SE7EN DAYS ...

and SE7EN NIGHTS.

In the footsteps of royal Blogger Raja Petra Kamaruddin from whom I glean useful gems of information and reap much free entertainment, I am trying to do an unusual post -- a Chronicle. Of someone I know well. I titled it 7D n 7N because this episode would account for that period -- it was not as exacting as the storyteller of Arabian 1,001 nights who had to spin a new story every 24 to keep his neck intact. I spin this quite factually for the record of an event which proved quite an Awakeningin my mostly mundane living.

Just share that when I refer to YL, that's the journo in me; when I say Desi, that's the creative in me. If you have been unlucky to have been bombarded with Desi's First Anthology of Poems, that would be an overdose of my ass-piring poetic endeavours, and a chronicle today is less imposing of self on thee.



First off, let me get the niceties done. Over the past 10 days, some mates have sms-ed, phoned or emailed (I answered the first Email just an hour ago...) enquiring after my status because of my MIA ... rumours in the vein of Tom Sawyer-Desi having moved on prematurely and had the privilege of listening to his own eulogy might have made it to the terrible blogosphere, but that would be vainglorious of Desi to deem himself of such importance. I felt impotent during tis absence wit' or without leave.

Future digression will be within brackets just to capture what is in my mind at the instance as I pen my first online chronicle. As a journalist's inclination (IMHO), YL Chong does not like being made a subject. Pressmen used to spotlight others -- VVIPs, VIPs, newsmakers and nincompoops and other important poops. In fact, if I could, I would like to be part of the backdrop on the Malaysian landscape and voyeur at all the funnies, cunnies and cannies, and the uncanny and canine goings-on...

Day 1Thursday, July 12

About to leave for the Pos Opis when the first pain hits -- right lower abdomen, excruciating. It is repeated at regular intervals, doubling me over. Keeps mum about it. Reaches for my "self-help"" tonic -- Panadol. And to ease the spasms of pain -- down left over "pain-killer" of May's dosage for my Shingles.Night fall; I could go to sleep. Thought my prayers have been answered that self-med has once again triumphed.

Day 2

Morning dawns but realises I have no appetite. Not even my morning cuppa, what more solids like roti or noodles. Make do with plain water and banana cake. I thought I can cope with occasional spasms which come when I move from lying down in bed. Still could focus on some light reading to keep my mind diverted from the abdominal pulling-and-punching attacks.
The pains linger, increasing in frequency, doubling me up by reflex.
Brother-in-law, a health wroker, rushes YL to Emergency Ward, Furong GH. About 8.00pm. Strangely, the anaesthetic air of a hospital and perhaps similar-healthwise companions seem to drive away my pains, and I am inclined to "go home" as I await two hours before my number comes up.
A pleasant doctor A (lady) examines YL in the abdomen area, moves to other parts gently with some pressing and I report no similar pains. I am ordered to be admitted for suspected Appendicitis. Put on a saline drip, handled with care by MA and nurses. Wheel-chaired to Bed 16 Ward 3B. Close to midnight,



Day 3

A few doctors come around, check with me about pains in what areas. Report it's just one area -- focused, regular, excruciating. Believe I am given pain-killers intravenously, also other nutrients, I guess. A surgeon examines me, consults with some trainee MOs/surgeons. Surgeon sounds very knowledgeable, authority, instill much confidence in YL. I hear instructions for an X-ray and Ultra-Sound to be done following morning.

Today I am fully on intavenously drip though I can drink plain water orally. No food. Completely bed-bound, I can't move by myself, so now also connected to tubes to urinate and to enable passing motion. (But no, there was no faeces emitted -- no input of solids-lah!)

So wait it out until noon (?) -- (time recalls are not accurate as I am relying entirely on recall some 10 days later!) -- when some less "serious" HAs wheel me several floors away to take the X-ray, done within 15 minutes, then for Ultra-Sound. This is well-executed by an MA or doctor (?), and later repeated by a senior doctor, and I steal "some glances" at the TV monitor as they confer. Some mention of toxic areas in the large intestine (YL thinks), not at the Appendix; also some gallstones but this is "not" a concern at present.

I describe less "serious" MAs because I wait for 30 minutes along the corridor for them to re-appear to wheel me back to the ward. Grewing impatient, ask the nurse nearby what's happening (My guess is the "boys"/MAs had gone for their lunch-break.) Small problem is solved when a nurse from Ward 3B soon wheels me back to my bed.

Several more examinations and blood samples taken and injections and the surgeons and doctors -- assisted by the X-ray and Ultra-Sound scans results -- confrim the need to operate. Again I hear whispers of "perforation", but the diagnosis to me as a patient is that it's suspected to be Appendicitis. I am scheduled for surgery. It can be anytime, the MO or staff nurse replies whenever I enquire for the rest of latter half of the day. I remian calm and philosophic -- and family members, and a couple of close friends who visit, all take it in stride, with their own prayers. Yes, most of my circle of mates and buddies are God-fearing people.

Day 4

Just about 30 minutes past midnight, the staff nurse says I am next for operation. Just one SMS to my BIL about the surgery, and in less than 30mniutes, I am wheeled onto a stretchered-bed into OT (Operation Theatre), bright lights flashing, all eerily clean and quiet except for the soothing presence several nurses and an MO (is he the anaesthesist, I wonder?)

I am asked my official name -- Yes, I am Choong Yen Loong -- I consent to the Op? Yes, I sign on the dotted line. There is advice I would be put on anaesthesia (Is it chorolform?) -- I say Yes, maybe nodding my head as affirmation that my faculties are totally in my control for rational decison-making. I believe I was saying some prayer as I go into NOTHINGNESS ... It's not even like sleep, because you get periods of consciously and interruptions of dream and half-consciousness.

This is TOTAL NOTHINGNESS. Second experience in my life. (Old episode I may keep for another day if you treat Desi well enough, OK!)

I open my eyes at about 6.00am. I check my Handphone for the exact time.Family members statethat I was wheeled out of the OT at 4am -- this means the Op lasted three hours. I was totally unconscious for solid five hours until I open my eyes at the break of dawn of another blessed day on Mother Earth.

I am encouraged to drink lots of water. Since I am on painkillers intra-venously, I feel comfortable in bed, advised to rest as much as possible. I feel weak, but the pain is gone except when I move and feel "nausea" accompainied by the urge to cough.
Then a funny routine takes place.Nurse B gives me a toy-like gadget which contains three coloured balls in three connected parallel tubes, and as I am asked to breathe in and out "deeply" via a connecter-tube.
Theoretically, with suction, there will be vacuum created and the red ball will be the first to rise. Followed by the second yellow ball, and eureka! the third green ball if all is well. This is obviously a lung exercise to get me back on normal breathing mode.
I take a deep breath in and blow hard into connecter-tube. NO ball rising. I repeat a few times -- the three different coloured seem to mcok me by staying put at the bottom of the tube.
Then a friendly docor R smiles in my direction, says "Kawan, try sucking in and not blowing out into the tube."
So I obey like a kindie kid -- two balls rise. I have been blowing in the opposite direction. (I believe out of the corner of my eyes I saw some MO's and trainees' "coy" smiles at Desi's expense, but they did not now any better!)

Day 5:

I am allowed to take in "fluids" only, so family restrict me to hot drinks only. I long for iced Orange or Apple or A&W Rut Bir! But it's a choice between Mil0 3-in-1, Nescafe and Teh-tarik 3-in-1. I want something sweet. That first cup of MILO tastes heavenly -- better than all the best cocktail of beverages one can get anywhere. Believe me -- "heavenly" because after a human has been just given H20 for three consecutive days, your first sweetened drink borders on getting a marijuana high. (YL is using this metaphor based on a newshound's reading, I have never tried ganja or any stuff close to marjuana, swear by Scout's honour:)

I get regular bouts of nausea, and this puts me in a dilemma because every time I drink more water (as encouraged), the nausea would come, impacting on the operated areas, hence followed by the intense pain. I report to the mnedical staff that I do not reach the stage of "vomitting" though the feelings/urges are there. (I did not realise the "significance" when the doctors on ward rounds always check if I am urinating, passing motion and "feel like vomitting".

When my food menu is upgraded in the evening to "nutritious liquids", a huge smile must have spiced up my face as I gulp down the much awaited iced barley water and apple juice. Two glasses of the best fruit juices top the best whisky in the world (That's hyperbole and figuratively speaking because I can't down any liquor and do not know how whisky tastes like though I see my businesssmen-mates must enjoy it better than sex when they challenge each other to down glass after glass at that 8-course dinner.)

All this while, I cleanse my body with a piece of towel wet with water in a basin several times a day. It's easily done as I wear just a "sarong" (wrongly tied up, so if it's a dead knot, so what? I have built up a repute for being "knotty".)

At about 5pm, the brealthrough arriveth! I finally go beyond the urge to vomit to actually spit out the VOMIT -- in the form of jelly-looking, weed-like black mass. RELIEF. RELIEF. RELIEF as the whole body seems to be rid of a hole coagulated big black blob of all the wastes of the past few days.

One minute feeling pain as I move in bed, the next minute the pain does not come anymore. I take the first bold step of climbing out of bed onto seating myself in the steel chair with arm-rest.RELIEF. RELIEF. RELIEF.

As night-falls, as I report the first "faeces" plotting to come out, the tubes to enable urination and passing motion are removed. I can move myself about and sit comfortably for long periods in my chair, facing the evening breeze that blows from the outside overlooking the main roading leading OUT of the hospital compound.


CONTINUED on Tuesday July 24, 2007--Desi

Day 6

Food is graduated to "soft foods" this morning. A sandwich plus hot tea. Followed by iced apple juice for BF. (NO<,not CON BF, that can wait until sext Sundae!:)
Lunch consists of porridge; spiced with curry fish, half body portion. (Humble "Tawkey" vege tinged with curry never tasted as sweet in my life. I swear I won't look down on such veges from now on ... in fact, I believe I'm now half-a-vegetarian when I was mostly a carnvore last week and eon years back...)

I now go to the washroom by myself and the stools starting with being "watery" become more solid, a good sign. Urination also comes without any pain. The only time brother Pain visits when I get the occasional cough, partially due to some remaining nausea (remember I still get intravenous pain-killers...).

The nigh round doctor is happy with my progress, says if everything goes as smoothly, I should be discharged in a day or two. Sweetest message to reach YL's ears for a long time.

Day 7

My menu progresses to "solids". So a heart BF of curry puff, two hrad-boiled egg and coffee and a slice of honey dew fruit. All gulped down with gusto except for the egss -- too hard, and without sauce and pepper -- that's like eating lamb chop without coleslaw and mint sauce, No?

I feel "uncomfortable" wearing the stockings (since Day 2 I think...); so stealthily I removed them without asking official permission, and I can see the disapproving look on my trained-as-a-nurse Sis' face. I mumble it's just common sense; I can ease the blood flow by pressing the soles of the feet against the bed railings (a sort of reflexology, yes?)

I walk about lots; do deep breathing exercises, could shoot the three balls up (hey, Eureka! touching Green wtith just half an effort! A few pats to myself. Helps the blood flow too.

That night the surgeon (normally does his rounds at about 8-9pm) asks me about my ability to walk about, also any lingering pain, and my "passing motion". I happily report I have beein going to the washroom to ease myself four to five times the past half-day; there is no pain anymore excepy when I cough, and my stools are getting back to normal. He checks the blood and temperature readings and pronounce YL fit to be "discharged" the next morning. Excepy I have to undergo one last blood extraction and one more injection of antibiotic (?).

At about 10pm the MO/Staff nurse (?) comes smiling -- she needs one good point in my left arm to put in the needle to extract the blood sample. She chats like a pal and says I may feel some pain as the needles pricks; it's okay, I reassure her. First time fails; second time fails, third time still unlucky, and she seems apologetic as her voice is tinged with some nervousness. After five "unsuccessful" places, I still reassure her: "Don't worry, it's not your fault. It's that I am on the plump (gemuk) side."

"Let me try one last time," switching to my left arm. She asks: If I fail this time, I may have to recommend another treatment, is it okay? I reply naturally: You are the doc, whatever you say. Just buy me a teh-O limau iced! (Half in jest...)

Oh, RELIEF, this time on the MO's face. The last time succeeds. (It's similar to that paradoxical Q oft asked: Why is it the blardy last place you look that you find your missing thing?)

We both say a pretty long GOoD NIGHT...

I think I dreamt of singing with family and friends my olde favourites like Mornin' has broken, Like a bridge o'er troubled water and LET IT BE as I go confidently into the most blessed night; at last reciting from Max Ehrmann's Desiderata:
"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste and remember what peace there may be in silence..."

Day 8:

At 7.30am, I imagine I heard the cock crow; the warm sun rays stream in with the cooling breeze. The bread with choc cream in the middle (I used to pay RM1 for such a bun) goes sailingly smooth with the piping hot kopi-o. Finis in five-to-SE7EN minutes! (Oh, I want a re-fill, but the ward's BF server has moved three beds beyond normal requesting desibelle; further, being a cultured writer, I can't yell after him, can I?)

The next hour is spent settling the dues -- I have only to pay RM123 -- yes, I did NOT leave out any zeroes! -- for SE7EN DAYS and SE7EN NIGHTS of five-star hotel-like treatment and service. What more can a patient Malaysian ask for. You tell me your chronicle while I bid my ward mate -- in after a fall, and he has asked for an extended two days' stay in hospital because he's covered by Insurance:) I can understand why you wish to stay back -- the wonderful service and awe -- Mr Wong Fatt Yu (means 'expand or promote' "friendship")as we promise we'll catchUP one day soon.

I head for Home, Sweet, Home.