Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Maternity Peeve

Tuesday, May 10, 2011 1
Chronic complaints concerning the good Bird is that the posts are far too long, too far apart chronologically, and oftentimes, offensive; I share these concerns, I take note of these concerns, and will now address them. 

It's not that my posts are too long, too far apart in chronological interval and oftentimes, offensive, it's just that go f#$% yourself.

Vote me.

With these concerns addressed to satisfaction, one can begin.

The air hormonally ripe with caws and coos of potential, current, and veteran matriarchs, the halls achatter with anxious female interns and residents, helmed by the task mastery of the attending physicians, then there’s me.

Being one of the very few male students at a governmentally funded maternity hospital can be a… trying experience if described in so few words; religious and cultural restrictions hang heavy here, the entirety of the female staff, students, even the patients don the traditional burqa, making distinction a near impossible task if you are not personally addressed, a male student cannot go about his mandatory practices of history taking without being accompanied by the if-not-busy-then-incompliant nurse body, and the majority of the patient war front are less than friendly towards males, if not for cultural reasons, then for falsely driven begrudged ideals that sing,

“Any man is a swine, mainly mine,
So my family and friends do chime,
They’ll abuse, mistreat, and remarry,
Fated to lay here his spawn, I must carry,
Destined for discomfort, my heart I shall freeze,
Towards any that bear, the blight of testes!”

Or something like that.

Jarred back to reality, the world not getting any slower and the day not going by any faster, trusty serpentine stethoscope around my neck, and notebook in hand, I breathe out one last sigh as my day begins.

Sunday, April 10, 2011


Sunday, April 10, 2011 0
I am Oddball, though not unlike you, am I,

Sitting, head against my locker, one day in July

Clawing, aching, for one reason to get up and bemoan,

A world which I had felt was fairly far from my own,

Overruled by capital, punching holes in the ozone

A world that’s slowly dying,  and yet still they press on,

Building perfect picket fences while their kids mow the lawn,

Kids that likely won’t live to see the light of eighteen,

All because of power struggle, and the thirst for benzene,

All because of vengeance running miles through their veins,

All because of burning greed, driven by insatiable gain,

All because of ” justice” and the need to unmask,

An answer to a question that nobody had asked,

An answer that has cost us all far more than it’s worth,

Bluntly bleeding dry every living thing on this Earth,

My father always told me “Son, you gotta wait to be great,

The future is yours, so start now and create,

Do yourself a favor, and all evil berate

Do yourself a favor, and ignore all the hate

Do the world a favor, know what’s right and instate

Do the world a favor; see the weak through their fate”

Looping in mind, I pushed myself to my feet

Students rushing back and forth, long given in to deceit

The sheltered, shielded ignorance and the nonsense they’d prate

How could I wait to make a difference, when it was almost too late?

How could the future be mine, when there’d be no future worth found?

When all the future held were all our blinded young in the ground?

My generation doomed to die, by the previous’ mistakes bound,

Closed my eyes, bowed my head and cancelled out any sound,

Their time was up, my time was now, the harsh truth had expound,

A girls hand upon my shoulder asking “Are you alright?”,

Mind answered, No I’m not, how could I be, when I'd long lost the fight?

How could I be, when there was no clear future in sight?

Heart rebuked, No, no, a thousand times! It's never too late!

How could I do nothing when there lived those to orate?

How can I sit here, idle, and leave the weak to their fate?

Flooded by fervor, lifted a gun to her face,

In a flash, she fell dead, the first out of this race

A race rigged to lose but so blind to see,

It was my job now, to set them all free,

It was my job now; to make them all see,

It was my job now, amidst the screams and the fear,

To save all I could, from an end, no longer near,

To save all I could, from an end now here,

A second flash, a third, if they knew I’d be thanked,

They could thank me later; I walked on, face expressionless, blank,

One boy scurried to a corner, on his hands and his knees

Ignoring all his begging cries, his bargains, his pleas,

Echoing through the halls, the fourth flash would erupt,

Rest easy now, my brother, though your end is abrupt,

The only way to save our future is guarantee we’re not in it,

To suffer what was forced upon us, from keepers so unfit,

His body lay there lifeless, but I knew he was listening,

Firmed my finger on the trigger, freed blood on me, glistening,

Sirens wailing louder and louder as I proceeded,

A fifth flash, a sixth, their lives to me they’ve conceded,

So it went on for what I’d call a half hour,

Standing atop the roof, the land below, I would scour,

Mind so soothed, rest easy boy, you've saved all you can,

They would soon regret it, imbeciles, the ones that had ran

Police left and right, guns aimed and steady,

What’s the worst they had planned for me, which I had not planned already?

Arms spread wide; I closed my eyes and took flight,

Over the edge, and straight into the light,

Over the edge, into eternity it seemed I’d fall,

The cries and screams frantic, when in my mind I’d drawl,

They would live enough to see their very “future” spall,

Doing then what I did now, making their own beds, in them they’d thrall,

But not me, no sir,

For I am Oddball.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Going Down

Tuesday, April 5, 2011 1
You will forgive my absence.

With that weight off your shoulders; a recap of what it is I am, a student, nay, THE student of the medicinal arts in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia; going about his final clinical years, taking up extra credit and experience at a poorly equipped, yet utterly charming hospital that can nay be named, in case your father treats and/or is being treated there.

I will now address issues though mandatory, are of little to no importance, briefly:

The Jeddah floods, the revolutionary cascade, and the Japanese earthen sundering; good times, though rather than point fingers and bellow the rallying cry of unity and the world beyond, as masses before me have; I will instead show you a picture of a mink.

People still wear these, where is your Obama now?

As my shift of the pediatric circuit came to an exhausting close one night, I gathered my things and began making my way towards the exit, the air ripe with the humid smell of cleaning fluid and a cocktail of stereotypical ethnic aromas not unfamiliar to our good house of healing.

Upon reaching the narrow hallway leading to the exit; the emergency room to my left, I raise my hand and force a smile at the military trained, huskily built general surgeon holding the ER fort at the time, he nods in response, I move on, the promise of a soft pillow and cold sheets driving me forward, I push the doors open and am startled by a pickup truck that comes to a screeching halt in front of me, much like a clown car, almost double the intended load of passengers exit and begin circling the vehicle to the back, unlocking the pickup fence and pulling out an apparently unconscious man.

Yelling in Urdu, they rush passed me and took a sharp right into the ER and disappear from view, I struggle with myself for a minute as to whether or not I should investigate, my curiosity quickly getting the better of me, I head back in, and, just as I'm about to turn into the ER, I notice an individual standing at the end of the hall, staring at me.

A man with features of textbook Downs Syndrome (Who, for the sake of abbreviation from here on out, we shall name Donald Down), an estimated 21, maybe 23 years of age, Donald looked as though he had not shaved in some time, wearing thick, rectangular glass, a beige polo shirt, khaki pants, and slippers, stared intently at me; I thought little of it at the time as I entered the ER.

Long story short, the patient was required shifting to the intensive care unit; as we wheeled him to the elevator, I notice Don Down, again, staring at me, standing in exactly the same spot, again, I broke my gaze and focused on the task at hand, as we entered the elevator and the doors began to close, who so casually walks in and joins myself, the unconscious patient on a stretcher and the general surgeon, but Don Down, the doors come to a screechy close behind him as again, he burns his eyes into mine.

The doors open and we push the stretcher, taking a sharp left towards the ICU, as we enter, Don Down slowly followed as though he himself intended to enter, but had been shunned by the surgeon who sternly told him to GTFO.

Skipping the finer details of events within the ICU, after the patient had been stabilized and all was well, I once again, began making my way to the exit, to get to the elevator, I had to cross the nurses station, where the late shift nurses had just taken roost and began going about their business, I walk passed the nurses and come to a halt, again and for the final time, at the end of the long hallway leading towards the elevator, is Don Down.

I stop at this point, not really expecting anything so much as attempting to assess the situation, though he didn't give me much time to do this as he slowly began breaking into a trot towards me, I hold my ground as he begins to pick up speed; from the corner of my eye I notice the nurses have also become aware of my special stalker.

He gets ever closer and I stand ever stiller.

Then he spoke,

Running full speed now, he points at me and yells "Inta hatikhsar!", which is Arabic for "You're going down, Charlie Brown", to which I could only yell back, arms outstretched, "No!"

At this point it's too late to do anything, he bends forward, arms firmly at his sides, his shoulders on a collision course with my sternum, it wasn't long after that that he made impact, yelling "Inta hatikhsar!" one more time before our bodies clashed, feeling all the air rush out of my lungs, I was lifted off my feet, making air time long enough to see that Don had followed through and ran passed further down the hall after tackling me aside; my landing was anything but smooth as I hit the ground spinefirst, my head bouncing off the ground, pain taking such a backseat to confusion that I scarcely felt a thing, I scramble to my feet as I see Don Down surrounded by nurses holding him back, he didn't seem to mind, as though he had accomplished what it is he came here to do, I get to my feet, keeping my cool, maintaining my cool, calm and collected attitude, reacting only with the utmost maturity as any...

"INTA HATIKHSAR!" I yelled back at him, backing off, "INTA HATIKHSAR!"
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