BluE Scrubs

As this link http://xora.blogdrive.com/ has come up on my list of referrals at a Schumacer speed, I thought I’d give it a click and see what’s going on, how she is hanging on with her new bundle of joy, is she recuperating well….alas

I was beyond shocked. I wrote a hair ball of words as a knee jerk reflex to the post on that blog, in a futile attempt to defend myself. I later thought it was too pathetic to be finished off and posted up. It’s not worth my time.

As name calling was high on agenda on that page, I think it is suffice for me to say here, how dare you!

A lot of questions went through my tired barely working mind - Been on call today for ICU but had to cover maternity in between. SHOs (senior house officers) don’t do this. Go figure.

I think I’ll just let this sink in for now, digest it, and when it's pallatable enough, forced it down instead of wasting my godforsaken spit.


You amuse me with your immaturity laden views.

What a nasty piece of work.

They Are Little notties. UnnnFFFFF!!! 

A 'Long' List. Home at 5pm.



I think Koala has something up his sleeves.

He seems to rota me down to do exactly what I dread doing more and more lately. I am not a big fan of small creatures and chunky women or chunky men for that matter. They just push my blood pressure through the roof as soon as they close their eyes. At this rate I’ll probably get hypertension by 30 and stroke out at 40. Can feel it furring in my arteries already.

On the list today that’s exactly what I had.

I had a 4 year old and a 6 year old and to put cherry on the cake, a 30 stone woman for tonsillectomy. Great!! I felt all my muscles tensing up even down to the adductor pollicis brevis. Don’t ask me where it is.

I know at some point you have to go up the ladder and bear more responsibilities. Albeit feeling glad that it is finally time to go solo on a more demanding task, inside I still feel like hanging on to the ‘juniority’ lamp post and wrap a blanket around myself.

So nobody can see what I can offer.

So I’ll stay in my comfort zone.

So nobody can push me into doing something just because it’s time to do so.

The list went well. Thank you almighty. Only God knows what went on in the heart of that little anaesthetist, what kind of mutated butterflies rummaging through her partially digested lunch.

With a brave face I gassed that 19 kg girl while the dad watched on whilst pinning her arms and legs at the same time. I hope he couldn’t see my slightly sympathetic induced anaemic face as I hurried him to kiss the girl goodnight. I really wanted him out of the room as soon as possible.

On a lighter note, I am turning excited rolling into euphoric about going to Royal Albert Hall this Friday to watch the famous diva Siti Nurhaliza up close and personal.

I have to say I’ve been drawn to her voice like a moth to a 100W lightbulb. It’s almost like eating lychee with icecream, naturally sweet, juicy and the way she’s come out from the cocoon is just phenomenal. Captured Malaysia with her personality and ability. Singing her heart out to the moon and the stars while sticking to her roots till the end.

I have nothing against the lady, she has the look, the smile, also these days the style and please, the whole ‘nipple’ ‘dimple’ thing, everybody learns one step at a time yah. She has years ahead to perfect her English and I so hope she does for her own good. But that shouldn’t make me think any less of her. Am not fanatic about it but I’d hate to see such a harmless being gets jeered for some stupid language.

On that note mari kita alih bahasa. Tulis English dari pagi sampai
petang. Bicara English pagi sampai malam.

Cakap pasal Siti, semasa saya menulis dalam bilik bedah tadi pagi, seperti biasa saya terkena tulis haribulan. Saya tulislah,

30th March 2005.

Oh dear. Mak saya lahir pada hari ini 40 tahun lebih dahulu. Satu pukulan gong terkena dikepala. Kongggg!!!!!!! Dr. McN pandang saya dengan muka kaget.

Are you ok Naj?

It’s my mum’s
birthday today.

Oh just go on the internet and send her a card. You can even send a virtual bouquet. I love the thing.

Oh Your poor mum I thought. But I am worse.

Walaupun mak saya takkan tahu wujudnya blog ini, tapi saya mahu ambil ruang ini untuk ucapkan selamat hari jadi untuk Siti Zawiah bt Abd Rahman aka Cik T.

Saya tahu Mak akan mungkin cakap ‘Eh ye ke hari ni’.
Tapi Mak, sampai hari ini saya masih belum jumpa seorang perempuan
setabah awak.

Tak mungkin ada perempuan mau lakukan itu semua demi cinta pada seorang lelaki.

Tak mungkin ada ibu yang mahu sanggup jagai dia seorang anak yang entah kenal entah tidak yang awak itu ibunya.

Tapi awak tak pernah bezakan sayang antara kami dan dia.

Apa yang awak lalui tak mungkin ada seorang wanita dan ibu mau laluinya walaupun dibayar beribu ribu pounds.
Kalau million tak tahulah sebab orang sekarang semua pelik.

Tapi Mak, semoga cintamu akan berbalas disyurga nanti.

Kami sayang Mak ....( walaupun mak kata tak cool to celebrate
birthdays).

SELAMAT HARI JADI ke- 47.

p/s: err..why don't you blog? we could learn a thing or two. :P

Stupid blogspot won't let me post anything. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!Tebbbaaaabowwwwww!!!!!!!!!! 

A 'Short' List. Home at 7 pm.



The maternity OR today was stirred. The songs were not the usual choice by the resident DJ.

Skibidibidaaskibidadibidooo

Say that’s what we do.. we’re bubbling thru’

Skibidibidaaskibidaaadibidee

Tell me are you feeling me?


Dr.Suave (not his real name of course) put on that song. Yes he brought his own CD and took over the OR like a new cult and this well meaning sabotage was quickly accepted with much approval by everybody apart from the miserable surgeons. Who cares about them anyway, I heard ‘somebody else’ said.


I have no idea why he’s been put to work with me today.


My guess is because he’s about 4 weeks old in this hospital, so he needs somebody more ‘senior’ to look after him, but then another twist to that is, he’s from India and already gone too deep into anaesthetics. He’s done his professional exam there, so chronologically he is older and more experienced than me my logic says. Ironic.

I couldn’t get my head round the rationality of it all without asking Koala the rota-master but I was stuck with Dr.Suave the whole morning together with a storm and thunder he brought upon the midwives.


If I must describe Dr.Suave, I’d put it as a cross between Ricky Martin and Sharukh Khan with slight more butch to the build and a bit more tummy in the epicentre and chest hairs peek-a-booing through the V dip of his bluescrubs. I wonder if the skin underneath ever get enough oxygen.


By the time I got there he’s already seen the lady scheduled for the C-section this morning.

Clean shaven. Hair combed forward carelessly with a sparse tuft of spikes generously cropped with gel at the front to contradict the whole prissiness. He had a pendant with Chinese writing on it.

Not bad smelling.

I have to admit I was impressed. He’s even seen the patient and paid no attention to the fact that I am younger than him. He presented the lady for C-section as though I was a superior assessing him and errrrr…can’t complain. Speechless.

‘Have I impressed you yet Dr.Ahmad’ Does he have to ask me that?

Say something professional and dry. I said to myself. ‘Oh it can get busy around here’. Hmmm I don’t know how that came about.

The midwives were swooning around him and some looked like they’ve been cast a spell, some made it very clear that certain anatomical parts were already secreting some parasympathetically induced stuff when I went to the pantry to get a dose of caffeine.

Before we left to go to the OR, he had so many flirting remarks thrown at him. I think if they were spears he would have been be dead by now from exsanguination and I of course would be swimming in the blood of disgust should I have to work whole day with this guy.

They should put hazard warning on all maternity wards and special zebra crossings for male doctors lah I think.

****

Kerry the ODA was helping Dr.Suave and me in the OR. She’s going to Vietnam in May and been carrying the Lonely Planet –Vietnam book everywhere with her past few weeks.

I have to say that I felt quiet ashamed by the fact that am Malaysian but have not been anywhere else in the South East Asia region apart from Singapore. I shared her enthusiasm though and possibly we’d meet up somewhere in between in May if her schedule is not too tight. Bangkok maybe?

Dr. Suave said we all should go to Goa. It’s what he calls IBIZA of India. Now that doesn’t make it any clearer but I know what he meant. Kerry’s already put Goa as her next destination after Vietnam and I think, I said I have to fail my exam to stay in Grimsby longer to make that possible. September is well away yet. Watch this space though.


I think I lost the will to live at 5:30 pm today watching the vascular surgeons lumbering away, no where near finishing.

I started the anaesthetics for that 80 year old femoral-popliteal case at 2 pm and it was the only case on the list. But mind you, should never ever ever equate the number of cases on the list to how early or late you are to seeing your dinner.

The moment they say ‘sutures please’ my heart skipped a beat and all the agonizing pain melted away. Bit like when just you thought you’ve been stood up by your date and he turned up with a bunch of some wild flowers. Roses are too fairytale and those are too expensive anyway these days. Any sensible man wouldn’t buy roses. Too easy.

I wouldn’t want to imagine having somebody at home waiting for me. I ‘d break his heart everyday. Which of course am not used to. Am not winking. Not laughing either.

But definitely am knackered but aren’t we all. ZzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Girl: You went out with Minah, Senah, Bedah and Timah all this time?

Boy: Yah.

Girl: Why?

Boy: You’re not here.

Stttttttssss with a silencer as oppose to BANG! BANG!

Girl: Told you I hate competitions.

Boy RIP. Girl walks over the dead body.

Postmortem: Contre-coup pea-size-penis-shaped head injury, haemo-pneumo-thorax, cardiac tamponade, stinking heart, rotten soul, twisted personality.... demonic rigor mortis.

Yes, I know


Didn’t feel like going out last night but manage to drag myself into some descent outfit and lugged myself into the car. The Megane has been bit poorly. The weather was foggy.
Megane wouldn’t start and also has fast becoming a proud canvas for parking tickets.
They were all over the windscreen.

Left Megane unloved and uncared for, almost a week by the double line and now it’s going Uwokkwokwokwokwok…and eventually died..

again uwok…wok…wok..and surrendered and died.

And again just uwok…wok. Dead.

Got the taxi to Rachael’s house in the end. Well pissed. Was late again.

When we got to The Landing, Zach’s parents and his sister Saffron was already there. Why is it that I never noticed this place before? It was just next to the big roundabout to the Docks and I drive past it almost every week. Now that I know, shall go there often, was my thought initially until we got the menu. Mamagrandpapa arms and legs magnitude of price. Shall think again.

Zach who sat next to me passed on a tongue twister to his right and me being the last one ended up getting “A witch chuck the chick chuckchuckchuck”. Everybody broke into laughter. It was almost soothing to be surrounded by a mixture of voices around me. Thereis deep husky, there's unpolished and clumsy and there's shrieking and high pitched. More natural and inviting. Almost like a family reunion.

I was having green tea after the dessert and Zach’s mum tickled our almost delirious minds from playing Chinese whisperer with a question.

In future what would you like to be? The question went round the table.

Rachael wanted to be Marilyn Monroe, Dominique the dad changed his mind from a poisonous plant to being God when Nancy said she wanted to be an angel, just so he can get her to fetch the tea for him.

Saffron wanted to be Queen of the world and Rick, wanted to be a Superhero. Zach suggested a name Captain Philipines for Rick since he is 100% Philipino, and we all laughed at the thought of having a Captain Philipines in Grimsby.

Zach on the other hand wanted to be Jack the Ripper which upset his mum for a while. I could tell that this family is not a typical Grimsby family. In fact, this is such a not- to- be place that they are migrating to Canada in 3 weeks time. The crumbling morality in this place is top of the list, and I agree.


Only last week I put an epidural in a 15 year old pregnant girl. The week after a 12 year old came in with a broken leg needing resuscitation. When we cut open her clothes, she was wearing a matching black silk bra and a thong! She was wearing a full make up, boob tube and a skirt that only came down to just underneath her bum cheeks.

Just tell me already why is it that anybody with a surname Smith or Brown gets a first class treatment at the receptions of any hotels or resorts in Malaysia?

When it got to me, I was caught between wanting to be my cocky self and wanting to be appropriate for the kids especially with their parents around. I was thinking something cartoon possibly a super-woman-hero, with lots of moral values. Queen of Sheba sprung to mind, but I don’t know much about the woman so I settled for a character more fictional –the cat woman.

My mind was buzzing with some clever reasons. At last they thought I was more like a madwoman than a cat woman when I said I wanted to be Catwoman because the doctor’s mess had too many rats.

I kid you not, the first time I ever sat in the mess, happily reading the newspaper while Gwen Stefani doing her dystonic dance routine on MTV , a big fat ghastly looking rat whizzed across the coffee table and bulldozed over my crossed legs!!!! Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!I don't know if I can repeat the short energetic squid-like dance resulted from that..

So that’s why lah I no more sit in the mess.

Which knife? Which fork? 

This post was written 2 days ago, with eyes half closed, well pissed, achy back, smelly feet, oily hair, and slight fume coming out of the auditory meatus. (read :ears) Listening to John legend- Ordinary People.

Looking after bodies plugged to the ventilator machines means that almost perfect documentation is paramount. (Us doctors battle daily with handwritings).Second to that is articulate and precise handover at end of each shift. Third to that is your greatest patience to deal with intermittent sickening arrogance.

Day started with spending whole morning DC shocking this 80 year old man in and out of ventricular tachy rhythm into asystole and back into ventricular fibrillation, jump on his chest for a minute or three. Which was most bizarre because usually most 80 year olds would have given up after 3 shocks.

I am ashamed of myself, I snorted at the A&E charge nurse because she was waving the pads in the air. But then, woman, you want to shock everybody here into Walkers crisps go ahead but wait till I’m gone and nobody touch the machine if they don’t know what they’re doing.

She’s supposed to be the charge nurse and she was waving those pads charged at 200 in the air like an air traffic warden. This is not a witchcraft academy you know. How scary is that?

After shuttling between maternity to put an epidural and the intensive care unit to stop people from dying, I was reaching 12 hr mark, hungry and tired, I stood there handing over to Koala, regurgitating the stories of why a man in his 80s had taken a space on the unit. Koala eats too much pudding for tea, has chronic attitude problem and needs to go to SpecSavers a.s.a.p because that frame is so out of date.

This man usually dresses himself and goes to Marks&Spencer by himself. I told Koala.

Koala looked at me and his face evolved into an amused, annoying mocking koala face. As if what I said was totally unnecessary.

You don’t need to tell me all that. He said what exactly I thought he’d say.

Why? What I said might not be something standard but doesn’t that sentence tell you that this man, whom you don’t know because you have been away for a week is previously a well man, who goes shopping all by himself?


To go shopping at Marks&Spencer, this man has to dress appropriately because it is quite a posh shop, meaning he has to have good dexterity to do the buttons, do his shoelace, comb his hair, flip his collar, put his cardigan and match the colour of his jacket to his socks.

Not only that, he has to get on the bus, fish the coins in his pocket, push the buttons, get off the bus and walk to Marks&Spencer. What I said painted a big big picture of a man whom tonight might go into VT again and whose life will be in your hands by proxy.

Which part is irrelevant? I might be smaller than you, younger than you, not done my exam yet but am far from talking rubbish. Don't need this thank you.

Brewing Friendship.



I am very concerned about the way some people behave. I can understand if these people are a bunch of 10 year olds because some 10 year olds still wet the beds yet go to school to become school prefects.

When you are ten and you say “I don’t want friend you, here take your ball back”, fair enough, you’ll probably go home get washed, have dinner, go to bed. Tomorrow you’ll meet up with your friend again and play again in the same playground, not a single recollection of yesterday’s stupid fights.

Translocate that to present, imagine a twenty something male kayu saying to another friend batu, here take all these back we are not friends anymore. Batu was left blinking at his own front door with some boxes full of all the birthday gifts he’s ever bought kayu.

Batu did not sleep with kayu’s girlfriend, neither did he rape kayu’s sister, or mother or grandmother. I know it’s a sick thought but I am beyond sickened.

He did not kill any of kayu’s cats, fish, coachroaches or pot plants. He never stole anything, never lied never cheated never done nothing other than being a good loyal friend to kayu. So what could have he possibly done? What could be worse than those reasons?

Is it fair that he’s cut out from the pictures? Erased from the phonebook? Not invited to any ritual gatherings? Has kayu even stopped and thought about how batu would feel?

Are we not all muslims and all muslims are brothers? Shouldn’t we all try to spread good words and aim to be a better friend to another?
I need enlightenment.

I might be seeing it from a completely different angle and missed the point altogether. Maybe there’s a new mazhab which has been hidden from me and what’s been said before ‘Tidak akan masuk syurga mereka yang memutuskan silaturrahim’ is now obsolete?

Do you want to find either of you in a hospital struggling for the last breath hoping that you have that extra time to say I am sorry, before you realize that what’s happening now is completely absurd, immature, unthinkable and seriously, damaging to those around you?...of all people..

It’s not wrong to have maturity that surpasses the age and that fools the naked eyes.

Still, this disturbs me. Some people are so kayu.

p/s: It's actually quite difficult not to get batu and kayu mixed up when writing.

What's In The Post



Avril Lavigne was touring London on that Ministry of Mayhem program this morning. For some bizarre reasons I felt the need to include going on that red open top double decker tour bus in my list of ‘things to do before 30’. Very soon.

It will be busy though at this time of year. Schools are closed for Easter and during my A-level years, this is the time to meet up with all my Malaysian friends scattered all over UK and of course to meet T-Rex.

We would be rushing to get the list of all the usual apartments within a few mile radius from the Malaysia Hall to see who’s going to stay with who. If we’re clever, ringing Kak Halimah beforehand would save lots of grief, avoiding having to stay with a bunch of girls you don’t talk much to, other than hi and bye for the next 3 weeks.

One Easter holiday warmish afternoon with daffodils making debut in the private garden around Bryanston Square, I was sat on the big stairs to the MSD office cracking bits of a giant but hollow Easter egg and popping it in my mouth. Bit by bit, while waiting for it to melt slowly. T-Rex sat next to me enjoying the warm yet cool afternoon himself.

We got the egg from Woolworth for 99p. He had 50 p and I gave him my share of 49p. We shared everything then because most of the time, our bank balance were almost always equally positive and negative.


We were lost in our own world talking about things that happened at school. Catching up on all those time that we didn’t spend together. An MSD (Malaysian student Department) officer walked past and stopped staring at us. I sensed that he was touched by the fact that it was noon time and we were munching chocolate instead of something more substantive.

Tak makan ke? (Are you two not eating?)

Tak ada duit Encik Amir. (No money sir).We’ve only got enough for an egg.

Which was not strictly true, but we love ganging up to pull that kind of fib to somebody like him. We were invincible. We were a team, we could take anything thrown at us, so strong.

The officer’s name was Amir. Encik Amir we called him. The next day he found me loitering in my favourite department, the claim department and beckoned me to his office to have a small talk. He was at the time, happily married to a very well mannered, gracious, beautiful and pious English woman.

You two are emotionally involved? almost clumsy yet forceful he asked.

I can never forget how that question struck me like a lightning. It was like caught naked getting the morning paper from the front door.

I put my defence up and denied him of my honesty. I had no intention to let him read me, judge me, trap me and probably tell my mum that I had a boyfriend. He, sensing my reluctance to open up started telling me his greatest love ever to a malay girl story. Probably like a bait to get me to open my mouth.

“I was like you and him. We were both students here in London at the time and we thought we knew better. I just don’t want you to do the same mistake”.

The rest was all about how much he loved her, how they sacrificed for each other and how after all that they’ve been through, fate surprised both of them and he was devastated. I felt like putting my arms around him at the time.

When he concluded his story and it was the cue for me to let him into my story, to chart the status of my relationship with T-rex, I just froze. Words couldn’t come out. It felt like being questioned by my dad, which the answer to everything would always be No, Never, unless it’s favourable to state differently.

I kept that I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about look all the time which was crumbling slowly to actually-Encik-Amir look when I thought about the time T-Rex do this and do that which made me so upset even ASDA do-it-yourself strawberry trifle £1.99 didn’t taste that good.

My brother who is literally an owl (wise and ugly with eye bags) said once cinta itu berkadar terus dengan kekecewaan, which has some truth in it. (love is directly proportional to the extent of the heart ache)

Encik Amir couldn’t have stopped how our relationship was going to pan out, even if he tried his best. We all have to go through some staple experience to grow up, to teach ourselves a lesson or two. Do we learn best through our mistakes? Most things yes but when it comes to love, some learn but some keep getting it wrong. HAPPY EASTER.

p/s: Never include Easter egg in the post. We know now it’s very warm in the Royal mail sorting centre. Oh Well.

Deceit.



The woman is 40. I could see her chest excursion, up and down. I could see misting of the tube that sits in her throat. I could see flickering on the monitor as her heart beats. Teet teet. Her lemony colour urine collected into a column and slid down the transparent rubber catheter. By definition, she is alive.

But she has not done anything since she was admitted. Her eyes didn’t respond, she was not swallowing not gagging. You can stab her, jump on her, pull her toenail out, burn her clothes, she will not respond. She was dead even before we plugged her to the machine.

She was found dead by her sister in the garage, blue, hung down by the neck, her face swollen from the strangulation. Outside hospital resuscitation was carried out by the heroic paramedics. Her heart jump started but her pupils were full blown dilated. You know how you can see deep into somebody’s eyes? Well hers are mega, you should see everything, but I saw nothing.

She wrote a note to say how much she loves everybody but she confessed that she has not lived, she was merely surviving. She’s been seeking help, giving hints, making statements, dropping clues, but nobody paid much attention.

I saw her two children, both had her auburn hair. Both know not that their mother will not come off the machine alive. I saw the ex-husband too. He had no expression. I wonder why she took her life.

I wonder what made her come to a decision that being dead is better than being alive. I wonder who made her upset. I wonder why she chose to hang herself. I wonder if one can tell the scale of one’s depression just by watching.

Possibly this is the reason why I get depressed myself when I know I have caused somebody else to be depressed.

She must have premeditated it. She must have felt so stuck like there is no way out. She must have meant it when she wrote the note.

p/s: Think and think again before breaking that thing called heart.

Have You Got A stick?




I've been passed one from thelostcodger. Let's do this.

1. What is the total amount of music files on your computer?

This is not going to be easy. Start the violin background please. As it happens, I have lost all my mp3s which was neatly organized into different categories, only I can compute the codings. I was pretty sure Monica Galler would find me a bit of a contender. Some mysterious undetectable virus has wiped out the entire collection or was it purely stupidity? Not on my part of course. Oh can’t go on…this is too much..too much. So to come back to the question, in this new HD, not much. Even Rome wasn’t built in a day they say, so am downloading at snail speed and also borrowing CDs from OR audio system, the project is going steady, soon we’ll get there baby.

2. The CD you last bought?

Can I just say that these questions are bloody hard already. I know I bought 2005 Ministry of Sounds for somebody as a pre B’day gift. I just have to have a reason to give something to somebody, and it’s easy when they say to you exactly what they want. The worst thing is to discover your gift rotting away in the corner. I later test drived the box set with a free DVD and liked it and ended up buying it for myself. *Disappear into the bedroom*
Ha yes I bought 3 CDs last month at ASDA because it was going cheap. Why do you think I got them.

1. Usher- Confessions special edition £9.99, purely because he reminds me of how stupid some Anak Datuks can be. I shall stop there.

2. R&B anthems 2005- £8.99 (crazy cheap) for 20 tracks in 2 CDs. I got sucked in seeing it has Happy People by R.Kelly which is an instant short burst of happiness and you can just listen to him telling you how to feel happy when it doesn’t come naturally. Mr. Pillay should get this one and return widie’s book. But as I said, very short lived, so as soon as the song stops, the curtain’s drawn again it seems. Step to the left, step to the right lalalalallala…happy peopleeeee!!

3. A UK compilation CD called Lovin’ you for £2.36 , I kid you not– I snatched it at the counter just before paying for the other 2, I mean would you let 16 tracks like Always and Forever- Heatwave, Lovely Day- Bill Withers and September by Earth Wind & Fire just sit there pulling faces? Paaaaaadedumpaadedum paaaadedaaaaaaa.

3. What was the last song you listened to before reading this message?

Since this is done retrospectively, I am going to have to put on a song as I am not listening to any now. Does the song in the OR just now count? I suppose it does because I chose it. Nina Simone- Ain’t Got Life. Doesn’t that make you want to wiggle your bum and do a moonwalk and a running man and twist and turn and touch your toes and spin around hug yourself and kiss the person next to you and snog your boyfriend? You have to watch the Muller yogurt advert, it’s full of smilies.

4. Write down five songs that you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.

1. Utada Hikaru – First love. I know, call me crazy, it’s been 7 years but stuff cliché, it’s just so true so what to do aye.

2. Britney Spears- From the bottom of my broken heart. On the same theme as the first one but because she was so innocent looking when that song came out I just felt like she was singing my soul, achewah…now that she’s ditched that image, I feel betrayed a bit, but I’ve got this one on CD still.

3. Cintamu – Dygta feat. Ira. Only started listening to this as the Indon songs proliferate at a high speed in my ‘tempurung’ after I discovered the film Ada Apa dengan cinta introduced by a boy in Warwick who is now a man in Astro. Love this song because love duet anyway and the song picks up speed and stays up there in a sappy kind of way.

4. Katie Melua – Closest thing to crazy. It is the song that catalysed me to blog. Because I have got in so deep, feeling 22, acting 17. I was never crazy on my own.

5. Misha Omar- Semoga Abadi. It’s not so much the wordings, not so much what it carries that does it, it’s just pure melancholic which if I really vapourize myself and blend with the song I might get to the bottom of why somebody dedicate this song being non-malay song fan that the person is.

Only 5?????? Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh..

6. I don’t care I want to put another one- The Used- All that I’ve got. Get me going while washing the dishes, cleaning the fridge, cooking, or anything other than reading Anaesthesia and Intensive Care A-Z.

7. Just one more- Akon- Lonely. Because I am lonely and I like to torture myself in the morning, in the afternoon and at night.

8. Can’t stop help!!! 3 of a kind- Babycakes. Spent hours waiting for the videoclip to come up on TheBox/ MTV in November and can you believe it I am still waiting? I don’t care what people say it just shakes my natural frequency and I can ride the Dyson to it till you can eat off the carpet. Errr..sounds dodgy yah? Also this song is suitable for a visit to the zoo to see turtles and hippopotamus.

5. Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why.

1. Widie- because she played piano like an angel and because she is now sungguh jelita and I am jealous.
2. Ash- because she is madly in love and has abandoned her blog so she needs a reason to blog.
3. Penyu- because he hasn’t got a blog but he’s a walking jukebox, so he now either has to start a blog or send me an e-mail.

Do I not look like a poodle with an anusol suppository up it’s arse already? I seriously need a break. Been ploughing through propofol, ketamine and thipentone molecular structures like it’s my third helping of a birthday cake with marzipan … ‘delicious’ yes but a bit too much no?

In between the orthopaedic cases, I seek refuge in the ITU pantry again. Mentally exhausted after 2 caesarian sections in the morning. Very.

Saw Jill the charge nurse for ITU. She immediately was reminded of the photos she was meaning to show me of her trip to Bali. I felt so sick, those blue seas, azure skies, white gleaming beach. I wanted to bang my head on the wall. Gegegegegegegeggegegegegegegeg.

I think if one listens carefully, one can hear that that’s exactly how it sounds like when body and mind don’t quite agree with each other and keep getting in each other's way, with one thinking about Bali and the other tries to draw up 25mg per ml thiopentone for a 64.3 kg woman.

I told Jill I hated her, for which she said I love you too Naj. Which kind of made me thought of Cik T.

Nick was the ODA helping me in the orthopaedic theatre and I thought he looked a bit too tan for Grimsby weather.

I’ve been to New Zealand!!!.

AHHHhhhhhhhhhh is that why I haven’t seen you for ages.

Now this guy did almost everything under the sun, which the adrenaline rush, albeit having very short half life could potentially last till next winter. Kayaking, white water rafting, scuba diving, snorkelling, parasailing, name it he did them all. He was glowing, with warm tan, and a bit more freckles on the bridge of his nose, also a bit more trimmed as well.

I was as mushy_ manky_ green as that pooh coming out of that baby’s bottom in maternity this morning. Those fanny doctors call it meconium.

At 6 pm Mr.Snail was still drilling the hip of an infested- with- scabies- lady.
I gave up hoping and waiting. My mind was floating half way across the globe to KLIA, Ampang, USJ4, Pasir Puteh, Bali, Bangkok….

Diagnosis: in serious need of a serious holiday.
What it’ll be like without you baby?

One two buckle my shoe..





Just what do you say when a friend effectively ask for your opinion about regional anaesthesia? Spinal or epidural? Yes or no? Red or green?

I never thought I would be lost for words when it comes to a friend instead of usual Caucasian patients.

Is it because I wasn’t in my bluescrubs that words came out disorderly, careless, clumsy and unprepared? I was sounding more like Naj than Dr. Ahmad, when the questions were thrown at me at 7 am in the morning. I was caught off guard.

Enough about my cortical malfunction secondary to slow rebooting, the main thing is, a healthy baby girl AZMAREA AZLAN was born today at 10:04 at St.Thomas’s hospital London via caesarean section. Congratulations Azmarea’s mum and dad. Marisa and Alan.

Looking back, at that very moment I was myself waiting for a baby who later was named Katie to be born through a bikini incision, another clever invention called caesarean section. I couldn’t help but feeling slightly nervous, and today’s spinal was slightly special than the many spinals I’ve done.

I was, my friend, thinking about you as I put the Sprotte needle in that 17 year old girl’s lumbar vertebral space. As I injected the 0.5% heavy bupivacaine in, which was about 09:45, I was hoping that yours was going as smooth as I hoped it would be. She said ‘Is that it? All done? ‘Yes’ I said. I smiled and I prayed silently.

The one look that I have grown to be familiar with was the look on the husband or the partner as he comes in to join his half paralysed woman, with a bump she can no longer feel. Helpless, worried, scared shitless. I could almost smell it.

Of course as I watched the monitor, even without looking at the woman, I know I do not need to give any atropine or glycopyrolate, because a simple kiss on the forehead and a gentle squeeze of those fingers, frantic for comfort, was all that she needed to bring the heart rate down to 70 from 140.

That’s the magic of a touch by the one you want to be touched by, the one you want to have by your side at times like this, without whom you’d probably not be in that situation to start with! Heheheheh.

So guys, enjoy your bundle of joy and sorry I couldn’t do more than a few jumbled words, which I hope translated to YES , HAVE IT.GO FOR IT! Happy born-day AZMAREA. Alhamdulillah.

p/s: I heard about the rather delicious male anaesthetist. Didn’t I warn you that they only choose good looking ones to do anaesthetics? ( to have that calming effect of course) I know..don’t stick any tongue out please, it’s rather rude. hehehhe

Those who can, teach.




Walked into ITU pantry looking for my yellow Sevoflurane mug. Didn’t realize was singing a malay song fairly loudly, until a voice came from behind.

It’s Monday! No singing on Monday.

Nearly dropped the mug on my own foot. Was adequately startled. Just how did I not notice a lump of breathing mass with a glowing cephalic in a bluescrubs sitting by the window?

The afternoon staggering quantity of sun light flooded every corner of the pantry. Some collided with Dr.D’s shiny chocolat head and bounced off at a spectacular angle making it the most luminous thing in the room. It’s round, it’s shiny..

Hehehehe..for a second I had vivid images of different poses by Mr. Pillay in classroom- 2C back in the early nineties, teaching us impossible girls English (click!) on the 400m track showing off his gluteus maximus with every stride (click!) doing the javelin with his purposeful back arch later looking far into the horizon (click!) driving his car with his shades looking smug (click!)…my black, bald and beautiful English teacher while I was in TKC. I wonder if they are related. Chances are they might..because both are from Seremban.

Dr.D wasn’t actually looking at me. Just obsessively flipping those pages of Ideal Home magazine. His feet were both stretched rudely on the coffee table. Looking lazy, slack, not a care in the world.

Eh, no magazine at work please. I said.

He ignored me and said, wahhhhhhh, crazy laaaa ini rumah. Mana nih. Itu Pangkor nice or not? Sini mari tengok. His eyes boring into the pages as if they were good enough to eat.

I went behind him and squatted to get a better view. It was lovely. The whole house had a traditional, polished wood, immaculate attention to details, authentic finishing, with every inch of malayness look bleeding through every grain of the meranti and jati. It’s glossy, shots were professional and of top quality.

You like ke? I said.

Yaaaa I very like. He said.

I thought I had better leave before he remembers about his MCQ book I promised to bring today which I had deliberately forgotten for the obvious reasons.

I asked him if he could do a discussion on PA catheter reading, more like teaching really and he sighed the answer through his nostrils..

If you must Naj.

I need teaching laaaa..you consultant you must teach me. I grunted.

He kept flipping through the pages as though I hadn’t said anything.

I stood there strumming the mug handle.

You can say go away. I said pushing my luck.

Go away Naj. Eh…this one is better, look at the verandah! Waaaaaaaahh!!

Bontot!!

Just how do you get a boss to teach you a thing or two around here?


***

This evening...

dr_kamrul: hi
najmie21: ?
dr_kamrul: how r u?
najmie21: good
dr_kamrul: do u know me?
dr_kamrul: r u muslim?
najmie21: no
najmie21: am muslim but don't know u
najmie21: am busy
najmie21: sorry
dr_kamrul: do u know me?
najmie21: no
dr_kamrul: ok, later on
najmie21: i don't like answering questions twice
dr_kamrul: i am doctor from dhaka, muslim, had been introduced previously
najmie21: ok good
najmie21: am busy
najmie21: nice of u to msg
najmie21: am not interested
najmie21: i am evil
dr_kamrul: tnx
najmie21: please go away
dr_kamrul: tomar gusti chudi
najmie21: apekejadah?
najmie21: tomagochi gua tau la
dr_kamrul: chudle kapor tolo, ami dukai
najmie21: mari kita tengok dia mau cakap apa
najmie21: kapor kapor mu tulis mana
dr_kamrul: do not shout in own language
dr_kamrul: come in english with shout
najmie21: are you telling yourself?
najmie21: dia ni memang tak makan saman
najmie21: apehal pulak come come shout shout ni
dr_kamrul: come with english
najmie21: doctor, i don't want to be rude but i really have no desire to come in english
najmie21: so may i ask you to stop sending me messages?
najmie21: please thanks
najmie21: semoga hari anda cerah selalu

..................can somebody please slap me.

Reality finally says hello and.. I can’t sleep. Won’t sleep. Cow cow cow. I feel like a poodle with haemorrhoids. A bit woozy from too much tossing and turning. How now.

Can’t imagine reading another chapter on antiemetics. Will vomit my rectum out instead and that can’t be good. If only I could boil Peck and Williams and just drink the ‘stew’ to pass the exam, I’d drink it… bd, tds, qds? just tell me I’d do it.

I’ll be meeting the audit officer who’s been bleeping me whole week and I am sure he saw me on the corridor Friday, but since I was already involuting into a leprechaun behind the stairs, a reflex I have developed towards audit officers, it was silly to suddenly notice him walking by. Let’s just imagine he didn’t see me. So tomorrow, it’s only fair if I ring him and sound a bit ill. Check.

Library books are 6 days overdue. 4 books, 5p a day fines. Lost my card -£5 fines. Mo money for charity. I wonder if those library ladies used to go to the same school as the GP receptionists. They are awfully similar. Even the glasses they wear. There’s just something about these people. Can’t quite put a finger to it. Must ring weird ladies at the library, and sound dim, maybe they’ll waive the fines. Check.

Vodafone will be ditched. Shady service, crap coverage. If they want to keep this ‘valued’ customer they’re going to have to match this:

500 minutes anytime any network
100 sms
£35 a month
Free Bluetooth
Free D500
50% off international call standard tariff

Must ring Vodafone and sound very angry. Bring on O2. Check.

Am doing maternity tomorrow and feeling the Monday blues creeping in already. Please beranak on Tuesday semua ye. Thank you.

You, talking to me?




If I had a magic wand, the first thing I’d do today is to selectively erase some of the things registered against my will in my hippocampus.

Some harsh, some rude, some unbearably inhumane, some just utter arrogance. Words eh?

How powerful is it to be able to vocalise words, to put your feelings forward, and to be able to feel the ambience you create after you’ve finished a string of mere words.

To make a girl cry when you raise your voice and give it a snag at the end of the sentence, to mock, to ridicule, to shame, to threat, even if the word itself was LOVE. Or to see a warm smile beaming after a pause and a longing stare, or to hear an unstoppable giggle after you let some sweet nothings tentalize her tympanic membrane? Magic.

Sometimes it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.

I listened on, and it’s what I do best really. I just pray that I don’t crack, especially not now. I’m good though, which I thought was slightly unexpected.

I suppose even if you are solid, hard rock under a waterfall, with constant repeated pounding battering, you’ll soon get used to it, you’ll grow immune to it, and above all, you’ll change your shape, contour and creases.

So, I too, I’ve changed a little, I learnt a little. I have given a little. I put my foot in the water, and I don’t think I am ready to wade in headlong, let alone swim across.

What makes me stand tall still like a coconut tree after Tsunami? I blame it on my job. In this job, you take shit everyday. Your patient is anxious, threatening to change her mind about general anaesthetics, you have to put your anxiety off, brave a smile and put her anxiety and apprehensions first. Address every single thing as if she is the only patient you have that day.

You’re putting a child to sleep, she wriggled with the mask on, crying, tugging, pushing screaming, mum crying helpless, you have to put your bravest suit and calm her down. Never mind your own helplessness.

Your patient thinks it’s crazy to be awake yet paralysed and not feel any pain to have his leg amputated. You calm him down, explain risks and benefit. Make it crystal clear to the best you can to win his trust. Your smile weakened after your mouth froth from too much talking.

Everything I do is in everybody else’s best interest.

I do this day in day out.

Is it wrong to come home to somebody where the table is turned around? You be strong, I be weak, needy, helpless, lost and loved up.

How Do I Give It Away?


If you creep into my tent, sit beside me and just look at me, I will let you see how I feel. If you just stop, listen and look, you will see.

I'll let the light dim, so my pupils dilate, so you'll see straight into my soul.

When you have looked, you will feel that am scared. I am scared that if I let my guards down, I will let you embrace me, tight, and there's no letting go.

When I feel all warm and secured, you will stab me. You let me bleed, you will let me die, not quickly, not anaesthetically but slow painful death.

It’s probably then that you’ll turn me around and spit on my face. You'll laugh at me and rejoice at the demise of a helpless dying woman who has done nothing but loved you. I am scared.

This message will self combust in 5 seconds.....

Opppsss..sorry



I wouldn’t take it personally if you say I am seeking attention at times. I do feel lonely, unloved, uncared for yadayadayada sometimes, you know, doesn’t everybody.. but..

IT WAS NOT MY PLAN TO GET 12 firemen barging into my flat on a breezy chilly Sunday morning! Really!

The alarm went off, nearly induced supraventricular tachycardia. Damn deafeningly high pitched…damn annoying. I panicked. Almost ran around chasing after my invisible tail before it dawned on me I have to act quick!!!

Chucked the blackened smoking toast in the sink, threw the pot with a cracked open egg also of funny black colour and blasted it with cold tap water which was a mistake. Fooooooosss!!!! The smoke got thicker, couldn’t see the floor!

Rang operator to arrest the arrival of those fire brigade people as soon as I cleared the evidence.


Not much we can do now, they come automatically whenever the alarm goes off. She said, with a clear stifle.

Nooooooooo!!!!

My flat was smoking and I couldn’t breath I had to go to the door. Two massive red trucks arrived and a dozen men looking like Santa with hard hats rushed up to the flat. Two got me by the arms and lifted me out of the flat.

Are you ok?
Can you breath?

I felt like a kitten saved from drowning in a sewage drain, only my hair was dry and smelt of burnt toast instead of wet and smelt of excreta.

I was too slow to explain that I’ve put out the fire and …and…it’s the toast..err and egg and and…but..but. *sigh* .
These people don’t listen, they just do what they do best. That is to raid the flat and look for the fire. I tried.

A collosally built fan was banged in the doorway to ward off the smoke and the noise it made
attracted my neeighbours. Aiyooooo lah

Can imagine them going .. errr whose flat is that? OOooo it's that tiny chinese doctor who smiles at everything sometimes but looks like she can eat anything in the morning.

what has she done now? try to burn us all down?

Told them many times am not chinese, and I can't smile all the time, but what do they know.

Moments later I heard something like…do we call this a false alarm? I really don’t mind if they call me silly girl. Don’t mind at all. I felt like stretching my jumper so I can retreat into my shell like a shy turtle.

Should I laugh or should I cry?

I took my baby for a ride today.

The weather was probably at it’s best considering only a few weeks ago a snowman in a back garden is not an unusual sight. It’d be lying to say that the weather was the main reason for spraying WD40 on the chain, wiping the seat, dusting the handle bar, and pumping the tyres again.

It was more because I felt an unsettling ooze of listlessness verging into a river anxiety. Have to be careful saying that because the latter might carry a rather morbid tune to what really was a mild, cool, bright and sunny day.

It didn’t actually take that long to get to the city centre. I past a few mini roundabouts made of flowerbeds. Gorgeous colours setting off one another with a few white ones balancing the brilliant bluebells and dazzling daffodils. Pink and purple. Red and green. Humble beige.

Somehow, it felt more like passing a valley of the dead. The colours seemed to have registered as light grey and grey and darker grey on my optic centre. Didn’t really feel the warmth of the colours. Couldn’t really smell the freshness let alone the fragrance of the petals.

Something in my mind was causing eddies of perpetual possibilities, doubting what I have tried so hard to believe. I swept these intrusive thoughts under the imaginary carpet. I said to myself. It will be ok.

I pedalled faster and faster up the hill. In my mind I remembered the time I was hit by a car off my pushbike coming home from a Paediatrics tutorial, 7 years ago. I was taken back up to the hospital, unconscious, blood pooled on the roadside.

The education secretary was one of the people who were stuck in the tailback and saw the incident as it happened. She said that the girl was limp, lifeless covered with blood. She thought the girl was dead but she hoped that she was wrong when she saw my blue Eastpak backpack I always had on me. I remember nothing.

When I actually came around, I felt tremendous pain in my right arm my face was sore and my bladder was bursting. My housemates were there, crying, some were saying sorry. They really thought I was dying. It was the strangest feeling ever.

The second day I was on the orthopaedic ward, I was dying to go home. I was dying inside too. The very person that mattered to me most didn’t even know that I was going through and ordeal. He wouldn’t have known.

The boys and girls from my year had to queue to see me. The well wishes pouring in, Professor Warner’s secretary, Linda brought a bouquet from everybody in the Paediatrics department. My bed was covered with flowers of all sorts and get well balloons. They had to get me another side cupboard to stand all the cards. I was very touched but funny enough I didn’t feel like it was necessary.

Maybe my brain was trying to protect me by tuning into an annoying amnesia, rendering all attention, cards, chocolates, balloons, flowers, unnecessary. I was grateful and I was touched, but not cheered up. Those flowers didn’t smell, the colours didn’t register. I prayed that it was all from him so I didn’t have to fake my smile.

It was a blessing in a way because it was at that very moment that I saw the whole picture. He couldn’t have possibly meant the word love.

I pedalled faster and faster trying to leave those thoughts behind as if it was chasing me, reminding me again and again. I was surprised that as I pedalled, I was feeling exactly the same as when I was sitting on the bed, looking like a female Frankeinstein, on ward F2 Southampton General Hospital, on a warmish May afternoon, rocking subtly back and forth while waiting for 1400 dose of morphine.

This is painful. He doesn’t love me. How blind was I.

Thinking.too.much.BluEScrubs

SELAMAT HARI JADI


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Kau saksi kekalahan
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Suka duka, kau seperti boleh rasa

Kau kawan kelas A,
Kau tiada ganti.

SELAMAT HARI JADI AHMAD!

Run The Bath Please





Ever had somebody else’s body fluid splattered all over your face?

Erkkhh Errkkkk Erkkkhhh
Koooorrkkkhhh
Errkkkghhhh

Uwekkkkkk
Khhhh
Ptuih
Tuih
Fhhuuuhh Emmmbbbbbwwwoookkk

Urgghhhhhhh
*Gasp*

Huhuhuhuhuuhu…eyes watered.

Came out of the cubicle looking like a wounded soldier with a bleeding forehead, the bluescrubs had a pretty effortlessly artistic crimson pattern all over.

Nurses looking horrified at a bleeding smiling doctor scuttling to the bathroom.

Never underestimate the power of arterial ejaculation and push hard next time. Yes boss.

How would you describe something which happened beyond stressed, so stressed that you wished everybody in the theatre spontaneously combust and the patient’s oesophageal cancer cured a-surgically. No surgery indicated, no anaesthetics needed. I wish.

This chap, had electively been scheduled for an oesophagectomy (gullet operation) yesterday, which didn’t happen funny enough, after all that ICU bed booked for him, the whole morning session allocated for him and me psyched up for this big big anaesthetic salsa for him. Why?

Naturally, you would think he’d be sensible enough to understand that nil by mouth means, nothing per oral, zero through mouth, yillek itu mulut juga makan, and various other ways of understanding it.


His operation was in half an hour’s time and he had a flipping apple. A whole gargantuan apple! (on my scale of things), because this not only meant he’d get cancelled, it meant ICU bed getting cancelled, and possibly other sessions cancelled to fit him in the next day.

"Oh I thought a snack is ok", I could only smile, whatelse can I do.

So tomorrow arrived which is today. If I were to ask now, on what it means to deal with a ‘difficult’ patient, I’d say it’s him. His body was as if saying just let me go, it’s my time, and so every step we made was a struggle through and through. At least it felt so.

Chronologically, I first put the cannula for iv drip, the vein was so wriggly I had to retract the skin and play chase the snake. Once I nailed the snake, it popped as if I asked it to.
What????

Next the arterial line. Got it in but a swelling followed not long after the transducer was connected. A haematoma? How did that happen? What??

Next, putting him to sleep. The standard size double lumen tube just wouldn’t pass the larynx and didn’t that just trash my confidence. Eventually had to put in a size down, compromising a good seal, risking a leak.

The NG tube had to play the part as well so it coiled and coiled at the back of his throat like it’s a lion dance show. By that time I was losing my patience.

The thoracic epidural was a nightmare. Multiple attempt is by definition 3 goes or more at putting it in. Is there such thing as multiple attempt squared? Yes, let’s have that. Got it in the end and I thought my armpits felt a bit damp.

The subclavian cannulation was proven to be an epitome of impossibility if there is such a phrase. 2 goes and each time the guide wire just bounced off. I wished I had an isobestic power of a cross between x-ray vision and ultrasonic touch to know exactly what was going on underneath that skin of his.

Dr.G saved the day and put in a subclavian. Felt useless as usual while he was doing it.

So that’s why you’re a consultant eh Dr.G?

I am sure I gave him that look, because he later said, it comes with practise Naj and smiled.
At least my existence and failure had made somebody felt good about somebodyself.

I could probably do something with all these sour grape thoughts I am collecting. Pickle them or something and bury it somewhere.

And, oh my god. After all that palaver and hurdles and obstructions as if his body is resisting against anything at all to do with the removal of the cancer, the most nerve wrecking thing happened.

The surgeon turned the patient to left lateral and started going through the right lung to get to the oeasophagus. They started the routine deflating of the lung.

The oxygen saturation dropped steadily.

We all like 100%. Mine is 98%-100%. If you smoke it’s lower. Maybe 95%.

This chap’s dropped more but still steadily passed the 90 mark. I was alarmed.

It dropped more to 85 and suspended for a while. My heart beat jumped to a triple figure but I kept composed. I did the drill and at the same time Dr G was summoned.

The hiatus broke, glided down to 75 very fast and the patient was blue. I felt an impending doom, imminent catastrophe. What’s wrong? Think think think.

My throat felt dry my voice felt weak. I backed off and Dr G took over. It dropped further and by then we’ve gone through all possibilities but nothing was obvious.

It went down to the 50s figures. How is this compatible with life?

I felt giddy with my own pounding palpitations. My heart beat was so loud, the repercussion kneaded it’s way as far as my ears, and my chest felt funny. It was so hard to not breath so heavily ….Ya Tuhan tolonglah….

A room full of doctors.



It’s either yours truly had undergone an un-consented brain transplant in her sleep or she had reached what’s called a plateu on the ‘how much drugs I’ve learnt’ on the y axis against 'time' on the x axis.

It just feels saturated and a bit like sticking a silk scarf into a bottle, exactly..not a clue if it is possible anymore.

Met my old old friend, among many others, at the weekends during the Islamic Medical Association of Malaysia (IMAM) symposium, at which I also had the opportunity to sit approximately 2.5 metres away from our Deputy Prime Minister Datuk Sri Najib Tun Razak, during the photo session!!! Shall make it a point to hunt for his pictures in his younger years, he looks too good for his age….hmmm…was it the nose?

So this friend of mine who is the wiser one, is a proper Registrar now, (but still acts like a pre-registration house officer which is beside the point).

Having had passed her exams which was 3 parts altogether, all on the first attempt, she is my instant inspiration to say the least. I was naturally impressed beyond words and, her words are still ringing in my ears. I asked her how she did it.

“Imagine hitting the finishing line. That’s the goal. Make strategies weekly and train yourself like a 400 m runner. Time it well and make sure you peak on the day of the exam”.

“I’ve lived with you for at least 3 years, I went to med school with you, I know you can do it”.

“Malaysia boleh!” and as usual we can never talk about things too seriously for too long a time. Felt 17 all over again, catching up over Abdul's kebab on Oxford Road, and it was exactly what I needed.

I hope you take plenty of salt in your diet my friend. Ameen.

Can you hear me?



I was a walking wounded soldier. I survived a blast. The shrapnel flew all over the place, I crouched I ducked, I tried to scream but it came out muted. My shoulder was bleeding I was timing myself to run for my life.

Why were those black hooded people bombing and demolishing everything? Where was I anyway? It was all rubbled and ruined. I wasn’t certain, I couldn’t tell.

I was desperate for arms around me, to make me feel safe, but I wanted to run as well, for my life.

They saw me.

There was a commotion, one was running after me.

It felt like running on a road full of glue, soon I was wading through a muddy river. I fell and choked, I gasped for breath.

Woken up, yanked out of it, hyperventilating. Scared, the flat felt so empty. I looked around. My pillow was drenched. My pj too. I broke out cold sweats.

You were never here, but why do I feel so at lost? I don’t believe I could lose something I never had. I don’t believe this is real.

Now couldn’t sleep, humming of the PC is somewhat calming. Lost some latent heat of evaporation, so now feel cold.

Is there anybody out there? Wait, no….I want to be alone.

I wonder how people cope with nomad-ing around ever so often when it comes to working.

Imagine that you arrive at a new place, you over come that deep apprehension towards strangers barrier, stop scrutinizing yourself so much and start conversing with people and very soon you’re on a first name basis already.

You start talking about families, relationships and deep stuff at work, because it’s only natural. You bond with people at work. Sometimes, with the boss as well, and as you are settling comfortably into a place where people know your name, it’s time to leave again.

This consultant I worked with today, I will just call the Prof. He’s somebody, who will always ask you the most simple question, which you should know the answer to really because you use the damn thing everyday, but because it was so obvious, you can’t put in words.

I found myself swallowing air while waiting for the answer to meteorite into the atmosphere and hit me hard on the head, so much so that I felt like being rude - burp and faint at the same time. Got it in the end.

Maybe he finds me such an anaemic 80s cartoon character who looks more and more exasperated each day with the workload and trying to study for the exam at the same time, that he sent me off the OR today. I swear I could have kissed him there and then. Thank you Sir, awak sangat baik hati.

Earlier in the anaesthetic room, it was a good hour of sheer perseverance. We first put the thoracic epidural, then gas the patient down, put the double lumen endotracheal tube which position was confirmed with the fibreoptic bronchoscope.

The damn thing had mind of it’s own I tell you, and I don’t know what is it with me being watched by the consultant and doing things the opposite. Right, I mean left…left I mean right.

I managed to confuse my left side to my right so much, that I had to stop doing a running commentary while doing the bronchoscope, as initially demanded.

Describe to me what you see, he said.
Matter was made worse with Bill the ODA opening his daily dose of jokes on women. So today was on women drivers.

Did a subclavian cannulation for feeding later, as this patient was not going to eat for a while after his oesophagectomy for cancer. That was a bit of a struggle. Arterial line next and he was ready to cook. Chuffed!!

What a great joy it brings to describe mutilating a person when he’s asleep, because that’s what it basically is, but I shall not dwell on that.

I left after being sent away to hit the books which I did. Was going to decapitate the skeleton in the seminar room to study the anatomy of the base of the skull and the orbit (eye) but unfortunately it’s been fixed with some partially rusted screws which probably could do with a bit of grease.


My question is how often am I going to use the knowledge of the position of the jugular foramen in relation to the foramen magnum and how foramen spinosum and foramen ovale almost look like one foramen? Huh? Huh? Huh?

I’ve grown to like this place, the people, the air, the water. I was sceptical at the beginning, I called it grim, but it’s not the place that matters, it’s what you make out of the place.

I dread August, where will I be, what would I do? Not a single thing to look forward to on the horizon. Not a thing to call mine. It’s got to be the end, it’s all over. I am saddened

Damn, on call tomorrow and got no clean socks!

Fighting.back.tears.BluEScrubs.

If I could blend myself into the wall like a wallpaper, I would have.

I was with Dr.GG in the morning, doing an eye list for cataract operations. My my my didn’t my limbs feel heavy (berat tulang). The last time I saw a needle going into an eye was probably at the beginning of my job in this place, say 6 months ago. Flipping heck , has it been 6 months already? So, in all honesty I never actually thought that day will come where I’d be the anaesthetist doing a subTenon injection.

This is a mak datuk (mamagrandpapa) sized needle, curved and blunt. We all know that the more blunt the more torture, but hey look, me going to stick this great big needle in your eye old man, get ready…oppeeenn wide. Oh I swear I could have fainted.

I can stand sticking needles in the hands, the foot, the neck, the tummy , and throw a few stitches on some drunken morons with bleeding scalp on a Saturday night in A&E, but needles in the eye? Thank you, BluEScrubs is leaving the building.

I was stood there at the corner of the OR, twiddling my fingers. Wasn’t sure if I was humming loudly as well because Bill the ODA nudged me and said somebody is happy today. I managed a pathetic grin.

Dr.GG asked me. Have you seen a subTenon before?

I couldn’t lie so I said yes. Curtly but sweetly.

You can do the next one he said.

Gulp.

Dr GG is originally from Nepal and his English can be a bit military, so I was well tuned.

He did the first one and I was all the time, a beautiful creepy wild flower standing in the background for the whole 10 minutes. Never felt so useless in my life, yet so dizzy thinking about the impending doom.

I don’t want to stick it in the eye Arghhhhhhhhhhhh…Somebody please hit the fire alarm.


The moment of truth arrived. Finally. My hands were shaking, my throat was dry and I can hear ringing in my ears. In the past, that is a pre dromal sign that I was going to pass out. But no, I was still standing. Damn. It’s a bit hot in here yes? Bill gave me a wink. He can smell fear or what? He needs a kick.


This is the guy who saved me last week from a sheer shameful defeat at an impossible spinal injection. The woman was, em let’s just say, ample in the adipose tissue department rendered me helpless in finding the bones department. She needed it for a third degree repair post labour. I gasped at the sight of the tear, which was vertical, right down through the perineal body missing the rectum by, not much at all. Unaware, I limped back to the head end of the operating table with legs crossed and my heart goes out to Cik T. Sorry for all the time I ever made you cry Mak.
.

Patient: How am I doing? Is this ok for you

Bless her, she’s trying her best to do that crouching tiger hidden dragon position to help me, but no dear, you just need to be slimmer, a lot slimmer!! That’d be very politically incorrect, so of course I said, No, no you’re doing just fine, we’re just trying to see if we’ve got a something else that we can use. Me biting lips, looking at Bill.


I was at the end of my wits. Bill’s lightbulb appeared just on time and after saying be back in a jiff, he returned with a Portex combined spinal epidural needle. A makdatuk sized needle. I have taken a picture of this and posted below, as I have begged on all fours from Bill to give me one to take home. Said I was going to frame it.

That is my favourite toy at the moment, can’t wait to play again. So, no kicking Bill really.

This is what happened when you never learn how to write properly and just blurt out whatever’s in mind. I’ve digressed from the main story.

So, I did the first one.

The gentleman, was well mannered. Clean shaven, eloquent with Southern accent. They’re all elderly, but this one, must have been in the army or something. He had a Sean Connery kind of firmness and agility. When I called him to the room for pre anaesthetic consultation early in the morning, I saw the book he was reading, VOYAGE by some dude with a strange Ukrainy name. Love a man with a book. Kind of mysterious, lost, in his own kind of world.

So I put the benoxinate, the numbing stuff in the eye. Dr GG looked on. Didn’t say a word. The last time I felt like that was when I had to sing on an induction day aeons ago in TKC. What a cock up, stopped half way and said I forgot the lyrics. I wanted to forget how to do this and just become a halimunan man. I mean woman.

There, done. Dr GG checked the eyeball. I took a drag of breath. The patient couldn’t move his eyeball, so, that's good, but to the left. He’s still moving his eye to the left!

Scratch head. That wouldn’t happen even if I try so hard. Dr GG took over. Grrrrr!!

The second patient, I wasn’t shaking so much. It felt like riding a bicycle again after getting scratched and bruised. Made the nick in the membrane. Shoved the needle in, inject. Eyeball expressed forward. Euughhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

10 minutes later, Dr GG approached, checking the eye movement. It’s moving all over the place, it’s like I never touched the patient at all! Grrrrrrr.

He said, let me do it. The good thing is, he complimented. Nice hole you’ve got there. So the hole I made was perfect, but the block is not working. Grrrrrrrr…

The third patient, an 80 year old Checz man, I spent 20 minutes chatting to this morning. He fought the world war 2 and I just didn’t have the heart to cut him short with his world stories.

All I said was, so how old are you sir? They could go on and on, believe you me, but with a face like and saying I looked like an angel at 8:30 am, you’ve got to love the man. I wonder if they did his cataract properly the last time.

I was determined this time. No more shaking, no more faffing, no more winging. Took it all slow and steady. God knows what went on in my mind at the time. May, Bali, blablablablablawhywhywhy.

It was a perfect SubTenon!! Finally.

Kanckered..ZzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz Remifentanil, fentanyl, Alfentanil….

nafees_gold123: i m 25 male
najmie21: go away please
najmie21: not talking to you
nafees_gold123: why?
nafees_gold123: r u ok?
najmie21: i'm ok are u ok..i simply do not want to chat
najmie21: mengerti?
nafees_gold123: doent be angery
najmie21: do you understand that I don't know u and i don't want to talk to u?
nafees_gold123: my name is nafees alam
nafees_gold123: and i m from pak
nafees_gold123: and i m 25 m
nafees_gold123: and i wanna friend ship
nafees_gold123: r u there?
najmie21: do you know how to go away?
najmie21: and not bother people?
nafees_gold123:
hynafees_gold123: plz
nafees_gold123: i want friend ship
nafees_gold123: should i add u ?
nafees_gold123: if u like
nafees_gold123: plz
najmie21: no thank you
nafees_gold123: ohhhh ok
nafees_gold123: as u wish
nafees_gold123: why r u so angery?
najmie21: because I am not not angry
najmie21: can i please ask u to piss off?
nafees_gold123: yes

probably 5 mins later,

nafees_gold123: (a broken heart with a sad face at this point)
nafees_gold123: where r u?
nafees_gold123: wake up
nafees_gold123: =((
nafees_gold123: ok
nafees_gold123: u doent want
nafees_gold123: bye

????????????????????????????????????
I tried....

had.enough.BluEScrubs

Hmmppphhhh!!!!



This is so cliché but am going to spell it out anyway because have been spending too much time trying to make it sound clever, but brain is just a blueblackened banana at the moment

- T.R.U.S.T is the most important thing to survive a relationship, and I agree with two hands up in the air.

Without trust, you kill each other quietly, slowly but surely and it, by that I mean the relationship will not go very far. It is not to be asked, so be careful asking, it has to be earned. Same as respect and if circumstances allowing and time is on your side, this is just a piece of cake, but if it is not, then just G.I.V.E it. Make it easy on yourself.

What is there to lose if you really love the person? Worse comes to worse, you later find out that he’s a jerk or she’s a bitch, then you will know either way, and you’ll come out of it a better lover, hopefully. Do remember to abandon the relationship though.

Second is, the garbage, spare tyre, kerak-kerak, saki baki from previous relationships, that has to be wrapped up well with no return address and thrown into a river, any river would do, preferably the one without any living organisms because you never know, the weight or the toxicity might harm some aquatic creatures.

It doesn’t help anybody I tell you, neither does it make it any saucier to argue about the past, because apart from it making who you are now, it’s also what you have learnt to dealt with. The past IS you, so learn to accept each other. Start fresh and mean it.

Give each other leeway and cut some slacks. Important this. Everybody needs their own space, from time to time. Needs to retreat into a cave somewhere, to read a book, to reflect, to think, to find solutions, to find self. Especially if both are intense people.

This is when being opposite works. When argument break lose, one must be the fire extinguisher. No good trying to make the other person listen when he/she is talking because listening and talking never happen simultaneously. You need to be quiet to listen.

Lastly, what you want to be done to you, do it to him/her. If you want to be listened to, listen first. To be spoken to nicely, be kind and speak with your heart. But if he/she is just too self absorbed to notice the give, then sod it. Not worth fighting for, not worth your time, attention, and energy.

So, all those 4 points are just something that hit me in a mystic kind of way while cooking. No sheep or chicken (apart from that one in the oven) were involved and of course not related to anybody dead or alive. I do get this relationship itch I call it and when it does come on, I just have to write in a bluescrubby kind of way.

Who am I to say this and that. After all I am the one who’s chronically unlucky in love. Enuff said.

p/s: T-Rex, it's been 6 years since I last saw you, I wish you well. Wherever you are.
SELAMAT HARI JADI.

Emotionally.disturbed.BluEScrubs.

This is what BluEScrubs been hit with.

A brain wave.

I am sure I was only cooking when it hit me. I didn’t feel like eating afterwards. My taste buds went on strike, my stomach can’t hack it.

The fact that it’s Monday tomorrow has nothing to do with it. Apparently BluEScrubs does puisi. Raw, unedited.

Aku hanya rasa jelaga sapa kulitku
Bahangnya jauh nun
Aku mahu rasa apinya
juga
Kenapa kau tepis?

Aku lihat kau renangi lautan
madu
Aku, jalan atas bara
Kau bakar aku lepas itu
Kenapa kau
tidak peluk ku?

Aku mahu
Aku tahu kau juga ingin
Aku tak
takut
Kenapa kau lagak kental?

Aku ke gua sendirian
Aku tahu
kau tidak tahu
Kau meledak bila jejak kakiku kelihatan
Kenapa tidak kau
turutiku?

Aku kau marahi
Semua ku turuti
Aku cuba jerit
sekuat hati
Kenapa kau pekakan telinga?

Aku tangis jadi
sungai
Kau jueh itu emosi manic
Bukan senang ku titiskan
Kenapa kau
hina aku?

Aku pasti aku cinta
Tidak pernah aku bohong
Aku
tahu kau tak percaya
Cukuplah biar aku mati saja.

Eh, Kenapa
mesti kau kesali?
Oh aku lupa….yang benar hanyalah kau
saja…
Bukan?

Otakmu jingga
Aku geli
Apa kau utara, aku
jelak
Apa kau sapa aku mual
Kau pekak
Kau harap aku bisu, aku
tahu
Kau…kau tahu?
Kau itu penuh tahi.

“Mahu lihat dia jadi pujangga? Tunggulah dia jatuh cinta atau hatinya luka.” - BluEScrubs.in.the.kitchen.March.2005

Discovered a NEW TOY. 

Touch ma fire
Can you feel the heat
My crazy rythm gonna knock you off your feet

*drum beat*hop around the room*running man*

So yes Javine won!!
What did I say? What did I say?
Talking about auditory connoisseur judging eh.

P/S: Manchester people man!! what you people thinking voting for Jordan. Sick.. sick..

Having a respite from the world full of Chi squared, Mann-Whitney and Students t-test. Thought I’d switch on the telly. Later, we'll see if whatever I’ve learnt today retained in my not so impressed brain, suffering voilently from acute human contact withdrawal.

Am etching in these statistics this weekend because it’s the only subject I have not laid my hands on since graduation and surprise surprise FRCA examiners WILL ask stats questions. I think the message is clear, no running away from statistics.


I remember sitting in one of those stat’s lectures scribbling the corner of Mona’s writing pad ‘zzzzzzzzzzz’, and she scribbled back ‘Saw Dave in d concourse just now’ which got my attention rounded, and the writing soon became one messy jungle of scribbling, centred around Dave the 3rd year med student- English Chinese. I was very good at drawing stick-man so there was a page that had Mona and Dave at the altar. She kept reminding me of that whenever we met or spoke on the phone, which these days not that often as she is now married to Boxy- not Dave.

One time, I was queuing behind Dave to get breakfast at the concourse, when he turned and asked the time. I froze and said that wasn’t wearing one. I was. Could anybody lie faster than that. Just couldn’t stand the attention he was paying to me. It's like being arrowed by a group of angry Red Indians. All of that, for me?? Die…die..die !!!
Am grown up now, not seen anybody like Dave since, no cartoon action no more.

At least there was Mona the scribbler then, to survive statistics with, now, I’m afraid it’s a lone scrubber hacking Gaussian graph all by herself on a snowy Saturday afternoon.

Katie Price aka Jordan is shaking her boobs on some eurovision qualifying show. I mean what is she thinking? Those boobs are going to pop out any minute now from that zip up pink leotard. Oh if that is not hideous then I don’t know what is. Blimming eck just get her off stage already.

I think that woman Javine is going to get the place. She has that powerful voice, sultry looks, Beyonce moves without too much curves, so she’s almost Aliyah with simply sexy moves. No frills. I like.

Baldie rang a while ago. It’s almost inevitable that you speak of the weather first as you think about what to talk about, having not spoken to him for a while. I think it was December when he came over with Linda and Raj all the way from Isle of Wight to visit.

And now it’s MARCH!!!! Exam is in 30 days. Die…die…die.!!! Whoever said time flies when you are having fun needs serious counselling.

We never sat together in lectures then, because he used to hang out with different group of people, but in the final year, as people got posted to different parts of South UK, I started to get to know some of them and I must say I regret not knowing them that well earlier on.

So we talked about statistics and moaned about the weather, moaned about his patients, moaned about my patients, my exam and his exam and yes..a lot of moaning needless to say. It’s one of the guys’s birthday last week and I don’t think there is any get together going to happen anywhere near soon. Baldie’s exam is 2 weeks after mine. So..no then.

Enough moaning. ANOVA test next. ANO wha'? wha'?.....

Watched a movie!!!!



At first I thought, Rachael, Nancy and I were going to tuck the two boys into screen 4 showing ‘Flight of the Phoenix’ rated 12, and scrambled into screen 1 to watch ‘Million Dollar Baby’ when we missed ‘Meet The Fockers’ at 7pm, but there was something about that combination of Dennis Quaid and Sticky Fingaz that made me hustled everybody into watching ‘Flight of the Phoenix’ last night.

Am not sure whether it’s my heightened sensitivity to anything non-work related after 2 days of torture in the ICU, or this film is simply a good dose of balanced inflammatory excitement , utter violence with crude display of intense peril, expansile action, vivid explosion, rippling muscles, wit, tension and choking suspense, but it sure saved me from going potty. Simply ke..

The movie was a bit like a lawnmower eating away my initial sceptical view about a certificate 12a rated movie, when the plane took off and the pilot was too jovial and one of the passengers talked about jinxing the plane. I stopped gobbling popcorn then.

When the ‘unexpected’ thing happened to the plane, the fast stroboscopic bursts of deadly storm, mixed with the animated vulnerability of the sturdy looking plane being shaken like a walnut in a jar, decapitated and swung down to the dessert without a postcode, got me gripping to the seat tight.

It was catecholamines surge from the first 15 minutes, and you would think it’s going to abate, but no, it got better and better.

The plane finally stopped in the sandy shock-absorber and it felt like discovering a false- alarm cardiac arrest after a storm of adrenaline up the stairs. All that running, sweating and adrenaline rush to discover that it’s all not that bad, but still it’s not good. I could almost make an analogy of surviving the Gobi dessert after a plane crash to that of surviving in Grimsby hospital after a peri-arrest. Almost I said.

So many bits I liked in this movie, which depicted so many outrageous behaviour manifested when you have to live on rationed water and canned peaches. All other unworldly characters came out to play igniting anything oppositely charged to it. Emotions run wild, hijacking any sensible reasoning from the higher centres.



One of them is when Sammi the chef, had to go into the caved part of the fuselage to nail in the wing when they finally agreed to build the plane with their own hands. They lost grip of the heavy wing and it catapulted slap bang into where Sammi was. I was like Oh nooo…matilah Sammiiii. Tidaaakk. One funny character that Sami. He came out from it crossed eyed and half smiling asking for a fresh pair of underpants. Hhihihiiyyyaaaaaa.


And that hyper- nerd model plane designer, Elliot has some serious god complex syndrome. I knew it when he spoke with bland expression with that stiffened almost choreatic gait. But in that situation, when your hope and dreams are so high and you only have just about nothing else to spare, and your only slim chance of escaping death is by means of lowering your ego, I’d say ‘please’ to that pratt as well. Now that I have thought hard about where I saw him before, he’s that twisted brother of Phoebe in Friends.


Oh he’s done it so well with that blonde crew cut and nerdy glasses blended with a touch of madness which irritated everybody like a pebble in the shoe, so much so that at one point we almost cheered ‘yes’ !!!! when Towns hit him hard on the face. Wohoooooo. Serve you right psycho.

I mean what right does he have to go and gun down the half dead Mongolian nomad anyway? Sheeesh. But then again, it’s probably a prerequisite characteristic to becoming a plane designer. They must have had Howard Hughes in mind when they created Elliot.

I know those vicious nomads killed that Scottish chap with the ginger beard, but still Elliot is a psycho. Starting from the Matrix-esque Neo backflip as the result being shot close range, right to the part he whispered ‘Don’t crash’ as his last words, I was giving my lacrimal glands a good work-out. I knew right from when they showed the entrance wound which was in the 5th intercoastal space, that he’s going to die of at least haemopneumothorax if not cardiac tamponade. I digress, pardon me..so hard not to do that.

Dialogues were captivating and witty in equal amount. The best part was when captain Towns refusal to entertain the idea of building a plane on the idea that if they build the plane, they’ll consume god knows how many folds of their limited water supply, sent one of the passengers with a big chin to head for Beijing on foot.

Bizarre, yes but the big chin did that in hope, and if big chin died it’ll be that he died trying. That very idea went through Towns like a plug to a socket. Big chin had a family to go back to and what he said was ace, ‘Give a man love, as a reason to live, if there’s no love, give him hope, if there is no hope, give him something to do’, which made Towns’ ‘this is not about winning or losing, this is about staying alive’ sounded pessimistic and they both went back to built the plane.

And talking about hope, dear Sammi, cut his share of canned peach into 4 and prayed before he dine. Another guy with a middle east accent, who was most dessert-wise among them all was watching on. He then told Sammi how amazed he was that in this time of test, Sammi still took time to thank God. Sammi being the Sammi the Chef said, ‘We’re alive aren’t we?’ which I thought was most innocent and moving.


I can never watch somebody eating alone, or eating food in a quantity or quality in that magnitude, always make me feel helpless, to this day I wonder why. Not a beggar, not a boy falling off his bike, or a pregnant woman standing on a bus that would do that.

There was a talk about this being a remake of an original film, but whatever it is, I am sure the previous one didn’t have Sticky Fingaz blasting Hey Ya – Outkast while they were flexing those raw rippling muscles under the scorching sun which made all five of us in a row jiggling in our seats. There were only 2 other lots of people in the cinema and even they were jiggling. Rick and Zach started chucking popcorns, at least I know they’re not hungry.

The movie felt like it was over so quickly that I didn’t get the chance to learn each and invidual character properly, but each was an honest and humble effort with sincere performance in making this movie, one that I didn’t leave my seat for the loo even though my bladder was already dull to percussion to the level if you let the tap open I’d go just like that.

Now that’s too much. If you plan to watch this and you’ve read till this bit , I am sorry I’ve spoilt some of it, but I have written it in such a way that it’s disorderly and hard to follow.(Very hard to do..yahah).

There you go, 3.5 stars from BluEScrubs, that’s a lot.

Blarrrrdee ‘ell how did it get this long. I used to do wordcount for 1119 essays for Puan Ashidah (oh didn’t we marvel at your different hairstyles and your matching handbags and shoes), and struggled to meet the 500 mark.

Now look, blogspot is refusing to post this up. (**&^$E£$^&^$£$£^&^*. Will definitely post up that shot of Tyrell Gibson and Quaid in raw hyperthrophied biceps when Hello stop flipping faffing . Am fuming. *&%$%£&^^&*%&