, our old friend.

We are going on voluntary house arrest somewhere in QC together with some of our batch mates in medical school…a place where we can burn our brains out studying for the Physicians’ Licensure Exam on February 2010.

It’s the biggest exam of our lives.

While the plane was speeding out of the runway I gripped  the arm rest—a habit during take off since I was 4.I told Boston, who gave up her window seat for me, that once I pass this exam  I can finally do what I want  in my life.

She smiled, she knows exactly what I mean.

Intern no more

She looks up the sky  and squints at the blazing sun. Every time she walks to the hospital her eyes are on the blue sky because it makes her happy. She rarely looks at the ground.

She lifts her chin  and smiles. A thought crosses her mind—she still remembers  how broken she was last year. The pain of last year  lingers but it does not  make her cold. It’s just a memory, stored in the library of her mind, gathering dust until its existence is forgotten. The intern is whole again.

“Good morning Doc”

She smiles and salutes the guards at the gate. They wave her off as she stops for thermal scanning. She laughs and asks for her temperature using their digital bling bling which they point at her forehead.  “Doc, 36.5 a”.

She will miss them…the Manong guards who let her pass through without scanning her temperature, recognize her even if she fails to wear her coat and returns her salute all the time no matter how sloppy  her execution is. They even allow her to  pass through the exit gate when it’s too hot to cross to the entrance.

She does another salute as she passes the guard at the lobby.

Passing through the long corridor  she walks briskly  in the direction of the Female Quarters. Her gaze flickers and her heart pounds as she sees him  going in the opposite direction. They pass by each other like strangers. She looks down  and increases her pace. Two months ago, she would have smiled and he would give her that boyish grin  or they would both stop and chat. They were once friends and now  they seem  invisible to each other. This is what makes leaving hard for her—a broken friendship. Everything  about internship would have been perfect but that one event changed the experience.

She trembles as she punches the 4-digit combination to the Female Doctor’s Quarters. She silently curses how she has let him affect her this way. Distracted, she plops on her salmon pink sheets and kicks off her shoes. Stacks of books occupy the foot of her bed with her yellow-green scrubs on top of the pile. A unused broom rests on the wall across her—it’s made from a different material—it was a gift from a patient when she was on OB-GYNE rotation. She smiles. It’s an unusual gift but it was made from the crafting hands of her patient. She is a broom-maker and she gave one away for her because she assisted at the OR when she had her hysterectomy.

She dons her white coat and heads to the Internal Medicine Department Office.

“Wow, Avs last day mo na, congrats!”

“Libre, libre!”

” When ang shifting party?”

She laughs but her heart is sinking.

She just wants to be an intern.

Then the prophecy of medicine  dictates that she has to go up a notch higher than her  totem pole level.

Tomorrow she will no longer be The Intern.She will be a bum…waiting to take the board exams.

Tomorrow she will turn a year older.

It’s a double turning point.

Post-graduate Internship has come full-circle.

Nobody understands better what this year has meant for her except for  her friend Boston.

As it comes to an end, she concludes that this was one of the best years of her life—-losing and finding her self once more in this chaotic public hospital.

In this hospital she has learned to love medicine once again—after a bitter clerkship year at the University Hospital she finds out that there are better places where respect is gained and earned, where things are done better .

This is the place to be.

WVMC is home. The Intern belongs here. …but for now she has to go.

It has been a long year.

Everything has been worth it.

The Intern is happy.

The Intern is signing off…:-)

shattered

Someone asked my yesterday: “Affected ka?”

I raised an eyebrow.

Two weeks ago, I was at the ER transferring blood from a syringe to a tube when my phone rang. It was one of the IM residents telling me that my presence was requested at the Morbidity and Mortality Conference of the Department of Surgery. The conference was about a case of a patient who was initially seen by the Internal Medicine Department. I was the intern who followed up the patient at the ER.  After 24 hours he was admitted by the Department of Surgery as a case of ruptured appendicitis.The patient had cardiac arrest at the OR table before the appendectomy  even started. He died after 12 hours.

I wanted the ground to swallow me right there. I know what it is about and why I am called to be there. I floated through the hospital lobby, feeling cold and heavy inside. I opened the white wooden door to the Director’s  conference room where approximately 50 people stared at me as I stood in front  —-residents and consultants from Surgery, Anesthesia and Internal Medicine.

One of the surgeons in front waved a paper—-  an ER chart with my penmanship.

It was a pseudo court interrogation. Geez,even an intern is not spared from a medical audit.

“Doctor, when you wrote the order  in the chart to refer  the patient to the Department of Surgery where did you take the chart?”

I left  it at the nurses at the station. (It’s ER protocol at the hospital that nurses are responsible for  inter-departmental ER referrals)

“So, you did not give it directly to a surgical resident?”

No.

“How about the 2nd time you wrote in the chart to refer the patient to surgery, did you refer directly to a surgical resident?”

Your face flashed in my head. Our conversations—both medical and personal rushed in my head. I wished there was some way you  can read my mind. If I tell the truth, I know that I you will never look or speak to  me the same way again. This will change everything. I have no choice. I’m doing what any intern would have done.

Yes, I referred to a surgical resident.

“Can you tell us or point to us the surgical resident that you referred the case to?”

I searched the room and I knew you were not there.

I can feel my heart sinking as I said your name.

I wish you knew how hard it was to say your name.I cannot lie. I was called to speak as an intern and not your friend. I wish I could not have been both to make things easier.

Then you entered the room. You were asked to face me.

” Did you receive a referral from this  internal medicine intern about this patient?”

Here comes your verbal slap on my face.

“No doctor”

“So you deny that you had a conversation with her about this patient while you were  on-duty?”

“We never had a conversation about this patient that night.”

So here we are, face to face and contradicting each others’ statements . Funny, last night we were supposed to have dinner together and talked about meeting today so I can fix your laptop’s media player.

Here we are face to face, glaring at each other.

I am shattered.

The price for telling the truth is a broken friendship.

It’s a  sick irony.

Vague thoughts of the Internal Medicine Intern

It’s been 1 month and 16 days of being the Internal Medicine intern. This is my last rotation. I have 15 days left as an intern and I’m graduating from post-graduate intern status.

Last year the end seemed like a long view.

I wish I could just breeze through my last 2 months but the past 46 days have been intense, really intense.

I wish it was just simply about work, but then it has been more of an emotional than an intellectual experience.

I’ve been trying to write about it but I always end up blank. I’m pained by the experience because it has changed something that has kept me happy for the past 3 months. I’ve decided to move on today and maybe soon it will be easier to write about it.

The rotation in IM has been exciting though, I’m actually being brainwashed by the residents to consider Internal Medicine for residency. Still, my heart belongs to Ophthalmology.

I was forced to go on sick leave for 2 days last weekend because of  rubella a.k.a german measles. Had this awful rash that spread from the face to the trunk and marched down to my legs and feet. My posterior auricular and occipital lymph nodes were painful—classic findings in German measles.

I’m well now. Clinically well, emotionally broken

The Wedding :-)

My horoscope on July 18,2009 read:

Scorpio: Unexpected opportunities to travel or take a course or further your education can come your way today. Grab whatever presents itself.

The prediction is late. I am reading that off a newspaper at  78,000 feet above the ground and 13 nautical miles away from Manila in an Airbus, alternating between reading and watching dusk roll outside from my window seat.

The opportunity to travel presented itself 2 weeks ago. My phone burst into a Nokia tune while I was at the Trauma Room admitting patients and my friend’s unmistakable giggle blasted through the  receiver. She is getting married and I can’t miss that.  I wanted to say yes right there but like an obedient “minor” who is still under the tutelage of her parents,  I told her I’ll ask my dad first. At 26 and an M.D. after my name I still seek consent because an Intern is not paid in this country.

My parents are too nice to say N-O. For historical reasons they know that I can’t miss this wedding.

Aside from witnessing Dha tie the knot, the next best thing was meeting  my  FLCD classmates in college after a very long time

The Surgery Intern

It’s my first day.

Status: On-call

Post: Out-patient clinic and minor OR

Number of patients seen and examined: 21

Number of foley catheter insertions: 5

The best part of this day (which spelled a good start) : My resident allowed me to do a circumcision of a 19 year-old boy who is now a man haha

That’s just day 1. I’m revving up myself  for the upcoming action in surgery.

I still have 59 days more to go.

For now, dreamland awaits

Keep Moving Forward

I love rainy days but I hate thunderstorms. My trip to a café with reliable WIFI access  was cut short by a thunderstorm in the making. Crap. My internet connection at home has been disconnected for a month now and  I’m forced to taper my internet use to once a week or less. Then it’s a good thing too because I’m currently on community rotation which means no 24-hour duty from May to June—a good two months of rock-a-bye-baby sleep and more time to catch up on studying—a goal that I haven’t accomplished yet.

Last month was tipped towards family than academic goals which still spells balance to me. My cousins from Manila were here for a month .Then 2 weeks ago,had a bonfire and stargazing session with my cousins from Davao at the beach where we reminisced the way it was when we had all the time in the world. Summer seemed endless and it meant soaking at the beach  everyday like fishes who can never get enough of the ocean even if we were  close to being charred.I was always sunburned…no pink glow for my skin type, I always get a tan which means my shade of brown gets close to dark brown. Haha. There were pauses in the conversation because everyone, I assumed, seemed to go back to whatever memory they had and I was mentally making checklists of all the things that have changed . Now I really feel old. Everybody seems to be nostalgic which could mean that everyone is in their own stage of crisis. Mine is a quarter-life crisis.

I do feel stagnant; Two of my best friends in college have gotten married lately.For two successive weekends  I have been bringing toys and free samples of vitamins to my high school friend who gave birth last month and is now on maternity leave. Another friend I grew up with got married in December and is now on the road to motherhood. I’m happy for them but I can’t even feel an iota of jealousy.Spare me. I’m on shaky ground when you put me on such circumstances. I can’t imagine myself on either stage of that life cycle.I’m fine with the “unattached young adult” stage. I’m not stuck, I’m just moving slowly, but I will get there before the age of 35 when my pregnancy will be classified as high risk and I will be labeled as an “elderly primigravida”.Imagine the injustice of being called “elderly” at 35;  but that’s the proper medical term used by the OB-Gynecologists for women age 35 and above having their first pregnancy. After delivering more than 100 babies from January to February this year, all I could say is this: I wish I were male. The dorsal lithotomy position with the feet on stirrups is not sexy at all.

I wish I could go back to that age when Pluto was still a planet, when my energies were spent chasing dragon flies and crying my heart out on the cartoon film The Land Before Time. To that age when my precious 24 hours were not spent figuring out how to keep someone alive for another day but on watching reruns of Voltron and Rainbow Brite, reading volume after volume of Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys and Sweet Valley. Before, all it took was cold milk to shut me down, now it’s anti-histamine tablets because they make you drowsy– really drowsy— and that means I’ll get shuttled off to dreamland without counting sheep.

We all grow up.

All we have to do is to keep moving forward . (Yes, I’ve been watching cartoons this week, that’s a gem from Meet the Robinsons). I have downloaded the movie Annie but I refused to watch it because I don’t want to reinforce this nostalgia for childhood. I’ve been watching Independent films lately, watched C.R.A.Z.Y, a Canadian film with a coming-of-age genre about growing up gay and another Independent Canadian film –Everything’s gone green— in one night. At least they don’t have strings to my childhood and makes the experience fresh and flash-back free.

I am moving forward. I had to prove that even to my big brother who keeps accusing me of secretly not wanting to leave our house in Jaro because of what he calls “my memories”. We are moving out this July and I was stumped when my father told me to look for a new place. It’s bad timing because I have 4 months left then I’m off again to Manila or Cebu (If I’m crazy enough) for my medical board review . Why can’t they find a place after I finish my internship this October? I can complain but I take orders from up above. We found a new place and it’s conveniently near the hospital where I’m on internship.Honestly, I wanted a place near our old house but 2 weeks of searching and it was a failed mission.Nada. Zilch.Have to move to Mandurriao, but I’ll still inconveniently hear mass at the Jaro Cathedral and do my groceries in SM Supermarket Jaro, as well.That is me refusing to let go of the things I’m used to.

It preserves my sanity so just leave me alone big brother.

ambot

I’m just too happy, I can’t even write.

I’m on community rotation and I do have all the time to write but all my drafts are left unfinished.

Got hired for an  on-line job. Getting paid is a nice feeling.Haha.

waiting again

Basta bring me those coffee buns.

No plans.

Just come home.

Losing Lola Sing

I can’t seem to get over my Lola Sing’s sudden death. It’s very hard to swallow another loss when there is still a lingering sadness over Lola Lord’s death last December. People keep telling me that it’s okay because they’re old and death seems inevitable. I’ll never understand what that means. Death completes the symmetry of life but what makes it hard is when the timing is just so abrupt. One day you see them alive and the next day they’re gone. I feel like she was stolen from us.

Lola Sing dropped by on my father’s birthday on the 27th of March and we had afternoon tea with chocolate cake. I gave her a big hug before she left; In between chuckles she refused when I offered to carry her groceries for her and walk her to the street corner where she rode a tricycle home to the village where she lived.

The next day she collapsed in front of the stage while watching her grandson, my cousin Matthew performing a modern dance on the stage. She was so elated that she was crackling with laughter before she fell on my uncle’s arms, unconscious. I didn’t see that unfold. I saw her minutes after the event at the emergency room of our district hospital, her small frame on a stretcher—pale, cold and pulseless. She was pronounced dead on arrival. I was so shocked and I wept like a child.

The grief that I have is that of a little girl who grew up having grandmothers who are present on any given day. They all gave me the fundamentals of a happy childhood and beyond. My Lola Ning, my maternal grandmother has 6 sisters and 1 brother, all of whom have been active while I was growing up. Years ago, I pondered on the idea of what it would be like when I start losing them. There is no pondering and wondering anymore, it’s real-time unfolding of the things that will never be the same. Lola Lord’s house on the other block has lost its luster. What used to be a backyard full of children—one group doing a mock fashion show on the balcony ledge while some huddle over the pond poking water lilies—is now a house with boarded up windows.  It breaks my heart that I never cast a look at the house whenever I pass by because the flood of childhood memories and echoes of past conversations on the front porch are just overwhelming.

Now, with Lola Sing gone too, a mass of childhood memories comes flitting on the surface of my consciousness. I feel like I’m in a time machine where the first destination is the year 1990.I’m 8 years old all over again. I’m transported back to that summer afternoon when I packed my bag and headed for Lola Sing’s house at the farm, one tricycle ride away from the town where I lived. Lola Sing is one of my maternal grandmother’s sister and she has this house on top of the hill beside the village Elementary School where she was a teacher. After the dusty tricycle ride, I scrambled through the bamboo bridge that connects their hill to the main road, then I went up the stone pathway where my Lola Sing awaits with a smile that makes here eyes disappear into small slits .I can hear her signature chuckle as a greeting. I don’ t remember if I gave her a hug or what but I probably did because that’s how it has always been for us, a hug, every time we meet. We spent the afternoon rummaging through her wooden chest, where I found a bunch of foot-long wooden pencils with a carved design on the base instead of an eraser, that bounced when you write and a couple of note pads. She let me keep everything that I liked. The best part was when I helped her pack her stuff in her classroom because she was retiring that week; she handed me a story book and let me keep it as well. I have it up to this day.

The funeral was two Mondays ago and it was not as emotional as Lola Lord’s but it was the most peaceful our clan has ever had. There was no wailing and no monologues of regret from anyone because Lola Sing died with laughter on her lips. She was happy up to her last breath and we all know that.

This little girl in my heart clutching a story book will miss her so dearly.

Waiting

Waiting for the 6:20 pm flight to arrive.

Waiting for my box of Roti Mum Coffee Buns (andaman mo lang if you forgot :C).

Waiting to feel the same way…

Ready to feel otherwise.

Pacify me with coffee buns.No verbal diarrhea from moi’. (Haha,JK )

Holy week man ah, peace kita.

Welcome home

Homeless,not worthless

I currently have 3 adopted cats…two are in Antique—Batmoi and Fooza.In the city we have Mommy who gave birth to 3 more…she’s a prolific breeder.She also had 3 bebe kittens last November—Obama,Ozzy and Oakley—all of them ran away in December, haven’t returned since…still waiting for them to come home though.I spotted Oakley (named such because he has black circles around his eyes which look like shades to me) at the Jaro Cathedral but he was too busy scavenging.

Yes Louise,kuring na naman—advocacy ko ni haha

Yummy Salmonella

Called in sick yesterday because of the flu;I had low-grade fever and body malaise which makes me unfit to go on a 24-hour duty. I wish I could  just stay home and snap my fingers for food and medicines to be delivered at my bedside but I am no princess and there is no slave  around (my brothers are on summer vacation).So I had to drag myself to the grocery to get food and the pharmacy to get some Paracetamol tablets. I picked up a loaf of wheat bread in one aisle and my first thought was peanut butter would go best with it. I scratched the idea, recalled that my brother left a bottle of sugar-free (uggh)  strawberry jam in the ref.

I saw the evening news about Ludy’s Peanut Butter testing positive for Salmonella. What???! I thought, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t lay a finger on that peanut butter?”.Oh well,I wasn’t planning on getting Ludy’s though because of the visible layer of oil above the peanut spread. Nutella—the hazelnut spread, was on my mind, which was way off an intern’s budget.

So, what is Salmonella?

It is one of the Enterbacteriaceae or Enterics— a group of gram negative rods that live in the intestinal tract of humans and animals. Salmonella is unique from the other Enterics because it lives in the gastrointestinal tract of animals and it causes disease in humans when there is contamination of food or water with animal feces. Only the species  Salmonella typhi is an exception because it is carried only by humans.Which simply means that Ludy’s peanut butter and that other brand—the batch of Yummy peanut butter—has animal or human feces in it.Eew.

A lot of animals can carry Salmonella. It is  mostly acquired from eating chickens and uncooked eggs. Even Isaw is not spared from Salmonella. According to a study in UP Diliman, “Hazard Analysis of Some Popular Streetfoods in the Philippines” by Azanza and Gedaria, improperly cleaned chicken intestines, as well as the addition of food color, provide the initial contamination. Even if the chicken Isaw is grilled, the length of time and the temperature at which the intestines are cooked, it does not guarantee that it is microorganism-free. In their study, even cooked Isaw was found positive for Salmonella and coliform.

Salmonella produces three major types of disease in humans:

Enteric Fevers (Typhoid Fever). This is produced by a few salmonella, usually by Salmonella Typhi. When salmonellae is ingested, it reaches the small intestines and enter the  lymphatic system and then goes to the blood. Via the bloodstream they are carried to several organs including the intestines. The bacteria then multiply in the intestinal lymphoid tissue and are excreted through the stools.

The incubation period is 10-14 days, after that the clinical manifestation may include fever, malaise, headache, constipation, bradycardia (heartbeat <60 beats/min) and myalgia. The fever may rise and the spleen and liver become enlarged. In some cases, rose spots are seen on the skin of the chest and abdomen.

Sepsis. This is usually associated with Salmonealla Cholerasuis. After oral ingestion of the organism, there is invasion of the bloodstream which may lead to focal lesions in the lungs ,bones or the brain. There are no gastrointestinal symptoms because the GI tract is usually not involved.

Gastroenteritis. This is the most common presentation of a Salmonella infection. The clinical manifestation includes nausea, abdominal pain and watery or mucoid diarrhea. Only half of patients have fever.Treatment involves replacing fluid loss and electrolytes.

———

References:
Azanza, Maria Patricia V. and Arlyn I. Gedaria.Hazard Analysis of Some Popular Streetfoods in the Philippines.
Brooks, Geo F. MD, et. al. Jawetz, Melnick, & Adelberg's Medical Microbiology.21st ed.1998.USA: Appleton and Lange.
Gladwin, Mark MD, and Bill Trattler MD. Clinical Microbiology Made Ridiculously Simple. 2004.Miami, FL: MedMaster, Inc.

The Not So Brief Wondrous Duty of a Pediatric Intern

I was feeling awful on my 24-hour duty last Friday; I had to leave my post at the pediatrics ward (after doing all possible IV insertions). Scribbled the local number of the Female Doctors’ Quarters on a blue post-it and left it at the nurses’ station, told them I had to retreat to the quarters and instructed them to call me if they need me because I was having menstrual cramps.Uggh. It’s no fun being a girl.

I had to lie down on my bed but trying not to doze off because I might not hear the phone ring if they need me at the ward. I have stacks of books in my bed—- Novak’s Gyne, a USMLE reviewer, Obstetrics by Panlilio and MIMS. I have another book stashed in my backpack…for guilty reading because it’s non-medical. So I nursed my pelvic  pain, while secretly reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao —- a book I bought about a month ago after feeling really rotten at the hospital, went to NBS and picked it off the shelf just because it had “Winner of the Pulitzer Prize” label on it. The intern escaped in her own world. It’s not total escape though because the phone was just a foot away and I was half-reading the novel and half-anticipating the phone to ring. It rang twice but they were asking for some doctor other than me. They didn’t call, so after an hour of reading guiltlessly, I shuffled slowly to the ward, thinking if I should get an analgesic shot on my deltoids (no tablets for us, we get injections for pain if we need it once we are on duty—that’s aggressive management ).

I spent the night catching babies at the OR that were being delivered through C-section. Had 3 normal spontaneous vaginal deliveries in the morning but the babies were crying, pink and kicking so I  ordered the routine newborn care and medications—-Hepa B vaccine, Vitamin K and Eryhtromycin eyedrops. After doing Ballard Scoring for neuromuscular maturity rating for each baby, I  assumed the fetal position and summoned sleep at my usual place on the bed behind the neonatal ICU.I have nothing to worry about because Ma’am Malou, my favorite night-duty nurse lets me get some decent sleep. She refuses to wake me up even if there is a delivery, unless the baby does not cry, is cyanotic and needs emergency intervention. She tells the other nurses to let me sleep for at least 2 hours straight because I have been on my feet all day.For that night, I think I slept from 2am to 6 am, which is oversleeping for me.

On my previous duty, I slept on the couch at the pedia office.My residents have been joking me why I no longer ask to take my usual break to freshen up at the quarters at night.I just grinned. Since the death of Doc Greta, everybody has been evasive about sleeping and going to the quarters for whatever reason at night because it’s colder than usual and an eerie atmosphere hangs in the air. I had to laugh when Sheena told me that she and Doc Kat shared a bunk and slept side-by-side holding a rosary in one hand when they were on-duty last Thursday, even if there were 4 empty bunks beside them. Everyone has been ultra paranoid. We all believe her soul must be restless because of the way she died—untimely,unexpected and complicated.The IM residents have been scheduling brushing their teeth  at the quarters with a buddy and never alone because of what they might see or hear. I’m a wimp when it comes to unknown spirits and elementals,but if people I know die, I’m not that fearful. How can you be afraid of someone familiar? Sadness prevails over fear; How can they possibly harm you anyway.

Finding Ailene

It has been 19 years years since I last heard from her. Our last communication was in 1990 when she sent me  a letter together with a Sanrio notepad via my father, 6 months after my Mom, my brother and I left Riyadh for good. It was our last exchange. She migrated to the US with her family in 1991.

When I was 4 years old, my blissful barriotic childhood was  abruptly interrupted by my family’s sudden move to Riyadh,Saudi Arabia because my parents were both hired to work at the King Abdul Azziz Hospital. I was too young to feel loss or separation from my playmates because my mind was more preoccupied about riding a huge plane and seeing the desert.

I don’t really remember the first time I met Ailene.I think it was in a party for the laboratory employees where her parents work as well. We were introduced because we  enrolled not only at the same school but in the same class in kindergarten.

We shared the same carpool, forever seatmates from class, in the school bus and in all our class pictures. After school we were  always the last to be dropped off , together with my brother Nikki and her older brother Allan. We were buddies with the driver and when only the 4 of us were left on the bus he would stop at an ice cream parlor  and treat us all. For the four of us nothing could be more perfect than free ice cream after school  in a hot Arabian weather.

On weekends, we spent hours playing in our flat because my parents had this bright idea to convert one of the rooms in our apartment to an exclusive playroom—the only room in our flat where we were allowed to scatter our toys and have our own corner. Ailene and I spent endless hours in that room playing with our dolls, constructing Lego houses, creating imaginary friends and gossiping about our classmates. We watched Annie together hundreds of times, memorized the theme song and filled our apartment with our out of tune rendition of “Tomorrow” and once had a trivial fight about who is more fitted to play the part of Annie. I almost wished I was born a redhead with curls and freckles.

In school we were inseparable like conjoined twins. We shared crayons, Ladybird storybooks, lunch and defended each other against bossy classmates. That’s girl power in early childhood.

I have been looking for her since Friendster was created but no profile of her existed. Last week, I created a Facebook account and searched her name first.

Bingo.

Found her.

We have exchanged long emails since.

She still remembers our childhood antics in and out of school.

We were both nostalgic about our childhood in Riyadh.It’s amazing how we had so much fun memories even in such a restrictive environment.As children we knew no limits, oblivious to the gender inequality and the strict Sharia laws in the country. All that mattered to us were the games that we played, going to school at the Philippine Embassy School in Riyadh (PESR),watching cartoons after getting off from school and the huge toy stores we visited every weekend plus the endless supply of chocolates.It was fun because we were kids; it wouldn’t have been the same if we were in another stage of life.

The photo above was taken one afternoon, after we got off from the school bus outside our flat.