Monday, November 27, 2006
If there is one thing I have learned in the past few days, its the love my parents and family have for me.
I've had a bad case of food poisoning, which then led to acute gastritis, which landed me in hospital for the past three nights. The first night, not even the doctor could really tell what was wrong with me - the guards at our condominium had to carry me out (and I could hear them muttering and panting about how heavy I was, despite the way I look) - I was discharged by noon the next day, with my aunt and cousin who accompanied me and took care of my sister the night while I was away. No one suspected anything worse could happen, but on the same day, late in the evening, I was struck by a worse stomach pain, where it was so sudden and severe that I could barely move and breathe. The ambulance came for me and when the staff in the ER saw me, I could hear them saying, "Laaa, dia lagi!" (It's her again...) and, "Hey my friend, welcome back, welcome back!". Shit. They're happy, because it sounds like they are going to make money out of my parents. I know my aunt was holding me back when I was on the hospital bed as I kept screaming and shouting - that was all I was aware of. I wanted to die, I really did, then go through the pain I held that night. My stomach felt like it was going to explode any moment. It was tightening that all I could do was curl myself up to reduce the pain, but even that had minimal effects. Every second I felt like vomiting, but nothing emerged. I bore a headache that felt like twenty drills were piercing through. The only thing I could think of was jumping out the seventh floor window, as I was told that I was given a lot of painkillers already, and they couldn't give me anymore. What was then, the pain I felt still?
I tired myself out by crying and screaming, but it was only a matter of time that I was woken up again, due to the pain. I called for the nurse, but even then the nurse that came to 'help' looked extraordinarily mean as the only thing she said was, "Pain ah?" and that's about all she did besides pacing up and down in front of me. My aunt, my sister and cousin was not there anymore - I was alone. And that bloody nurse. It was like she LOVED seeing me in pain, as the more I screamed, the more she just asked the same question, "Pain ah?"
I started to wonder if I was dreaming all this, when a few other nurses came in, and the present nurse also came to my side, whispering in my ear, "Hey, the doctor is here, and if you don't keep quiet, he will not treat you". I tried keeping quiet for a bit, but the pain was so severe I had to scream. I tried holding on a bit longer, but the doctor never made his appearence. I screamed a little more, and it went on till then. I screamed, for goodness knows how long, until the doctor did make an appearence.
"EH, can you SHADDUP or not? You're not the only one suffering here, OK?"
I thought at that moment, try getting this pain and I bet you'd already jump out that same window I thought of if there was no one to hold you back you idiot.
This doctor brought me out for an X-ray or two. He then started jabbing my stomach area here and there and everywhere. I scowled whenever he jabbed the area underneath my left breast.
"EH You having your period ah?"
I just nodded, but that has been going on several days already...
"ALAAA. You scream for what? PERIOD PAIN ONLY WHAT."
If I had strength at that time, I would have slapped him until he bled. I, so far in my life, have never suffered period pains. And hello. Stupid doctor. People do NOT have period pains directly above their bloated, airy stomach, OK?! You don't need science to tell you where the uterus is, dammit.
I was bloody insulted but at the same time couldn't be bothered to argue as the pain was too much to bear. But when I was brought back to the ward, the nurses all believed that the only reason why I was scowling was due to 'period pain'. I spent all night screaming, scowling... and that was all I remembered, before I saw daylight, and a familiar face - my dad's. He flew all the way from Kuching. The moment I opened my eyes, I cried. Dad said everything will be ok. And I believed him. I wanted to say something to him, but I sounded nothing better than a croaking frog - I had lost my voice, due to the screaming I did the previous night. All I could do was cry.
I was later diagnosed by a different doctor. This doctor examined me and said that I was suffering from acute gastritis, doubled with the diarrohoea. From the X-ray he said my intestines were flooded with water (sign of diarrohoea) and the bloated, airy stomach which pain is triggered if I should consume any liquid (even water) would hurt.
And the nerve of the first doctor that diagnosed me - he came back later, saw my dad, and said, "Ah, the noisy one. Nothing to worry about. Just a severe case of diarrohoea". I wanted to stab him.
Even though this all sounds a little too comical, I'm really not surprised if anyone were to laugh at this entry, but it was all true and it truly hurt me that some people are not dedicated to their professions and little things are really taken for granted. I could not eat or drink anything for that entire day. Not one bit, because it will send me off for another round of painkillers and anti-spasms. I was so pissed, knowing that this was a private hospital, and yet the staff took the opportunity to mock its patients, who are paying a hefty price for their services. Out of 20 nurses I can say three are truly dedicated to their work, and out of the three doctors I was attended by (including the one in the ER), only one was humane enough to tell me what was really going on and did not insult me in any manner of speech.
My aunt from Seremban, together with my grandparents, cousins, nieces and nephews, came to visit me as well. I was thrilled to see them, and I was envious of my grandpa (in a good way, don't get me wrong) that he had so little health problems compared to myself. He is really old, but jolly happy and active as can be, as he even said that the hospital where I was in has been around a long time, and he remembers its whereabouts, but roads have changed and they needed a taxi to get them there. My aunt left me a jar of honey, which was so damn delicious, I kept snacking on it till there is only 1/3 of it left. I felt like Winnie the Pooh to some extent, but the honey was really good (and the only source of energy I had since I was supposed to be on a clear water diet, where I should be eating... water. Just... water).
In the room I was placed, there were three other patients. Three older ladies. One who was nearer to the door had her arm bandaged, my guess is that she is suffering from diabetes and the nurses kept waltzing back and forth, scolding her for unravelling her bandages on what looked like an amputated arm. She kept complaining that it was too tight, but I wanted to cry when I heard the nurses mimic her in a childish (which was quite nasty) sort of way, word for word. Sometimes when they check up on her, the nurses would ask her, "Nak keluar tak hari ini? Nak pergi mana?" (Want to go out today? Where to?). Then she would just keep quiet, as the two nurses would reply to themselves, Chow Kit, and fits of giggles would follow. At one point the old woman asked if she could phone her relatives. The nurses replied (in another childish tone) "Yang mana satu?" (which one?) and the lady responded with "Tak tau" (I don't know). Giggles would follow. I don't know if it was the drugs that was affecting me but this did disturb me.
The other old lady that was on my left, I didn't know what she was diagnosed with, but all I could tell was she had a lot to complain and talk about. Relatives would come in and out, and she would talk non-stop like a drill. The one directly opposite me was rather lonely, but she had a cellphone with her and she was pretty much savvy with the piece of technology. There was a pack of blood (instead of the 0.9% saline solution drip) hanging above her, which scared me nonetheless. She went back earlier then I did, and I could see how excited she was upon leaving compared to the day when she was completely bound to the bed with packets of blood. Only the day she left did I see two of her relatives (I think, son and grandson).
This all made me think of my parents. My dad flew all the way from Kuching to see me, on a midnight flight. Mum was worried sick, and dad told me the both of them couldn't eat or sleep properly before mum made him hop on the next flight to see me. How my parents are so worried and eager to see me better, this truly touched me and sometimes while I was on that hospital bed, I did not cry of pain, but cried thinking of my parents. I am still young, and yet I cause them so much trouble with my own health. They work, and spend their money on me, to see me better as well as ensure my future in this world. I owe them so much, and with this I know the reason I exist and am still walking on this Earth, is so that I can repay, and do more for my parents. Once I earn my own steady income, I am to dedicate my life to them. I have to make sure that if in sickness, I am there to provide help for them. When in pain, I have to be there to relieve them of some of the pain they feel (it would hurt them more to know that their children just do not care). I must take care of them and make sure they enjoy their life, especially once they get off work - I'll help them out with their garden, I'll help them out with weekend grocery shopping. I want to always be there for my parents. I love them so much, and I don't think I can love any other as much as I do for them. My aunts, my cousins, no matter how young (dear Elysha, you don't even remember me, you're only four now, but I was there since you were born!), your presence in that hospital reminded me of the things worth living for, and more reasons to why I should live on to see another day. I love you all to death. Thank you all so much for being there for me. And to my dearest youngest sister, I may call you a spoiled brat, but you, my sister, have always cared, and don't think that I do not care for you either. In panic you cry, and get disoriented, but I love you all the same for all that you do and try. Dad, I thank you again, for coming all the way down here to see me, and bringing my soft-toy Mokona all the way from home to the hospital just because I wanted something to hug throughout the third night. :)
9:03 PM Azzie's got style
