I need to grow biceps. Huge ones. This resolve is not necessarily new. Back in 2005 when I was still in internship the surgeons I was assisting would get quite annoyed at the wimpy way I would retract. Troglodyte at one point said, “wag ka na ulit mag-aassist ha”. Of course once the rotation was over I’ve forgotten all about this resolve, contented with my matchstick arms. Occasionally there would be resurgence, specially whenever I would have the urge to have the entire Justice League tattooed on my left arm.

A few weeks ago I once again had my colicky abdominal pain. The radiologist has confirmed the presence of stones a few months ago, and whenever I get sick I transmogrify into The Annoying, Whiny Patient. “Magpaopera ka na,” Tessieloopagoop said as she pointed at the disgusting stones on the printed ultrasound image. “Huungh, sob, whine—wala bang pampatunaw?” I whined to Tessieloopagoop. The latest attack was very pedestrian, but I decided to inject myself with pain meds. I injected my left arm using my right hand, and my arm was so thin that I felt the needle nick the bone. “Gaaaaaaaaah!” I caterwauled, apologizing in my head to everyone I’ve done bone marrow biopsy to. “Ooooouch,” I whimpered, or as the sosi group in 2002 would say, “Arouch!”

“Hindi naman yan bukol?” I had asked the radiologist. I am very paranoid about cancer. I don’t give ten bowls of crap about predictive values and crap when we’re talking about cancer. Back in 2004 I had severe unexplainable weight loss and one night had nosebleeds. I immediately ran to ENT, and Uni-horned Beef Jerky Alanis Whore’s sister attended to me. I told her that I suspect I have nasopharyngeal cancer—what can I say, I was watching The X-Files episode Momento Mori a lot around this time. She peeped through my mouth and nostril and did some poking and stuff, and told me that no, there’s nothing there. “Walang cancer sa ilong or lalamunan mo,” she said. “Pero namamayat ako,” I said. “Pwede namang sa ibang organs ang cancer,” she reassured me.

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