My accountant has called me up to say that it’s time to pay the monthly retainers’ fees and went on to enumerate the due taxes for the past few months. Because I’m always happy seeing my financial share getting utilized for the betterment of our beloved country, I un-begrudgingly opened my Excel files and looked at whatever income I’ve had the past few months. I reached for my checkbook to gleefully write what is due to our country to be used for infrastructure, health care, and most importantly, public officials’ salaries. I felt some severe colicky abdominal pain as I did so–my phantom gallbladder seemed to be protesting.

A few hours later the printing press also called me up. Apparently I had some prescriptions printed before the lockdown and I have to get them now (and of course pay). In an interesting turn of events nothing screams “obsolete” more than prescription pads as everyone now uses e-prescriptions. I started utilizing an online consult platform a week ago, and initially I’ve been feeling a twinge of unnecessary guilt whenever I would charge for consultation for my long-time patients. For some reason it reminds me of my favorite show “The Good Wife” where lawyers would always determine “billable hours”. I blame this sense of guilt to the long-observed misconception of “altruism” in the medical community, as if due monetary returns renders services any less altruistic.

To focus on more important things I texted my trusty barber for five years Mr. Randy, and frantically asked him when they would resume operations. My hair has mutated and developed organelles of its own, and I suspect that it has also been causing my more intense hunger for food the past few days. Just yesterday someone brought Yellow Cab in the chemo unit, and I’ve consumed two slices of large pizza in a few minutes, washed down by cold regular Coke! I attempted to pay for it by immediately using the elliptical, the calorie consumption of which would probably cover for the green bell pepper on the pizza. I would turn into an obese, white-haired comic-book guy stereotype if vaccine won’t be discovered soon.

It’s only a matter of time before I start looking like Good Sir Peppermint Patty

I’ve been contemplating coloring my hair myself using boxed dyes from the drug store just to cover up some of the white roots, but I’ve recently watched someone on TV who developed severe contact dermatitis from hair dyes and her scalp turned into raw hamburger, to be followed by a lifetime of baldness. Randy did not reply. Last December I told my friend Andy (who has been fantastically growing his hair out to donate to wig-makers for chemotherapy patients) that I’ve been planning to grow my hair long, and I guess this is the perfect opportunity. The last time I attempted this was in 2006 during internship, and I wouldn’t listen to anybody demanding that I get a haircut. Finally my friend and duty partner Ditz D’ Titz, not mincing any words, screamed to my face, “Will… ang PANGIT MO!” That got me running to the barbershop.

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