Friday, June 16, 2006


is what doctors call it when the heart beats too fast. In my case, 100 or more beats per minute.

I learned this while flat on my back on a hospital bed, during the long Independence Day weekend that we were supposed to spend in Tagaytay.

Another puzzling symptom, two days after rashes covered me head to toe.

Soon the rashes agreed to concentrate on my joints, three days after a hacking cough appeared.

Four days after the thermometer registered 40 degrees celsius when it was stuck inside my mouth.

One week later, they still don't know what's wrong with me.

The tests show that my level of infection is still twice as high as normal; meaning somewhere inside my body, a virus, or bacteria, or some virulent disease is still running wild.

Because of this, I was confined to the house as soon as I got out of the hospital.

Mama's become paranoid about my health, hence the following stern directives:

Avoid crowded places. No late nights out. No strenuous activities. No work until July.

Ironic that I got sick just when I stopped working. When I finally had the opportunity to relax, my body decided to crash.

My sister, fresh from the first year of her PhD course in Maryland, suspects that I might have an auto immune disease because of my symptoms .

It's scary to think that my own body has turned against me.

I read somewhere that shingles, a debilitating auto-immune disease, can only be acquired by someone who had chickenpox as a child.

It seems that whenever we get sick, our immune system stores a bit of the disease in order to protect the body from future attacks.

Only sometimes, it breaks down. And then all hell breaks loose.