HAVE I EMERGED?

Alas, I have composed myself to write something that can be blogged. A few weeks ago I thought about the dearth in my blog updates. Since I have done a number of traveling this past year, I had concluded that I would upload pictures of my own shots, somehow to assert that notion that " a picture is worth a thousand words". The rundown of Heymeyville obviously attests to the fact that I am yet to do this!

I wish I could thrust my pointing finger to a single reason why I have not written much lately, but I am reminded that what we have time for is a choice. The other day, my pastor said in church that "time is priority". So where is my writing  priority? What happened to my organized self? Have I found a new way to debrief, make my perspective or smile at the world?

Writing helps me create perspective.  My activities have created pattern. The pattern that I have emerged with since my last blog post perhaps reflects the perspective I have gained all this time. It's not that writing is no longer on my priorities, but accumulated perspectives have produced an outcome: other priorities. So why I might not have punched out written words, I have actually been trying to live within the components of my perspective on life. There comes those seasons of life when we pursue what we have previously evaluated. It does not matter whether we achieve all, but we pull the plug and the process of life is expressed.

It does occur to me that the reality in which I will live in from henceforth have changed. Family, career, social interaction and even necessities have assumed new levels and I must live in the context of these. All that said, how I love to write again. Perhaps soon enough.
I miss writing.

THE INTERFACE

I once heard about someone who sighted something in the atmosphere and thought he had seen a UFO. Unknown to him it was a long since-abandoned Soviet satellite. One of its booster rockets did not fire and it remained afloat in the air. It’s a reminder to me of a period when two powerful nations challenged each other and boldly reached out to outer space.


As I reflect on this, the question on my mind is what will be the next thing that challenges me or mankind, which will make me (us) go further and work harder? When Small Pox was eradicated, it was considered the most important humanitarian achievement of that century. The world has since been inundated with diverse other accomplishments.

Indeed life is a journey, not a destination. Just when we have achieved a feat, there is another mountain to climb. The point of translation from one to the other demands rigid thinking. We plan, dilly dally, wish otherwise but get on with things anyway. One may call it the valley of decision-making, a moment of truth or a midnight hour. It infers something is about to break loose. We are about to get out of a comfort zone but the non-assurance of the unknown makes our thoughts loiter.

However, we can draw inspiration both from past accomplishments and the better deal from hitting the bull’s eye in the impending aspiration. Sure, man has risen beyond the plague and life has never been more simple or complex! Our moments of truth should drive us to progress, one that we achieve by getting on with what is before us.

SUGAR-FREE

A few weeks ago, I became officially overweight. This was without any deliberate effort; the kind of thing you just suspect when you struggle with your usual size in the fitting room. You make an excuse that in these days of international trade, sizes differ from one country to another, this lovely shirt must have been sized from another country as your last. Vain! I. Stepped on the scale that day, worked the maths and reality stared finally in the face.

The interplay of what makes people fat is both complex and simple in my opinion : what one eats or drinks, physical exercise, gene pool and all the other things students of science tell us. Of all, lifestyle choices are summarily blamed the most. For someone like me whose height has not added an inch since age 21 or so years, I am now poised to ask if my choices have come haunt me. As much as I want to get on an on exercise regimen, I am often so fatigued at the end of the working day that I just want to lay down and rest. I don't consider myself a glutton with an unmatched appetite for burgers though. I feed on bits here and there. Also, for my stomach sake (an unpleasant low threshold for 'stomach bugs') I am very choosy of what goes into my mouth. As for one's genes, one might not have decided the sequence that has been inherited, but to a great extent what one becomes/does with/about them is a matter of choice.

In another setting, the increment on my weight would be considered as an evidence o f good living - not in today's trendy world! Cosmetics aside, the health implications from excess body weight are far reaching, potentially reducing the quality of one's life. So as it stands,I am obliged to eat less; in quantity and in frequency. I have leaned towards keeping my kitchen shelves and the carbines of my fridge stocked with the likes of coke light or coke zero, low-salt seafoods, low cholesterol cooking oils or butter, low fat biscuits, brown sugar or artificial sweeteners, low fat yoghurt for some years now. Do these really do the job of weight control? They haven't so far. Do I really have to do the calorie math, stick to a certain dietary regimen and deny myself every lust of the eyes? The rewards are certainly desirable.

These few weeks, I have seen the effect of just eating less on my body. An exercise protocol would be added soon. I have opted to lose weight gradually (too suddenly comes with dire consequences, especially with the female folk). It's a deliberate life of starving now. Perhaps a life of self-control too.

THE POTTERY BARN RULE

Recently I read something pasted on the wall in a store that drew my giggle. It read "if you break it, you pay for it". An old cliche one might say, but I was simply reminded of the answers given by Collin Powell on this week's Time magazine when quizzed on "the pottery barn rule".

 Simply put, the rule states that " you break it, you own it". How true! Human beings from the first have a knack of passing the buck. Too quickly, we brandish a prideful glee when our resourcefulness is on display. But whenever damage is done, like the proverbial Ostrich, we hide our head in the sand of excuses, denial and finger-pointing. Even a child in his naivety puts together the damaged toy of another to look like it has not been broken. Futile, isn't it? Futile because, the older person does not only see things from a broader sense, he in fact knows the trick!

The issue here is not about being optimistic when one has "messed up". That is certainly very positive. But it is about agreeing to what damage has been done, owning it, taking responsibility for our actions or facing up to the consequences of our decisions. By doing this, our lives are free from the suck of regrets. It becomes the stand point from which optimism is built.

The shelves in the store that precipitated my thoughts were not over-loaded with everything fragile. If anything, they had glass coverings. So the chances of anything being broken were much less than usual. Invariably, damage can still be done, hence the warning on the wall. Life is almost like that. It's not that we set out to break every thing that crosses our paths (well, I can't really speak for folks with persistent clumsiness). Sometimes, things just happen that we would prefer otherwise. They happen in the minority. We should "own up" and move on.

ALL IN DAY'S WORK: A Doctor's Reward

I walked in to do my rounds this morning and was greeted with cheers by my staff. Puzzled, I questioned the ovation. The answers I got, paraphrased were 'look at our baby', 'don't you remember our baby?' Sitted and playing on the lap of someone by the nurses' desk was a chubby, healthy-looking baby. My thought flashed hurriedly into a wild guess. And I was spot-on. It was the baby I had struggled to resuscitate after birth some eight months ago. Born via caesarian section, I had vacated my anaesthetic seat to help help resuscitate him when the APGAR score in the first and fifth minute were less than 5! The protocol is for such babies to be referred to institutions with the the man power and facilities to manage further.

On this day however, my colleague on the other end of the phone said the obvious; the child would have most likely suffered significant brain damage. I was to keep the baby and manage within the capacity of my institution. It was quite a spectacular picture of me ambu bagging the child in an incubator from the theatre to the nursery. Somehow and at some point, the child picked up and was weaned off oxygen. But before this, the unmarried mother died! This was shortly after surgery. Post motem later revealed cause of death to be pulmonary embolism. It was a very distressing time at work. The official paper trail of maternal deaths is not what one could wish for any doctor.

'My baby' improved to the point of being discharged from the hospital to his relatives. On the set date, I had gone round the hospital taking monetary and other contributions from staff to assist the non-working grand mother in with whatever way. I went as far as almost blackmailing my colleagues to up their contributions and it was very rewarding.

Today is my first day of seeing the child since being discharged from hospital. It was an exciting surprise, more so seeing how well he looked. I felt a sense of reward. The professional calling to serve humanity, including in matters of death are carried out within busy schedules, in so much that there is no personal reflection on the impact of one's work. Other times, after routine things are done to save a life, the recipients leave healthy and their path never crosses one's path again! Today was an exception. For me, I draw inspiration from moments like today's.

Safe to say, it is a privilege to be of assistance to any one, especially if it is within scope of one's duty. I am full of gratitude for the opportunities I have had so.

PS. To my non-doctor readers, pardon my jargons. Sometimes there are no colloquial words to describe the gravity of medical stuff.