counting days

... expendable labor

Being on call after a long journey away packed with latest updates after updates drilled into my head and some kind of wild adventures soon after, can be really taxing.

I was having on and off epigastric pain and bloatedness, even though I am having regular meals. I got myself hysterically suspecting myself having possibly some myocardial infarct due to the fact that (sadly) had increased my weight another 2kgs and was loading my guts with pretty awesome cholesterol-laden, tasty seafood from that beautiful land up north of Borneo.

Nah. Probably gastritis. Hopefully.

And speaking about being hysterical, I got into a conversation with one of my colleagues being on call.

She is a soon-to-be mother, sitting around lazing waiting for her next duty calls. 'The Star' newspaper on her lap, with a black ball pen, scribbling some numbers over on the page of advertisement. I was contemplating that she's counting when her child going to come to this world, or probably counting her period of gestation, or possibly the baby's kick.

"Hi, what are you counting?"
"Days."
"Days?"
"Yeah, days. How many days I am alive."
"Oh."
"I already lived for almost 10,000 days, yet I don't have much achievement." (force a smile)
"Don't worry, once you deliver your baby, that would be the greatest achievement in your life!"
"Really?"
"Of course. Of course."

And I rushed to do my op.

Come to think of it. Maybe that's probably one (of the major) reason I'm in OB - to be there for the ladies when their reaching out for their achievement and making sure they survived through it all.

What better achievement can top carrying another lifeform in the abdomen for 40weeks and at the end endure the most horrendous unspeakable pain known the humankind, just to bring a life and joy to everyone?