Code Blue! (Amped Up The Satire Humor)
Diagnosis Confirmed: Full-Blown Holiday Cardiac Arrest (with tourist-induced ventricular fibrillation) 🚑
The patient's (City of Pines) ECG 🩺 strip looks like a seizure—spiking heart rate from the moment the first Manila plate number hits Kennon Road. Arteries? 🖤 Total occlusion. We're talking atherosclerotic plaque made of jeepneys, Grab vans, and that one guy in a Fortuner who thinks indicators are optional.🚘
Advanced Physical Exam
- Respiratory 🫁: Severe smoke 💨inhalation from ihaw-ihaw stands. Differential diagnosis includes "chronic strawberry taho vapor exposure"—patients hallucinating 🤯 that the next cup will warm them up (current temp a balmy 22°C/72°F, feels like 24°C because humidity is playing tricks).
- Neuro🧠: Global confusion. Tourists in North Face jackets (bought from ukay-ukay five minutes ago) sweating profusely while complaining it's "so cold!" Orientation: Oriented to person, place, and the exact location of the nearest Good Shepherd queue (which, spoiler, is approximately the length of a marathon).
Trauma Bay: Harrison Road Night Market = Mass Casualty Incident, Triage Category Red
Flow? Non-existent. It's a human thrombus. Sudden decelerations for P50 fake Patagonia jackets trigger whiplash epidemics. Sensory overload at 110%: the olfactory assault of corn + BBQ + taho + desperation. Audible arrhythmia provided by endless "BEEP-BEEP" (the city's unofficial pacemaker).
Aggressive Interventions Administered
- Bolus of strawberry taho IV 💉 (wait, PO—because who has venous access in this crowd?). PRN x infinity for hypothermia delusion and morale collapse.
- High-dose Ube jam topical to the soul: 90-minute queue endurance test. Contraindicated in patients with functioning knees or sanity.
- Noise-canceling earbuds: To silence the horns and the internal screaming.
- Prophylactic mountain coffee ☕️ 1000mg STAT qAM—because the only thing stronger than Baguio traffic is caffeine psychosis.
Yet, amid the ventricular chaos, there's that irregular but persistent rhythm of joy: strangers bonding over shared suffering, festive lights twinkling like premature atrial contractions, and the collective sigh when you finally score a table for bulalo.
Final Prognosis: Survivable, but with permanent PTSD (Post-Traumatic Session Disorder). Recommend discharge to lower-altitude sanity, follow-up in February when the city's pulse drops to a leisurely bradycardia.
Chart co-signed with extra sarcasm and zero regrets. Keep preaching that "assess the patient, not just the monitor" gospel—it's the only thing keeping us alive up there 🚑❄️🍓

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