Saturday, April 30, 2005
I do listen to Jojo in the morning, in the car, in the shower, getting dressed, munching toast, sipping coffee.
Her laughter is croaky, like she’s got a frog in her throat.
She’s loud, gobby, she’s blunt and she’s daring.
But equally entertaining, I don’t dislike her.
She’s not very tall, blonde white hair cropped a mere inches from the scalp. Fine curls.
Dressed like Rogue, steal any show if you give her a microphone.
She played chart songs
Left FUSED 11 pm she hurried across, brushed my shoulder. She carried a duffel bag. She said sorry.
I tapped her shoulder back and demanded a hug.
She pecked on my cheek. Well lesbian.
She smelled like cinnamon on a hot bun.
Elaine pulled a 17 year old and pissed in front of Gullivers.
Oh what a night, had to bundled her into the taxi.
Tired, not another night out with the nurses, they are trying to kill me or what.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Milk Spiller and Orthopod Dude.
Many people don’t know this but I have a flatmate. She’s been contractually around for a while now but she’s hardly around if you know what I mean. With me doing crazy- bitch on call and she doing crazy- bitch on call as well, we’re mere ghosts to each other.
If we are married we’d both be severely sexually frustrated in a knowing kind of way because you know you can have it but you can’t really have it because of the crazy-bitch on call, of course. You know.
Crazy she is my flatmate. I just wish she doesn’t take one hour every morning in the shower and doesn’t put the milk away horizontally instead of vertically to avoid an oasis of white stuff pooling on the floor every morning which I have to wipe off as she’d be in the shower for an hour and the pool of white stuff takes longer than an hour to evaporate off. Very obvious therefore who had to wipe the milk off the floor while waiting for the shower turn.
Some element of exaggeration in the text above but I find that rather satisfying. Now people will remember my flatmate as the ‘milk spiller’.
At work today I have developed a very strong feeling towards this one particular person. I felt like murdering him, at the time.
I was on my own doing 2 total knee replacement anaesthetics. First patient recovered well, pain free having had sciatic and femoral nerve blocks by me. These are injections to the nerve supplying the legs to numb it, so no pain for at least few hours afterwards.
The operation itself took two and a half hours. So, having started at 9 am, two and a half hours doesn’t leave that much time for the next knee to be done before 2pm.
There I was on my next knee case, on my knees with my head stuck in between this chap’s legs hoping to achieve a result as good as the first.
I was on the sciatic nerve block part when he, the orthopod kahuna walked in. I had a needle in my right hand stuck in this patients right bum cheek and the other hand tweaking with the microampere from the nerve stimulator. I heard this.
‘Why don’t you just do epidural, it’s much better for the patient’.
I almost couldn’t believe what he’s just said.
Allison and Kerry, the two ODA with me did the ‘Oh- my- gawwwd Naj- is- going- to- blow- up face’.
Do you see me telling you to do Austin Moore instead of dynamic hip screw because it’s better for your broken hip patients Mr. orthopod dude? What makes you think you know better?
This is my theory :
I am young he is old
I am a woman he’s a man
I am not a consultant and he is.
He feels threatened because his god complex bubble had been poked by an anaesthetic girl who is obviously not his size to pick on, who also switches the radio channel from his chinese-restaurant-background-music to Galaxy 105 in the OR to avoid some staff dropping dead from boredom or some slit-wrist massacre propagating amongst the ODAs. I do put his CD neatly back in the case.
He is jealous because nobody talks to him. He can’t talk anyway because he’s from a different planet. The minute he says something it's either something completely off tangent or a joke nobody dares laugh at. He thinks Justin Timberlake is a Red Indian, which at the time I thought was a joke.
He always stifled at my jokes, to the point I thought he must be having a serious halithosis problem to not even want to open his mouth like that, can’t be anything else. I honestly think he should just laugh when he wants to, no holding back, just let it out. I am more than willing to tickle him, with some Magill forceps, should situation dictate I do so.
Just to see him at least flash a smile. For now we know, he’s just miserable and he wants everybody else to be as miserable as he is.
Not so surprisingly, the incident flooded the OR complex rather quickly as Kerry and Allison are THE CNN of the OR. At lunchtime the headlines in the pantry were:
Bill: I’d punch him for you Naj.
Sharon: Oh what and an idiot, did you throw him out of the anaesthetic room then? *I shook my head* You should.
Barbara of recovery : Men, Naj, you know what it is. It’s men. Can’t have a woman doing things right.
Debbie: Just imagine him in a leopard print thong Naj.
I laughed so hard at Debbie’s. I think I’ll just do that.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Pain Worth Prescribing
I came home tired as always but with a smile on my face. The on call wasn’t what you would call a heavy one, but I was kept on the trot most of the night.
At 3 am (what did I say about 3 am), I was called for an epidural. The lady, a primip (carrying first child) was 4 years younger than me. Very pretty with a very nice lordosis in her lower back. It was malleable enough to curve out, splaying open the intervertebral space, making it easy for me to put the Touhy needle.
Physically, she’s a slim lady and her bump was to envy for. Not a single stretch marks. Very cooperative, and all for making my job easier.
She wasn’t a typical screaming woman in pain. She was more subtle, more appropriate. All I could I hear was a tstttt and her eyes watered with every contraction. She looked like an injured dove. Her husband a very well mannered gentleman would hurry over to hold her hand with every wince she made with her eyes closed and eyebrows screwed..
I was thinking that pain is not dissimilar to electricity. You can augment it. Amplify it or even switch it off completely like a wounded soldier in the battlefield.
Pain is a signal. The more acknowledged a pain is by the loved ones, the better one can cope with the pain itself. Display or manifestation of pain in my opinion is to a certain degree related to how secure you are in a relationship with your loved ones, the people that matter to you.
The more insecure one is the more florid the statement of pain, wailing, shouting, demanding, blackmailing, threats and such can snowball into something huge and nasty. These people feel like the pain that they suffer gives the ticket to abuse those around them who care. I don’t want to imagine what it must feel like inside somebody who fakes symptoms. Must be very isolated and lonesome AND emotionally disturbed.
Lack of attention or appropriate response to displayed pain on the other hand will give birth to something like Munchaussen syndrome whereby people fake symptoms to seek attention be it by themselves or by proxy i.e by making somebody else adopt the sick role. Usually a child. The symptoms will be made worse if the core problem never gets addressed properly. Maybe it’s insecurity, maybe it’s dissatisfaction, maybe it’s grief.
Many couples thanked me before but not as genuine as this pair. Their smiles complete each other’s. I left the lady pain free and I was in a pleased mode (until my bleep went off at 4 which warrants a post on it’s own, as my mood then was magically transformed to less pleased).
Every time something as beautiful as this happened, a picture of a boat without me in it floating through sea of trial and tribulations, stroboscopes onto a white screen in my head. Is it on the way to pick me or have I missed it altogether?
Could be a nice thing to blog about but I am sure it’ll come out so stupid it’s not worthy of my non- writer brain. I’ll stick to my huffing and puffing about my job.
Chief midwife just bleeped me to say that they have a woman with twins who is 9 cm dilated and the second baby is a breech (read: err…breech). We might need to go to theatre if the second baby misbehave and decide to stay in for a bit longer. I can imagine her reciting it over and over again before bleeping me. It sounded like an announcement for half price yogurts in isle 4 in ASDA.
Getting a courtesy call full of information on the status of a woman’s vagina and cervix never fail to please me. I smile in elation hoping for more to come. Not.
4 cm, 6 cm , 8 cm and all that just by using fingers. I have forgotten how to do that and I only left med school 3 years ago. Amazing how knowledge and skills deplete exponentially from the day you hold that scroll in your hands.
So what now, can’t possibly sleep thinking that I might have to jump out of the bed and run to theatre after trying to coordinate my arms, legs and spine like a 2 minute old lamb, and zoom my eyes into a less strabismustic and squintic mode while trying to calm a screaming lady, before stabbing her in the back with a 16G Touhy needle. Yaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!! can I?
I wonder if people with muddled minds normally write as longwinded as I do. It’s normal to have apprehensions and anxieties when it comes to those little things called foetuses but I think mine is turning clinical. Come on, it’s not like this is going to go on for much longer, you’re going on a holiday soon.
On that note, I was telling Helen just now how unfair this Trust has treated me with regards to my days in lieu from those bank holidays I have worked. That New Year’s eve when that drunken man came in with a knife in his right chest, we worked like we were in ER the series.
Sats dropping, he’s not breathing CPR! blood pressure dropping 60/40, push blood, no blood? Get O neg now, clear fridge just bring all, get arterial line, shit my shoes, Sats dropping more, somebody stab second intercostals, tension pneumothorax..chest drain, shit, he’s aspirating get the bloody chest drain in already bloody surgeon ,he needs tubing NOW!!!
Oh I lived the next week replaying pause rewinding, replaying pause, rewinding the same event over and over again high on adrenaline. All on cue, no lines forgotten. My ass was worked out so hard it felt well perk came morning when the sun finally kissed it.
That Christmas day when I was stuck doing 3 spinals for emergency caesarean sections, one after the other I was thinking of replacing Khaiessa with Robotssa. But I thought no, Khaiessa is a good one to keep, it’s got hits on Google. My ass was worked like it’s never been worked before that night, I was thinking of taking a picture of my ass and plaster it to all windows in maternity footnoting: DON’T MESS WITH MY ASS NOMORE!!!.
That day when that doctor called in sick and I had to continue my 12 hr shift into 24 hr shift without a slight uh audible, do they even remember that? My ass was sooo tired already, felt like rubbing my ass with olive oil and vinegar and wrap my ass nice and warm with crepe bandage easily obtainable from Nurse Dunbar and put my ass in a jar so my ass heals nicely ready for the next time my ass will be abused mercilessly. Sore, I tell you tstttt..auuhhh. My ass.
Now that the time comes I want to redeem my days in lieu, they just said to me ‘sorry those days are Saturdays and so effectively not bank holidays’. WTFoos!!! Why is it that nobody told me this conspiracy before? Had I knew that I’d have just ignored them. Let them beg for me to work, crawl at my legs, tugging my bluescrubs bottoms, weep like a widow, until they are so desperate they ask for £50 or even £70 an hour. Which would never happen by the way and I would have said yes even if I knew they don’t accrue in lieu day. Weak stupid stupid anaesthetist. Bang head on the wall. Sigh
Sometimes, to make an institution function, some of the workers have to suffer. Sometimes these workers make loud enough noise to be heard by the person next to them but most times bullying goes unnoticed, swept under the carpet. Hush..hush..you make noise, you'll die.
I am not asking for money. Just merely asking for my extra rightly deserved 2 days that you people owe me, but deny all knowledge and later twist your words around and hide behind a jumble of words and rules, when I, have worked my ass off while you management people with your tight ass at home sleeping in your stupid bed, in your stupid heated room growing your stupid big already tight ass. Ass seems to be the word of the day.
Me so angry me want to eat beehooon souuuuuuppp with fish balls!!!!!!! Arghhhhhhhh!!!!
My day was an ass.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Bangles and Bangkok
Nurse: Shall we give the patient a local anaesthetic, doctor?
Doctor: No, I’m in a hurry, let’s give him the express.
Dut, only you can come up with something like this. I told my nurses the joke and they agree I need a holiday. Stat.
Thank you, I now adopted a new ‘cool’ walk to match my cool bangles which sadly don’t quite match my bluescrubs. However the porters were well impressed.
On that note on holiday, shall abuse BluEScrubs and advertise this last minute holiday. Girls only.
Ø Departure date : 19 - 22 May 2005. > Airline : MAS > > The tour fare for 4 Days 3 Nites Bangkok and Pattaya tour is as follows: >
> Package A : - RM880.00 > 3 nights hotel + breakfast + return airport transfer + half day city tour in Bangkok
> - 01 nite Bangkok at Bangkok City Inn or similar (3*),
> - 01 nite at Hard Rock Pattaya and
> - 01 nite at Golden Beach Hotel, Pattaya or similar (3*)
3 girls are going including yours truly and we need another girl. Flying from KLIA, Malaysia la kan. Reply to email@example.com.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
When It Feels Like It..
My thoughts v'been hijacked to orbit the planet of fuzziness these few days. This repetitive questioning and answering around the same orbit could have been the reason why a lot of things are misplaced lately and my head buzzing in a rather annoying deafening decibels.
It’s like having a mosquito high on ketamine lost in my mosquito net. I feel like burning the whole net and let the mosquito feast on me.
There are times when some things in life, although to others seem very miniscule that they have to find a magnifying glass to see the whole picture, but to you seem like the colossal Ayres rock stuck right in front of your sad face. Won’t go away even if you sneeze a Tsunami.
To you, it’s the first time that they ever happened, all at once. Hit you in the head, face all angles you can barely stop and ask why me. How would you know how to handle them. Do you do what’s right or do you just ignore and let things take their own course, whichever way. Would it matter if you do things differently?
You just don’t know what to do and you hope hard it will just sort itself out.
At least 3 events meteorited into my space and stirred me. I’ll spare the details until such time these things could be wrapped into neat little cupcakes made sweet, not as ugly and palatable enough for at least me, to swallow.
Funny enough I can either just let it be or make things to follow my way, my orbit my style, to my likings. What’s not funny is, it’s not as easy as choosing what flavour Solero you’d have. My mind has not rested.
What ever it is, I need to learn to not get these 3 things swamp me and eat me from inside. My inside is very soft and fragile. I am scared that one day my inside will freeze and can no longer capture any heat long enough to melt it to once wombish warm cosy centre to have any legitimate something resembling what we call feelings. Love hate anger..what’s the point of living if you can’t feel.
One of the issues is about a want. When you need something so badly, nobody will blame you for trying even if the idea of doing it or having it seems next to seeing another comet Hayley. But you must keep going and put all the negative energy and convert it into passion to get to the end point.
You must see the end point.
You must have a tunnel.
There is no point trying to do something you have no clue as to why you’re doing it or how you’re going to do it.
Also, those things that are worth it are never made easy to get. I hate failures.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Something has inspired me to pen this down, but even die trying I couldn’t regurgitate what it was. That’s not the important thing today.
This is, and it’s what I want to share.
During my elective, many years ago in Malaysia, I met and clerked in a woman in her 70s whom I swear only looked in her mere 40s. She was diagnosed with osteosarcoma ( primary bone cancer).
Her age discrepancy was a much talked about subject as it was very striking. During the ward round it became the subject of great interest even to the head department.
Dr.Iskandar asked the very question on behalf of a dozen of MOs and me a medical student. “Apa rahsia makcik?” (What is your secret aunty?) which came out rather strange for she looked no older than Dr. Iskandar himself.
Upon that she replied.
Bila makcik makan buah, makcik makan semua. Kulit biji semualah. Semua buah itu hasil kesebatian , jadi kalau kita ambil yang baik aja, kita tak dapat kesebatian buah tu. Semua khasiat buah tu.
(When I eat fruits, I eat everything. The skin, the pips, everything. A fruit is a product of the badness and the goodness of a plant. If we only eat the flesh of the fruit, we might have left out the goodness in the skin.)
In my mind then, I imagine trying to eat durian and biji durian and kulit durian. Gajah aje yang buat macam tu. (Only elephants capable of doing that) Oh what a torture and a cruel way to arrest the process of aging.
She didn’t stop at that.
Sama macam orang. Kita kena terima orang yang kita rasa tak sempurna seadanya, sebab yang baik pada dia itu datangnya dari apa yang buruk pada dia.
(Same goes to people, we have to accept a person as a whole, because whatever good in him/her is stemmed from what is bad in him/her)
At this point I thought she was digressing a bit, until she said this.
Apa yang kita fikir dan apa yang kita rasa bila kita bercakap dengan orang itu akan terlihat pada raut wajah kita. Ketenangan kita, kesabaran kita dan kebahagiaan kita. Mungkin itu yang buat kita nampak muda.
The school of orthopaedic had the longest silence that morning and the makcik smiled a weak smile. It was too philosophical for 7:50 in the morning. I was busy thinking about double parking at the MO’s parking space and the possibility of my car getting clamped or worse towed away.
I didn’t think much about what she said apart from 'pandainyaaa makcik niii' until this morning as I sat on the sofa, and had the pleasure of staring at the orchid plant by my window. The mundane uninteresting open field background set off the luscious royal green colour of the splaying leaves.
I was thinking, up high the stem, the flower is the art, the beauty, the love, the object of great fascination, has inspired great painters and philosophers and sought after by great lovers to symbolise the agonising love for a lady. The positive element to the plant.
Low down the stem, the roots, crooked, tortuous, fat, ugly, wrinkly with it’s own mind wrapping itself carelessly around the pot. The negative element.
But if you cut out every ugly less than perfect, negative roots, and the negative elements out, it would simultaneously choke off the positive elements that might arise from it further up the stem of the plant. The very reason why the orchid is so beautiful.
We should not feel embarrassed by our difficulties, only by our failure to grow anything beautiful from them. Equally we shouldn’t disregard difficult beings, as from their difficulties they have what’s good in them.
Too tired to analyse more. Off to bed. Lights off.
Monday, April 18, 2005
When Life Gives You Crap, Go Shopping
When life gives you lemon make lemonade.
When life gives you codswallop, go shopping.
I am taking up shopping without a coach. This will hopefully make me feel normal. Depressed girls go shopping. Forget trust funds, that apartment I want, ASB and all other long term plans. Forget being sensible. All my life I have been the sensible one. The one making plans and sticking to it, until the plan backfire and you’re left with your own two palms to bury your face into because you were being too idealistic and too practical.
I am tired of being Monica. Now I want to be Rachel. I want to spoil myself silly and let people see the woman in me. So armed with a platinum VISA I raided Freshney Place, the only shopping complex we have here. I much rather if it wasn’t my card but there was a card in the equation nonetheless, so you can imagine the magnitude of the damage that this has amounted to.
I wanted to forget 2004 so I found the 90s HITS CD. I bought that. I am going to remember only the sweetness of life as it was tasted for the first time. No lies, no deceit, no accusation, no expectations. I was just myself, a girl in a foreign land.
I wanted to walk like a woman. I want to fool people into thinking heels are part of my skin, I live eat and sleep in them. I’ll practice in the corridor till my heels bleed and my haluxes grow bunions. I want to look confident when time comes that I have to strut in the arms of my man. Oh yea Bollocks to that. I basically chose the most expensive one on the shelf and walked out. It’s a good feeling.
So I wanted to get rid of my white cold tiny diamond pendant I bought myself at SELBERAN when I first got my paycheque. Well not get rid of it literally because that will be the definition of‘cry me a river’. It has redefined my no fuss no hassle attitude me with that around my neck. I want more colour now, I want something cheap so people steer away from my tired puffy eyes. As the shoes are pink I got pink tinted mother of pearl fussy boho type necklace in the picture. Still don’t know what they call those. But oh yes they look lovely.
Those Clinique things are freebies. Any Clinique product connoisseur ( I can’t spell) can tell from the packaging. Helen gave that to me. I am not strictly a Clinique fanatic. That was just to create the effect of how rampant the shopping was.
I found myself in Ottakar and bought 4 books!!! I mean they were going for £3.99!!! Well chuffed.
For now, I need to keep hold of the receipts until I sober up. Thank you for the 28 day return policy. Oh yes, just in case you were wondering I have been shopping.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
I Am Chill..
Was going to do my laundry so took laundry bag, sling it over my shoulder to create the effect that it wasn’t that heavy although the size already justified the weight. Stood outside the laundry room and the mind went caput. What is the blimming code?
3 and 4 together and 5?
2and 4 together and 5?
4 and 5 together and 2?
Left the laundry bag and ran upstairs.
Oh the door is locked. Fished for the key.
Where is the blimming key?
Locked myself out.
Ran to security to get a chit to be signed by the site manager to approve for a spare key for the porter to issue the key *breath*
Got the chit, ran to the porter’s lodge.
Never seen so many posters of naked women in my life. Felt ass being checked out by the thin pale porter with spots around sideburns. They still do that hairstyle?
Porter with beer belly smelled of beer came very close. Looked a bit like Colonel Saunders. Handed over the key to me but eyes looking at Bubbles, Buttercup and Blossom on my chest. (Don't ask if I have three nipples). Wrapped zipper hoody fleece round the front like was feeling chilly all of a sudden. Looked around a bit more. Some rubber penises and bobbies mugs. Perverts. Ran fast.
Got the key, ran to the flat. The code was normally on the yellow card on the fridge magnet.
Where the tuuut is the card?
Above, behind, on the sides.
There, under. Saw it there, lying exposed , eyeing me like a flirty belly dancer.
Wished I was a cockroach. No, cicada, better. Prettier.Wished hands were smaller, flatter like a platypus. Don’t care what that is. Sounds flat.
Twisting body, squeezing boobs, holding breath and crunching bowels till felt like letting gas and blue. Wrist was red like I’ve tortured myself because I like being in pain. Got it out!
Ran to the laundry.
2 and 4 together and 3
2 and 4 together and 3
Stood in front of the laundry door.
2 and four together and 3. Click* Wey hay!!
Got to the machine. Smiled so wide until machine vomited back a 5 pence coin.
Tried again and again and again.
Now bothered to look close at the coin.
What the tutt!
It’s flippin’ dutch money.
Kicked laundry basket. Jumped around and screamed like tarzan with tooth ache.
Went back to the flat.
Ate a whole giant profiterole with cream and chocolate at the top. Felt like vomiting, fat and extra stupid but happier.
Wanted to cry. Hahahahahahahahahahah..
How unlucky can one be to blow 3 light bulbs in a space of 5 minutes- on top of all that?
BluEScrubber Rumba Sunday Night: Shall We Dance?
Miss SillyBilly found my crib late on Saturday, a lovely surprise. Haven’t seen her for ages. We stayed in, curled up on the sofa, chatted and she whacked in some sense in me as usual.
I think sense’s been decaying in a rather exponential function, accountable for me feeling vulnerable, needy blablabla. We watched Shall We Dance casting J-Lo, Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon. I know! Another movie???
Forget J-lo’s curvaceous body twisting, turning, swirling, making you want to express yourself out of your seat. Forget her derriere which really should have been the title of the movie. I believe the director.
I believe the message it’s getting at.
It is not wrong to wanting and subsequently doing that something you’ve always wanted to do because it’ll make you happier than you already are. Nobody should feel sorry for wanting more, for wanting to be happier.
He wanted to dance, so he did.
Only Richard Gere can pull that shy genuine look. When he was coming up the escalator with the red rose in the mouth…we were thinking was that not a Pretty Woman scene all over again?? Miss SillyBilly and I thought exactly the same, we almost choired it out. There’s just something about Richard Gere.
Two bits in this movie I thought worth mentioning despite weak storyline overall.
One was when Mr. Clark (Richard Gere) was trying to do a Rumba with the bleached hair lady with fat ass (she said it herself) and didn’t quite get there. It’s a dance of love and he was not giving it to her.
He went, What did I do wrong?
Paulina ( J-Lo) defined Rumba. It was intense, it was fiery and most passionate .The reason why I thought it’s worth watching to the end.
Rumba is a vertical expression of a horizontal wish.
You have to hold her like the skin on her thigh is your reason for living.
You have to let her go like your heart has been ripped from your chest.
Pull her back like you’re going to have your way with her right here on the dance floor.
And then finish like she’s ruined you for life.
Paulina was every inch somebody I want to be if I can lead a double life. An anaesthetist by day and a Rumba dancer by night. I’ll be on a podium with my man, he’s my frame and I am the picture in it.
Everything he does is to show me off because he is too proud, too possessive, to deeply in love and I am the most sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, graceful innocent yet luscious angel , gliding the night like it’s the ceiling of Sistine Chapel.
Ehemmm, Coming back to reality now, the other one bit that I liked was when the wife (Susan Sarandon ) was at the private investigator’s office to hire somebody to spy on her husband. The question was, if people cheat and mistreat each other after they’re married, what is the point of getting married? Or something to that effect.
The promises in a marriage that we make and we break, why is it that we bother getting married? Passion?
No, it’s because, we need a witness to our lives. There’s billion of lives out there, what does anyone’s life really mean?
But in a marriage, you are promising to care about everything. The good, the bad, the mundane.
You say your life go unnoticed, I will notice it. You say your life will go unwitnessed , I am your witness.
Isn’t that so true. A witness to your existence. Without being married, there is nobody out of those so many existences that would know what you do, what you are up to, how your day was, if your bowel habits following certain pattern, if your pubic hair is too long. Who is defining yourself?
So until there is marriage, a blog is sort of serving that purpose of noticing and witnessing. Only it’s more of an active thing rather than passive, and you can't have sex with it.
But then you never know, it might become a sort of lifelong commitment. This might move into BMJ without the personal bits in it as a regular column according to Miss SillyBilly. You know now why I call you Miss SillyBilly. You love me too much.
Thank you for a good weekend. I needed the company.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Bluescrubber Took Monkeys To Watch The Interpreter.
Saturday morning felt like I was about to go to work despite being off work. Woke up early and cooked something Malaysian for Rachael as promised. No profuse compliment from this woman.
Told her about a film 'Bawang Putih Bawang Merah' and that she reminded me of the stepmother. To which she only laughed. I have to get a CD of that with subtitle. *Note.
I am sure it’s something to do with being a Filipino, nothing to do with my less than gorgeous Mexican bbq marinated chicken, with less than succulent black bean mushroom stir fry and rice ala chicken ( I just plonked the Maggi chicken flavour stock in the pot). Anything to imitate is fine by me, innovation takes too long. Don’t have that long.
Took Rachel to the flick with the 3 monkeys. Rick, Luke and Zach. Aunty Naj according to the monkeys is a juke box because she knows every song on Galaxy FM. Well I never..was I singing that loud in the car?
We watched The Interpreter starring Nicole Kidman and Sean Penn purely because it’s the only one rated 12a at 3 pm. Absolutely cracking storyline, outstanding acting by Nicole Kidman (Sylvia Broome). I never paid much attention to this woman before, but in this movie, I have to say she’s very rosy and prettier than before, and absolutely brainy.
She made me want to be Sylvia. Special in a dangerous way because she knows that extra bit more. She has that special astute of a woman of which I would turn green instantly. She has knowledge, she has a discreet power. She speaks fascinating tribal language, hardship flowing in her vein making her complexion almost steel like yet porcelain, to give her that don’t mess with me look. She’s tough underneath that velvety petal look.
I have been like this for ages, every movie I watch I will have this burning desire to be the heroine, apart from The Grudge. Although my hair can be like that in some morning even on a good day, The Grudge is just too scary for me. Ekkkkk..Ekkkkkkkk
Sean Penn I thought looked tired. Maybe he had to look tired for this role but if you look closely, he has this what we call xanthelasma around the eyes. A sign of hyperlipidaemia. A risk factor for heart attack, stroke and other gruesome diseases.
The best bit was when the special security agent played by Sean Penn was first introduced to Sylvia Broome. She couldn’t be more precise with the answers. I normally hate a question being answered with a question but this movie bends that for me.
Death doesn’t mean gone and gone doesn’t mean death. She is an interpreter after all.
It’s a clever, overall, a must watch movie. The monkeys clapped.
BluEScrubs says watch it ya’all.
The Hungry Monkeys Hijacked BluEScrubs.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Hormonal Are We?
On call last night was the sort that I don’t mind having again. 5 patients left on ITU. 2 with trachaeostomy and two intubated on the machine. They’d be here for a while, nobody’s going anywhere so in a way it’s good.
That guy with lung cancer and metastasis to lymph nodes was still there. He was very agitated so much so at one point I was tempted to just put him to sleep but that will be tampering with his normal physiology and the sedation effect will hang around till the next day.
He shouldn’t be sedated was the order from the boss. Now…now.. easier said than done boss.
The family was even more wound up surprise surprise and I was really not in the mood to repeat what’s been said before which has also been conveniently ignored. The brother had different idea to the fiancé and the patient himself had a completely different idea to the other two. What language exactly do they communicate with each other? Can they not get selective amnesia all at once?
It’s quite comical to see how confused they all are. If only they stop and listen to the facts and not twists words into what they want to hear, maybe they’ll get somewhere. A place, where they all understand each other and emotionally supportive towards one another, instead of talking over each other.
It’s like that with some people of lower income background, they accuse, quick to judge, confrontational. Listening as oppose to shouting, to them is a sign of weakness. Of course they are not having it because shouting screaming, verbal abuse and swearing is the definition of who is in charge.
If when they’re not cursing and swearing, they’ll talk over you but in a lower key like a white noise, irritating you right down to your coccyx. If you’re not careful you’ll blow it by starting to shout yourself. Urghhh emotional exercise I tell you is harder than doing a full session in the gym on Saturday mornings.
As everyone else was happily breathing away and the monitors were flickering and blinking as they should, I made my escapade to bed at 01:00 despite the chattering getting hotter, jumping from the topics of baggy fanny to fisting, despite Claire, Rachael and Chris little meeting on what we all should wear on Helen’s leaving do in May. In the changing room my name was already on the list and the threat is £10 if I take my name off it. They’re getting galaxy 105 djs in as well so I suppose it’s going to be a big thing.
Somehow wasn’t feeling all up for it. Good excuse to get a new this and a new that nevertheless.
Jolted out of my precious REM (rapid eye movement) sleep at 3 am. A woman in maternity needed a caesarean section. I’ve had that kind of kick ass shaken out of my deep sleep by the bleep before but this time I was in my most sour foul easily irritating mood. Poor woman was so nervous and all I could think of was my bed. The spinal injection was uneventful suffice to say.
This lady actually had a caesarean section before. When I asked if she remembers much about the injection in the back done previously, she replied no, she never had that. The notes however stated differently.
Is it pregnancy that makes people lose some neurons up there? Kate moss apparently is struggling to remember her lines after having a kid. Oh yes, of course lah. *Eyes rolling like those lottery balls on cocaine * . Wait, Kate Moss doesn't act -sorry it's Gwen Paltrow. Duh. Baby is called 'some fruit'. See what the nurses turned me into.
Something as significant as that and people take it lightly, people take it for granted. People are not being educated enough. People look at the whole shebang as something normal. It’s normal because we make it normal. We make sure it's normal. We take precautions to make sure patients’ safety and lives (if that is any interest to anybody), are at top priority at all times.
Nobody says anything when things are 'normal' but when it's not, you'll see some fingers pointing. Bit like M25, we never appreciate when the traffic is flowing well until some truck decided it's going to topple and roadblock.
No doctors or SHOs (senior house officers) more specifically, should be allowed to do procedures in his/her own unless this has gone through strict assessment that rendered sleepless nights to some weak ones like me. Yet some people slag this group of doctors which is actually the biggest group that make up the doctor population in hospitals. I recommend that if people are going to open their mouth and give some gobbing on which doctors can do what, they better speak to the NHS and see what they say.
All consultants are once SHOs. Go figure.
Apparently, according to Linda and Jane, (two of my favourite ITU nurses) when you get woken up against your will during your REM (rapid eye movement) sleep you’ll be exhausted, cranky and don’t quite catch up with the energy level throughout the day. Hence this rather emotional post.
These two always have answers to everything. One of them is, when a man is angry, what you do is, start talking about breasts, they’ll turn tame and chill because they are big babies really.
I am not sorry for what I’ve said, if people don’t like my views they can e-mail me, challenge my ideas and thoughts. I welcome that, but to slag me off because of my belief, and whip my confidence level, belittle my ability I suggest that you stay away from BluEScrubs. It’s where I huff and puff and I am not impressed with these type of people.
1.Why is it that we can’t sue patients?
2. When is my period due?
Who Are We To Fight.
Am waiting for the handover on ITU and I hopped across a friend's blog,
a fellow doc, and ol friend.
I've just finished reading his very shocking entry on the 12th of April, which rendered me
lost for words.
I was literally welling up, I had to put my hand over my heart.
I felt my face drained it's blood, and a remorse feeling creeping in.
Overwhelming fear too.
I don't know Dr. Wan Saiful.
I've never met him in person but what happened to him shaken me, I had to write this instantly.
Just to reiterate,
1. Us doctors are mortals.
2. Death is finite, undisputable even when it dawns in the most convenient place to arrest it.
3. You don't have to be above 50 to start thinking about ajal maut.
4. Ajal maut itu ditangan Tuhan.
Ya Allah, Ya Allah, Ya Allah.
Who am I to be cocky and blaze about death, I am sorry for the things I said consciously or unconsciously, be it in the past or in the future.
You and you only have the ultimate kun-fa-ya-kun.
Semoga Dr. Wan Saiful ditempatkan bersama orang-orang yang beriman. Ameen.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Flippin’ eck are those cleaners hoovering the carpet or weaving the carpet in there?
I need my towels.
I’ve been stuck in my study for an hour now and I can still hear them muttering in my bedroom. It would have been louder without the damping effect from Henry the Hoover. They normally talk about people, cheap cigarettes, AVON lipsticks, backaches, and about how they didn't want to watch Camilla and Charles on telly really, but got sucked into it in the end.
On call tonight so I purposely went to bed past midnight last night to catch a few extra hours in bed this morning. Tossed and turned and was thinking about the size of my bed. It’s just enough for one but could squeeze another person if I so wish. Then my mind wondered to the land of ‘if only’..
If only he’s still around..
If only we didn’t have to part..
If only I wasn’t too bigheaded, too fussy..
If only we never met..
If…if..if…get this word in your head and you’ll be up, wide awake like a stupid traffic lights. Blinking and changing colours with every crayon of emotion inside, airbrushing whatever the mind thinks is the right thing to do.
But then if you have somebody else in bed with you, isn't it detrimental if you have to hold your gas till he's gone to sleep before you could 'prooooottt'? What if he gas off in the duvet? Worse still what if he does one with a silencer? I can't have lights and sounds to sleep. What is he snores for India like the elephants do? Should I get a guedel aiways from OT and shove it to keep him quiet? Intubation would be too severe but that is 100% guarantee for no sounds at all. Do I have to share the duvet? maybe I can get one of those 2 in 1 beds. One bila 'mahu' 2 bila 'tak mahu'.
The cleaner ladies must be changing my bed and my duvet cover by now. So they must have smelt ‘my smell’, looked at the content of my bin, looked at my piling laundry. I feel exposed.
Most people don’t give a toss about cleaners but I do. When I see them I feel like they know me inside out. So I always smile a sheepish smile whenever they come in and I am off duty. They must have talked about me. What would they say about me.
Oh she's got too many books she must give some to Oxfam?
Oh she's got too many perfume she should give this one to me?
The other day I noticed that one of the perfume bottles moved from it’s shelf to the side table. My room also drenched with Addiction –Christian Dior, a valentine’s gift 2003. I know they’ve squirted a bit. I didn’t say anything. Don’t really like the sharp possessive smell. I am more fresh subtle bottled joie de vie type person when it comes to perfume.
SMS / textmsg from a friend, James Bond:
Hey Naj. Question. If coughing only happens at night but morning and afternoon nothing whatsoever what does it mean ah? -James Bond
What should I say? Few options from your Heinousness:
If you’ve given up smoking, then it's got to be too much sex?
Try sleep in the morning and afternoon and work night shift?
You’re not a night person?
Your cough is the contagious type, seal your house and call CCD (centre for communicable disease) asap?
I need an easier question, and I need a bath.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Didn’t realize I was slouching while walking home today until I looked at my reflection on the car window as I entered the master door.
I’ve been on my feet for fat 12 hours. I felt my shoulders tangled, scrunched and my head heavy like I need 4 shoulders to support it. If only I could have one of those meat funicular to hoik me up and drop me to my front door. Or maybe I could ball myself up and roll home, or glide to the oblivion like Kilometrico pens.
ITU was full choc-a-bloc and heaving. All beds were occupied.
That heavy smoker chap had a a trachaeostomy (tube into the windpipe) today and I was so relieved it was an uncomplicated procedure.
That chronic renal failure chap finally went onto haemodiafiltration machine.
I was making uneasy sound to the boss about the change of plan because I didn’t know better. In my mind, I thought that once the decision had been made for not going onto renal replacement, that is it. Close book.
No. It’s not like that with intensive care.
If anything, I shouldn’t have looked at steering away or even at making 180 change in the decision to be a sign of failure. In fact that is a sign of a being a good doctor because human beings are complicated and nothing is certain, so your decisions must also follow the volatility of human nature which can be worse than the Wallstreet main board.
As I was putting the vas-cath in the chap’s right femoral vein, I was struggling to concentrate to what Dr.G was preaching to me, confettied me with his pearl of wisdoms. He stood there talking, but after a certain time, he sounded mute, albeit his mouth moving in a rather hypnotic way. All that my senses managed to pickup was that he looked like a Yoda master, only this is the black version from Uganda.
I haven’t really graduated from the academy of multitasking.
On that note, there was a commotion in the visitors’ lounge. The chap with lung cancer’s brother was not a happy bunny. Apparently he was told that his dear brother who was going to get married next month only had 3-4 weeks to live. When Dr.Jones turned up to talk to him this afternoon, he told the brother 2-3 months. Completely different to what we’d said.
This is inconsistent, he probably thought and I had better cause chaos, he thought more. Something is wrong and the doctors are a bunch of liars, he thought a bit more.
Is that necessary brother? What difference does it make? If anything, the whole family should be getting the message that he is dying and 1 month, two months three months won’t make any difference.
I feel for the brother. You can just see his tender soft heart trying to leap out of a steel frame hiding behind those butch ex-rugby player with beer belly exterior. He must be in real shock and in severe unconsolidated denial to have come across so tensed and confrontational. I hope in next few days he will learn to accept and stop treating us like the cause of the matter. We are all on your side, be it one month or two months.
We care, don’t say we don’t.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Do We Really Know
That Sunday afternoon, I was miles away, scribbling ferociously after reviewing a referred potential customer for ITU. He was in septic shock and needing higher care.
I was deep in my broth of thoughts when a familiar face approached the nursing reception on ward B3. He had a Chicago Bulls cap on. I intercepted his gaze as one would, and he captured it in an acknowledging way. He suddenly deflected away from the course and carried on walking past into one of the bays.
He is visiting a relative I thought, but there was something about that face, and that bashful smile. I’ve seen it before.
I carried on scribbling the results of the arterial blood gas in the notes, my thoughts were on what Jill the charge nurse on ITU said to me as I was sitting opposite her in the morning after coming back from a caesarean section.
She’s very sure that one day I am going to marry a surgeon. What makes you think so I said. She was saying it’s inevitable because, I don’t see anybody, I am forever stuck in theatre, forever on call and my last journey abroad was almost 9 months ago.
I think that Italian SHO is rather sweet though Naj, she added.
I knew that look. I knew who she was talking about. She was feeling clever.
It’s rather funny this Italian SHO.
Mr. Donaldson was in his clinic when Italian SHO barged in and started huffing and puffing loudly with his thick Italian accent and hands in the air like a proper Italian on tantrums. The subject was desks and chairs.
Mr. Donaldson the surgeon boss, gave him a piece of paper and said “Here take this and punch a hole in it”.
Italian SHO left and came back. He literally went and asked the secretary for a hole punch and punched some holes in the paper.
After a moment of silence and staring at the holes in the paper, Mr. Donaldson only managed to say, You really punched some holes.
“Wat yu sayin’ now aagh.u tell me puncha hole aah I punch a hole aaah..so why no people gimme proper blablablablabla” Only he can do this bit with arms all over the place as if being electricuted.
When Mr.Donaldson told us the story in theatre coffee room, I almost rolled on the floor.
Suddenly a voice sliced my train of thoughts, pieces falling back to reality rail. I was conscious that I was smiling thinking about the hole punch story.
I looked up and this time the Chicago Bull cap guy definitely gave the ‘I know you, do you remember me?’ look. I dropped my hip and leaned against the desk, started biting on the pen. I panicked a bit, but reassured by my failing memory that somehow I recognise the face.
“It’s me I was in ITU for a week doing work placement? You’re Dr.Ahmad and you showed me around?”
Oh yes yes!!! I remember you… was what I think I said and we started catching up from where we left off. He is applying to Southampton Medical School as a mature student. I spent my 5 wicked wicked years to get a scroll in that institution. We talked about his Malaysian friends in Manchester and scanned through our databases to see if any names ring any bells to me. Looks like not.
He asked me about living in Southampton, course structure and any of the doctors in Southampton General that I knew. As a general rule of thumb mature students as in students already done another degree, are more focused than people like me.
His father is apparently been unwell and been warded for a while. And he is worried.
I felt a certain smarminess dressed with respect in laminar with the way he talked to me. He repeated some of the things I pointed out to him before about choosing a medical school. Memory is not short in his department so I said he’s going to do well.
Oh such a fresh look on an eager face with “I am a future doctor” written all over and I saw the hint of confidence in those eyes. I am jealous all over again. I know just what it feels to have a burning desire to succeed, to reach the stars, to be where people have been and doing it in your own way.
After wishing him best of luck, I was caught in the cloud of uncertainties which sometimes pay me a visit, especially when communications ceased and I am alone again. Bit like a withdrawal.
*I sensed the nurses eaves dropping our conversation because just as he left, background rustling and bustling seemed back to normal again*
Somehow I didn’t feel like growing up.
Moving up the ladder didn’t feel like such a good idea.
I want to be a student again. I don’t want to make decision, I don’t want any life in my hands, I don’t feel I am ready.
My bleep went off, again.
Sister May: Dr Ahmaaaaaaaaaaadd. Another C-section 5 minutes aaa you come fast aaaa. *Click*
Monday, April 11, 2005
As a consultant, probably so but us trainees are still far from developing pressure sores in our derriere. This is why people still hack the FRCA exam even on the 6th attempt. You get 8 goes.
I was starting my day in full gear yesterday, in my mind hoooyeahh..last day of 3 mindnumbing feet jellying on calls. In my bestest ever bluescrubs I strode into the unit to find the last night’s second on call, Deepa no where in my stereoscopic vision. She must have a quiet night and still fast asleep I thought, so I waited for a while and while longer and a while longer.
Little did I know that she was actually in maternity with an obese lady bearing twins. She must’ve had a few goes and was still at it. Oh I feel for you comrade. My beautiful morning ended abruptly like Madonna’s tape incarcerated in my grandfather’s tape player, just anticipating I had to take over. Tok Ayah's stereo had massive-silver-ketepang- buttons specially made as if people in the 80s were all partially sighted.
Lets fast forward this bit and hallelujah bless fat people, got it in!!!! Mind you a post on fat women and risks in pregnancy is overdue. Let’s add that to the list.
Am unsure of the priority status, should it go on top of “go into John the audit officer’s office and spill ink over all the data sheets so I don’t have to sit there sifting through forms and break the codes filled in by doctors”?. I feel for all pharmacists who have to read all the prescriptions.
Or shall I put it above “call the GP to have a debate on why I don’t want a pap smear”. Seriously now, bless the people who put on weight despite eating very ‘little’ and such ‘small’ amount. It’s a disease. Say it together, it’s a disease- fat people say, nothing they can do about it, and also it is the bone, they just have bigger bones they say.
They sit in their council flats on fish and chips diet and flick the remote control exercising their minds on who is going out with who and when the next methodone dose is. No cutting down the portion of food which could feed 4 people will help or even tonnes and tonnes of exercise would make any difference. Yes we hear you, it just doesn’t work on you, on others yeah maybe. Little hope you have in yourself.
There is a war against obesity in all anaesthetics department. Some people say this is what you call be cruel to be kind. None of the things people say would make fat people realize what a hazard it is to go for anaesthetics when fat people are fat. Oh sorry fat people is suffice because surely they don’t want to be any different from being fat because only by being fat makes them happy and only by being fat makes it alright to curse people who are not fat because to them they are always the ones being discriminated against.
Oh wait, this is a post on it’s own already, so scrap it off the list. So for those people who want to educate themselves, make sure you go to the nearest internet enabled computer , your own preferably because it is quite daunting to be googling about obesity as your image of “I am fat but I am happy” ala Kirstey Alley might be tarnished by the onlookers. Do this, go to Google and search OBESITY and ANAESTHESIA.
Some anaesthetists dedicate their entire career to understand the physiology of fatness to make sure less and less fat people perish under anaesthetics. Various manoeuvres are tried and adopted especially around the time tubing an obese patient or extubating for that matter.
When you do get the search results, just choose the ones you fancy reading, you know, short and succinct and sweet and straight to the point and for those who really do that, the word mortality means death just in case you’re wondering because that will come up so often you think it’s a type of food they have to stay away from.
I could apologize to the fat people nation because there will be people who are bound to take this seriously and probably send me anthrax in the post next 24 hours, but no I won’t because if I was fat, I’d be grateful to read this and know how passionate some anaesthetists are about fat people.
You might sense that I am backing off a bit now because I know I have said a lot and it is one of those ‘ouch’ posts. But let it be this way, if you’re fat and you’re going to have an operation please lose weight make it a war between you and those tight adipose tissues.You never know who will there looking after you while you’re asleep.
If you’re distraught by this the better. Adrenaline induce fat metabolism so you will move those fat around and lose some pounds as you sit watching Friends or OC or Ministry of Mayhem passively provided on the proximal end you don’t stuff yourself sick with Mars bars. Worse still those ones dipped in batter and deep fried. Euuuuhhhh.
I don’t think it’s just that spinal in maternity that triggered me to write this obnoxious post, it’s also that poor lady who was sent up to the unit from ophthalmic clinic for cannulation after being made a pin cushion by the nurses and the SHO down there.
She was so terrified I had to ask if she wants a cuppa before we started. It was almost like a torture chamber in that cubicle a while later. I made her run hot water over her hand, tourniquet the forearm, flicked hard to get the histamine to do what it does best and lo and behold the vein made it’s shy appearance. Wohoooooo..things I get excited about. She was most pleased, that was the most important thing.
It’s amazing come to think of what I can be inspired by and like a Tokyo bullet train sit here blog about, at this time of night. I know the obesity subject can be very of an onion matter, you’ll end up crying if you don’t do it properly oh wait..you’ll cry anyway even if you do it properly because people can be so screwed up. Period. But why the double standard? Do you see people think twice before they say skinny?
Presentation on thermoregulation tomorrow and so not looking forward to it. Again why did I say yes to everything?
Sunday, April 10, 2005
He: Can I speak to the ITU registrar on call please?
She: This is she (slowing down munching the crisps)
He: errr I wonder if you could help me, I am one of the surgical SHOs and one of my patients gone into septic shock and I need to transfer him to the high dependency unit, do you know who I need to speak to?..err please?.
She : Uhuh..High dependency unit (opening a can slowly)-tanya sendiri jawab sendiri mamat ni.
He: I mean..yeah sorry…err so u don’t look after HDU do you?
She: No, it’s ITU I look after. (balancing a can on a pile of waste papers, looking for more crisps in the packet…stuff it..emptied the packet upside down into the mouth)
He: Right..ok…well…right..ok…fine..right..very well..
Is that you Naj?
She: (Cough*cough*cough erkkkhhhh ackkkk..ackk)….ehemm..hemmmmm (eyes watered).
He: Bloody hell is that really you woman??? How ???..since when???..what?????? I mean , Shit man. Bloody hell. Where are you, I’ll come and find you. *Click*
She: Wha…??? (Quickly brushed crisps crumbs off bluescrubs and rushed out from the pantry)
5 minutes later:
She: Hahhahahahahahah, hello stranger!!! You’re still black…
He: Hahahahahahahha, you’re still a midget!
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Angel of Death By Proxy
It’s the second day of triple whammy weekend on-call. Left what felt like a sinking ship at 9pm.
That 78 year old man in the first bay just came off the machine. Still breathing shallow, grotty lungs, drowsy, not knowing who’s who where is what and when is how. Much hope he’s still there tomorrow morning when I come on duty again.
That 33 year old guy in the cubicle had to go one the machine again. He smokes 4 packs a day and sub-suddenly drowned himself.
Bit like, oh I don’t feel well a bit short of breath ..like …coughing a bit…can’t sleep..like breathless…like oh why am I blue..i feel dizzy..lets go to A&E. And when he got to A&E, left any longer he would have been dead. Out from the tube from his right chest that we plugged in, 3 litres poured out.
He just look- it, he smell- it, he is just- it. Let’s just wait for histology, for some ‘strange’ looking cells. Please don’t let me be the one breaking the bad news to the fiance. He’s getting married next month.
In the next bay, what can I say. Pull the plug? Don’t pull the plug?
He’s only 65 and his diagnosis is somewhat a waffle to people like my mum and my aunties. People turn white, the lights go off, future seems bleak when we mention the word cancer, but does heart failure mean anything?
Does it mean anything when the doctor says your heart is not pumping very well?
Does it mean anything when your heart thumps away erratically like you’re on a 100m track while you’re sitting on the sofa watching Trisha show, or on the bed doing strenuous exercise involving a plug and a socket?
At least when you’re told you’ve got cancer, you are told 3 months, 6 months and good for you if the doctor is wrong. Enough time to get your house ‘in order’ before you’re six feet under.
But when it's the heart we're talking about, you can just drop dead and your house will be left as it is. Nothing arranged for when you’re no longer around...
Your woman might be waiting for you to come home to put the rubbish out and mow the lawn.
Your boy and your two little girls might be waiting for you to come home to blow up the bouncy castle to have a good laugh.
Your little one might be waiting for you eagerly, see what daddy’s got me for me befday…
And you are gone forever.
I personally think that there’s a dense stigma attached to the word cancer and not enough emphasis on much more common, much more debilitating morbidity and mortality associated with that thing that stains your finger yellow and stinks your body right down to the pubic hair.
Now put away that stick and get your ass moving.
Iklan ini ditaja oleh Dunhill, Gaya Mutu Keunggulan. Merokok membahayakan kesihatan.
One more day ..one more day.
Lights back on : how does angel of death sleep at night?
You Read Me Like A book
Was late for work,
Opened the door in haste,
Almost kicked the little things staring up at me. Awwwwww...
The book: never refused a book..especially a good one
Book-ends: desperate for some
Ferrero roche: never had enough..
p/s: XXX, thank you for the nice sporadic thoughts. To what I deserve this...
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Work Under Construction.
Isn’t it just, was all I could say to Michelle.
She was my ODA (operating department assistant) for the trauma list this afternoon. The mercury on the boredom-meter was fluctuating between very bored and bored stiff.
I heard Sharon the scrub nurse spewing remarks like ‘Hello trouble, what have you done this time’. To which I just pulled a long face. Still pestered by the nasty questions from the exam and of course the thought of doing this list and the thought of finishing at 6pm.
No anaesthetist in the right mind likes trauma list. It is completely contrary to the name given. It’s tame , it's not interesting, it’s a-traumatic, it’s full of auditorily challenged cacexic old beadies with fractured hips. I was beginning to anticipate some clever Bluetooth type voice box amplifier especially made for trauma anaesthetists appearing in near future just for communication purposes. I must have upset Koala so bad to be rota-ed for trauma list ya?
The surgeon was Indian, speaks very little, interact very little, smile not at all.
His surgical posies were also ‘bisu’.
Sharon the scrub nurse was preoccupied with her coming holidays so she was in her own little world. At times she looked like she’s watching the rainbow or possibly counting the stars.
The OR audio system is broken and nobody's been motivated enough to fix it.
If you listened hard you could hear the wall humming.
Michelle sat next to me, very close our forearms touched. It was nippy in OR 3. We started talking about skin colours as you would normally, when it’s unbearably boring, and the clock seemed to do pit stops whenever nobody’s looking.
Suddenly a body scrubbed in green thumped to the floor from around the OR table. It’s one of the surgical SHOs (senior house officers) who found the floor more exciting than the patient’s broken calcaneum (read: heel) being drilled. So that got us all out of the choo-choo train to land of bore-bore land for a while. I was secretly hoping for more bodies to thump for entertainment value but those suckers were too strong especially that one with the drill.
The OR was dead again apart from the sound akin to that at the dentist. Send me shivers those little drills..
Michelle sat next to me again. Let’s try again shall we, she said.
“ Blablablablablabla I wish I’ve got your skin. It’s a nice colour. Hate mine. Can’t wait for the summer. Blablablabla ”, she didn’t look like she was going to stop to breath.
She smoothed my forearm and I was feeling queer. Felt strange being touched by a woman like that.
I said to her that it’s amazing how we all want what we don’t have and never really appreciate what we already have. She has lots of pretty freckles. In some situations what we want might even be the very thing some people would give up their collections of Starwars merchandize for and yet we fail to see it.
If the hair is straight, some perm it, to make it wild and sassy. If the hair is wavy and frizzy, some straighten it. Do ‘teknik rebonding’and whatnots.
I am guilty of this wanting- to- be-different at 14 when I wanted to be a boy so badly I wore my hair short. I shall not dwell on some stalkers I had then. These days it’s not as frequent a thought as before. Nobody seems happy with what they have and we always see the grass greener on the other side of the pasture.
On that note Michelle told me about what happened in OR 3 last week. Mr Shresta was scrubbed in his gown and mask and approached the OR table.
On it, fully anaesthetised with endotracheal tube in place, breathing happily on the machine with the gasses saturating her brain, a 30 something year old lady laid in her gown. Looking peaceful but of course slightly tortured with tubes and plumbings coming out from all orifices.
Through all that you can see the stark contrast to us pale boring people in bluescrubs. Her skin was flawless, smooth and dewy. Her hair was shiny, full of body. Michelle spent 5 minutes just talking about the lady’s hair.
Skin on her ample perky chest, peachy and on the sides, evidence of previous tampering with nature. She had them done. All in all she could have been one of those ladies in the NEXT catalogues. Even her nails were nicely manicured.
Mr Shresta was ready and asked for some iodine to paint the skin. Michelle whisked up the lady’s gown exposing the navel and the knickerless groin area.
Mr Shresta turned with a pot of iodine in one hand and a swab-on-stick on the other looking at the groin festooned with an atrophied prominence.
“Holy shit!!! What ‘s that doing here!!!”, possibly echoed right through to the corridor.
I can imagine a prolonged pure comedy one could potentially have if that scene was shot and the film strip repeated to last for half an hour.
It was only a small ‘one’ mind you and I am pretty sure ‘she’ was planning to do ‘them’ all but I suppose, she’s prematurely exposed under construction. Unlucky.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
For What It's Worth
Just got off the phone to my colleague Deepa who did the same exam as me. Poor thing was late by 30 mins on the day and so was Gosh. I can imagine those two anaesthetists standing there panic strickened, cold and very very angry at the train station in York waiting for the replacement train. Thankfully they managed to ‘have a go’ at all 450 questions.
I am sure it’s not the right word of choice but I am slightly glad that they both felt the same about the exam. Bloody hard is what they’ve translated it to be. Nasty is what I’d rather call it myself.
Imagine the next day bulletin back at work
Bloody hard exam 3 anaesthetists grieving.
Exam nasty, 2 anaesthetists stranded in York
3 anaesthetists had 3 hour torture in exam hall.
I had at least 5 big questions that I felt was a bit iffy. That 5, had 5 stems which equates to 25 iffy questions in total, so translated to 25 dubious answers. One wrong answer is minus one mark. One right answer is one mark. So in doubt do not answer they say, so no answer no mark…..soo…even before minus fiesta I am already short by 25. Lost? I am
My excuses. Firstly nobody knows everything, I think this is of paramount importance.
One question asked on nalbuphine which nobody uses anymore, so of course reading about it once or twice without holding the ampoule in your hand and injecting it yourself will not make it stick in your head. Will it?
Another question was on infra red and gas absorption. Aiyoooo…when lah am I ever going to check these things before putting people to sleep. If the machine packs up, there is this species called engineers yah?
Another one was on helium. yah ok maybe this one I should know more about but the colour of the cylinder???? Is it brown or pink??? *&$£”$£^%T*&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;&&$%$£ Conclusion from this is I should read Pinnock from cover to cover and after I’ve done that maybe pressure cook it and then boil it and drink the stew.
Considering this, we’ve already prepared some standard answers or excuses rather for the consultants at work tomorrow. I am pretty sure they just love seeing our tortured frazzled mangled face again, back to work from the battle field.
Really now, I know there are those out there, anal type that goes ‘oooooo it’s so bloody difficult’ but when the results come out, they score like mad pigs. I can be anal sometimes but not in the mood to look like mad pigs and the exam was bloody hard.
Just before entering the hall, I met a few docs I’ve known before from previous courses. Most are doing it the second time and third time. I wasn’t sure whether to feel consoled or terrified by the thought that passing it first time around is tending towards negligible. One actually gave up after 2 goes and got married and have 2 girls. Another went to Australia to do ER type job after 3 goes. They had some grey hair I noticed…really hope they got through.
I was so nervous standing around yapping for almost 45 minutes I had to do obligatory visit to the ladies 6 times!!!!!! It was lovely though, the floor was marble and the ceiling was high with those halogen type lights that depress into the ceiling. The mirrors were big and tall and the taps had sensors. So was the toilet flush. Hehehehehhe. Never taken an exam in a hotel before, so that was a good distraction. Tad bit jakun. I wonder how much they have to pay The National Hotel for the rent of that banquet room.
On the way there, did not have to do any clever rat in the maze stunt , which was gentle on by easily bruised self of late. I hopped onto Picadilly line to Russell Square and hopped off.
In the tube, I didn’t plan to read as usual. I was playing with my camera which I brought just so I have evidence of everything and anything. I have my reasons. Fear not if ‘demented’ popped in anybody’s mind.
2 things I always noticed about people in the tube. Wrinkles and skin colour. These things fascinate me. I love to watch people spring back from their momentary facial expressions and to anticipate any special creases on their faces. Sometimes those lines speak tonnes more than the words they utter. How easy to see on trained eyes.
The other thing is the skin colour. If the guy had brown hue, I usually wonder about what his parents are like. What would be the colour of their skin, hair, nose, eyebrows. Did he take on one original colour over the other, or if it’s ‘kopi susu’ whether it’s a cross between black and white.
However this strange habit of people spotting must be undertaken rather subtly. You have to be looking effortless, a bit like you’re not looking but you are looking really while you’re doing something else like sweeping the hair off your face, tucking the socks up even though they don’t need tucking. You know whatamsayin’…be British.
After the exam, I felt so drained and famished. It was as if I’ve done a 1500 m and actually finished it.
My head felt swollen from constant poking scratching and hair pulling.
My eyes were a bit dazed. Couldn’t believe that it’s over. 3 hours and it felt like 15 minutes.
A lot of mutterings began to flood what was earlier the most quiet space in London, escalating to that noise you’d find in a fish market. I rushed out to find some solitude.
It was 5 pm and it’d be a bit ‘sardine’ in the tube back at that hour I thought. So I nursed my growling gastric with some tuna and corn wrap in Tavistock Square garden. Right in the middle, a brass sculpture sat humble and solemn. Some pigeons perched on his shoulders eating off white bits. Brilliant beige coloured monocotyledon flower plants carpeted all around. Such a sooth.
Around the square red double decker buses slugging it’s momentum amongst the fast cars. Cyclists zig zagging with scrunched faces, possibly faces of the most determined and most impatience ones. I know it takes a lot to cycle 5 miles everyday, been there.
There was a marked contrast between the inside and the outside of Tavistock garden which I found synergistically convenient to observe.
Everything has it’s equal and opposite action and reaction. If you honk, you get honked back viciously, so nobody honks. You give up your seat on no.81, you get a smile back from a nice old lady.
A rushing stream of people around a tranquil garden was probably an idea the mayor had to achieve what surprisingly not everybody wants in life. A balanced physique, a mental in equilibrium and a soul so rich it seeks moderation.
So tired.. na na naaa na nennaaa na na naaa na nennaaaaa says Gwen on being rich.
I heard you....'sempat lagi blog tuuu' . Me and exams, we have this love hate relationship.
Perpetual stalker of each other more like it.
At the moment ...more hate than love and a bit jittery in the centre,
propagating down to the extreme of my slightly cynosed peripheries.
...... Aiyooo so sejuk one my kaki and tangan.
Admission notice- check
Pencil 2B and eraser-check
Brain and right hand-check
Am I missing anything else?
BISMILLAHIRRAHMAN-aRahIIIMMMM.... *BREATH OUT*
Monday, April 04, 2005
Of the saying I LOVE YOU
Just have to write these or risk getting stuck on question 53 whole day.
How do you know when he says ‘I LOVE YOU’ or anything to that effect,
it means just that and nothing else?
Does it mean more according to the timing? place? associated events?
Does he have to look you in the eye when he says it?
How many a day should you get it?
What does it mean when it’s pouring like December rain in Kota Bharu? or non-stop like in Seattle for that matter?
Should you take the one at the end of a phone conversation or just before parting seriously?
Could it carry different meaning altogether like when I shouted
‘SITI I LOVE YOUUUU!!!’ in Royal Albert Hall? Somebody had to.
Do some of them say that only when they are sorry?
Does it have to be followed with reasons to validate or can you just accept it raw, bold, unelaborated, and only in 3 letter form?
Should you question him?
Should you complain?
Should you care?
Could you dictate how soon you’d fall for somebody?
Ok back to number 54. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!
After 4 years since A-levels, I met him again in London. His voice was melancholic, draggy and drugged. He was single again. She finally had to marry a Malay boy and no way they were ever going to be together unless they are the only 2 people left on planet earth.
Najjie, do you know what I missed the most? He asked without even looking at me.
I just looked at him, all attention on him.
His face was flushed.
"I missed those puasa time. I love the way she made it easy". He didn't care if everybody was listening on that bus to Nottinghill.
“I missed those raya time that I spent with her here. She’d help me wear the baju melayu and ikat my sampin in the morning and she’ll cium my tangan. She asked for my forgivesness. Where got Chinese girl wanna do that?”.
Before I knew it he was sobbing. I didn’t know what to do apart from letting him borrow my shoulder.
He was severely battered. He didn’t know what to do. He lost focus and I have never seen him so unkempt, and shabby. Surely, that was not the only thing he missed. When I talked to him, everything anything went back to her. She was the centre of the conversations and I found it most touching.
I lost my phone soon after that and we never bumped into each other again until last month.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Sunny Sunday and SEPET
It’s officially spring. Had a long stroll in the park. The sun scorched down, only a few crumples of cumulus nimbus seen off setting the blue skies. Some rays pierced through sepet-ing my already sepet eyes.
The blooms were generous all over the fringes of the park. Some stubborn clusters of daffodils looked comfortable yet proud splaying the vibrant yellow even right to the middle of the field. Risking it all being kicked by the eager teenage footballers or stamped by the avid frisbee couple, anytime soon if they’re not careful.
Stopped to watch some ducks doing aquarobic and my mind was occupied with the film I watched last night, SEPET.
Nooooooooo!!! That's not a very pretty Orked.
I know at least 2 real life SEPET stories that I couldn’t help but relate to. One Jason is still picking up the pieces and another Jason is now happily married to an American girl. Might give them a call tomorrow since I am still in London.
Apart from the CD suddenly paused causing severe deformation to Orked’s face as she was looking out of the car looking for Jason, the watching of SEPET was thoroughly enjoyable.
The storyline itself is still finding it’s way into the computing pouch in my brain. My main view is it didn’t quite do justice to the extent of malayness that should have been potrayed to make the story carry it’s twist at the end better.
The combing hair the Spanish Steps way I thought was unnecessary, what was that trying to define?
The scene with Orked’s mum and dad dancing to a Siam song was completely bizarre. I don’t know why the dad has to drop the pelikat baring just the bulging brief.
There was a severe lacking in the definition of being a malay if I may say that again, making this love story not peaking to it’s full effect but instead, remained banal till the end so much so, it had to resort to the tragedy at the end to give it the oomph we need in any love story. That could have been any teenage love story which was dressed and given some MSG by making the boyfriend character so into Tagore’s work.
It felt like this movie was made in full consciousness to steer well away from the typical Yusof Haslam bahasa melayu skima which was well done, but I think that scene with Orked cursing away at the Dicaprio celup was very not malay. A bit over the top I thought.
What I love best was the heart to heart scene between Keong and Jason. What a good script and I thought the boys couldn’t have done it better.
All in all a good entertainment value on a love story that managed to be told as I am still figuring what message I should take away from watching this movie. Some untold ones, which are probably greater, still being buried by time, too painful to be talked about and some are taken to the grave.
On a lighter note, my Sunday was sunny, simple yet satisfying and very solero. I must stop and smell the flowers more often.
“It is near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know it”
I FINALLY WATCHED BABYCAKES VIDEOCLIP!!!COOORRRRRRRRR!!
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Just Tell Me How
Friday, April 01, 2005
I Ditched Scrubs For Siti Nurhaliza
Empty seats? Tickets sold out aye?
Still too knackered from all the excitement, waving, jiggling, sing alongs, wowing, and waving the mobile phone screen (instead of lighters or candles) at Siti.
Fingers also still recovering from manic battering at the poor camera. The Olympus gave up just as I was standing outside the stage door to catch a picture with the diva. Aiyoooooola Just managed to get a picture with the emcee- Mahadzir Lokman…jadi laaaaaa oo?
Siti was ace, not just a pretty face, but came out exactly like she is in the CD. She did look like she was a bit tired though and the make up I thought didn’t do so well at covering the evidence. All her four dresses were breathtaking, made me wonder what she would be wearing on her wedding day.
Best bit was probably when she did an acoustic of one of her songs in her album with that cover of her in white looking a bit lost in some jungle. (Can’t call myself a number one fan yet obviously).
She stopped and the music flooded in as if the gate has been opened. The whole stage came to life and it felt like somebody was injecting some kind of a magical boost to my senses. She has one almost superpower type voice. I don’t think whoever suggested that she is the Celine Dion of Malaysia was kidding when they said that.
The funny bit was when heads started turning towards us in the 2nd tier and some took out their cameras and got clicking away. I looked below and there they were…the Sultan Pahang!!!!! The more more funny bit was when Siti was going full throttle, I checked out the old man again and he was dozing off!!! It was a bit dark though he could have been well consumed by the angel’s voice. hehehe
The pretty but mind boggling bit was gawking at the deco dotting the ceiling of Royal Albert.
Ehhh apa tu bulat bulat macam mushroom? (What are those round things on the ceiling?)
I suppose it’s to do with some clever sound engineering which a gas woman like me could only stare and marvel at. The way it changed colour according to the beat was quite spectacular. Pretty things on the ceiling I call those.
The exhilarating bit must be when the dancers in rainbow colours cruised, glided, rolled and sashayed across and around Siti.
She must have known that Cindai song was a compulsory and she did that exceedingly well, which satisfied me too well I felt like jogeting as well. Cool..I suppose she has to do lots of joget songs with lots of stage fillers because apart from all these Malay joget numbers all her other songs are far too expressive to get jiggy with it. They’re more appropriate to be sat laid back to in a lounge somewhere sipping some latte or mocha..
The bit I like was when she did the songs from all her earlier albums. All on CINTA. heheheh what to do,
andainya engkau kumiliki hiiiiiiii
andaiku curah rasa hatiii
mungkin kini kukan tenang disamping muuuuu
belum puas ku menikmati
kesan kasih sayang
kau terpaksa pergii
She did it with class and it was just inevitable that we all sang along with her. Thoroughly enjoyed it, oh why is she so good.
To add kick to the evidently enjoyable night, the whole 6 hours parking at the NCP in central London was only for £3???!!!! Wooohoooooooooooooooooooooooo
And I thought I was only going to see Ash and her mysterious new boyfriend who was not so mysterious after all heheheh, but also met old friends Zied and Wong, Emelda, Juju, Mahmud, and Abang.
Missed a few like Mohan who went straight to Khan’s for some briyani and Intan who walked too fast and disappeared into the crowd and I don’t have her number. Had sightings of few familiar faces like Opie who was well scrubbed and Nik with Suraya who looked like they were enjoying themselves as much as I was. Made a new friend Dr. Anis who travelled all the way from Edinburgh and this girl could pass for my missing twin!!! What a small and weird world!
Also, I had the pleasure of meeting face to face with the eloquent, the funny, the forever busy, the very lady who said she was going to be walking around looking like a headless chicken with an unmatching tudung guarded by 2 cameramen..the infamous Kak Teh. Syiiooookkkk!!
Too much excitement..too much too much and I thought this is going to be a short one.
credits: most pictures were taken by thelostcodger.. right till his camera died.
The Royal Albert Hall.