I have epilepsy. For several years already, actually. I didn't ask for it, but heaven saw it fit to gift me with excessive neuronal activity in my brain. But I'm done complaining about my situation. I now see it in the words of William Ernest Henley:
"My head is bloody, but unbowed"
I'm taking medication for it though. Trileptal. The dosage has varied through the years, but I'm on the decreasing slope now. I still have to take it daily though, no very late night gimmicks and no getting up too quickly from bed upon waking up as my brain still thinks it's sleeping. In other words, college sucked.
Today, I went to Mercury Drug to buy some medicine. As I did throughout all my purchases, I took out my prescription note and money to pay. When it was my turn, the pharmaceutical attendant read my prescription and said "where's the other one?"
Me: What other one?
PA: The one for 600mg. This says 300mg.
Me: I don't have one. My doctor told me to just say I need the 600mg tablet because I need to cut it. My doctor put that note at the bottom. See?
PA: Cut it for what? It says here one and a half twice a day.
Me: Look at this. It's basic fractions. One and a half of 300 is 450mg, my morning dosage. To do that, I have to break this tablet into 4 pieces, which basically guarantees that a good part of it is wasted because you can't cut it cleanly without pulverizing it.
PA: I'm still not giving you the 600mg because--
Me: Call your manager. Now.
PA: (calls manager)
Me: Is it your policy to not give medicines that are not written in such a format as this?
Mgr: Yes
Me: Even if the person's life will depend on it in a few hours?
Mgr: (thinks)
Me: I guess not. What's your name?
At that point, the manager just signaled to the assistant to get me the medicine. They saw it as just another person who walked away with a bunched of tablets. I walked away with my life.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Super villains
"You aren't given respect, you earn it."
So many times I've heard that phrase, yet I've consistently taken the hard way. It's not in your credentials, it's not how many toys you have, it's not who your parents were. It matters not how rich your are, what your position is in the company, or if you ride a Kawi 250. It's not about trying to please everyone either (you do that, you're everyone's b***h).
Sometimes however, getting that respect is like shooting a piece of paper a mile away with a Super Soaker 50. No matter how hard you try to be pleasant and professional, some people will act like brats because they want to be the star, not you. They want to stay in the limelight. They want other people to see that they're better than you because they got there first, they're older, or they've marked their territory and you're a threat.
I guess I'm at a point where people think I've outstayed my welcome or outlived my purpose. Maybe that's why I'm so at peace to leave. And so I leave what I called "my office" with the bitter thought below, paraphrased from Spiderman.
"And they found you amusing for a while, the people here. But the one thing they love more than a hero is to see a hero fail, fall, die trying. In spite of everything you've done for them -- eventually -- they will hate you."
I achieved hero status when I started. It was good while it lasted. Now, I'm just another staff member who quit after the expected three-year turnover in this office, just like my predecessors. And yes, they go into greener pastures and achieve greatness. Maybe that's where Green Goblin was right in the end, "why bother?"
So many times I've heard that phrase, yet I've consistently taken the hard way. It's not in your credentials, it's not how many toys you have, it's not who your parents were. It matters not how rich your are, what your position is in the company, or if you ride a Kawi 250. It's not about trying to please everyone either (you do that, you're everyone's b***h).
Sometimes however, getting that respect is like shooting a piece of paper a mile away with a Super Soaker 50. No matter how hard you try to be pleasant and professional, some people will act like brats because they want to be the star, not you. They want to stay in the limelight. They want other people to see that they're better than you because they got there first, they're older, or they've marked their territory and you're a threat.
I guess I'm at a point where people think I've outstayed my welcome or outlived my purpose. Maybe that's why I'm so at peace to leave. And so I leave what I called "my office" with the bitter thought below, paraphrased from Spiderman.
"And they found you amusing for a while, the people here. But the one thing they love more than a hero is to see a hero fail, fall, die trying. In spite of everything you've done for them -- eventually -- they will hate you."
I achieved hero status when I started. It was good while it lasted. Now, I'm just another staff member who quit after the expected three-year turnover in this office, just like my predecessors. And yes, they go into greener pastures and achieve greatness. Maybe that's where Green Goblin was right in the end, "why bother?"