(Tita – Tagalog for “aunt”)
During one of my first night shifts as an intern, I managed to get yelled at by our head nurse, Maria Guia Cabillon (whom I referred to as “Tita” from that moment on). I was taking care of a patient, a young woman complaining of lower abdominal pain and dizziness. A pelvic exam was required as a part of her evaluation. The room she was in wasn’t equipped for this exam, so I informed her that she had to be moved to another room. The patient claimed she was too dizzy and weak to walk to another room (though she had normal vital signs and was texting on her phone), and so she requested to be transported if necessary. Now, mind you, I had no idea what I was doing, or how anything functioned (and have only slightly improved in those regards since that night). So I, Dr. Flores, felt that the right thing to do for this obviously languishing patient was to move her stretcher through the maze of our ER close enough to our Gynecology exam-specific room so that she could take assisted steps to the exam chair. The plan made clear sense to me.
As such, I clumsily proceeded to navigate this patient’s stretcher to the exam room (with her still in it, on her phone, probably texting someone about the comedy she was starring in). Plenty of concerned glances were garnered as I bumped into other patients’ stretchers. Fortunately, all of this occurred right in front of Tita’s eyes. She watched me for a while, bewildered by what was taking place, until she finally decided that enough was enough. Tita stood up, and exclaimed as only she could: “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? ARE YOU CRAZY?” I was perplexed, partly because I believed that I was doing the right thing for this patient, but also because Tita didn’t hold back in speaking her mind regardless of who heard. By that time, I had finished examining the patient and still had to maneuver the stretcher back to the patient’s original room. Afterwards, Tita said to me, “DON’T YOU EVER, EVER DO THAT AGAIN, OR I’LL KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME?” I said, “of course Tita, sorry Tita”, as any good, respectful Filipino would when speaking to an aunt. Soon afterwards, she went up to my computer, and with a smile, dropped an unopened bag of chips onto my keyboard, urging me to eat. It was an interesting dynamic, but something I wasn’t unfamiliar with growing up in a Filipino family: the balance of discipline and admonishment with nurturing and comfort.
Throughout my three years in residency, this cycle recurred. Tita would scold me, feed me, defend me, and help me. If you’ve had the pleasure of working with her, you probably noticed that this altruism extended in all directions. She offered her love, and her swift tongue, to nurses, PCAs, doctors, clerks, cleaning staff, and truly everyone working in the ER. She embodied the strength and softness ubiquitous among Filipino women. She was the backbone of the Kings County ER, and a part of our spirit will forever be irreparable. We mourn your loss and celebrate your life, Tita. I will find some polvoron and prawn crackers to give to a hungry resident in your remembrance.
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