Of birth and birthdays*
My 24th birthday proved to be an eventful day for me after all. Considering that I didn’t make any plans for the day itself, I didn’t anticipate that I’ll be having a date with myself on a cold bed inside an emergency room of a government hospital for more than five hours. Yes, you read that right. Of all the days when I could have been food poisoned, it just had to be my birthday. And that’s not even the half of it! After I’ve been poisoned, I was attacked by a series of unfortunate events that unbelievably came out of nowhere.
First, I nearly collapsed inside the Powerplant mall after spending more than 20 minutes in one of its rest rooms. Sucks, right? Well, it gets worse. Second, there was actually no doctor on duty at that time in the mall’s clinic and the nurse in charge had no clue as to what was happening to me. Third, I couldn’t contact anyone during this time due to my network provider’s erratic signal. Fourth, I had to take a cab, on my own, to go to the nearest hospital. Fifth, I entrusted my life (or at least it seemed to be so during that time) to a cab driver who didn’t know a fiddler’s fart as to where the nearest hospital was. Sixth, I was brought to a government hospital, which, though competent, reminds me more of a bus station—only, in this case, there were beds, sheets, and doctors! Lastly, my brother and my roommate took ages before arriving at the hospital which naturally made me feel very anxious and, yes, alone. Add to this is the fact that, before that experience, I have never ever been in a hospital ER. In fact, I have never had any needle injected in me for as long as I can remember! So one could just imagine how unnerving and surreal that experience was for me. Talk about having a happy birthday.
But from all these, though, I learned one good thing. I have been frantic about not telling anyone how old I was during my birthday; you see, being almost done with half of my twenties, I thought I was old. But what I really was—and I just realized this during that night—was a mere baby yet to set foot on the world. In every sense of the word, that birthday was just my first. First ER, first injection, and first time to realize how many people are in need of help, especially of the free service provided for by public hospitals.
While I was there, children in wheelchairs were ushered to and from the ER. Desperate housewives came running in asking for meds. Teenagers shot by other teenagers complained of injured feet. Drunkards were rushed in bleeding to death. Despite the pain that I was feeling, it was difficult not to see the suffering of these people and the apparent lack of sufficient funds provided to the hospital to help them. Beds and sheets are lacking in relation to the number of people coming in. The few nurses it housed would have to take care of almost everyone. The laboratory equipment could not even do all the simple and necessary tests!
It breaks my heart to think that for the people who cannot afford, for the people whose only salvation lies in these government facilities, the government still falls short of what it ought to give. Again, like the missing Fertilizer Funds, I think of where our taxes go to. Are they used for the welfare of those children in wheelchairs? Or for those desperate housewives begging for medicines? Or the teenagers shot and crying in pain? Or do they become just another pile of coins in the big purses of certain people in power?
Corruption is rampant here and now, and so is sickness, injuries, death. Isn’t it about time to veer away from what will make us very comfortable and focus instead on what will make the poor, at the very least, comfortable? I suppose it is time to take arms and make a battle cry for change, because it is only then that our voices will reach the people responsible for this mess, and it is only then that they’ll start doing something to clean it up.
Either that or they resign, right?
First, I nearly collapsed inside the Powerplant mall after spending more than 20 minutes in one of its rest rooms. Sucks, right? Well, it gets worse. Second, there was actually no doctor on duty at that time in the mall’s clinic and the nurse in charge had no clue as to what was happening to me. Third, I couldn’t contact anyone during this time due to my network provider’s erratic signal. Fourth, I had to take a cab, on my own, to go to the nearest hospital. Fifth, I entrusted my life (or at least it seemed to be so during that time) to a cab driver who didn’t know a fiddler’s fart as to where the nearest hospital was. Sixth, I was brought to a government hospital, which, though competent, reminds me more of a bus station—only, in this case, there were beds, sheets, and doctors! Lastly, my brother and my roommate took ages before arriving at the hospital which naturally made me feel very anxious and, yes, alone. Add to this is the fact that, before that experience, I have never ever been in a hospital ER. In fact, I have never had any needle injected in me for as long as I can remember! So one could just imagine how unnerving and surreal that experience was for me. Talk about having a happy birthday.
But from all these, though, I learned one good thing. I have been frantic about not telling anyone how old I was during my birthday; you see, being almost done with half of my twenties, I thought I was old. But what I really was—and I just realized this during that night—was a mere baby yet to set foot on the world. In every sense of the word, that birthday was just my first. First ER, first injection, and first time to realize how many people are in need of help, especially of the free service provided for by public hospitals.
While I was there, children in wheelchairs were ushered to and from the ER. Desperate housewives came running in asking for meds. Teenagers shot by other teenagers complained of injured feet. Drunkards were rushed in bleeding to death. Despite the pain that I was feeling, it was difficult not to see the suffering of these people and the apparent lack of sufficient funds provided to the hospital to help them. Beds and sheets are lacking in relation to the number of people coming in. The few nurses it housed would have to take care of almost everyone. The laboratory equipment could not even do all the simple and necessary tests!
It breaks my heart to think that for the people who cannot afford, for the people whose only salvation lies in these government facilities, the government still falls short of what it ought to give. Again, like the missing Fertilizer Funds, I think of where our taxes go to. Are they used for the welfare of those children in wheelchairs? Or for those desperate housewives begging for medicines? Or the teenagers shot and crying in pain? Or do they become just another pile of coins in the big purses of certain people in power?
Corruption is rampant here and now, and so is sickness, injuries, death. Isn’t it about time to veer away from what will make us very comfortable and focus instead on what will make the poor, at the very least, comfortable? I suppose it is time to take arms and make a battle cry for change, because it is only then that our voices will reach the people responsible for this mess, and it is only then that they’ll start doing something to clean it up.
Either that or they resign, right?
*The Palladium, Volume 3 No. 2
posted by jeland at 5:01 PM
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