Just come off night shift. It's been a variable 4 nights. A couple have been quiet (ok, I am allowed to use the 'Q' word since I'm not at work), but last night was eventful.
About last night. My registrar phoned me about 10pm to tell me he had to go across to the other hospital and asked if I would go down to the cath lab to hold on to the registrar bleep and to just be there in case the other registrar (who was scrubbed up and assisting with the angio) needed to leave for any reason. And so I trotted down. Patient on the table was a 36-year-old lady who had recently been treated with coronary artery stents for ischaemic heart disease and had come back in as an emergency with chest pain. When I joined them, they had already seen the "blockages" in the stented vessel on angiography and were doing the usual "clot busting". Well, we were there a while. Patient started to experience chest pain on the table and was repeatedly sick and was moaning about the vomit on her face and insisted that I wipe it off without brushing her eyes with the paper towel. It was a difficult procedure that went more and more pear shaped. She then arrested on the table and soon, the anaesthetists were in, she was being resuscitated and she was intubated. I had to leave about 40 minutes into the chest compressions, but learnt that she was pronounced dead not long after.
All very matter-of-fact. Until you get a chance to sit down after all the adrenaline-pumping action of the night. It hits you that a few hours ago, this lady was with her children, she was chatting and living a life like you and I. Even an hour before she died, she was upset that her face was covered in vomit. Little did she know that it would be her last hour alive and she didn't even get to say goodbye to people who mattered to her.
Death is a part of the job. But when it knocks on the door of someone so young, someone who really isn't much older than you are, someone whom you expected to have quite a few years ahead, it does shake you somewhat. It stops you in your tracks and makes you think if you're living your life or just merely existing. What about the people who matter? Do they know how much they mean to you? Are there regrets? Unfulfilled dreams? On second thought, the grief really lies with the people who are left behind. The parents who'd never ever imagined their child would pre-decease them. The children who are now without a mother. The partner who's without his soulmate.
No, no, I did not cry. I didn't know the lady. She was a patient. Another patient. Have I turned into a cold, unfeeling monster? Or am I just numbed to it all? I don't have all the answers, but I'm grateful that at least I had the chance to pause for thought.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Off on many tangents
The power of words. The beauty of writing. It always amazes me how therapeutic expressing oneself in a prose is.
My mind is scattered. I can't focus on typing about any one thing. Thoughts just keep popping up and lifting me off in a tangent with them. So here's a collection of my random pop-ups...
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The life of the wondering nomad continues. I said to mum the other day, " I'll stop moving by the time I'm 30." Perhaps. I do moan about the stresses of not really being rooted anywhere, but at the same time, it's almost addictive. Is it the buzz of uncertainty that is addictive?
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Then there's the flood of "what ifs". I maintain that in life, the worst feeling is that of regret. In order to prevent going down that road, I tend to over-analyse everything. Perhaps I can blame it on being a libran- needing to weigh up every factor and eventuality before making a decision. Maybe it's nurture- the pragmatic, objective way of approaching and dealing with everything, even if it's at the expense of numbing any emotions that seep through my defences. Perhaps it's just down to simple fear- the fear of being wrong.
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My heritage. My Singaporeaness or lack of. A couple of Singaporean friends that I've made since moving to London said to me that I'm really more "angmohfied" than I am Singaporean. Is it my outlook? My mannerisms? Language? Attitude? What constitutes being Singaporean? Am I going to end up being a confused character who doesn't really "fit in" in Singaporean society? How will I cope when I return to the country of my birth? Will I feel like a foreigner on my own soil?
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On God. God and I have spent a patchy summer together. I know He is there, I know what He says is good, I know where the lines have to be drawn. Yet, the rebellious side of me has again re-surfaced. I do the things I know I'm not meant to do, then feel guilty about it all, then think that if I avoid communicating with God, I won't have to think about it. Then I go to church, feel remourseful and resolve to try harder next time. Then the cycle repeats itself, but this time, I've learnt to cope with the guilt better and justify my actions. It's a slippery slope down. But how can you turn away from the hand that has guided your every step? Is anything or anyone even worth turning your back from God for? I've decided that if I can't face it head on, I'll just have to make do with running from it for now. Yes, the ostrich style I know, but instead of just burying my head in the sand, I'll have to do some sprinting as well.
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My mind is scattered. I can't focus on typing about any one thing. Thoughts just keep popping up and lifting me off in a tangent with them. So here's a collection of my random pop-ups...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The life of the wondering nomad continues. I said to mum the other day, " I'll stop moving by the time I'm 30." Perhaps. I do moan about the stresses of not really being rooted anywhere, but at the same time, it's almost addictive. Is it the buzz of uncertainty that is addictive?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Then there's the flood of "what ifs". I maintain that in life, the worst feeling is that of regret. In order to prevent going down that road, I tend to over-analyse everything. Perhaps I can blame it on being a libran- needing to weigh up every factor and eventuality before making a decision. Maybe it's nurture- the pragmatic, objective way of approaching and dealing with everything, even if it's at the expense of numbing any emotions that seep through my defences. Perhaps it's just down to simple fear- the fear of being wrong.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
My heritage. My Singaporeaness or lack of. A couple of Singaporean friends that I've made since moving to London said to me that I'm really more "angmohfied" than I am Singaporean. Is it my outlook? My mannerisms? Language? Attitude? What constitutes being Singaporean? Am I going to end up being a confused character who doesn't really "fit in" in Singaporean society? How will I cope when I return to the country of my birth? Will I feel like a foreigner on my own soil?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
On God. God and I have spent a patchy summer together. I know He is there, I know what He says is good, I know where the lines have to be drawn. Yet, the rebellious side of me has again re-surfaced. I do the things I know I'm not meant to do, then feel guilty about it all, then think that if I avoid communicating with God, I won't have to think about it. Then I go to church, feel remourseful and resolve to try harder next time. Then the cycle repeats itself, but this time, I've learnt to cope with the guilt better and justify my actions. It's a slippery slope down. But how can you turn away from the hand that has guided your every step? Is anything or anyone even worth turning your back from God for? I've decided that if I can't face it head on, I'll just have to make do with running from it for now. Yes, the ostrich style I know, but instead of just burying my head in the sand, I'll have to do some sprinting as well.
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Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Add this to my previous Milo post
Further to my post last year about my relationship with Milo, I have a little more to say.
I encountered Milo at the Sainsbury's supermarket nearby. This brought some delight. The bargain-hunter Singaporean in me was even more pleased by the fact that it was cheaper than my usual "tummy warming" bedtime drink- horlicks. Sadly, the pleasure ends at the purchase.
I ladelled a big spoonful of the brown stuff into my mouth (yes, I have to admit that I have a disgusting habit of eating as well as drinking my Milo) and my immediate thoughts were- "There's something dreadfully wrong here!" The texture was way too grainy and the flavour far less chocolatey and much sweeter than the stuff I know as Milo.
Next thing that pops into my head is "Why?!?!"
I examine the tin and discover that it is imported from Africa. Perhaps they like their Milo sweeter, grainier and less chocolatey. Lesson learnt. Always read the label before you buy. Especially when buying Milo. Or just stick to Horlicks.
I encountered Milo at the Sainsbury's supermarket nearby. This brought some delight. The bargain-hunter Singaporean in me was even more pleased by the fact that it was cheaper than my usual "tummy warming" bedtime drink- horlicks. Sadly, the pleasure ends at the purchase.
I ladelled a big spoonful of the brown stuff into my mouth (yes, I have to admit that I have a disgusting habit of eating as well as drinking my Milo) and my immediate thoughts were- "There's something dreadfully wrong here!" The texture was way too grainy and the flavour far less chocolatey and much sweeter than the stuff I know as Milo.
Next thing that pops into my head is "Why?!?!"
I examine the tin and discover that it is imported from Africa. Perhaps they like their Milo sweeter, grainier and less chocolatey. Lesson learnt. Always read the label before you buy. Especially when buying Milo. Or just stick to Horlicks.
What's in the name?
Ever had one of those strange feelings when you think about a word again and again until it becomes completely alien to you? I often experience this "word strangeness" when I stare at a word for a prolonged period of time.
Last night however, was the first time a similar feeling occured, but with my name. For a moment, my name didn't seem like mine. I felt detached from my name. I went a step further and thought about all the other people I know who share my name and it seemed to suit them fine. It just didn't quite belong to me.
Maybe I am going a little crazy...
Last night however, was the first time a similar feeling occured, but with my name. For a moment, my name didn't seem like mine. I felt detached from my name. I went a step further and thought about all the other people I know who share my name and it seemed to suit them fine. It just didn't quite belong to me.
Maybe I am going a little crazy...
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