'First thing we do…'
Last July, I was asked to write a blurb for a book being prepared by Ronnie E. Baticulon, who turned out to be a writer, editor, teacher, and a pediatric neurosurgeon from Philippine General Hospital. That writer-friend Marjorie Evasco would be helping him out with Vital Signs, an anthology of short fiction, made the request undeniable.
Additional information on Dr. Baticulon and the anthology sweetened the pot, so I submitted a long-ish blurb despite being unaware of its publisher and date of issue. An older book authored by Dr. Baticulon, Some Days You Can’t Save Them All, a personal anthology of brief essays, turned out to be a bestseller since it was published by UP Press in 2019 and had its fifth reprinting last year. He has accomplished many other milestones since.
A recent bionote updates us:
“2024 marks a decade of being a neurosurgeon for me. This year, I’m also taking on bigger responsibilities: as Communications Chair of the International Society for Pediatric Neurosurgery and as Education Chair of the Asian Australasian Society for Pediatric Neurosurgery.”
“I’m excited and scared because I have big shoes to fill, and my hands still get cold whenever I have to go up on stage to moderate a plenary session or deliver a platform lecture, but I’m thankful for the trust and support from the officers of both organizations. This is a masterclass on leadership and advocacy, and I will always remember what we’re here for. For the kids. Always for the kids.”
As we’ve cited previously, the number of doctors who’ve become notable writers appears to be increasing almost exponentially. Among those known to us are poets and writers Alice Sun Cua, Joti Tabula, and Noel Pingoy.
On Oct. 30, the Fifth La Salle National Creative NonFiction Writers’ Workshop for Health Care Professionals & Medical Interns, billed as A Trialogue: Doctors Rekindling the Love for Writing, will be conducted at De Sa Salle Taft at 7:30 p.m., with Dr. Will Liangco, Dr. Mary Jane Guanzon Uy, and Dr. Rey Isidto as speakers.
All have been writing workshop participants, with their works extensively published. Oncologist Dr. Liangco’s book, Even Ducks Get Liver Cancer and Other Medical Misadventures, won Best Non-Fiction English at the 41st National Book Awards. Dermatologist Dr. Guanzon Uy is the chief of clinics of Bicol Medical Center. Her first young adult story The Book of Pedro Bautista was published by Ateneo De Naga Press in 2019. Dr. Isidto placed second in the Leoncio P. Deriada Award for Short Fiction in 2021. His entry piece to the BNSCWW To Remember was awarded First Place in The 3rd Dr. Arturo B. Rotor Memorial Awards for Literature.
Back to Some Days…, Lourd de Veyra’s blurb goes:
“Dr. Baticulon’s dispatches from the country’s leading public hospital are told in language that requires no further acrobatics. How do you tell a mother that the smiling 10-year-old boy in her arms will not survive the following week? … Like the trenches of our war zones, the operating room is the frontline of life’s most difficult questions.”
Some titles alone suggest the book’s wistful flavor: Love in the Time of Ebola, Bird Flu, and SARS; On Making the Wrong Diagnosis; When Things Go Wrong as They Inevitably Would; Incomprehensible Losses; For Every Life That You Save, You Lose a Day of Yours; The Cost of a Life; When Doctors Are Shamed on Social Media; and How a Brain Surgeon Learned to Ride a Bike.
The last, one of the longer pieces, impresses with the skill developed from intent practice. Apart from his adroit writing, it is Ronnie’s patience and determination that guide him through initial difficulties.
“Many years from now, I will remember today as the day I learned to ride a bike. At the age of 30, after working for five years at the Philippine General Hospital, I have performed close to 500 operations on the human brain and spinal cord. And yet, despite having taken out brain types, clipped ruptured blood vessels, repaired inborn malformations, and saved motorists from life-threatening head injuries day in and day out, I have not been able to acquire the elementary skill of balancing oneself and moving forward on a two-wheeled bicycle.”
He finally manages to learn how abroad, while in Melbourne for a year-long fellowship training. He Googles for help. But his first instructor, a lady, loses faith in his sense of balance. A second instructor, a male, was more determined, and confident that Ronnie would not finish the training session by the Yarra River without achieving the goal. He even saws off part of the trainer bike’s seat post so that his student’s toes can reach the ground.
“A bike has been irreversibly mutilated just so I could learn. I surmise that theatrics was my teacher’s way of implying, There is no turning back, Doctor.” He asks him to try again. What finally works is removing the bike’s pedals… “and momentarily lifting both feet off the ground every few seconds or so, for progressively longer periods each time.” He is also instructed to turn the handlebars to whichever side he begins to fall, “even tracing figures of eight, but you will soon be able to go straight once you get the hang of it.”
Ronnie gets to cruise with ease in 20 minutes, and putting the pedals back on finally does the trick. “To my astonishment, pedaling has become instinctive. I am moving forward. Wobbly still, but moving nonetheless.” The analogy is completed.
“How many unforgivable errors can you carry in your conscience before you give in to the discouraging voice that says, ‘Are you sure this is the right path for you?’ How much is too empathy, how little is too little care?”
“It is never easy, finding the balance. The only way to move forward is to learn from your mistakes, to act always with the best intentions for your patients and—whenever possible or however difficult—to do so with unconditional kindness.”
“I am a Filipino neurosurgeon, and today I learned to ride a bike.”
In another essay, Baticulon relates his experience as a prosecutor’s witness in court, where he marvels at the disparity of use between the medical and the legal languages.
“As I listened to the exchange of statements between the judge and the lawyers, I tried to make sense of the legal jargon, relying mostly on what I had read from John Grisham’s novels. In medicine, one tries to be as concise as possible when narrating clinical information. It has always seemed to me that the converse is preferred in the practice of law.
“Everything was alien. Arraignment, motion, and bail were all too different from nerve, seizure, and bipolar forceps.”
Baticulon might as well have been applying his assessment to the quality of his prose, separate from my own level of appreciation for his concise, fluent diction, tone, register. He is eminently readable, with sheer simplicity matched by genuine empathy.
This book is a shining example of clarity. It also reaffirms our joyful understanding of why Shakespeare’s famous quote distinguished professions by having a character propose adamantly: “First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers!”