Perhaps one of the most hilarious, and most realistic, lectures I have ever received from my dad would be about always wearing good underwear. It goes somehow like this:
Yikes. My mom would complement that story with a reminder that I myself have already been in a similar situation once and given the normal state of my health, the possibility of that happening again is far from remote.
Why I suddenly remember this lecture now, I'm not too certain. But it may have something to do with the exams being less than a hundred days away. Believe me, a hundred days is a short time and I'm feeling quite terrified. Wearing the right underwear for a certain activity, or at least wearing underwear that is adaptable to whatever situation, feels so much like exam readiness. It all comes down to the fact that no one else but you would truly know if you are ready... until the time comes when you're left with no choice whatsoever but to let the world see what's under your clothes, figuratively speaking.
In New Year 2008, I unwillingly bared my sports bra to the world. My sports bra for so many years that it was old, loose and had a couple of tears that my nanny simply sewed together because I loved using that bra. I had gone swimming with my siblings and little cousin in the very cold pool water and when I got out, it was just a matter of minutes before I started throwing up. A few minutes later, when I was done gorging out what I had for lunch, I got up and as I was walking to the female shower room, the world started spinning and I collapsed. My mom saw me just as I fell down and when she checked I had no pulse. Of course, being a doctor, she was very professional and immediately called on my dad, the driver, and several strangers to help. in front of all those people, she removed my rash guard and exposed my bra to the world. You would think she could have waited until they had brought (lifted, lumbered, dragged, whatever you're supposed to do to heavy people who are barely conscious) me to the car. But no, she had to do it right there.
As if I had much choice. At that point, I was foaming at the mouth, my entire body was swollen and I was choking on my own spit. At least I could have been asleep throughout the ordeal, but my dad was so scared that I would "walk into the light" that he kept shaking me and warning me not to. I was subsequently brought to the station hospital where, while my mom was away, I heard the nurses speaking over me, trying to recall how to attach certain instruments to me. I remember the same thought running through my mind over and over: Don't kill me because of stupidity.
As far as traumatic experiences go, I would place that particular story in my Top 5. I just hope that come October, I don't get that same helpless, bad underwear feeling.
Anak (daughter), you should always wear your good underwear whenever you're going out. When I was younger, I had this friend who fainted while we were out training. Of course, we had to loosen his clothes so he could breathe easier and carry him to the infirmary. When we were lifting him up, his pants fell and everyone saw that his briefs had rolled down and had holes in it. We couldn't help but laugh at him despite his state. To this day that story still comes up whenever our class gets together for reunions.
Yikes. My mom would complement that story with a reminder that I myself have already been in a similar situation once and given the normal state of my health, the possibility of that happening again is far from remote.
Why I suddenly remember this lecture now, I'm not too certain. But it may have something to do with the exams being less than a hundred days away. Believe me, a hundred days is a short time and I'm feeling quite terrified. Wearing the right underwear for a certain activity, or at least wearing underwear that is adaptable to whatever situation, feels so much like exam readiness. It all comes down to the fact that no one else but you would truly know if you are ready... until the time comes when you're left with no choice whatsoever but to let the world see what's under your clothes, figuratively speaking.
In New Year 2008, I unwillingly bared my sports bra to the world. My sports bra for so many years that it was old, loose and had a couple of tears that my nanny simply sewed together because I loved using that bra. I had gone swimming with my siblings and little cousin in the very cold pool water and when I got out, it was just a matter of minutes before I started throwing up. A few minutes later, when I was done gorging out what I had for lunch, I got up and as I was walking to the female shower room, the world started spinning and I collapsed. My mom saw me just as I fell down and when she checked I had no pulse. Of course, being a doctor, she was very professional and immediately called on my dad, the driver, and several strangers to help. in front of all those people, she removed my rash guard and exposed my bra to the world. You would think she could have waited until they had brought (lifted, lumbered, dragged, whatever you're supposed to do to heavy people who are barely conscious) me to the car. But no, she had to do it right there.
As if I had much choice. At that point, I was foaming at the mouth, my entire body was swollen and I was choking on my own spit. At least I could have been asleep throughout the ordeal, but my dad was so scared that I would "walk into the light" that he kept shaking me and warning me not to. I was subsequently brought to the station hospital where, while my mom was away, I heard the nurses speaking over me, trying to recall how to attach certain instruments to me. I remember the same thought running through my mind over and over: Don't kill me because of stupidity.
As far as traumatic experiences go, I would place that particular story in my Top 5. I just hope that come October, I don't get that same helpless, bad underwear feeling.
