Written May 1, 2008
These past few weeks, my heart was filled with a quite joy I shared only with those nearest and dearest to me. That which I have been longing and praying for has finally been granted. I was going to have another baby.
I started to dream for this baby again, just I dreamed for my little Maia, another baby I lost two years ago.
But my dreams were quickly shattered when at almost nine weeks, we learned that I lost this little one too. The depths of my sorrow could be equaled only by the heights of my joy as I happily anticipated holding another baby in my arms.
Early embryonic demise. No cardiac activity. These words appeared in the ultrasound report. But I did not have to read it to know. Watching the face of the doctor who did the ultrasound told me everything there was to know. My heart went cold. I could only cry for another baby I will never come to know and love … another baby who would have completed our little family even more.
What followed was a blur of indecision, of me adamantly refusing to take the drugs to induce the expulsion of my baby from inside me, of refusing to consider a D&C, of wanting the process of losing this child to take its natural course … to accepting the drugs when a follow-up ultrasound confirmed my loss, to wanting a D&C and then not wanting it … and finally, to admitting that the waiting was taking too much toll on me and my family … that emotionally, spiritually, physically and psychologically, I am drained to the core of my being.
I am having my second miscarriage as I am writing. I started bleeding as cramps wracked my body last night. This came as a welcome relief to my weary soul.
I was on denial when I had my first miscarriage. I refused to accept my baby’s death even though pain tore through my body day after day. I fought hard by imploring God to give life to my child. As long as I had hope in my heart, I refused to let go. I was willing to do whatever it took if it meant life for my little one. But as fate would have it, my baby and I lost that battle.
This time around, I put up no fight at all. Maybe the past made me more resigned, more accepting of the undeniable fact that losing a child, one that seemed so improbable and so incomprehensible before, has become a recurrent reality in my life.
But while I accepted my third baby’s death, I still refused, and continue to do so up till now, to have a D&C. Only when the choice is taken out of my hands will I submit to that procedure.
But while I still have that choice, I choose for my little one to leave me as God had intended. I want to wait for nature to take its course. But without medical intervention, I realized that the waiting could take so long. And it started to take its toll. Everything in me grew weary from being suspended in a state where I was neither here nor there … where my body felt pregnant yet with no growing life within it … where I grieved and not grieve at the same time. Finally, all that I ever wanted was to reach closure, to be able to move on and open myself up to my family again.
So I finally sought medical aid. I took the medication that would induce the expulsion process. When the cramps came, I welcomed them with relief. There is no use holding on when there is nothing more to hold on to.
I have been asked why I did not want a D&C. I said that going into surgery scared me and that I did not want to expose myself to the risks accompanying this procedure.
But I have been less than honest with these answers. While I do feel this way about D&C, the real reason behind this refusal is my desire for privacy and dignity, for wanting this miscarriage to happen just between me and my child, not in a roomful of strangers where my baby will be referred to as tissue or product of conception and handled in much the same way as medical personnel would handle a surgically-removed appendix or cyst. So cold. So distant and uncaring. So professional. I do not want my baby to leave me that way.
When my baby will finally leave, I want nobody else except me touching it … where it will be held with love, tenderness and great respect.
With Mama alone, this baby will be spared from becoming the subject of cruel jokes by dispassionate medical workers. The first baby I lost suffered that fate. Cheerful lab workers, oblivious to my pain, talked about urinating on the cup containing my poor little one right in my presence.
That is not going to happen this time. This baby will be spared from that kind of indignity and disrespect. This time, my child will receive nothing but all the love and respect it deserves as another one of God’s creations.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Picky Eaters: Born or Made?
Those of you who read this column once or twice might have chanced upon me complaining over how picky my daughter is with her food. It has always been a constant source of friction between me and my pint-sized nemesis, who from day 1 – and I mean DAY ONE!!! – defied me over the subject of food! Can you imagine that? Me? Who worships every gastronomic delight I could lay my hands on … has a daughter who does not want to eat?
As I said, it started all the way back from Day One – when she absolutely refused to suckle from me! I still remember Abby (who was only a few days old then) turning as red as a tomato as she bawled and screamed and kicked and pushed at my face … just to free herself from my breast!
My husband and I figured at that time that if we could manage to make her open her mouth wide enough to take a nipple and then quickly hold her head to prevent her from turning away, that she’d somehow realize the futility of her refusal, cave in to our superior will, and start taking and liking my milk!
Oh well … she put up such a valiant struggle (you wouldn’t believe how strong a newly- born infant could be!) we quickly raised the white flag for fear that she’d dislocate something as she relentlessly twisted and turned her head to get free!! I still remember the raucous that attempted forced feeding caused! The neighbors must have thought we were trying to murder our new baby! And that red, red, RED face … unforgettable!
Down the drain went our superior will … will somebody get the bottle please?
And so the pattern for the next few years was set … feeding time became synonymous with battle of wills … where getting her to take a spoonful only signified the start of the next battle, which was to get her to chew … after which the next challenge awaited … how to make her swallow.
As she grew older, Abby became uncompromising in her refusal to eat food that she thought she wouldn’t like. Can you believe that? If something doesn’t look good to her eyes, it must not be good enough to eat then.
But if she did took a liking to something, she’d eat nothing but that alone for a few days … until she becomes tired of the food, and poor mama has to search for something new to entice her brat with again.
I have always attributed her pickiness as a trait that she picked up from her lola, my mother-in-law, the alpha and the omega, the absolute mother of all picky eaters!
Thus, I came to the conclusion that a child is either born a picky eater or not. There was a time when I saw children from less fortunate families gobbling up their rice with nothing but sabaw sa kamunggay. I remember thinking then that it was a good thing none of them was picky like Abby.
But I had to revise this thinking and consider another possibility when I saw the commercial of Lactum with Claudine Baretto and her daughter. I believe that this was the child who was abandoned outside her home and whom she later adopted.
The ad was about Claudine giving Lactum milk to her daughter to supplement her diet as she would eat nothing but hotdog. Granting that she really is picky in real life, I wondered whether she would still be as choosy had she stayed with her biological family, whom we can fairly assume, would be incapable to giving her the same privileged life she is enjoying with Claudine.
Could it be possible then that picky children are made, not born? It is probable that children from marginal families learn early in life to eat whatever is on the table because there simply is nothing else to eat!
And our choosy dears? They must have also caught on early that if they stood their ground on the food they say yes and no to, mommy and daddy would sooner or later give in to their demands. Why? Because they can. They have the means to give to the child what it wants. Their less fortunate counterparts do not have that luxury, so their children either have to eat whatever is there, or face starvation.
So next time we feel like banging our heads against the wall out of frustration, maybe the thought that we might have brought this upon ourselves in the first place, will somehow extend our diminishing patience.
As I said, it started all the way back from Day One – when she absolutely refused to suckle from me! I still remember Abby (who was only a few days old then) turning as red as a tomato as she bawled and screamed and kicked and pushed at my face … just to free herself from my breast!
My husband and I figured at that time that if we could manage to make her open her mouth wide enough to take a nipple and then quickly hold her head to prevent her from turning away, that she’d somehow realize the futility of her refusal, cave in to our superior will, and start taking and liking my milk!
Oh well … she put up such a valiant struggle (you wouldn’t believe how strong a newly- born infant could be!) we quickly raised the white flag for fear that she’d dislocate something as she relentlessly twisted and turned her head to get free!! I still remember the raucous that attempted forced feeding caused! The neighbors must have thought we were trying to murder our new baby! And that red, red, RED face … unforgettable!
Down the drain went our superior will … will somebody get the bottle please?
And so the pattern for the next few years was set … feeding time became synonymous with battle of wills … where getting her to take a spoonful only signified the start of the next battle, which was to get her to chew … after which the next challenge awaited … how to make her swallow.
As she grew older, Abby became uncompromising in her refusal to eat food that she thought she wouldn’t like. Can you believe that? If something doesn’t look good to her eyes, it must not be good enough to eat then.
But if she did took a liking to something, she’d eat nothing but that alone for a few days … until she becomes tired of the food, and poor mama has to search for something new to entice her brat with again.
I have always attributed her pickiness as a trait that she picked up from her lola, my mother-in-law, the alpha and the omega, the absolute mother of all picky eaters!
Thus, I came to the conclusion that a child is either born a picky eater or not. There was a time when I saw children from less fortunate families gobbling up their rice with nothing but sabaw sa kamunggay. I remember thinking then that it was a good thing none of them was picky like Abby.
But I had to revise this thinking and consider another possibility when I saw the commercial of Lactum with Claudine Baretto and her daughter. I believe that this was the child who was abandoned outside her home and whom she later adopted.
The ad was about Claudine giving Lactum milk to her daughter to supplement her diet as she would eat nothing but hotdog. Granting that she really is picky in real life, I wondered whether she would still be as choosy had she stayed with her biological family, whom we can fairly assume, would be incapable to giving her the same privileged life she is enjoying with Claudine.
Could it be possible then that picky children are made, not born? It is probable that children from marginal families learn early in life to eat whatever is on the table because there simply is nothing else to eat!
And our choosy dears? They must have also caught on early that if they stood their ground on the food they say yes and no to, mommy and daddy would sooner or later give in to their demands. Why? Because they can. They have the means to give to the child what it wants. Their less fortunate counterparts do not have that luxury, so their children either have to eat whatever is there, or face starvation.
So next time we feel like banging our heads against the wall out of frustration, maybe the thought that we might have brought this upon ourselves in the first place, will somehow extend our diminishing patience.
Imagination Going Wild
We talk about how we’d rather lose electricity than not having any water at all. I’m sure that almost everybody will concur to that. But it sure is hell not having any electricity, isn’t it? I know we can all relate to this because of the series of brownouts that hit our city lately.
Suffering through the inescapable heat brought about by the brownout, I was horrified to realize how soft we have become … how very easily we wilt, sapped of all strength and the will to move even an inch, in the absence of that comforting blast of cooled air which modern times have blessed us with. A blessing? I’d say definitely!
But on the downside, it really is horrifying to realize how dependent we have become on modern technology. Take the lowly matchsticks for instance. Would most of us still be able to light a fire without it?
Have you ever thought about how we’d all cope if we were stripped of all the modern conveniences we surround ourselves with? The recent brownouts denied us the use of our electric fans and airconditioners. The heat was unbearable, wasn’t it? How much more if we were to lose everything … and I mean every little and big thing that we take for granted and would miss only when they go missing. Can you imagine us losing our basic soap and shampoo, for example?
Through the years, we evolved from being producers to mere end-users or consumers. Look around you. What do you have in your kitchen right now that you yourself produced? In our case, except for the malunggay, sili and tanglad growing in the yard, we get everything else from the market or supermarkets.
Have you ever wondered what would happen to us if these stores were to close because the supplies have stopped coming? Where will we get our food? Start planting? Ok, granting that we have a sizable land to plant crops in, which unfortunately, not all of us are blessed with, still, can we imagine us growing our own food???
Imagine no electricity. No water supply. No gasoline.
Our life, as we know it now, will never be the same. Scary!
Suffering through the inescapable heat brought about by the brownout, I was horrified to realize how soft we have become … how very easily we wilt, sapped of all strength and the will to move even an inch, in the absence of that comforting blast of cooled air which modern times have blessed us with. A blessing? I’d say definitely!
But on the downside, it really is horrifying to realize how dependent we have become on modern technology. Take the lowly matchsticks for instance. Would most of us still be able to light a fire without it?
Have you ever thought about how we’d all cope if we were stripped of all the modern conveniences we surround ourselves with? The recent brownouts denied us the use of our electric fans and airconditioners. The heat was unbearable, wasn’t it? How much more if we were to lose everything … and I mean every little and big thing that we take for granted and would miss only when they go missing. Can you imagine us losing our basic soap and shampoo, for example?
Through the years, we evolved from being producers to mere end-users or consumers. Look around you. What do you have in your kitchen right now that you yourself produced? In our case, except for the malunggay, sili and tanglad growing in the yard, we get everything else from the market or supermarkets.
Have you ever wondered what would happen to us if these stores were to close because the supplies have stopped coming? Where will we get our food? Start planting? Ok, granting that we have a sizable land to plant crops in, which unfortunately, not all of us are blessed with, still, can we imagine us growing our own food???
Imagine no electricity. No water supply. No gasoline.
Our life, as we know it now, will never be the same. Scary!
KUMPYANSA
Are you the type who compares your doctor’s prescriptions against what the pharmacy assistants give to you? I’m not. I recently realized the importance of doing this when my daughter was prescribed medicine in infant drops form instead of the type more appropriate for her age. No big deal really. The mistake was quickly corrected when I called the doctor for clarification.
But this incident got me contemplating on the word kumpyansa…I’m not really sure how this word translates to English, but if I were to define it based on my own understanding of the word, I’d say that it’s complacency born out of placing too much trust on something or someone. In a broader spectrum, it could mean betting too much on chance, trusting that the universe wouldn’t somehow conspire to throw some bad lot our way, thus we toss caution into the wind.
A few nights ago, I thought I heard Abby wheezing during her coughing fits. I had my husband, Nonoy, as well as my in laws, Dominador and Marlene Uy, listen in and they all confirmed my fears. Abby could be having an asthma attack! Nonoy had asthma before. My in laws have two asthmatic children. They should know!
Being the praning that I am, I wasted no time dragging Abby, with Nonoy not far behind, to one of our local hospitals for a consult. Waiting until the following day to see her pediatrician was out of the question. She had to be seen by a doctor right there and then.
The resident who examined her told us that she could hear no wheezing and sent us home with a prescription for antihistamine and Salbutamul. I wanted to question her findings. How could four people be wrong about it? But hey! She’s the doctor! I bowed down to her superior knowledge.
But just we always do, we took Abby to her pediatrician the following day. And surely enough, Tita Doc found her wheezing and crackling and proceeded to treat her condition accordingly.
So what’s the moral of this story? Very simple really. We should still take our children to their own doctor, even after a night consult, at the first opportune moment. Except for the additional cost and the time we have to spend waiting for our turn, we don't lose in any way.
Can you imagine what would have happened had we not taken Abby to her pediatrician? Her asthma would have gone untreated and it could have progressed to pneumonia!
Another lesson learned from this experience is checking that we are getting our medicine from the pharmacy exactly as they were prescribed. Fortunately this time, the clerk spotted the erroneous prescription herself. But mistakes could still be very easily made by fatigued, stressed out, and even harassed pharmacy assistants.
So let’s start checking, shall we? Let’s do away with too much of kumpyansa. After all, nothing is too hard when it comes to our children’s best interests.
But this incident got me contemplating on the word kumpyansa…I’m not really sure how this word translates to English, but if I were to define it based on my own understanding of the word, I’d say that it’s complacency born out of placing too much trust on something or someone. In a broader spectrum, it could mean betting too much on chance, trusting that the universe wouldn’t somehow conspire to throw some bad lot our way, thus we toss caution into the wind.
A few nights ago, I thought I heard Abby wheezing during her coughing fits. I had my husband, Nonoy, as well as my in laws, Dominador and Marlene Uy, listen in and they all confirmed my fears. Abby could be having an asthma attack! Nonoy had asthma before. My in laws have two asthmatic children. They should know!
Being the praning that I am, I wasted no time dragging Abby, with Nonoy not far behind, to one of our local hospitals for a consult. Waiting until the following day to see her pediatrician was out of the question. She had to be seen by a doctor right there and then.
The resident who examined her told us that she could hear no wheezing and sent us home with a prescription for antihistamine and Salbutamul. I wanted to question her findings. How could four people be wrong about it? But hey! She’s the doctor! I bowed down to her superior knowledge.
But just we always do, we took Abby to her pediatrician the following day. And surely enough, Tita Doc found her wheezing and crackling and proceeded to treat her condition accordingly.
So what’s the moral of this story? Very simple really. We should still take our children to their own doctor, even after a night consult, at the first opportune moment. Except for the additional cost and the time we have to spend waiting for our turn, we don't lose in any way.
Can you imagine what would have happened had we not taken Abby to her pediatrician? Her asthma would have gone untreated and it could have progressed to pneumonia!
Another lesson learned from this experience is checking that we are getting our medicine from the pharmacy exactly as they were prescribed. Fortunately this time, the clerk spotted the erroneous prescription herself. But mistakes could still be very easily made by fatigued, stressed out, and even harassed pharmacy assistants.
So let’s start checking, shall we? Let’s do away with too much of kumpyansa. After all, nothing is too hard when it comes to our children’s best interests.
Surviving Big School
Another old article
We made a really big move this school year. We decided to send Abby (or Noelle to her new classmates) to a bigger school where almost everything became a first for us.
Why? As Catholics, my husband Nonoy and I decided that it was time for Abby to start getting a Catholic-based education.
Having came from a smaller school where I, as a parent, have grown very comfortable in, with teachers who knew and loved Abby since she was a toddler, and with a population that was small enough we were always assured that our children were well-looked after, moving Abby almost felt like throwing her into an open sea where she’d become fair game to whatever that bigger world could throw at her.
Contemplating that big move, I could not help but imagine my baby thrashing about as she struggles for breath amidst tossing waves, barely staying afloat in a world that’s alien from the sheltered one she had been the last four years of her life.
But steeled my resolve I did … I told myself that she either had to learn to swim or sink in the process. For wasn’t our intention also to introduce her to the world beyond what we consider to be safe and secure? Nonoy and I decided that we’ve sheltered her long enough during her first seven years. Time to start letting go … a little.
As it turned out, I worried too much over nothing. All that imagined thrashing amid turbulent seas should have been reserved for me alone. I was the one who barely survived big school … Abby never had to. My girl breezed through her first days and proceeded to take in all her new experiences in a stride. Her leap from a class of 6 to 36? No big deal! Before long, I started seeing her hanging out with friends from grade 1 or grade 4 or even from high school with equal ease.
Thus it came to be that despite almost five years of prior schooling, it wasn’t until my daughter reached Grade 2 that I truly got to experience the horror stories other moms have been talking about for centuries: school exams!
My friend Jobie once told me how her voice got hoarse from all the yelling she had to do at her two boys as she hovered over them during study time or as they prepared for their exams.
I had the nerve then to assume that I’d do better. Before I had Abby, I was very judgmental on mothers I’d observe snapping or just being generally impatient with their brood. More particularly so with those I’d see spanking their youngsters. I used to tell myself (with absolute certainty) that I’d be different, that I’d never get impatient, angry, yell, or spank … that I’d only have to speak calmly ONCE and my perfectly-behaved and ever-so-obedient child would immediately obey …
I also had this mental image of myself as the incarnation of infinite grace and patience, holding out a book in front of a well-behaved and cooperative angelic-looking Abby as she poured over her lessons with nary a complaint night after school night …
Prrrrrrt!!! Enough with fantasy! Let’s get back to reality, shall we? As it turned out, motherhood in real life is never picture perfect! I never had to worry about studying at home before. But in our new school, come examination period (or almost every night at that), and it’s nothing but dried-up patience, BP raised to ceiling heights, broken rulers, hoarse voices, tempers serious enough to tempt one to start wringing one cute little neck, palms stinging from hitting table surfaces, pencils, papers or smuggled toys flying off to all directions … and what else? Oh yeah … upturned teary eyes and quivering lips seemingly wanting to ask … “what’s happening to you Mama?”
Yeah, what’s happening to Mama? To the entire barangay listening to me vocalize when I start blowing my top, it must have been bad, bad, Olga indeed! A friend of mine once attempted to lecture about being patient and calm … I cut her off by saying, try having a brat like mine first, then we’ll talk again!
All you moms out there … did that seem familiar? If not, lucky, lucky you!
I was told that this was partly the reason why it is best to hire tutors for our kids. They tend to act up less when they are with other people, particularly when the tutor happens to be their teacher as well.
But with moms, believe me, the complaints I’ve been hearing are so similar they seem to come from the same script! Mind you, we don't get mad when our kids don't get their lessons. But what really gets the full solo concert going is the amount of interest they are willing to devote to the lesson at hand, which is considerably less than what they would otherwise give to the lizard stalking its meal at the ceiling, for instance. Yeah! That’s it! Everything else is interesting except …
Can you imagine explaining something to a restless figure who seemed to have assumed every conceivable position there is over the desk only to settle down slumped over it, albeit with the assurance: “I’m listening, I’m listening!!” … only to be answered with “huh??” once you’d start asking questions? Grrrrr!
And how about all that fidgeting with the hands? Even doodling can be very distracting, so you order them to “stop!” and away goes the pencil … for 3 seconds! So you’d say again, “I said stop that!” … and it goes on and on until you’d have to say, “one more time and I’ll throw that pencil away!” In the end, you’ll discover that it saves more time and energy to just get that pesky pencil without a word and throw it to some hard-to-reach area. Believe me, that alternative is much better that giving in to your desire to throw away the child itself!
So who did I say survived big school? Let me check … heart still working, only one or two additional wrinkles, more white hairs though, BP still normal, can still speak, no burst capillaries … yeah! I survived big school! Rejoice!!
We made a really big move this school year. We decided to send Abby (or Noelle to her new classmates) to a bigger school where almost everything became a first for us.
Why? As Catholics, my husband Nonoy and I decided that it was time for Abby to start getting a Catholic-based education.
Having came from a smaller school where I, as a parent, have grown very comfortable in, with teachers who knew and loved Abby since she was a toddler, and with a population that was small enough we were always assured that our children were well-looked after, moving Abby almost felt like throwing her into an open sea where she’d become fair game to whatever that bigger world could throw at her.
Contemplating that big move, I could not help but imagine my baby thrashing about as she struggles for breath amidst tossing waves, barely staying afloat in a world that’s alien from the sheltered one she had been the last four years of her life.
But steeled my resolve I did … I told myself that she either had to learn to swim or sink in the process. For wasn’t our intention also to introduce her to the world beyond what we consider to be safe and secure? Nonoy and I decided that we’ve sheltered her long enough during her first seven years. Time to start letting go … a little.
As it turned out, I worried too much over nothing. All that imagined thrashing amid turbulent seas should have been reserved for me alone. I was the one who barely survived big school … Abby never had to. My girl breezed through her first days and proceeded to take in all her new experiences in a stride. Her leap from a class of 6 to 36? No big deal! Before long, I started seeing her hanging out with friends from grade 1 or grade 4 or even from high school with equal ease.
Thus it came to be that despite almost five years of prior schooling, it wasn’t until my daughter reached Grade 2 that I truly got to experience the horror stories other moms have been talking about for centuries: school exams!
My friend Jobie once told me how her voice got hoarse from all the yelling she had to do at her two boys as she hovered over them during study time or as they prepared for their exams.
I had the nerve then to assume that I’d do better. Before I had Abby, I was very judgmental on mothers I’d observe snapping or just being generally impatient with their brood. More particularly so with those I’d see spanking their youngsters. I used to tell myself (with absolute certainty) that I’d be different, that I’d never get impatient, angry, yell, or spank … that I’d only have to speak calmly ONCE and my perfectly-behaved and ever-so-obedient child would immediately obey …
I also had this mental image of myself as the incarnation of infinite grace and patience, holding out a book in front of a well-behaved and cooperative angelic-looking Abby as she poured over her lessons with nary a complaint night after school night …
Prrrrrrt!!! Enough with fantasy! Let’s get back to reality, shall we? As it turned out, motherhood in real life is never picture perfect! I never had to worry about studying at home before. But in our new school, come examination period (or almost every night at that), and it’s nothing but dried-up patience, BP raised to ceiling heights, broken rulers, hoarse voices, tempers serious enough to tempt one to start wringing one cute little neck, palms stinging from hitting table surfaces, pencils, papers or smuggled toys flying off to all directions … and what else? Oh yeah … upturned teary eyes and quivering lips seemingly wanting to ask … “what’s happening to you Mama?”
Yeah, what’s happening to Mama? To the entire barangay listening to me vocalize when I start blowing my top, it must have been bad, bad, Olga indeed! A friend of mine once attempted to lecture about being patient and calm … I cut her off by saying, try having a brat like mine first, then we’ll talk again!
All you moms out there … did that seem familiar? If not, lucky, lucky you!
I was told that this was partly the reason why it is best to hire tutors for our kids. They tend to act up less when they are with other people, particularly when the tutor happens to be their teacher as well.
But with moms, believe me, the complaints I’ve been hearing are so similar they seem to come from the same script! Mind you, we don't get mad when our kids don't get their lessons. But what really gets the full solo concert going is the amount of interest they are willing to devote to the lesson at hand, which is considerably less than what they would otherwise give to the lizard stalking its meal at the ceiling, for instance. Yeah! That’s it! Everything else is interesting except …
Can you imagine explaining something to a restless figure who seemed to have assumed every conceivable position there is over the desk only to settle down slumped over it, albeit with the assurance: “I’m listening, I’m listening!!” … only to be answered with “huh??” once you’d start asking questions? Grrrrr!
And how about all that fidgeting with the hands? Even doodling can be very distracting, so you order them to “stop!” and away goes the pencil … for 3 seconds! So you’d say again, “I said stop that!” … and it goes on and on until you’d have to say, “one more time and I’ll throw that pencil away!” In the end, you’ll discover that it saves more time and energy to just get that pesky pencil without a word and throw it to some hard-to-reach area. Believe me, that alternative is much better that giving in to your desire to throw away the child itself!
So who did I say survived big school? Let me check … heart still working, only one or two additional wrinkles, more white hairs though, BP still normal, can still speak, no burst capillaries … yeah! I survived big school! Rejoice!!
Housewife's Back!
I wrote this piece a long time ago, around February 2008.
Yeah! I’m back and for good this time … I hope. I have not written for around five months. It feels like it was only five weeks ago! Time does fly indeed!
Friends have been asking me why I stopped writing this column. My editor Irma Faith Pal was equally perplexed but she never gave up on me. Time and again, she reminded me of my deadlines, and time and again, I broke my word about coming up with something. Actually, I made several attempts to write and had in fact finished one, but they never got off the ground, so to speak.
So what cataclysmic event brought about this silence? Nothing much. I just went on a diet.
Whaaat? Diet? Yeah, I went on a diet. Hey! You out there, you can stop smirking at my diet. I may have stated earlier that it was nothing much, but if truth is to be told, going on a diet turned out to be a heartbreaking roller coaster ride that had me going three steps forward and four steps backwards. Ask anybody who, like me, loves food and hates exercise with equal fervor … and they’ll tell you how it is.
You may be wondering now where dieting and writing connect? I don't know if there is any medical basis to my observations, but when I started Southbeach Diet, nabotol ko. Yes, my mind just seemed to stop working at its usual pace. My thought processes slowed down, my memory became foggy, my body became more lethargic than usual … in other words, an 80-year old grandma would have had a mind that’s sharper than the one I had in the midst of my dieting frenzy.
To the uninitiated, Southbeach Diet is composed of 3 stages, the toughest being Phase 1 which lasts for 14 days. In a nutshell, Phase 1 is an absolutely NO CARB stage. It entails total deprivation of the body of sugar and fats to compel it to utilize its reserves thus leading to weight loss, lowering of blood sugar, healthier heart, etc. And it’s not just our plain old table sugar variety, mind you! By sugar, we mean any food that the body could chemically break down into sugar, which by the way, is what fuels our bodies in much the same way that gasoline is fuel for our vehicles.
To give you a clearer view of what I had to go through, here’s a list of what I was ONLY allowed to eat or have during Phase 1: lean white meat, fish and other seafood (only boiled or broiled), leafy veggies, canola oil or olive oil, a limited number of nuts, black coffee, tea … and oh yes! let’s not forget water because I was allowed to drown in it! Are you seeing the bleak picture now?
Now, here’s what I could NOT eat (and it’s all the good things in life!): fatty cuts and innards, red meat, veggies like carrots and potatoes (because they contain starch which the body could convert into sugar), cheese, all fruits and juices, softdrinks, ice cream, milk, yogurt, and here’s the worst! ALL CARBS … and this translates to NOT BEING ALLOWED TO EAT RICE, BREAD, CAKE, COOKIES, CEREAL, OATMEAL, PASTA, PASTRIES … could anybody be in a worse situation? Could I just let this out? Waaaaaah!
I know, I know … it’s for a healthier body and ultimately a longer life. Hey, that was why I started dieting in the first place! But who am I kidding? My husband was coming home! Honestly? That was my first and foremost reason for this self-imposed torture. Health comes a poor second.
I’d like to go on and on, but I have exceeded my word limit already. Next week, I’ll write more about my chacha-like efforts in preparation for hubby’s homecoming. Friends, no teasing please! OFW wives, rally behind me! Tell those who are still in the dark that it’s not only me. We all go through this pa-gwapa frenzy a month or two before hubby’s return, right? More about that next week.
We all know for a fact that most of us ladies let ourselves “go” after we get married. Generally speaking, weight gain becomes particularly inevitable after a baby or two starts coming.
Only a lucky few are able to keep their 20-something figure. For most, sheer willpower, I’m sure! But some, I guess, are simply not genetically predisposed towards obesity. I call these lucky ones genetic lotto winners. But for the rest of us sorry souls, we could only but sigh at the sight of those nubile young things we see parading around in our streets.
I most unfortunately belong to that latter category. Not too long ago, I used to possess a cola-cola body (sigh!) … mind you … I still got that enviable figure … albeit it’s now in cans! (sigh again!)
I’d often catch my husband looking at me with that bewildered look on his face, as if wondering where that shapely thing he married eleven years ago has gone! In fairness though, I still have all those shapes, they just went to all the wrong places!
Being an OFW wife, it was particularly easy for me to let my figure go. With no husband to make pa-gwapa for ten months at a time, plus add the fact that I am not particularly arte … not to mention my love affair with every gastronomic delight Dumaguete could offer … and let’s not forget my most strenuous activity … surfing TV channels … no wonder I ballooned to unmentionable figures after only one child!
I don't really mind being the “fat lady” … that is, during the first eight months after my husband’s departure for his work overseas. But come the last two months prior to his homecoming, and you’ll find me in a whirlwind of activities that could only be only be described as Olympian!
I know that most OFW wives go through this pa-gwapa stage before hubby comes home. My friend Pam told me how she jogged every morning, ate practically nothing, and started swallowing those whitening pills in preparation for her husband’s homecoming. Good for Pam her that efforts paid of. She stills glows whenever she’d recall the look on hubby’s face when he caught sight of her new look at the airport. Her reward? Instead of rushing back to Dumaguete to their three daughters, they stayed five days in Manila for what could only be called a second honeymoon! Now, if that’s not a happy ending, I wonder what else could be!
And how about my own efforts? Could a heavy sigh be answer enough for you?
Believe me, I’ve tried every diet there is! About three years ago, I had success with the Southbeach Diet and actually lost about fifteen pounds! But sadly, this time around, I could no longer summon the willpower to finish one entire phase without cheating.
Here’s the picture: you’re supposed to finish Phase 1 in 14 days, right? I’d do like 7 days and lose like 5 lbs. Beaming with success, I’d decide to take a one-day breather and reward my gargantuan efforts with a trip to Chow King with my eating pals Maru and Chedette, who, by the way, love Chaofan and Halo-Halo with as much passion as I do! Before I knew it, that one-day break would stretch to two or even three more days. And those 5 pounds I just lost? Take a guess.
Just as girlfriends Maru, Chedette and I binge together, we also start our doomed-from-the-very-beginning diets and weight-losing efforts together.
We have tried going to the gym and invaded Mr. Sy’s realm at Cellutrim with enthusiasm that quickly trickled into nothingness as tortuous week after tortuous week dragged ever so slowly. During our lowest times, we usually comforted our aching muscles with a quick detour to Chow King. Another rational behind this is to give equal exercise opportunities to all our body parts. We can’t be accused of neglecting our jaws, you know! Hence, that trip for the rigorous jaw workout it offers!
And in between those sinfully heavenly trips, together or singly, we tried the pastrami diet, the carbo lovers’ diet, no meals after six, the eat-only-oatmeal thingy, and yeah … the 3- Day diet that I’ll never forget for it’s hellish grapefruit juice! And what did we lose in this last endeavor? Negligible amount of pounds and very substantial amounts from our wallets!
My editor Irma Faith Pal tries to help by inviting me along her biking sorties to Valencia. I’ve lost count of the number of times I said yes only to chicken out at the last minute. But can you blame me for becoming terrified at the idea? The last time I spent considerable time in a bike was astride my easyrider way back 30 years ago!
But I did find an exercise routine that I could live with. It’s a very easy-to-do 45-minute exercise that I could do right inside my home. It’s the 3-mile walk video shared to me by Tita Nini Cabrera. All you need to do is follow the walking movements they do on video. It’s guaranteed to squeeze all sweat out of your body.
My frantic but doomed efforts usually wind down about two weeks from D-day when I’d look at the mirror and decide my poor hubby will just have to adore me for my winning personality!
But all hope is not lost though! My girlfriends put their heads together and came up with makeover in lieu of weight loss. They took me shopping for clothes that could hide my bulges and had Maria Havranek of Cuttin’ Loose get rid of my manang look.
I was a nervous wreak before we started. Imagine having my hair colored for the first time! That was a very big step. But bubbly Maria soon took care of my nerves and proceeded to do a fabulous job with my hair! I love it! She also gave my editor Irma Faith her first-time ever streaks earlier that day! Talk of pleasant coincidences.
So what did my husband had to say about all these? Just like any typical dense-headed male … he didn’t even notice! I practically had to stand under the midday sun before it finally dawned on him. I should have asked Maria to give me a carrot hair … that would have saved me from sunburn!
Yeah! I’m back and for good this time … I hope. I have not written for around five months. It feels like it was only five weeks ago! Time does fly indeed!
Friends have been asking me why I stopped writing this column. My editor Irma Faith Pal was equally perplexed but she never gave up on me. Time and again, she reminded me of my deadlines, and time and again, I broke my word about coming up with something. Actually, I made several attempts to write and had in fact finished one, but they never got off the ground, so to speak.
So what cataclysmic event brought about this silence? Nothing much. I just went on a diet.
Whaaat? Diet? Yeah, I went on a diet. Hey! You out there, you can stop smirking at my diet. I may have stated earlier that it was nothing much, but if truth is to be told, going on a diet turned out to be a heartbreaking roller coaster ride that had me going three steps forward and four steps backwards. Ask anybody who, like me, loves food and hates exercise with equal fervor … and they’ll tell you how it is.
You may be wondering now where dieting and writing connect? I don't know if there is any medical basis to my observations, but when I started Southbeach Diet, nabotol ko. Yes, my mind just seemed to stop working at its usual pace. My thought processes slowed down, my memory became foggy, my body became more lethargic than usual … in other words, an 80-year old grandma would have had a mind that’s sharper than the one I had in the midst of my dieting frenzy.
To the uninitiated, Southbeach Diet is composed of 3 stages, the toughest being Phase 1 which lasts for 14 days. In a nutshell, Phase 1 is an absolutely NO CARB stage. It entails total deprivation of the body of sugar and fats to compel it to utilize its reserves thus leading to weight loss, lowering of blood sugar, healthier heart, etc. And it’s not just our plain old table sugar variety, mind you! By sugar, we mean any food that the body could chemically break down into sugar, which by the way, is what fuels our bodies in much the same way that gasoline is fuel for our vehicles.
To give you a clearer view of what I had to go through, here’s a list of what I was ONLY allowed to eat or have during Phase 1: lean white meat, fish and other seafood (only boiled or broiled), leafy veggies, canola oil or olive oil, a limited number of nuts, black coffee, tea … and oh yes! let’s not forget water because I was allowed to drown in it! Are you seeing the bleak picture now?
Now, here’s what I could NOT eat (and it’s all the good things in life!): fatty cuts and innards, red meat, veggies like carrots and potatoes (because they contain starch which the body could convert into sugar), cheese, all fruits and juices, softdrinks, ice cream, milk, yogurt, and here’s the worst! ALL CARBS … and this translates to NOT BEING ALLOWED TO EAT RICE, BREAD, CAKE, COOKIES, CEREAL, OATMEAL, PASTA, PASTRIES … could anybody be in a worse situation? Could I just let this out? Waaaaaah!
I know, I know … it’s for a healthier body and ultimately a longer life. Hey, that was why I started dieting in the first place! But who am I kidding? My husband was coming home! Honestly? That was my first and foremost reason for this self-imposed torture. Health comes a poor second.
I’d like to go on and on, but I have exceeded my word limit already. Next week, I’ll write more about my chacha-like efforts in preparation for hubby’s homecoming. Friends, no teasing please! OFW wives, rally behind me! Tell those who are still in the dark that it’s not only me. We all go through this pa-gwapa frenzy a month or two before hubby’s return, right? More about that next week.
FRENZIED OFW WIFE
We all know for a fact that most of us ladies let ourselves “go” after we get married. Generally speaking, weight gain becomes particularly inevitable after a baby or two starts coming.
Only a lucky few are able to keep their 20-something figure. For most, sheer willpower, I’m sure! But some, I guess, are simply not genetically predisposed towards obesity. I call these lucky ones genetic lotto winners. But for the rest of us sorry souls, we could only but sigh at the sight of those nubile young things we see parading around in our streets.
I most unfortunately belong to that latter category. Not too long ago, I used to possess a cola-cola body (sigh!) … mind you … I still got that enviable figure … albeit it’s now in cans! (sigh again!)
I’d often catch my husband looking at me with that bewildered look on his face, as if wondering where that shapely thing he married eleven years ago has gone! In fairness though, I still have all those shapes, they just went to all the wrong places!
Being an OFW wife, it was particularly easy for me to let my figure go. With no husband to make pa-gwapa for ten months at a time, plus add the fact that I am not particularly arte … not to mention my love affair with every gastronomic delight Dumaguete could offer … and let’s not forget my most strenuous activity … surfing TV channels … no wonder I ballooned to unmentionable figures after only one child!
I don't really mind being the “fat lady” … that is, during the first eight months after my husband’s departure for his work overseas. But come the last two months prior to his homecoming, and you’ll find me in a whirlwind of activities that could only be only be described as Olympian!
I know that most OFW wives go through this pa-gwapa stage before hubby comes home. My friend Pam told me how she jogged every morning, ate practically nothing, and started swallowing those whitening pills in preparation for her husband’s homecoming. Good for Pam her that efforts paid of. She stills glows whenever she’d recall the look on hubby’s face when he caught sight of her new look at the airport. Her reward? Instead of rushing back to Dumaguete to their three daughters, they stayed five days in Manila for what could only be called a second honeymoon! Now, if that’s not a happy ending, I wonder what else could be!
And how about my own efforts? Could a heavy sigh be answer enough for you?
Believe me, I’ve tried every diet there is! About three years ago, I had success with the Southbeach Diet and actually lost about fifteen pounds! But sadly, this time around, I could no longer summon the willpower to finish one entire phase without cheating.
Here’s the picture: you’re supposed to finish Phase 1 in 14 days, right? I’d do like 7 days and lose like 5 lbs. Beaming with success, I’d decide to take a one-day breather and reward my gargantuan efforts with a trip to Chow King with my eating pals Maru and Chedette, who, by the way, love Chaofan and Halo-Halo with as much passion as I do! Before I knew it, that one-day break would stretch to two or even three more days. And those 5 pounds I just lost? Take a guess.
Just as girlfriends Maru, Chedette and I binge together, we also start our doomed-from-the-very-beginning diets and weight-losing efforts together.
We have tried going to the gym and invaded Mr. Sy’s realm at Cellutrim with enthusiasm that quickly trickled into nothingness as tortuous week after tortuous week dragged ever so slowly. During our lowest times, we usually comforted our aching muscles with a quick detour to Chow King. Another rational behind this is to give equal exercise opportunities to all our body parts. We can’t be accused of neglecting our jaws, you know! Hence, that trip for the rigorous jaw workout it offers!
And in between those sinfully heavenly trips, together or singly, we tried the pastrami diet, the carbo lovers’ diet, no meals after six, the eat-only-oatmeal thingy, and yeah … the 3- Day diet that I’ll never forget for it’s hellish grapefruit juice! And what did we lose in this last endeavor? Negligible amount of pounds and very substantial amounts from our wallets!
My editor Irma Faith Pal tries to help by inviting me along her biking sorties to Valencia. I’ve lost count of the number of times I said yes only to chicken out at the last minute. But can you blame me for becoming terrified at the idea? The last time I spent considerable time in a bike was astride my easyrider way back 30 years ago!
But I did find an exercise routine that I could live with. It’s a very easy-to-do 45-minute exercise that I could do right inside my home. It’s the 3-mile walk video shared to me by Tita Nini Cabrera. All you need to do is follow the walking movements they do on video. It’s guaranteed to squeeze all sweat out of your body.
My frantic but doomed efforts usually wind down about two weeks from D-day when I’d look at the mirror and decide my poor hubby will just have to adore me for my winning personality!
But all hope is not lost though! My girlfriends put their heads together and came up with makeover in lieu of weight loss. They took me shopping for clothes that could hide my bulges and had Maria Havranek of Cuttin’ Loose get rid of my manang look.
I was a nervous wreak before we started. Imagine having my hair colored for the first time! That was a very big step. But bubbly Maria soon took care of my nerves and proceeded to do a fabulous job with my hair! I love it! She also gave my editor Irma Faith her first-time ever streaks earlier that day! Talk of pleasant coincidences.
So what did my husband had to say about all these? Just like any typical dense-headed male … he didn’t even notice! I practically had to stand under the midday sun before it finally dawned on him. I should have asked Maria to give me a carrot hair … that would have saved me from sunburn!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Call Me Rudolpha
The culprit which caused all my misery! Good thing it was a big hit among my party guests!
A part of me has become rather interesting to a lot of people nowadays. Heads would turn everywhere I’d go and I’ve had children staring with unabashed fascination … I should be enjoying all these attention. Instead, I keep longing for that get up, you know … the all-time fashion craze among Taliban women?
You see I’m smart enough to figure out how to skin one whole chicken without causing any tear and come out with a mouth-watering Chicken Galantina, but apparently not smart enough to keep my nose a respectable distance away from the steamer when I opened the lid. Ouch!
Yeah! It hurt! As my friend Chedette said, “poor Tita Olga!”. Yes, poor Tita Olga indeed.
And as a consequence of that stupidity, I sported an angry red, swollen little nose for a day or two that had everyone believing I was Rudolph’s long lost cousin.
Right now, it has turned kind of purple with a hint of brown and red … call me Barney this time…
I should be worried sick at how this would affect my beauty … (ok, ok, you can lower that raised eyebrow now) … considering that I am a keloid-former. Good if the scar would grow upwards, giving my vertically challenged nose a much-needed boost or an interesting tilt at the very least.
But heaven forbid it would grow sideward … and sit astride the tip of my nose … wouldn’t that make me look like a hammerhead shark? Shivers…
But I’m actually more concerned of people thinking that I had a misadventure with shabu. You know, Olga too sabog to realize she had the flame under her nose instead of elsewhere, or as friend Cris Bonga joked, maybe some would think that I was an enthusiastic, first-time user who got the hot tinfoil sticking like glue to my nose. That would have been hilarious had I not been so miserable.
My husband Nonoy tried to help by suggesting that maybe people would think I was a sunburned balikbayan. Yeah, that was really comforting. Maybe I was touring the Sahara Desert and forgot to apply sunscreen on my nose!
Chedette also tried to be helpful by suggesting that I tell folks I dove right into a birthday cake and started licking off the icing while the candles were still lighted. Now, that’s me through and through!
I asked another friend Mayet to guess what new look my nose was sporting. She could not decide between a nose job and a broken nose that resulted from being punched by somebody whom I picked a fight with.
Oh … that’s a winner! You should have seen me doubling up with laughter at that one. Too bad I can’t tell here who it was that Mayet suggested I picked a fight with! She does know me inside out!
Why all these fuss about my nose? Well, this is supposed to be a housewife’s corner. So let me share one recently gained housewifely insight … keep your nose away from steaming pots! (As if somebody actually needed to be told that! It seems only I didn’t get that the first time.)
Oh yes! I’m also hoping somebody would take pity on my poor nose and email me some info about how to keep keloid from forming on my already-bulbous nose. That would be a great help!
By the way, I’d like to thank Ernie Bhagwani for his glowing comments about MetroPost and its writers. As my editor Irma Faith Pal said, feedbacks like that from our readers lighten things up during times when the burdens of running a paper like MetroPost gets kind of heavy.
Mr. Bhagwani was right. This paper does stand out. It’s in a class of its own and we have our hardworking duo Alex and Irma to thank for that. And oh! Let’s not forget their impeccable knack at choosing columnists for this paper! (ehem!)
It is very gratifying to know that all the hard work being put into MetroPost, including that by its columnists, is being appreciated. We all do this for the love of writing.
And yes, we do have some world-class writers among us, and it’s a privilege to be named next to them. Although I must say that I am not deserving of that title. What you read in this column is simply my chatter set on print. If I could include me laughing out loud in it, I would.
Thank you Mr. Bhagwani. I’m sure your comments made everyone’s day!
A part of me has become rather interesting to a lot of people nowadays. Heads would turn everywhere I’d go and I’ve had children staring with unabashed fascination … I should be enjoying all these attention. Instead, I keep longing for that get up, you know … the all-time fashion craze among Taliban women?
You see I’m smart enough to figure out how to skin one whole chicken without causing any tear and come out with a mouth-watering Chicken Galantina, but apparently not smart enough to keep my nose a respectable distance away from the steamer when I opened the lid. Ouch!
Yeah! It hurt! As my friend Chedette said, “poor Tita Olga!”. Yes, poor Tita Olga indeed.
And as a consequence of that stupidity, I sported an angry red, swollen little nose for a day or two that had everyone believing I was Rudolph’s long lost cousin.
Right now, it has turned kind of purple with a hint of brown and red … call me Barney this time…
I should be worried sick at how this would affect my beauty … (ok, ok, you can lower that raised eyebrow now) … considering that I am a keloid-former. Good if the scar would grow upwards, giving my vertically challenged nose a much-needed boost or an interesting tilt at the very least.
But heaven forbid it would grow sideward … and sit astride the tip of my nose … wouldn’t that make me look like a hammerhead shark? Shivers…
But I’m actually more concerned of people thinking that I had a misadventure with shabu. You know, Olga too sabog to realize she had the flame under her nose instead of elsewhere, or as friend Cris Bonga joked, maybe some would think that I was an enthusiastic, first-time user who got the hot tinfoil sticking like glue to my nose. That would have been hilarious had I not been so miserable.
My husband Nonoy tried to help by suggesting that maybe people would think I was a sunburned balikbayan. Yeah, that was really comforting. Maybe I was touring the Sahara Desert and forgot to apply sunscreen on my nose!
Chedette also tried to be helpful by suggesting that I tell folks I dove right into a birthday cake and started licking off the icing while the candles were still lighted. Now, that’s me through and through!
I asked another friend Mayet to guess what new look my nose was sporting. She could not decide between a nose job and a broken nose that resulted from being punched by somebody whom I picked a fight with.
Oh … that’s a winner! You should have seen me doubling up with laughter at that one. Too bad I can’t tell here who it was that Mayet suggested I picked a fight with! She does know me inside out!
Why all these fuss about my nose? Well, this is supposed to be a housewife’s corner. So let me share one recently gained housewifely insight … keep your nose away from steaming pots! (As if somebody actually needed to be told that! It seems only I didn’t get that the first time.)
Oh yes! I’m also hoping somebody would take pity on my poor nose and email me some info about how to keep keloid from forming on my already-bulbous nose. That would be a great help!
By the way, I’d like to thank Ernie Bhagwani for his glowing comments about MetroPost and its writers. As my editor Irma Faith Pal said, feedbacks like that from our readers lighten things up during times when the burdens of running a paper like MetroPost gets kind of heavy.
Mr. Bhagwani was right. This paper does stand out. It’s in a class of its own and we have our hardworking duo Alex and Irma to thank for that. And oh! Let’s not forget their impeccable knack at choosing columnists for this paper! (ehem!)
It is very gratifying to know that all the hard work being put into MetroPost, including that by its columnists, is being appreciated. We all do this for the love of writing.
And yes, we do have some world-class writers among us, and it’s a privilege to be named next to them. Although I must say that I am not deserving of that title. What you read in this column is simply my chatter set on print. If I could include me laughing out loud in it, I would.
Thank you Mr. Bhagwani. I’m sure your comments made everyone’s day!
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Proud of our Alma Mater
TOP 20 SCHOOLS IN THE PHILIPPINES
This statistics is a result of the study conducted by the Professional Regulation Commission(PRC) and the Commission on Higher Education(CHED), based on the average passing in the BOARD EXAMINATIONS OF ALL COURSES of all universities and colleges in the Philippines.
This study is concluded every 10 years. The following is the result of the first study from1992 to 2001. Eleven schools come from Luzon, two from the Visayas and seven from Mindanao.
1. University of the Philippines (Diliman Campus/Luzon)
2. University of the Philippines (Los Banos Campus/Luzon)
3. University of the Philippines (Manila Campus/Luzon)
4. SILLIMAN UNIVERSITY (Dumaguete City/Visayas)
5. Ateneo de Davao University (Davao/Mindanao)
6. Ateneo de Manila University (Manila/Luzon)
7. University of Sto. Tomas (Manila/Luzon)
8. Mindanao State University (Iligan Institute ofTech/Mindanao)
9. Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila (Manila/Luzon)
10. Saint Louis University (Baguio City/Luzon)
11. University of San Carlos (Cebu City/Visayas)
12. Xavier University (Cagayan de Oro/Mindanao)
13. Mindanao State University (Main/Mindanao)
14. Urios College (Butuan City/Mindanao)
15. Polytechnic University of the Philippines( Manila/Luzon)
16. De La Salle University (Manila/Luzon)
17. Mapua Institute of Technology (Manila/Luzon)
18. Adamson University (Manila/Luzon)
19. Central Mindanao University (Bukidnon/Mindanao)
20. University of Southern Philippines (Davao/Mindanao)
TOP Nursing Schools in the Philippines
Based on Board Exam passing rates for 2000-2004 only 12 of the 175 Nursing schools had passing rates of 90% or higher. RANK SCHOOL OVERALL % Passing Rate
1. UP-Manila 100%
2. St. Paul College-Iloilo 99.57%
3. SILLIMAN UNIVERSITY - DUMAGUETE CITY 98.39%
4. West Visayas State University 97.06%
5. University of Santo Tomas Manila 96.67%
6. Saint Louis University - Baguio City 95.05
7. Mindanao State University Marawi City 95.0%
8. St. Paul College-Dumaguete City 93.38
9. Pamantasan ng Lunsod ng Maynila 92.53%
10. Saint Mary's University - Bayombong 91.02%
11. St. Paul College-Manila 90.81%
12. University of the East-Ramon Magsaysay Memorial Center 90.57%
This is old news but again just to relish the fact Silliman University has always been the best in campus life. Pards, we are all very lucky to be part of it. Cheers!!!
Note: I got this from the email of one of my high school classmates.
This statistics is a result of the study conducted by the Professional Regulation Commission(PRC) and the Commission on Higher Education(CHED), based on the average passing in the BOARD EXAMINATIONS OF ALL COURSES of all universities and colleges in the Philippines.
This study is concluded every 10 years. The following is the result of the first study from1992 to 2001. Eleven schools come from Luzon, two from the Visayas and seven from Mindanao.
1. University of the Philippines (Diliman Campus/Luzon)
2. University of the Philippines (Los Banos Campus/Luzon)
3. University of the Philippines (Manila Campus/Luzon)
4. SILLIMAN UNIVERSITY (Dumaguete City/Visayas)
5. Ateneo de Davao University (Davao/Mindanao)
6. Ateneo de Manila University (Manila/Luzon)
7. University of Sto. Tomas (Manila/Luzon)
8. Mindanao State University (Iligan Institute ofTech/Mindanao)
9. Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila (Manila/Luzon)
10. Saint Louis University (Baguio City/Luzon)
11. University of San Carlos (Cebu City/Visayas)
12. Xavier University (Cagayan de Oro/Mindanao)
13. Mindanao State University (Main/Mindanao)
14. Urios College (Butuan City/Mindanao)
15. Polytechnic University of the Philippines( Manila/Luzon)
16. De La Salle University (Manila/Luzon)
17. Mapua Institute of Technology (Manila/Luzon)
18. Adamson University (Manila/Luzon)
19. Central Mindanao University (Bukidnon/Mindanao)
20. University of Southern Philippines (Davao/Mindanao)
TOP Nursing Schools in the Philippines
Based on Board Exam passing rates for 2000-2004 only 12 of the 175 Nursing schools had passing rates of 90% or higher. RANK SCHOOL OVERALL % Passing Rate
1. UP-Manila 100%
2. St. Paul College-Iloilo 99.57%
3. SILLIMAN UNIVERSITY - DUMAGUETE CITY 98.39%
4. West Visayas State University 97.06%
5. University of Santo Tomas Manila 96.67%
6. Saint Louis University - Baguio City 95.05
7. Mindanao State University Marawi City 95.0%
8. St. Paul College-Dumaguete City 93.38
9. Pamantasan ng Lunsod ng Maynila 92.53%
10. Saint Mary's University - Bayombong 91.02%
11. St. Paul College-Manila 90.81%
12. University of the East-Ramon Magsaysay Memorial Center 90.57%
This is old news but again just to relish the fact Silliman University has always been the best in campus life. Pards, we are all very lucky to be part of it. Cheers!!!
Note: I got this from the email of one of my high school classmates.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
On Dom Cimafranca's "LOLITA"
Thank you Dom for writing “Lolita”.
I am glad that Dom trained the spotlight on what has become of the Filipino family’s favorite noontime fares.
There was a time when I loved watching noontime shows, from Student Canteen and Eat Bulaga, to Magandang Tanghali Bayan, especially during the peak of the “Pera o Bayong” days.
Back then, these shows were relatively tame, although I distinctly remember the time when Gracia (of Eat Bulaga) became a household name. (I remember because I used to turn purple with jealousy whenever my then-boyfriend, now husband Nonoy, watched Gracia climb out of a pool during one of Eat Bulaga’s games, with her protruding nipples clearly showing under her soaking-wet shirt or jiggle her ample bosom to the beat of some 90’s dance hit. Now that’s what you’d call a confession! ha-ha-ha! I’m over that now. I hope.)
If I am not mistaken, this was roughly the time when dancers, with their sexually provocative moves, started enjoying a bigger share of the limelight.
But I believe that it’s the Sexbomb Girls that really hit the jackpot as far as putting sexy dance groups in the forefront of the noontime shows, along with the rise in popularity of such songs as Sexbomb, Spaghetti Pababa, Otso-Otso and the like.
With a rapidly growing, impressionable young daughter, I banned the watching of noontime shows in our home. I’m not turning my nose up on these shows, mind you. But I happen to believe that there are dances that are suited for general patronage and that there are dances that properly belong to the beer houses.
And the ones mostly shown in Wowowee or Eat Bulaga nowadays properly belong to that latter category. I am doing my best not to sound judgmental here, but I just couldn’t see how madly gyrating girls and cameras angled up so viewers could peep under these girls’ skimpy skirts and catch teasing glimpses of their panties, could pass for family entertainment!
I am very happy that the principal of the school my daughter is attending shares my views. She too doesn’t approve of the students dancing to the beat of the novelty songs that are very popular nowadays, nor of the dance moves that obviously were copied from TV.
That’s why nobody will be seeing students from my daughter’s school performing anywhere in that manner. Thank God for that!
Do I sound too straight-laced and narrow-minded and so boringly conservative, and as some would put it, too tight-assed? That’s what I think of myself too, at least, as far as this subject is concerned. But for goodness’ sake, mothers! Think again! Our little girls may look absolutely cute and infinitely adorable doing those moves they see on TV … but do they really have business dancing and moving like miniature a-go-go dancers or strippers?
Children should always be children and should be given every opportunity to enjoy their childhood for as long as possible. They have no business dancing like miniature adults, and lasciviously suggestive ones at that!
If they have to dance, let them dance like Hi-5 … or what the heck! Let them dance like Po of the Teletubbies! What’s wrong with that?
How I wish that school authorities would start taking notice. I hope that readers will agree with me that there are dance numbers that are highly inappropriate for young children and should be done away with in school programs.
I wish that parents who share my views would talk to the teachers and principals about their views on this matter. Hopefully, one by one, we can effect some little change and help bring us back to simpler, more innocent times, when children were really children.
I am glad that Dom trained the spotlight on what has become of the Filipino family’s favorite noontime fares.
There was a time when I loved watching noontime shows, from Student Canteen and Eat Bulaga, to Magandang Tanghali Bayan, especially during the peak of the “Pera o Bayong” days.
Back then, these shows were relatively tame, although I distinctly remember the time when Gracia (of Eat Bulaga) became a household name. (I remember because I used to turn purple with jealousy whenever my then-boyfriend, now husband Nonoy, watched Gracia climb out of a pool during one of Eat Bulaga’s games, with her protruding nipples clearly showing under her soaking-wet shirt or jiggle her ample bosom to the beat of some 90’s dance hit. Now that’s what you’d call a confession! ha-ha-ha! I’m over that now. I hope.)
If I am not mistaken, this was roughly the time when dancers, with their sexually provocative moves, started enjoying a bigger share of the limelight.
But I believe that it’s the Sexbomb Girls that really hit the jackpot as far as putting sexy dance groups in the forefront of the noontime shows, along with the rise in popularity of such songs as Sexbomb, Spaghetti Pababa, Otso-Otso and the like.
With a rapidly growing, impressionable young daughter, I banned the watching of noontime shows in our home. I’m not turning my nose up on these shows, mind you. But I happen to believe that there are dances that are suited for general patronage and that there are dances that properly belong to the beer houses.
And the ones mostly shown in Wowowee or Eat Bulaga nowadays properly belong to that latter category. I am doing my best not to sound judgmental here, but I just couldn’t see how madly gyrating girls and cameras angled up so viewers could peep under these girls’ skimpy skirts and catch teasing glimpses of their panties, could pass for family entertainment!
I am very happy that the principal of the school my daughter is attending shares my views. She too doesn’t approve of the students dancing to the beat of the novelty songs that are very popular nowadays, nor of the dance moves that obviously were copied from TV.
That’s why nobody will be seeing students from my daughter’s school performing anywhere in that manner. Thank God for that!
Do I sound too straight-laced and narrow-minded and so boringly conservative, and as some would put it, too tight-assed? That’s what I think of myself too, at least, as far as this subject is concerned. But for goodness’ sake, mothers! Think again! Our little girls may look absolutely cute and infinitely adorable doing those moves they see on TV … but do they really have business dancing and moving like miniature a-go-go dancers or strippers?
Children should always be children and should be given every opportunity to enjoy their childhood for as long as possible. They have no business dancing like miniature adults, and lasciviously suggestive ones at that!
If they have to dance, let them dance like Hi-5 … or what the heck! Let them dance like Po of the Teletubbies! What’s wrong with that?
How I wish that school authorities would start taking notice. I hope that readers will agree with me that there are dance numbers that are highly inappropriate for young children and should be done away with in school programs.
I wish that parents who share my views would talk to the teachers and principals about their views on this matter. Hopefully, one by one, we can effect some little change and help bring us back to simpler, more innocent times, when children were really children.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Reunion, Reunion, Reunion!!!
Silliman University College of Law Batch '97
10th Alumni Homecoming
Time flew by so fast most of us did not even notice it. If not for Ma'am Futs' initiative, this reunion would not have happened. We would not even have remembered it's been 10 years already!
So much has changed in all of us. And yet, somehow, we haven't changed at all. We're a bit older now, and some have become more rounded than since we last met, but the ring of our laughter remained the same.
There's one definite change though: photographs of cherubic toddlers and grade schoolers went around the table as we proudly showed each other what we've been up to these last 10 years.
Many among us have now become lawyers. They make our group proud. We hope to see more of these success stories in the years to come.
Standing: Mabinay ViceMayor Djanggo Uy and son, Atty. Cris "As In" Bonganciso, Marilyn "LB" Elemia, Atty. Gloria "Ma'am Futs" Futalan, Bing Villaflores-Sumanoy, Atty. Chubs Caiña, Seated: Jo Senador, Atty. Lemuel Nacita, Fermin Cimafranca
Lemuel, Atty. Jun Umbac, Teddy Reyes, Djanggo
Batch 97 ladies in their most provocative poses: LB, As In, Bing, and the awesome Ma'am Futs
Bing and As In letting loose ...
Preparing for the annual parade: LB, As In, Abby and Ma'am Futs
SU Law Faculty: old professors Atty. Myles Bejar, Atty. Levi Estolloso and Atty. Denura
Atty. Jun Umbac and Jo Senador during the paradeFriday, August 24, 2007
What being a Sillimanian means to me
Yeah, I know! That title sounds like that dreaded essay from high school. I’m pretty certain every Sillimanian from Grade Four to college had encountered this question at least a dozen times!
How about you? What does being a Sillimanian mean to you? I haven’t really thought of that myself until I got hit by SILLIMAN UNIVERSITY's Founder’s Day fever and found myself in the midst of frantic preparations for the 10th Year Homecoming of SU College of Law, Batch ’97.
Getting together with old classmates to plan our reunion brought back memories of carefree fun, which to my mind actually outnumbered those days when we got serious enough to dig into our books.
As I went though old photographs with old classmates Bing Sumanoy and Marilyn “LB” Elemia, together with our success stories Atty. Gloria “Ma’am Futs” Futalan and Atty. Cris “As In” Bonganciso, it suddenly struck me how I have made that transition from being THE STUDENT bent only on exploring the booth area or shouting my throat hoarse during cheering contests or excitedly rushing to our favorite hang-out, the now defunct “Forum” … to now being one of those kind of senior-looking and mostly round figured RETURNING ALUMNI who have come back home to revisit the Alma Mater.
Get my drift? Student: young. Alumni planning reunion parties: kind of not so young. That’s all I care to say on this unsavory but undeniable subject!
So what does being a Sillimanian mean to me? Let me attempt to translate into words here the significance of the word “Sillimanian” from my own perspective.
I used to step back from the throng and observe from the outside. I have always been amazed at Silliman’s magnetic pull over its alumni and how the bonds that were formed during school days continue to hold strong, particularly among Sillimanians abroad. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this holds true for everyone. Even complete strangers who bear the stamp of Silliman automatically become members of the bigger family.
I have seen first hand how kind, generous and unselfish arms have reached out across the miles to extend assistance to old classmates to see them through rough times.
As for me, I feel pride for Silliman and everything that it stands for. My Alma Mater may not be perfect (as nothing is and will ever be), and has seen its share of bad days in its 106 years, but the fact that it is there as a beacon of truth and everything that is good and right in this life, is reason enough for me to be proud.
We may choose to follow its ideals or not, and it is without doubt that many of us have fallen off the track along the way, but there is always our Alma Mater to look up to and to lead the way.
I also feel the warmth that comes only from knowing that one belongs to something that is bigger and greater than all of us put together, and I belong to Silliman, and that is something that nothing and no one can ever take away from me.
Silliman is a gateway that enables us to travel back in time … that time in our lives when we were younger and more carefree, when there was endless laughter and fun, when the whole wide world was still out there, waiting to be conquered … a time in our lives when we were still untouched by the life felt only by our parents then … no hardships and disillusionments yet, only promise of greater things to come.
So that’s what being a Sillimanian is to me … pride of this great institution itself, and along with it, pride at having my own niche, no matter how small, insignificant and unremarkable, it is mine.
Now I know why our alumni always come back home and why I am coming home as well. We want to see old friends and hopefully feel that old magic that only youth could bring spark back to life once again.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Top 10 Reasons Why There Couldn't be a Filipino-American US President
WE Filipinos love to laugh at ourselves, especially when it's true and speaks of the worse in us!!! No, I did not write this one. Got this in my email just now.
All these below show the "typical" Filipino ... some kind of show us in the bad light ... but I still find them endearing.
(Said to have come from ) David Letterman
10. The White House is not big enough for in-laws and extended relatives.
9. There are not enough parking spaces at the White House for 2 Honda Civics, 2 Toyota Land Cruisers, 3 Toyota Corollas, a Mercedes Benz, a BMW , and an MPV (My Pinoy Van).
8. Dignitaries generally are intimidated by eating with their fingers at State dinners.
7. There are too many dining rooms in the White House - where will they put the picture of the Last Supper?
6. The White House walls are not big enough to hold a pair of giant wooden spoon and fork
5. Secret Service staff won't respond to "psst... psst" or 'hoy....hoy. ..hoy...'
4. Secret Service staff will not be comfortable driving the presidential car with a Holy Rosary hanging on the rear view mirror, or the statue of the Santo Nino on the dashboard.
3. No budget allocation to purchase a Karaoke music-machine for every room in the White House.
2. State dinners do not allow "Take Home".
AND THE NUMBER 1 REASON WHY THERE COULDN'T BE A FILIPINO-AMERICAN U.S. PRESIDENT IS...
1. Air Force One does not allow overweight Balikbayan boxes!
All these below show the "typical" Filipino ... some kind of show us in the bad light ... but I still find them endearing.
(Said to have come from ) David Letterman
10. The White House is not big enough for in-laws and extended relatives.
9. There are not enough parking spaces at the White House for 2 Honda Civics, 2 Toyota Land Cruisers, 3 Toyota Corollas, a Mercedes Benz, a BMW , and an MPV (My Pinoy Van).
8. Dignitaries generally are intimidated by eating with their fingers at State dinners.
7. There are too many dining rooms in the White House - where will they put the picture of the Last Supper?
6. The White House walls are not big enough to hold a pair of giant wooden spoon and fork
5. Secret Service staff won't respond to "psst... psst" or 'hoy....hoy. ..hoy...'
4. Secret Service staff will not be comfortable driving the presidential car with a Holy Rosary hanging on the rear view mirror, or the statue of the Santo Nino on the dashboard.
3. No budget allocation to purchase a Karaoke music-machine for every room in the White House.
2. State dinners do not allow "Take Home".
AND THE NUMBER 1 REASON WHY THERE COULDN'T BE A FILIPINO-AMERICAN U.S. PRESIDENT IS...
1. Air Force One does not allow overweight Balikbayan boxes!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Tarung nga Buang
Could there ever be one? Tarung nga buang? The only English translation I could think of that would approximate what this term is trying to get across, is “sane lunatic”, and that’s insane. For can somebody who’s insane be sane at the same time?
Not possible? Think again!
Take this woman named Elsie, for instance. Some twelve years back, Atty. Frank Yap took her under his wings. During her lucid moments, he allowed her to work in Gemini in exchange of free meals and a meager income. According to him, she was in and out of “Talay”, referring to a rehabilitation center for the mentally ill located in Talay, Valencia.
Elsie did have her lucid moments. She used to buy food or bread then walk all the way to Talay to bring these presents to her friends.
But she often disappeared for days on end. When she would finally return, she’d be grimy and reeking with the sweat and dirt that had accumulated on her unwashed body for days, weeks even. She’d be totally incomprehensible and often appeared dazed and every bit the “buang” as how we’d all imagine a buang would look, sound, and smell like.
Elsie had three pregnancies that I know of. I don’t know what happened to her first child, but I heard that her second was given up for adoption. I witnessed her third. It just happened. One day, we began noticing that her belly was bigger and rounder. We could only surmise that she conceived during one of her dark periods, when she was lost in that hazy world known only to her.
Elsie did not forget me over the years that followed. Whenever she’d see me, she would immediately rush over with her big broken smile and that look of pure gladness in her eyes, calling me “Uu-gah” again and again. She must have been living in the streets by then. Shame on me … except for the food and cash that I used to hand over to her, I did very little to help her.
The last time I saw her, she was slumped on the sidewalk, thin as a reed. I went over, expecting that I’d be met by that same big smile. But Elsie wasn’t there anymore. There was only blank look in eyes that used to light up whenever they’d see me.
I don’t see Elsie around Dumaguete anymore. I heard that she passed away.
Memories of Elsie kind of fades away but they come back whenever I’d hear stories of aborted babies like the 7-month old fetus found buried in Silliman Beach recently.
Elsie, and everything that she stood for, came sharply into focus when a friend narrated to me the fate of another aborted fetus found in Bantayan. As if killing it was not enough, whoever had this baby doused it with gasoline to burn it, then ran a vehicle over its burnt little body, crushing its tiny skull. I can’t think of anything more to say on this subject. I can only cry.
And then, I’d think of Elsie. Her story is not over yet.
Social Welfare Office personnel took custody of her third child after she gave birth. My friend LB was present when her baby boy was taken away from her.
Years later, Elsie continued to seek out LB to ask for her baby. She used to say that she would save the money that LB and her officemates gave to her so she could go to America to see her child.
Yes, Elsie, an eyesore whom city officials would rather be anywhere but in Dumaguete, remained a mother in her heart. In that hazy world that she lived in, she remembered and she cared.
And now, I’d think of those who deliberately kill their own innocent defenseless children to hide their shame, or those who commit acts so despicable, I cannot find the words to express my disgust.
I can’t help but ask … who is tarung and who is buang?
Not possible? Think again!
Take this woman named Elsie, for instance. Some twelve years back, Atty. Frank Yap took her under his wings. During her lucid moments, he allowed her to work in Gemini in exchange of free meals and a meager income. According to him, she was in and out of “Talay”, referring to a rehabilitation center for the mentally ill located in Talay, Valencia.
Elsie did have her lucid moments. She used to buy food or bread then walk all the way to Talay to bring these presents to her friends.
But she often disappeared for days on end. When she would finally return, she’d be grimy and reeking with the sweat and dirt that had accumulated on her unwashed body for days, weeks even. She’d be totally incomprehensible and often appeared dazed and every bit the “buang” as how we’d all imagine a buang would look, sound, and smell like.
Elsie had three pregnancies that I know of. I don’t know what happened to her first child, but I heard that her second was given up for adoption. I witnessed her third. It just happened. One day, we began noticing that her belly was bigger and rounder. We could only surmise that she conceived during one of her dark periods, when she was lost in that hazy world known only to her.
Elsie did not forget me over the years that followed. Whenever she’d see me, she would immediately rush over with her big broken smile and that look of pure gladness in her eyes, calling me “Uu-gah” again and again. She must have been living in the streets by then. Shame on me … except for the food and cash that I used to hand over to her, I did very little to help her.
The last time I saw her, she was slumped on the sidewalk, thin as a reed. I went over, expecting that I’d be met by that same big smile. But Elsie wasn’t there anymore. There was only blank look in eyes that used to light up whenever they’d see me.
I don’t see Elsie around Dumaguete anymore. I heard that she passed away.
Memories of Elsie kind of fades away but they come back whenever I’d hear stories of aborted babies like the 7-month old fetus found buried in Silliman Beach recently.
Elsie, and everything that she stood for, came sharply into focus when a friend narrated to me the fate of another aborted fetus found in Bantayan. As if killing it was not enough, whoever had this baby doused it with gasoline to burn it, then ran a vehicle over its burnt little body, crushing its tiny skull. I can’t think of anything more to say on this subject. I can only cry.
And then, I’d think of Elsie. Her story is not over yet.
Social Welfare Office personnel took custody of her third child after she gave birth. My friend LB was present when her baby boy was taken away from her.
Years later, Elsie continued to seek out LB to ask for her baby. She used to say that she would save the money that LB and her officemates gave to her so she could go to America to see her child.
Yes, Elsie, an eyesore whom city officials would rather be anywhere but in Dumaguete, remained a mother in her heart. In that hazy world that she lived in, she remembered and she cared.
And now, I’d think of those who deliberately kill their own innocent defenseless children to hide their shame, or those who commit acts so despicable, I cannot find the words to express my disgust.
I can’t help but ask … who is tarung and who is buang?
Friday, August 10, 2007
Innocents in Paradise
I said again and again that I wanted Abby's childhood to last for
as long as it could. Here are some really great reasons:
It's that joyous abandon that can be found only in childhood ...
It's that innocence that says to h-ll with society's conventions ... there's time enough for that ... and it's the rest of our lives ... 
For now, we'll just be children as only children could ever be!
It started as a family lunch out one lazy Sunday (after attending Mass) at El Dorado Beach Resort in Dauin, Negros Oriental to celebrate Tito Carl's birthday, dad of cousins Gabby, Raffy and Cody.
Just lunch. No swimming.
So off we went with Abby only in her shirt and skirt.
They asked for permission to frolick in the sand ... no problem! "Go ahead" ... said parents too busy chatting with each other to pay close attention to what the children were up to next.
Before we knew it, one child was ankle deep in water ... "Mom! Can we wet our legs?" .....
Well, to cut this story short, mothers Tita Nini and myself finally decided to take their shirts off (Gabby, Raffy and Cody had only one spare each while Abby had absolutely none).... as one child after another went in deeper and deeper into the water....
We knew our brood well enough to realize that saying NO to swimming was futile. Children being children, you know .....
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
On Bloods and Crips (in Dumaguete)
I channel surfed one late Saturday night and came upon Fil Product’s airing of one of the City Council’s sessions. Out of curiosity and for lack of more interesting shows in the other channels, I decided to stay on and quickly got hooked when the Bloods and the Crips were discussed.
I first came by the names Bloods and Crips when my friend SPO1 Jobie Lacandula mentioned that these local gangs are fast gaining ground among Dumaguete’s youth. Little did I realize how grave their threat was, until I listened to one enraged father speaking out against the Bloods and Crips before the City Council. His 15-year old son’s skull was fractured after gang members attacked him at Mart One in broad daylight.
To better understand these gangs, I looked into their origins and learned that the Crips are a primarily, but not exclusively, African-American gang founded in Los Angeles, California in 1969. It thrived in the culture of ghetto violence and through the years, it has grown into one of the largest and most powerful gangs in the United States with membership that exceeds well over 30,000.
The Crips are known to be involved in murders, robberies, and drug dealing, among many other criminal pursuits. The gang is notorious for its members’ flamboyant use of the color blue in their clothing. They are known to have an intense and bitter rivalry with the Bloods.
The Bloods, on the other hand, started as an alliance formed by several smaller gangs being targeted by the Crips. These embattled groups got together to form a united, thus stronger, organization to combat Crip intimidation and encroachment in their turfs. In contrast to the Crips’ use of the color blue, the then newly formed Bloods took on the wearing of an opposite color, red.
The local Bloods and Crips are copycats with no affiliation or recognition from the US originals. According to Police Chief Supt. Dionardo Carlos, they are merely emulating the activities of their so-called idols, from identifying their gang affiliations through their use of either red or blue bandannas, to engaging in open warfare against each other, often attacking members of rival gangs who’d cross their path.
According to P/Supt. Carlos, Bloods gang members come from families in the upper echelon of society. They recruit male and female students from private high schools like Silliman University HS, Foundation University HS and St. Paul University HS. Members are easily identifiable through their use of black shirts with red bandannas often worn as headscarf, or slung across the shoulders, or tucked in the back pocket of oversized hip-hop pants.
The Crips recruit from public high schools like NOHS and Dumaguete City High School. They also wear black shirts and hip-hop pants and favor the use of blue bandannas.
P/Supt. Carlos mentioned sons of political leaders as members of the Bloods gang. I have also heard from other sources of children (not gang members) of prominent public personalities, businessmen and professionals having been recruited, or ganged upon and subjected to threats and intimidation by members of either Bloods or Crips.
As parents, this growing notoriety of the gangs and their penchant for violence against rival gang members and non-members alike should become our primary concern. This should be more so if we have teenaged boys and girls who might become drawn into the promised brotherhood and offer of protection and support from other members, not to mention the element of being “cool” or “in” – at a time in our children’s lives when, more often that not, outward appearances and affiliations are of paramount importance.
P/Supt. Carlos informed the Council that these groups are primarily hip-hop groups who merely wanted to come together to dance and play rap music together (that is, if they are not fighting rival gangs).
I say that we should not allow this statement to lull us into any sense of false security. History shows us that the Crips in the US was started by 15-year old Raymond Washington with the initial intent of continuing the revolutionary ideology of the 1960s and to act as community leaders and protectors of their local neighborhoods. But the revolutionary rhetoric did not endure. Because of immaturity and lack of political leadership, the budding Crips gang was never able to develop an efficient political agenda for social change within the community.
Instead, it took very little time before their group started engaging in criminal activities, from mugging elderly Japanese women to hardcore drug dealing, murder, robbery and the like.
It goes without saying that we do not want Bloods and Crips activities here in our city to escalate to that point, or for the groups to become more violent in their skirmishes as it had in Cebu and Baguio, for instance.
I learned from my research in this subject that in Cebu, a law graduate who planned to enter the seminary after taking the bar, was caught in the crossfire between these rival gangs, and was shot dead in Mango Avenue Square. What was so poignant in this story was the mention of his rosary that was found among his law books, as they lay scattered next to his body.
Such waste of a life that held so much promise. And for what? For a battle rooted on blind and senseless hatred? Where the combatants themselves are clueless as to what that hatred was for?
I also read of news reports of bloody gang clashes in Baguio, resulting in the death of several young men in their late teens. The same scenario played over and over again: 20 to 30 to 40 attackers armed with knives, lead pipes, bats, beer bottles and bare fists.
The victims of these vicious attacks often had multiple skull fractures. One had 30 stab wounds in his body. They were gang members felled by rival gangs.
Do we want this same lawlessness happening in our City? We have already been held hostage by hardened, gun-wielding holdupers and snatchers plaguing our every move. Are we going to be held hostage once again, this time by mere children who barely got their mamas’ milk out of their lips?
We can’t just say that they just fight each other anyway! Because they don’t! Even innocent non-gang members have fallen victims to their aggression. A single look or a meeting of eyes considered to be offensive by one party could bring down a whole pack of gang brothers hungry to prove their superiority on one hapless teener.
Innocent bystanders have fallen victims already, caught in the crossfire as these gangs battled each other. We, too, can become victims. And yes, our children as well.
In other cities, Crips and Bloods members included out-of-school youths and hoodlums. I would like to ask P/Supt. Carlos if such is also the case here in Dumaguete. If so, it is frightening to think how short their leap will have to be, from mere rapping and doing the hip-hop, and obviously smoking and drinking, to drugs and drug-dealing, armed robbery and murder, and only God knows what else!
My heart goes out to the father whose son was attacked at Mart One. I could empathize with his seething anger. Any parent would be furious at seeing his child suffer from near-fatal injuries in the hands of gang members for apparently no reason at all.
I could understand his utter frustration at the seeming inaction of the Police. To a parent whose heart longs for concrete action and solutions to a problem that has come to his doorstep, the soft approach being undertaken by our Police in addressing this problem, consisting of dialogues, mediation, intervention and clash prevention, may seem lame, inadequate and halfhearted.
But I also fully understand that the Police’s hands are tied behind their backs. P/Supt. Carlos was correct in pointing out that unless these gangs are actually committing a crime, there is little that the Police could do. The most would be to disperse these groups once they are spotted converging in one area.
Besides, with the promulgation of RA 9344, the Juvenile Justice and Welfare Act, which spares individuals 15 years and younger from criminal liability, young offenders falling within that age bracket could not be held accountable for their criminal actions even when caught red-handed. And according to P/Supt. Carlos, most members fall within this age group.
So what now? With the Police practically helpless to curb these gangs’ increasing numbers and with the gang members themselves becoming increasingly bolder by the minute, where does this leave us? Turn to vigilante justice as what the father of that victim said he would do?
Those of us whose lives have not been touched by the ferocity these young men are capable of can very easily take the high moral ground and express shock and indignation over his audacity to even contemplate such an unthinkable option.
It’s basic human nature to take the emotional backseat as we watch human dramas unfold. Very seldom could we fully empathize with the range of emotions displayed before us. More often than not, it is only when those closest to our hearts are affected by the same forces that we’d bother to get out of our comfortable seats to join in the fray.
But if we look deep into the psyche of this father, we’d understand the rage and extent of the frustration that drove him into saying what he said. I believe that he said he would turn to vigilantes only to make us all understand how angry and how frustrated he was over what he perceived to be Police inaction.
His talk of resorting to vigilante justice merely existed in the realm of contemplation. There is no crime in that. What is criminal is when what has been contemplated is translated into concrete action. Now, that’s another story.
According to him, vigilante justice had been effective before and they could still work now. He mentioned notorious Dumaguete gangs in the past that spontaneously disbanded after members got terminated one after another.
What, if indeed, there are similarly victimized people out there who would go beyond that contemplation stage? I heard one person declare that he’d be willing to contribute to a vigilante fund.
Would parents, who’ve previously been in denial regarding their children’s involvement with the gangs, be compelled to act decisively and keep them home under lock and key, if gang members would start suffering the same fate as their predecessors?
Heaven forbid if ordinary citizens would decide to take matters into their own hands! But we do not have to come to that. I believe that the parents are the key to this dilemma.
P/Supt. Carlos hit the nail squarely in the head when he said that this matter would not have gotten to this point had the parents had been more involved and vigilant of their children’s activities.
I completely agree. But vigilant of what? Bad barkadas? Fine. But if we conduct a survey right now, I wonder how many among us are adequately aware of this threat? Maybe, SUHS parents are, because I understand that the PTA is actively addressing this problem. But how about the rest of us?
A private group whose name I cannot recall right now has taken the commendable step of conducting information drives among high school students, warning them against joining these gangs.
But our local leadership should also undertake steps to extensively inform the very same people who are the first lines of defense in this war: the parents. To our leaders: what have YOU done so far to inform us about this danger to our children?
Let me do your job for you here: Parents, take note. If your sons and daughters would begin sporting black shirts and those oversized hip-hop pants, accompanied by red or blue bandannas … warning bells should start ringing in your heads already. That could spell only one thing … B-A-D.
They are in grave danger. Hardly from the irate parents I’ve been writing about, but from members of rival gangs who’d gladly attack for no reason other than that they belong to a different group.
Let me quote an American mother who lost her son to gang violence in 2003. He was 18 years old and he was a gang member. She said, "Every parent should pay attention to signs that I ignored as a parent and paid the ultimate price of losing a child."
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Earthquake Drills in Schools Please!
The July 13 earthquake literally shook me out of my blissful state that early Friday morning when Mother Nature decided to remind us how puny we all are against her awesome power.
It was pretty scary how our home seemed to creak and groan as it swayed from side to side. My first thought was Abby. If the earthquake had been scary for me, how much more terrifying it must have been for her, and for all other young impressionable children who never knew the ground they stand on could shake the way it did.
She told me later on how scared they all were. But much to the credit of her teacher, only one or two from her class cried unlike children from other classes, who according to her, cried in unison during the tremors.
I give credit to her teacher who remained calm and composed when the two earthquakes struck. In events such as these, children take their cues from adults. Presenting a brave front to the children will help them cope with their own fears. Showing fright or even the slightest hint of panic, on the other hand, will crumple whatever resolve they may have at being courageous in such situations.
So what causes earthquakes? Quick research taught me that the earth is divided into three layers - a hard outer crust, a soft middle layer and a center core. The outer crust is broken into massive, irregular pieces called “plates”. These plates have been moving very slowly for billions of years, driven by energy forces deep within the earth. Its movements continue to shape the physical features of the earth’s mountains, valleys, plains and plateaus. Earthquakes occur when these moving plates grind and scrape against each other. The Pacific Plate grinds northwestward past the North American plate at a rate of about 2 inches per year.
According to a news report, the earthquake could have resulted from a break or stress in the local fault line in Negros or some movement in the Philippine trench. Now, this part about our very own fault line in Negros should give us cause of concern. It can only mean that we should be expecting more of these earthquakes in the years to come.
As a parent then, I am calling on all schools to start instructing and drilling students on emergency procedures right away. It is important that the children are oriented on earthquake preparedness so they would know what to do before, during and after such event.
I know that Silliman Elem, for instance, conducted earthquake drills last school year and that Cittadini will be having one soon. But I don’t know if other schools have similar plans.
Emphasis should be given on the proper training of the teachers. According to PHILVOLCS, “during an earthquake, school children are one of the most vulnerable. As such, it is important for school administrators and teachers to be informed on how to properly conduct an earthquake drill. Teachers are the ones who will guide the students. They are the ones who will teach students how to protect themselves. The conduct of an earthquake drill requires planning and designing of evacuation procedure, as well as orienting teachers and ultimately students on how to do the earthquake drill.”
I found two very helpful websites on earthquake drills. Anyone who’s interested should check-out the following: http://www.cnmiemo.gov.mp/Earthquake%20Brochure.htm and
http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf
I was introduced to the “duck, cover and hold” method. It teaches children to (1) turn away from windows; (2) crouch under a desk or table; (3) put both hands on the back of their neck; and (4) to tuck their head down. If the desk or table moves, it advises: hold the legs and move with it.
At least 30 minutes in each school month should be used to instruct students on fire, earthquake, and where appropriate, tsunami dangers and drills. At least two drills on earthquakes and fires must be conducted each year, and in schools in a coastal zone, at least three drills on earthquakes and tsunamis.
Earthquake drills are simple and easy to do. It only requires planning ahead (with a little guidance from PHILVOLCS) and constant practice. Just visit this web page for those guidelines: http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf.
So come on beloved schools. Show us that you are taking care of our children every way you could! Let us know that you will be having those drills SOON! The parents are waiting.
It was pretty scary how our home seemed to creak and groan as it swayed from side to side. My first thought was Abby. If the earthquake had been scary for me, how much more terrifying it must have been for her, and for all other young impressionable children who never knew the ground they stand on could shake the way it did.
She told me later on how scared they all were. But much to the credit of her teacher, only one or two from her class cried unlike children from other classes, who according to her, cried in unison during the tremors.
I give credit to her teacher who remained calm and composed when the two earthquakes struck. In events such as these, children take their cues from adults. Presenting a brave front to the children will help them cope with their own fears. Showing fright or even the slightest hint of panic, on the other hand, will crumple whatever resolve they may have at being courageous in such situations.
So what causes earthquakes? Quick research taught me that the earth is divided into three layers - a hard outer crust, a soft middle layer and a center core. The outer crust is broken into massive, irregular pieces called “plates”. These plates have been moving very slowly for billions of years, driven by energy forces deep within the earth. Its movements continue to shape the physical features of the earth’s mountains, valleys, plains and plateaus. Earthquakes occur when these moving plates grind and scrape against each other. The Pacific Plate grinds northwestward past the North American plate at a rate of about 2 inches per year.
According to a news report, the earthquake could have resulted from a break or stress in the local fault line in Negros or some movement in the Philippine trench. Now, this part about our very own fault line in Negros should give us cause of concern. It can only mean that we should be expecting more of these earthquakes in the years to come.
As a parent then, I am calling on all schools to start instructing and drilling students on emergency procedures right away. It is important that the children are oriented on earthquake preparedness so they would know what to do before, during and after such event.
I know that Silliman Elem, for instance, conducted earthquake drills last school year and that Cittadini will be having one soon. But I don’t know if other schools have similar plans.
Emphasis should be given on the proper training of the teachers. According to PHILVOLCS, “during an earthquake, school children are one of the most vulnerable. As such, it is important for school administrators and teachers to be informed on how to properly conduct an earthquake drill. Teachers are the ones who will guide the students. They are the ones who will teach students how to protect themselves. The conduct of an earthquake drill requires planning and designing of evacuation procedure, as well as orienting teachers and ultimately students on how to do the earthquake drill.”
I found two very helpful websites on earthquake drills. Anyone who’s interested should check-out the following: http://www.cnmiemo.gov.mp/Earthquake%20Brochure.htm and
http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf
I was introduced to the “duck, cover and hold” method. It teaches children to (1) turn away from windows; (2) crouch under a desk or table; (3) put both hands on the back of their neck; and (4) to tuck their head down. If the desk or table moves, it advises: hold the legs and move with it.
At least 30 minutes in each school month should be used to instruct students on fire, earthquake, and where appropriate, tsunami dangers and drills. At least two drills on earthquakes and fires must be conducted each year, and in schools in a coastal zone, at least three drills on earthquakes and tsunamis.
Earthquake drills are simple and easy to do. It only requires planning ahead (with a little guidance from PHILVOLCS) and constant practice. Just visit this web page for those guidelines: http://www.phivolcs.dost.gov.ph/news/eqdrill.pdf.
So come on beloved schools. Show us that you are taking care of our children every way you could! Let us know that you will be having those drills SOON! The parents are waiting.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Finding Kindred Spirits
Today, I posted the following in the message board of The Baby Center dealing with the topic: First Pregnancy, Ending in Miscarriage.
Hello everyone, first of all, may I say how sorry I am for your loss and for the pain that all of you had to go through. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your baby because I had been through that myself.
Although my miscarriage was not my first pregnancy, I too lost my baby in my 8th week. I mourned my loss deeply because I wanted that baby very badly. You see, I have polycystic ovaries syndrome. I was able to have my first child only through the grace of God and the aid of this wonderful drug called gonal-f.
My husband and I tried to have another child last December 2005. This time, I had puregon. I went through two rounds of artificial insemination but both attempts failed. We soon gave up because of financial constraints. Here in the Philippines, fertility treatments are very expensive.
I gave up hope of ever conceiving by natural means. but unexpectedly, I found out that I was pregnant by April 2006. My joy cannot be described especially because it was a spontaneous pregnancy, a miracle that came into our lives when we least expected it!
I started spotting soon after my discovery. I was devastated. I did what I could to save my baby. I went into full bed rest and begged my doctor for whatever medicine there was that would somehow keep my baby alive in case I was losing it.
Several ultrasound examinations revealed no heartbeat. They could not even find the gestational sac. But I insisted that I was pregnant because my pregnancy tests said so!!! I think people thought I was crazy then ... but when you are somebody who wanted another child I much as I did, I think you would understand how I felt then. I even had a name in case my baby would be a girl, Maia.
I finally had my miscarriage May 9, 2006. As doctors would put it, the "product of conception" was "expelled". My pain was overwhelming. My husband was not with me then. He was abroad at that time. I had nobody to comfort me. And I was filled with guilt. Somehow, I could not help asking if somehow, it had been my fault that my baby died.
I took my little one to a clinical laboratory for examination, to try to determine what the cause of my loss was. My baby, whom they coldly referred to as "specimen", was placed in a plastic cup before it was taken from me.
The technician who was holding the cup then jokingly handed it to another lab worker and jokingly told him ... " here, you urinate in this". He said that right in my presence.
I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain and the hurt that i went through that day. Here I was mourning the loss of a child that I wanted to have with all my heart ... and hearing somebody callously make my dead baby the butt of his joke by having it urinated upon was excruciating. It was utterly cruel at its best.
The lab report stated I had an early pregnancy failure ... that only the placenta developed, but no baby. The general attitude I encountered here in my home city was like ... what was the big deal? There was never any baby after all, so why all this fuss?
I don't care whether a baby developed or not at all. In my mind and in my heart, I had a child that was not meant for me. Last December 2006, I had a chance to visit one of our hospital's nursery. I dropped by intending to enjoy the sight of beautiful babies only to end up crying my heart out because I could not help thinking that my own baby should have been there as well. If I had not lost my little one, I would have given birth on December 24. Today, I would have had bouncing and crawling 7-month old. I still ache. There are times when the pain is not as raw, but times like this, my pain is as great as on that unforgettable day.
I am glad that i stumbled into this site and read of your posts. I am glad that I have found kindred spirits in you. I dont feel so alone anymore. I've corresponded with other parents who have lost their children, but I could feel that they could not empathize with me totally because my loss is not an tangible as theirs. They had real babies they have held in their arms. I only have my failed expectations.
For a while, i thought that I should stop feeling this way because I did not lose a real baby anyway, as some have pointed out to me. But I continue to feel the pain. I am glad that there are others out there who feel the same way I do. thank you for sharing a bit of yourselves with the rest of us.
Hello everyone, first of all, may I say how sorry I am for your loss and for the pain that all of you had to go through. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your baby because I had been through that myself.
Although my miscarriage was not my first pregnancy, I too lost my baby in my 8th week. I mourned my loss deeply because I wanted that baby very badly. You see, I have polycystic ovaries syndrome. I was able to have my first child only through the grace of God and the aid of this wonderful drug called gonal-f.
My husband and I tried to have another child last December 2005. This time, I had puregon. I went through two rounds of artificial insemination but both attempts failed. We soon gave up because of financial constraints. Here in the Philippines, fertility treatments are very expensive.
I gave up hope of ever conceiving by natural means. but unexpectedly, I found out that I was pregnant by April 2006. My joy cannot be described especially because it was a spontaneous pregnancy, a miracle that came into our lives when we least expected it!
I started spotting soon after my discovery. I was devastated. I did what I could to save my baby. I went into full bed rest and begged my doctor for whatever medicine there was that would somehow keep my baby alive in case I was losing it.
Several ultrasound examinations revealed no heartbeat. They could not even find the gestational sac. But I insisted that I was pregnant because my pregnancy tests said so!!! I think people thought I was crazy then ... but when you are somebody who wanted another child I much as I did, I think you would understand how I felt then. I even had a name in case my baby would be a girl, Maia.
My finally had my miscarriage May 9, 2006. As doctors would put it, the "product of conception" was "expelled". My pain was overwhelming. My husband was not with me then. He was abroad at that time. I had nobody to comfort me. And I was filled with guilt. Somehow, I could not help asking if somehow, it had been my fault that my baby died.
I took my little one to a clinical laboratory for examination, to try to determine what the cause of my loss was. My baby, whom they coldly referred to as "specimen", was placed in a plastic cup before it was taken from me.
The technician who was holding the cup then jokingly handed it to another lab worker and jokingly told him ... " here, you urinate in this". He said that right in my presence.
I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain and the hurt that i went through that day. Here I was mourning the loss of a child that I wanted to have with all my heart ... and hearing somebody callously make my dead baby the butt of his joke by having it urinated upon was excruciating. It was utterly cruel at its best.
The lab report stated I had an early pregnancy failure ... that only the placenta developed, but no baby. The general attitude I encountered here in my home city was like ... what was the big deal? There was never any baby after all, so why all this fuss?
I don't care whether a baby developed or not at all. In my mind and in my heart, I had a child that was not meant for me. Last December 2006, I had a chance to visit one of our hospital's nursery. I dropped by intending to enjoy the sight of beautiful babies only to end up crying my heart out because I could not help thinking that my own baby should have been there as well. If I had not lost my little one, I would have given birth on December 24. Today, I would have had bouncing and crawling 7-month old. I still ache. There are times when the pain is not as raw, but times like this, my pain is as great as on that unforgettable day.
I am glad that i stumbled into this site and read of your posts. I am glad that I have found kindred spirits in you. I dont feel so alone anymore. I've corresponded with other parents who have lost their children, but I could feel that they could not empathize with me totally because my loss is not an tangible as theirs. They had real babies they have held in their arms. I only have my failed expectations.
For a while, i thought that I should stop feeling this way because I did not lose a real baby anyway, as some have pointed out to me. But I continue to feel the pain. I am glad that there are others out there who feel the same way I do. thank you for sharing a bit of yourselves with the rest of us.
Hello everyone, first of all, may I say how sorry I am for your loss and for the pain that all of you had to go through. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your baby because I had been through that myself.
Although my miscarriage was not my first pregnancy, I too lost my baby in my 8th week. I mourned my loss deeply because I wanted that baby very badly. You see, I have polycystic ovaries syndrome. I was able to have my first child only through the grace of God and the aid of this wonderful drug called gonal-f.
My husband and I tried to have another child last December 2005. This time, I had puregon. I went through two rounds of artificial insemination but both attempts failed. We soon gave up because of financial constraints. Here in the Philippines, fertility treatments are very expensive.
I gave up hope of ever conceiving by natural means. but unexpectedly, I found out that I was pregnant by April 2006. My joy cannot be described especially because it was a spontaneous pregnancy, a miracle that came into our lives when we least expected it!
I started spotting soon after my discovery. I was devastated. I did what I could to save my baby. I went into full bed rest and begged my doctor for whatever medicine there was that would somehow keep my baby alive in case I was losing it.
Several ultrasound examinations revealed no heartbeat. They could not even find the gestational sac. But I insisted that I was pregnant because my pregnancy tests said so!!! I think people thought I was crazy then ... but when you are somebody who wanted another child I much as I did, I think you would understand how I felt then. I even had a name in case my baby would be a girl, Maia.
I finally had my miscarriage May 9, 2006. As doctors would put it, the "product of conception" was "expelled". My pain was overwhelming. My husband was not with me then. He was abroad at that time. I had nobody to comfort me. And I was filled with guilt. Somehow, I could not help asking if somehow, it had been my fault that my baby died.
I took my little one to a clinical laboratory for examination, to try to determine what the cause of my loss was. My baby, whom they coldly referred to as "specimen", was placed in a plastic cup before it was taken from me.
The technician who was holding the cup then jokingly handed it to another lab worker and jokingly told him ... " here, you urinate in this". He said that right in my presence.
I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain and the hurt that i went through that day. Here I was mourning the loss of a child that I wanted to have with all my heart ... and hearing somebody callously make my dead baby the butt of his joke by having it urinated upon was excruciating. It was utterly cruel at its best.
The lab report stated I had an early pregnancy failure ... that only the placenta developed, but no baby. The general attitude I encountered here in my home city was like ... what was the big deal? There was never any baby after all, so why all this fuss?
I don't care whether a baby developed or not at all. In my mind and in my heart, I had a child that was not meant for me. Last December 2006, I had a chance to visit one of our hospital's nursery. I dropped by intending to enjoy the sight of beautiful babies only to end up crying my heart out because I could not help thinking that my own baby should have been there as well. If I had not lost my little one, I would have given birth on December 24. Today, I would have had bouncing and crawling 7-month old. I still ache. There are times when the pain is not as raw, but times like this, my pain is as great as on that unforgettable day.
I am glad that i stumbled into this site and read of your posts. I am glad that I have found kindred spirits in you. I dont feel so alone anymore. I've corresponded with other parents who have lost their children, but I could feel that they could not empathize with me totally because my loss is not an tangible as theirs. They had real babies they have held in their arms. I only have my failed expectations.
For a while, i thought that I should stop feeling this way because I did not lose a real baby anyway, as some have pointed out to me. But I continue to feel the pain. I am glad that there are others out there who feel the same way I do. thank you for sharing a bit of yourselves with the rest of us.
Hello everyone, first of all, may I say how sorry I am for your loss and for the pain that all of you had to go through. I know exactly how you felt when you lost your baby because I had been through that myself.
Although my miscarriage was not my first pregnancy, I too lost my baby in my 8th week. I mourned my loss deeply because I wanted that baby very badly. You see, I have polycystic ovaries syndrome. I was able to have my first child only through the grace of God and the aid of this wonderful drug called gonal-f.
My husband and I tried to have another child last December 2005. This time, I had puregon. I went through two rounds of artificial insemination but both attempts failed. We soon gave up because of financial constraints. Here in the Philippines, fertility treatments are very expensive.
I gave up hope of ever conceiving by natural means. but unexpectedly, I found out that I was pregnant by April 2006. My joy cannot be described especially because it was a spontaneous pregnancy, a miracle that came into our lives when we least expected it!
I started spotting soon after my discovery. I was devastated. I did what I could to save my baby. I went into full bed rest and begged my doctor for whatever medicine there was that would somehow keep my baby alive in case I was losing it.
Several ultrasound examinations revealed no heartbeat. They could not even find the gestational sac. But I insisted that I was pregnant because my pregnancy tests said so!!! I think people thought I was crazy then ... but when you are somebody who wanted another child I much as I did, I think you would understand how I felt then. I even had a name in case my baby would be a girl, Maia.
My finally had my miscarriage May 9, 2006. As doctors would put it, the "product of conception" was "expelled". My pain was overwhelming. My husband was not with me then. He was abroad at that time. I had nobody to comfort me. And I was filled with guilt. Somehow, I could not help asking if somehow, it had been my fault that my baby died.
I took my little one to a clinical laboratory for examination, to try to determine what the cause of my loss was. My baby, whom they coldly referred to as "specimen", was placed in a plastic cup before it was taken from me.
The technician who was holding the cup then jokingly handed it to another lab worker and jokingly told him ... " here, you urinate in this". He said that right in my presence.
I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain and the hurt that i went through that day. Here I was mourning the loss of a child that I wanted to have with all my heart ... and hearing somebody callously make my dead baby the butt of his joke by having it urinated upon was excruciating. It was utterly cruel at its best.
The lab report stated I had an early pregnancy failure ... that only the placenta developed, but no baby. The general attitude I encountered here in my home city was like ... what was the big deal? There was never any baby after all, so why all this fuss?
I don't care whether a baby developed or not at all. In my mind and in my heart, I had a child that was not meant for me. Last December 2006, I had a chance to visit one of our hospital's nursery. I dropped by intending to enjoy the sight of beautiful babies only to end up crying my heart out because I could not help thinking that my own baby should have been there as well. If I had not lost my little one, I would have given birth on December 24. Today, I would have had bouncing and crawling 7-month old. I still ache. There are times when the pain is not as raw, but times like this, my pain is as great as on that unforgettable day.
I am glad that i stumbled into this site and read of your posts. I am glad that I have found kindred spirits in you. I dont feel so alone anymore. I've corresponded with other parents who have lost their children, but I could feel that they could not empathize with me totally because my loss is not an tangible as theirs. They had real babies they have held in their arms. I only have my failed expectations.
For a while, i thought that I should stop feeling this way because I did not lose a real baby anyway, as some have pointed out to me. But I continue to feel the pain. I am glad that there are others out there who feel the same way I do. thank you for sharing a bit of yourselves with the rest of us.
What is Blighted Ovum?
I started asking this question seriously when fellow blogger ROBERT sent me a link to the Priests for Life website that showed IMAGES OF FETAL DEVELOPMENT.The picture to the right shows a 7-week old embryo, a week short of the stage my own baby was supposed to be in when I lost her. Another picture below shows an 8-week old embryo. My own Maia would have looked like this one when I lost her.
But this is really nothing but pure fantasy on my part. I was informed that I had an Anembryonic Pregnancy or what most probaby know as blighted ovum.
I had a rough idea then what a blighted ovum was. It meant that my baby stopped developing shortly after fertilization, or that she never started developing at all. I never had a baby that looked like these embryos in the pictures.
But it does not really matter to me. I believe in my heart, whether rightly or wrongly, that God breathed life into each one of us at the moment of conception. From that moment on, each child, no matter how briefly it had lived, had a soul, and this soul went up to heaven to be reunited with its Maker.
Oh yes! I had a second baby, and this baby is now an angel in heaven. Even if she lived for only a fraction of a second, what matters to me is that she had started living. Everything else is immaterial.
Seeing these pictures of these beautiful creatures of God made me want to learn more about blighted ova. This was what I learned:
"What is a blighted ovum?A blighted ovum (also known as “anembryonic pregnancy”) happens when a fertilized egg attaches itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo does not develop or stopped developing shortly after fertilization.
Cells develop to form the pregnancy sac, but not the embryo itself. A blighted ovum usually occurs within the first trimester before a woman knows she is pregnant. A high level of chromosome abnormalities usually causes a woman’s body to naturally miscarry.
How do I know if I am having or have had a blighted ovum?
A blighted ovum can occur very early in pregnancy, before most women even know that they are pregnant. You may experience signs of pregnancy such as a missed or late menstrual period and even a positive pregnancy test. It is possible that you may have minor abdominal cramps, minor vaginal spotting or bleeding. As with a normal period, your body may flush the uterine lining, but your period may be a little heavier than usual.
Many women assume their pregnancies are on track because their hCG levels are increasing. The placenta can continue to grow and support itself without a baby for a short time, and pregnancy hormones can continue to rise, which would lead a woman to believe she is still pregnant. A diagnosis is usually not made until an ultrasound test shows either an empty womb or an empty birth sac.
What causes a blighted ovum?
A blighted ovum is the cause of about 50% of first trimester miscarriages and is usually the result of chromosomal problems. A woman’s body recognizes abnormal chromosomes in a fetus and naturally does not try to continue the pregnancy because the fetus will not develop into a normal, healthy baby. This can be caused by abnormal cell division, or poor quality sperm or egg.
Should I have a D&C or wait for a natural miscarriage?
This is a decision only you can make for yourself. Most doctors do not recommend a D&C for an early pregnancy loss. It is believed that a woman’s body is capable of passing tissue on its own and there is no need for an invasive surgical procedure with a risk of complications. A D&C would, however, be beneficial if you were planning on having a pathologist examine the tissues to determine a reason for the miscarriage. Some women feel a D&C procedure helps with closure, mentally and physically.
How can a blighted ovum be prevented?
Unfortunately, in most cases a blighted ovum cannot be prevented. Some couples will seek out genetic testing if multiple early pregnancy loss occurs. A blighted ovum is often a one time occurrence, and rarely will a woman experience more than one. Most doctors recommend couples wait at least 1-3 regular menstrual cycles before trying to conceive again after any type of miscarriage. "
My interest on this subject lead me to the website of the Baby Center where bulletin boards were started dealing with the topic: MISCARRIAGE, STILLBIRTH, AND INFANT LOSS.
Finding this board was heaven sent. I do not feel so alone anymore. I finally found other moms who felt and thought and grieved for lost babies the same way I did.
For a while, I actually considered myself as some sort of freak because nobody at home could fully empathize with my loss. It was not a tangible loss, as they said. It was not as if I've actually held the baby in my arms.
Some people here actually think that they become parents only at the moment of birth. They do not realize that parenthood starts at the exact moment of conception.
They could not understand that I loved my baby from the first moment I knew that I had her. I started thinking of names for her, I wanted her to be another girl, I planned where and when she would start attending school ... I already had dreams for my baby!
Naming her and thinking of her as a girl and talking of my angel in heaven were even considered by some as some sort of sentimental b/s. Even my husband could not fully understand me.
But the mothers in the bulletin boards understand me perfectly. They have been through the same experience. Some are still going through it. I read of mothers' stories about losing their babies at 5th, 6th, or 7th week ... and they grieve just like any mother would for a baby that she has actually held in her arms.
Nobody there reading my sentiments will think of me as some sentimental, over-acting, attention-grabbing loser who is making a big deal out of something that some people would probably consider as an inconsequential, everyday, no-event occurrence. They understand grief and loss as only people who have been through the same pain could.
My daughter Abby also knew exactly what was going on. When I had my miscarriage and subsequent to that, my UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER with the lab technician who joked at having my dead baby urinated upon, her little heart got broken along with mine.
When the lab tech sent me a card saying how sorry he was for causing me more pain, she sent him back a LETTER him that he should say sorry to her little sister as well, because he also hurt her feelings. She even drew a curled up little figure (much like how 8-week old embryos look like in her book) with a halo and tiny angel wings.
Until now, she still wonders aloud what her little sister could be doing in heaven. She likes to think that she is happily doing anything and everything that she'd like to do, like eat ice cream all day long.
For a while, I struggled with the question WHY? Why did God give me great unexpected joy only to take it back so soon? Although I still ache every now and then (like when I'd see pregnant mothers or babies), I finally found peace in my heart by accepting that there is a reason for everything, that God has a grand plan for all of us, and that everything that happens to each one of us is part of that big puzzle, and that maybe, in the end, we will be privileged enough to know what that purpose or reason is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)