Monday, May 16, 2005

Soak Up The Sun

It is not 2 am, it's actually 5 mins to 11 in the morning. The only way to make sense of that is if I am in Bali. Weh? I am I am I am!!!!!!

Oh my it's gorgeous here and words just fail me. Everyday has been an utter indulgence and pure relaxation.

Lets not write too much and let’s just be reminded that I intend to soak up the sun, and plunge into the blissful pool in a bit. Temp is 27 today, not too hot not too cold but the sun is definitely on the menu. Speaking of menu, the breakfast was a delight, I am sinned. Oh me oh me what a beautiful morning.

I have just transferred all the pictures into the portable HDD to free up some space after a whole day tour to Batur and Ubud yesterday.

Checking out and off to Nusa Dua after the dip but tummy still full.
The world is beautiful from here and I will emboss all that I can into my brain my heart my Olympus and the hard drive.

To the pool…weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

I Huff and I Puff, May I Blow You Up?

Three appendisectomies, and a laparotomy took my on call to 4 am last night, morning rather. I took the gown off as the laparotomy chap who wasn’t all that obvious why he should get perforated duodenum at 35 years of age, had to have an epidural for that size of incision down his midline. I 'sterile' well you see.

A resuscitation call came through my bleep and I could just feel my limbs going jelly with pins and needles. My mind going ‘Do I have to? Really Do I? Do I’, which was quite frustrating. Fighting with your own mind that is.

The 56 year old woman with heart failure in the end was successfully resuscitated, admitted to ITU after a good 40 minutes of sorting out the airway in A&E. Honestly guys, do you have to wait for people to stop breathing and have CO2 of 16 before you treat the heart failure. A&E really gets on my nerve sometimes.

Nobody took charge. No communication. Everybody seemed to operate in their own zone. Talk people.. talk.. what have we got here. Duh! Really not something I need. I was determined to hit the sack after all that. That was 5am.

Now, it’s 8am, and the raging mower startled me from my rubbish quality sleep, the sun was surprisingly glorious, disturbing, and dare I say bit inappropriate. Never mind those people going oh what a lovely day today. I need my sleep!

The smell of fresh cut grass didn’t help at all. A strong whiff flooded my nostrils and hit my temporals like a whack with a big hammer. It then felt rather lopsidedly heavy and this perpetual foreign sound in my head is as if somebody is doing a hand washing in there.

Suddenly Kylie Minoque's ass popped out from nowhere.

My mind is jumbled up. I am irritated. Arghhhhh!

I can’t sleep, I can’t sleep and I can’t sleep and for most people this is not detrimental but for me should this carry on for any length of time more, I am going to go out there and blow up the mower. Hasta la vista baby!! Tebaboww..

*sigh* I need a hug.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Pillow Talk

Who dat?

Letting go is not the easiest thing to do, especially when it comes to something you have so much hope for. Something you have nurtured, putting effort in, time, money, energy and the paraphernalia that comes with making something like a relationship to work out.

It’s not hard if you can see with your naked eyes that your effort had gone to waste, that he is not worth your time, money and love, and that, whatever you have invested in really not giving good returns.

It’s blantantly obvious that you have to leave when you see that he is say, with another woman, but most of the time, it’s not that easy to tell. There are only clues to pick up, but you need to use all your senses, sharpen that emotional intelligence and be bold and blunt.

What makes it worse is when feelings get woven in so strongly and so complicatedly that at times you think there is no way you ever going to do it, stand up for it, to leave, to be single again. What more if it forms the scaffolding for the building you’re working on. Little memories cemented the building blocks of promises, towering layer upon layer. You lay it down so well, so precise, neatly, with all that you have. But what makes it a good wall?

What will make the wall stand the test of time, momentum, hammering, throwing, punching and kicking? From left or right, from inside or outside you need that trust we all talk about all the time. That silly thing called trust.

Your wall will crumble slowly but surely when accusations and blaming start to become the headline, the main topic of discussion whenever you sit down to talk.

“It’s you who started it first”.


Who will become the judge of who is right or wrong? Who are we to question what the other person feels?

What is the point in sniggering an emotional blackmail like ‘You don’t love me, you never cared’.

Is there any trophy to win? No there isn’t. Only God knows what goes on in one’s heart. People forget that they actually both love each other. They forget and underestimate the power of words. They lose respect yet start claiming respect from each other.

‘Why can’t you respect me more’. It's more of an acquired thing rather than a requested thing.

Words can kill from inside, slice your gut bluntly with agonising accusations, screw tight with name callings, twist your inside to the point of ultimate nauseating visceral pain to make you believe that you are a horrible person nobody ever deserve to be with.

Before you knew it he's already turned you, once a bubbly carefree person into a miserable grumpy sickening peasant. Forever thinking you are the one guilty, you're the one causing the argument, you're the one who is not worthy. Could he be doing this because he is the one who is feeling guilty? Could he be the dishonest one. A liar who is calling another person a liar?

As Rachael said to me when we had a pillow talk on Saturday morning, a dishonest person can never trust himself or herself, therefore the need to call another person a liar and make blind accusations because that is what she or he would do. That is all that they know in their heads.

She knows because she was one. She suffered a great loss, a great love.

As you bleed steadily, hoping that kind words, words of remorse or atonement of some sort catch you just in time, what you don't need is another ‘deadly’ word pushing you off the cliff.

People can say such dehumanising things sometimes. Don’t make excuses for such people, it’s time to leave before it’s too late. They don’t deserve you. Just leave.


Don’t be another Tipah.

“Tapi Tipah sangka dia betul betul sayangkan Tipah. Tipah tak sangka jadi begini. Keluarganya semua baik baik belaka. Tipah tertipu bang, tipah tertipu.” Sok sek sok sek..(sobbing)

“Tak ada tapi tapi lagi Tipah”..


Anon SMS

Recently, I found myself caught in a most frustrating volley of sms-es. I was beginning to think of anonymosity behaving bit like fire. You have to be brave enough to face it yet careful enough not to burn your fingers.

It’s not so clever if the anon knows your name with the correct spelling and knows your mobile phone number. It made me feel naked and transparent on top of the feeling of not so clever. There is a history in there somewhere and I am most curious.

The first few that arrived in my inbox were completely ignored. I usually do that to any number not stored against any name.

Last week, a few came while I was having respite from a heavy on call. Persistent I see.

+01290092**: Hi

Out of curiosity and building itchiness topped with boredom in the early hours of the morning, I replied.

Naj thumbed in three letters with a question mark: Who?

+01290092**: An admirer

I must have then asked if I know the anon ( Do I know you) to which the reply was,

Dr. Najmie Khaiessa Ahmad. What a lovely wonderful name. On call tonight?

From that I formulated that this anon is somebody I got to know after I have started working, currently in Malaysia, and knows the time difference from GMT. Well done Nancy Drew! But Hmmmm..

I don’t know what possessed me to reply further but I did. It went : I am always impressed with a correct spelling. Why the anonymosity?

The reply was something like: Cos I am afraid of losing you.


At this point I really felt like something was going to erupt. How dare this person scratch my skin like this. It was like having acupuncture done by a blind untrained Chinese man with Parkinsonism. Irritatingly annoying.

I then sms-ed back: You can never lose something you never own.

That was really a shot in the dark. Whoever it was, must be somebody so bored with a party trick up the sleeves, and must know me well enough that I can take a lot of crap before I really blow up. I am easily wound up sometimes.

The messages came through in shards of wishes, like nitey nite, hi, with lots of dots following, like there was a lot more to say but with a twist of grapefruit sourness to them. Bit bitter. I ignored the rest of them because whoever it was..not worth my time thinking about.

Last night however, another one arrived asking if I was on call. I was out with the ICU nurses and we landed in a club playing that Amarillo song. Aiyoolah can’t stand that song. I found a corner to sit and txt back, No.

The next txt that came through was Miss you and Don’t leave me high and don’t leave me dry with three little dots. What?? Am I supposed to understand the whole thing and what’s with the extra dots?

Putting some jigsaw together maybe I could come up with a name but is there any point in mentioning somebody of that character in BluEScrubs?

.. But doesn’t it make you want to scratch your whole body and throw something that doesn’t crack or bounce back to the wall? For now, high and dry it is…

Thursday, May 05, 2005

When It Comes to Your Own


Life is such that we all seem to constantly surf the waves. Big, small, high or low, whether we like it or not. It keeps coming, ignoring our tired minds and sometimes our little bodies feel the shake from the mammoth ones going right down to our inner core until there is no go forward, only to shut down for a while.

Many things amalgamated themselves into a cement paste, binding me tight past couple of days.

There was two day on call to start with which weren’t terribly bad, apart from waking up dizzy not knowing weather it’s 5am or 5pm. You feel like a mystical mythical little creature on an alien planet. Days are getting longer now and the birds are too chirpy outside my window. It’s a bit of a challenge to doze off. Is it wrong to feel so much hatred towards innocent birds?

A 25 year old pilot was admitted to ICU after an emergency splenectomy. No, his fighter jet didn’t crash and he didn’t fall off from any height. He was in Cadwell doing a motorbike racing over the weekend and was ejected off after colliding head on with another something. History is a bit patchy but those were the salient points.

Oh and the other important thing is he was too good looking that the nurses on the unit suddenly became smiling angels, with exceptionally, exceedingly good service at hand, not a single miserable bones in them whole night, attending to his every need.

Urine output, 2 units of blood, not for anything per oral, and morphine 1mg every 5 mins, was the plan for the night. I scribbled those down and told Rachael, who was the ‘main’ in charge nurse for the spleenless pilot chap, but Rachael had conveniently acquired many assistants.

It seemed that no job too difficult when it comes to this guy, everybody wanted to turn him to check for pressure sores, change his gown, wet his mouth and even hold his hand when he cringed. I just watched the young handsome spleenless pilot working his charm on the hypnotised nurses.

Chrissy didn’t participate, she’s recovering from a break up with her 2 year relationship with a prick. We flipped the NOW magazine for good holiday ideas while talking about men and watching the serenade of the speenless pilot. It’s quite entertaining I tell you.

At 3 am, I was called for a caesarean section on a petite young mother to be. She’s my height, roughly my build but highly highly stressed. Eyes red and her hair, all over the place, probably tousled from excessive wriggling in pain with every contraction.

It’s amazing how words came out more assuring, convincing and more articulate when I speak to somebody younger than me. I sounded almost sisterly and paternal which was surprisingly natural and I have noticed this phenomenon several times.

I could just feel the trust being lumped over on my shoulders when she gave me that nod. ‘Do whatever doc,’ and she smiled in between the demanding contractions. Maybe I aged 10 years over at 3 am, maybe I had creases all over my face from the strange laying habit mixed with not-quite-awake-look. I don’t know but she was my ideal patient.

The spinal went in within the minute and before she knew it, her legs were ‘gone’ which was a surprise to her and she giggled like a girl as it wasn’t something she’s experienced before. I never had a patient giggled like that before and she said the pain was gone as well. I know not if I smiled sufficiently at the time, my eyes were so heavy, but I was pleased for her.

The frustration of the interrupted sleep vanished into thin mist and I felt a glow inside. The kind that put skips in your steps, give a singy songy touch to your conversations and a soothing spa quality knead into the weary knotty shoulder blades.

At least there is that glow.

There is another something that’s been weighing me down, worrying me. I am afraid that this one is still dim. The glow is yet to come although, I am praying and hoping for a good outcome.

It is easy to pat a patient’s relative in the back reassuring them, telling them the operation or procedure is going to be alright, but when it comes to your own family member, I just wish somebody could inject some sense in my head. Gas me or something. When I worry, I am sicker than a sick dog.

I hope he will recover, and that he’s well looked after as well as I would look after all my patients. Get well soon Ba’. Ameen.

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