Georgetterox

Have you got your picture in bed? Or your picture when you’re flattering your Angoran cat?

Or your picture when your fellas are showering you at your birthday? Or your picture in beskap?

Or just your picture from photo box?

Maybe you’ve got all of them, or even more.

Since the phase of roll photo has gone and many HPs are sold with built-in camera, the trend of photography has changed drastically.

People love capturing anything interesting that they like, and preferably imaging their selves.

Even if they have a digital camera and expert in Adobe Photoshop, they can edit their photos as much as they like, begins from the standard one such as lightening their skin, constricting the huge pores on the nose, until fading out the peanut-size birth-mark on the cheek.

If you really love yourself, the hobby of displaying your own images in a special port folio is not weird anymore, though you don’t mean to register your self to model agency.

At least, everyone can be narsistic!

But actually nobody can be. My friend, Jay, 24, is confused.

For the application of her profile as a new doctor that I’m gonna load in the yearbook for the Doctor Oath, me as the executive producer demand her to donate five of her photos in digital format.

Why she’s confused, not even having five pictures of hers in JPEG, she doesn’t even have one image of her own!

Sorry, she’s got one.

It’s a 1 R black-and-white photo that she made when she registered as a student two years ago.

It’s so pathetic to hear that. How can’t anyone have her own picture?

Though a lot of photo box are found everywhere.

Why doesn’t she ask her friend who has a camera-phone for imaging her, then keeping it in floppy disc?

That’s better than having a pile of discs full of anybody else’s copies of thesis that she’s gonna plagiarize for assignments to her professors.

Or is she a little kinda cameraphobia a.k uncomfortable in images?

I have a friend who’s scared of camera.

Everytime our colleague captures the environment as much as he likes, and everyone races to pose at his nose so they get captured, my cameraphobia friend is always busy for avoiding.

The reason, she doesn’t like her face in photo. Unpretty, she said.

Oh, who said that she’s not unpretty?

PRETTY IS RELATIVE. (And ugly is absolute!)

Though, there’s no ugly people in this world. The only we’ve got is only unattractive people. And that sucks.

I disagree that people don’t wanna get captured coz they felt ugly.

I think, people’s faces are always attractive, no matter the expression is, no matter that they’re gonna use make up or not.

Photo is image of our self, and that’s our weapon for appreciating our self.

I told my friend Jay that she’s gotta give me her pictures to load on my yearbook.

Otherwise, I treated her that I’m gonna use my veto to capture her candidly, start from capturing her when she sleeps while she’s doing treatment to her patient, capturing her while she’s scraping her nose, even capturing her while she’s brushing her teeth on the restroom.

Picture it! Picture!

Sephia, a.k dark-spouse, a.k PIL (Perempuan Idaman Lain), seems like a geisha.

She is adored, high-worshiped, cared-about, and attended.

She’s like a foster-wife for her adorer that he keeps care-taking like a baby.

But Sephia remains another dark spuse, coz until the time ends, she can’t replace the role of a wife as the legal spouse.

This one makes Sephia’s fate always seems like a second-level citizen.

At one side, Sephia mustn’t involve her emotion to her babe, coz however, the babe doesn’t belong to her.

It means, if since the beginning Sephia welcomes to be a dark spouse only for sexual reason, then as long the sex relationship goes on, Sephia doesn’t deserve to fall in love to her babe.

“YANG KAUMILIKI HANYALAH TUBUH, BUKAN SELURUH HATIKU.”

What you’ve got is just my body, not the whole of my heart.

(Helena, Bukan Dia, Red.)

But at another side, Sephia could have a trouble to control her emotion, especially if the sex that she does with her babe is high-level kinda one, not just holding hands like a teenage who’s just already learn how to date.

Sephia’s probability to get lust is very high, and preventing it is actually almost as difficult as learning about

Jakarta

’s map.

Unfortunately, Sephia has a very strong self-denial mechanism.

How many times Sephia has sex with her owner, she keeps persisting in that she doesn’t fall in love to her babe.

She doesn’t even care if sometimes her owner has to leave her for his legal wife, and Sephia will resign off in honors and deal with her own life.

Even Sephia probably will be the first one who regrets if her babe’s household is messed up, and she’ll be the main sponsor for her babe to return to his wife.

Sephia isn’t opportunistic of someone else’s suffer, and she keeps her reputation as an ethical bitch.

But Sephia is also an human. She has a heart. It means that she can be jealous, too.

Though usually Sephia isn’t jealous to her babe’s wife.

Coz she’s jealous if her babe has another dark spouse, a.k has another Sephia.

Even as a second-level citizen, Sephia doesn’t tolerate a rival on her level.

At the moment she starts to swell up in furiousity, and accuses her babe for a better treatment.

In this occasion she doesn’t only request for a more precious in bed, but she also demands her babe for faith and exclusivity, including a prohibition for her babe to take care of another Sephia.

And this is difficult. Coz Sephia’s caretaker usually doesn’t know what faith is.

Coz, if the man is really such a faithful one, so he won’t have a Sephia..

I am sleeping on the desk at the emergency room of the midwivery as suddenly my nurse bangs the exit door.

Oh Lord, I swear inside, which patient who dares to come to the ER at two a.m, while I am dreaming, about driving Ferrari next to Jake Gylenhaal?

The security pushes a brand-cart in, where a woman is lying down, seems helplessly malaise.

Behind her, another lady who accompanies her, is begging to my nurse to help the diseased, says that she has just given birth one hour ago, keeps bleeding from her vagina and it doesn’t stop.

“I’ve installed the i.v line,” says the lady who sounds like a midwife.

“But the tension keeps falling down, she’s got tachycardia, and she’s been already cold-sweated.”

Instead I jump of the chair where I used to sleep, and near the patient at the brand-cart. I clap her shoulder hard, by asking, “Ma’am, Ma’am, what’s your name, please?”

Actually I don’t need to clap her that hard, but I’m suspicious that this woman has already lost her consciousness.

And the truth it, the patient is half stupefied.

Oh damn it, even she’s lazy to mention her name. I look at my partner Fayre, 23, and grumble, “Tension.”

Fayre grabs the sphygmo and measures her tension, while my another gal, Mahr, 24, corrects the woman’s infuse that’s already obstructed, maybe due to the chaos as the woman’s displaced from the car to the brand-cart.

I keep talking to the patient, “Ma’am, how are old you? Is your husband here? Have you already been giving birth? Is it the first child for you? Is it a boy or a girl? Are you dizzy? Is it pain in your head? Are you vertigo? Ma’am, Ma’am, wake up, Ma’am, don’t fall asleep!”

And all of the questions are answered with lazy shaking. Good, good, I think.

A patient who still seems awaken but actually gonna die prognoses bad.

Compared to a patient who’s obviously comma and gonna pass away, at least I still can sleep by waiting for her dead.

“Ma’am, Ma’am, don’t die!” I shout instead. “Ma’am come here, look at me, please. Please reply me. Ma’am, come back to me, please!”

And the truth is, what I’m thinking of, is true.

As Fayre has done the measurement, she looks at me non-expressively and says,”100/80. The pulse is over 100, unpursued.”

“Shock!” I decide. “Rehydration!”

Instead Mahr snatches the infuse kolf that installed and replaces it with Ringer Lactate.

Fayre palpates the woman’s stomach. “The contraction’s fine, T.”

Not uteri atonia. I open the cloth that covers her. The blood streams hard from inside the vagina.

I run and grab the handscoons, then I check her groin a while. It’s torn. The baby must be huge.

But the tearing off is not too wide. It means.. The bleeding’s come from inside.

I look aside to my boss. “Doc..” I say. “Maybe it’s retensio placenta.”

I mean I wanna say, please cross-check, maybe my diagnose is wrong.

But my boss, who still as half-asleep as me, just strains my handscoon and said, “Allright, just get in.”

I’m so scared. I’ve never explored a womb before.

But I am the only one who’s steriled-hands at the moment, and my boss trusts me.

“What are you gonna do to me?” asks my patient panicly.

I smile to her. “Never mind. I’m gonna grab in, so I can stop the bleeding, OK?”

The woman surrenders. I whisper the Allah’s name, then I grab the five of my fingers into her womb. Damn it, it’s very hot in herre. My hand reaches in further, and the woman shivers in pain.

It feels like scraping a coconut, with my blunt fingers.

The womb is as big as a fist, and I palpate the whole wall to find the rest of the placenta.

And it’s still there.

The woman yells in ache. Fayre keeps measure the tension. Mahr looks at me in worry.

It’s really not comfortable, if someone stirs our womb like that.

Even I’m sure that his husband’s torpedo is not as huge as my fist.

After I’ve done the sweeping, I take out my hand slowly, with the rests of the plaventa that I found.

“Doc, I’ve only found this,” I tell my boss.

“Well, the bleeding’s stopped, you see,” says my boss.

“The tension is 110/80. The pulse is 92, T,” says Fayre.

I look at the woman. Suddenly she looks better and she’s not as pale as when she came.

I think I wanna laugh and thank. I clap her knee and say, “Well, Ma’am, you’re all OK.”

She smiles in vague. The crisis is accomplished.

I re-examine her groin. Oh, I forgot. “Oh, Ma’am,” I say. “I think I have to knit your vagina.”

She refuses knitting, then I assure her that her vagina would be rotten if she wasn’t knitted.

Finally she lets me knit her by shivering in pain. By knitting, I start to talk so she uses contraception.

She’s had two kids anyway.

Her nightmare about giving birth this moment is supposed to be enough to make her considering to have another.

I take off my handscoons and smile. “Well, we’re done.”

She smiles to me. “Doc..” she whispers. “Thank you..”

I nod. Whatever. I wash my hands, then I come back to the desk where I used to sleep before.

Then I return to my past nature, where I was dreaming about driving Ferrari next to Jake Gylenhaal. Zzz..zzz..

GEDUBRAK !!!

I was attending to the assignment of my colleague and just looked aside to where the sound came from and found out that the chairs across my conference table had already messed up.

My teacher who had been sitting there, now wasn’t visualized anymore, made me stand up instead. “Doctor!” I shouted.

In a second the worst ideas covered up my mind; oh my God, he must’ve had an heart attack, or he caught up stroke, got fainted, and collapsed from his seat.

I almost kicked up my own chair and was gonna run to help the old man, before suddenly I saw his head and appeared from under the table, then by smiling in embarrassed, reaching his chair and he said, “Sorry, I fell asleep..! (Maaf, ngantuk euy..!)”

I couldn’t stop laugh right away.

So did Fahn, 24, my colleague who was speeching about eclampsia, and whose speech got pushed to be interrupted because of my teacher’s collapse.

Fahn must’ve taken too much time for speech, or boring, or too complete, made my teacher fell asleep to attend to her.

According to my teacher Lul, 24, who actually had been peeping at our teacher, that man had been stealing some opportunities for listening to yawn, fighting die-hard so he wouldn’t fall asleep to listen to the assignment of his student Fahn (who in fact, still his own daughter at home!), and it was just the matter of time until he reached the wrong side of the table and finally fell collapsed to the bottom of his table.

Instead Fahn who seemed a little of offended of the incident of our teacher who actually was also his father, got ruddy and switched herself with Lim, 24, her partner, to continue her speech. Oh my God.

As I wrote this blog, I’ve just come home from Sumedang coz I was sent there to learn how to help childbirths.

I never imagined that I shoulda pulled those little bodies from someone else’s vagina, I always thought that those women pushed them as strong as they could until those babies emerged instead.

My first child came out from a woman who had labored twice before, and she had to let her vagina torn up one side because this third child was too fat.

The midwife at the hospital had to suture her torn vagina and made the poor woman mourned in pain coz she was sutured without anesthesia, but it was clear that there was no other choice, coz we couldn’t let this woman’s holy-cave messed up just because of laboring her child.

We’re afraid that her man wouldn’t wanna hook up with her again.

“Please, Ma’am,” I said to calm the lady. “So your own thing keeps beautiful.”

”No!” yelled the woman. ”It hurts, Doc!”

”Ma’am, for the totality of your own family..!”

It weighted 3.3 kgs, a sweet little girl, and I asked my friend, Bark, 24, to picture me with the baby that I helped the labor.  My colleagues provocated her mother to name her daughter with the name of Vicky Laurentina, but the woman had to refuse coz she felt the name didn’t suit a baby of an inlander (?!).

It’s so glad to help a baby’s birth, and it feels like giving birth to my own child…☺