JOLT

JOLT


I didn't blog about this because I don't have a habit of blogging about personal matters, but Mum was warded into SGH A&E 2 months back in early December. She just had a medical review at National Heart Center a mere 2 days ago. She is due for yet another checkup on the 19th.

The day she was warded, it was just a normal Thursday morning. I was having breakfast with Dad when he said that Mum got warded. She had experienced severe pectoral angina (chest pain) while working, and the company doctor promptly called for an ambulance.

I thought it was nothing much. After all, she got to the hospital and received prompt medical attention. The fact that she was well enough to give Dad a call to inform him of the news is assuring. After breakfast, Dad drove us down to SGH. We reached at 10am+. It was there and then, upon arrival at the hospital, when we learned that she is in A&E; and in Intensive Care at that. For reasons unknown, we were denied entry and thus, did not even catch a glimpse of her.

We waited at the common waiting area. Time ticked by, and the hours passed. As the hours crawl by, the firm conviction and easy assurance ebbed away bit by bit. I had not expected any of these. The long wait. Being denied entry. And being checked into not a normal ward, but A&E. Why is taking so long? Why not a normal ward? What are the medical practitioners tending to? Is it serious? If it isn't, why is it taking so long?

We were finally allowed to see her at near 5pm. She was on a drip, looking weak and tired. A medical personnel was manning one of the many machines engulfing her, scruntinizing an ECG graph. As he's an Indian, Dad has trouble understanding his accent. I took over the conversation - while Dad turns his attention to Mum - and learned that she has to be warded for another 8hours for further observation.

We went home at about 5pm. After a quick dinner, I grabbed my guitar and headed down to Riverwalk for PM for Sentosa outreach. Straight after PM, we had our guitar session. Halfway through the lesson, Dad called and said that Mum might get discharged at midnight. The guitar lesson ended at 10.30pm+. I loitered around Clarke Quay for a while before heading down to Outram Park.

I reached Outram Park and followed the signage directing to the hospital. I rode up the escalator, and walked, and walked. Soon, I found myself in the middle of nowhere. Scanning the dark surroundings, I wondered momentarily whether am I going in the right direction. The knowledge that the Center for Forensic Medicine is somewhere near the vincinity is slightly unnerving.

My shoulder was starting to hurt; and the load of the guitar felt increasingly heavier. It was already minutes shy of midnight. This hospitalization, all of these, was happening at totally the wrong time, the wrong season. It was just adding on to all that has been increasingly piling up. The co-ord. The refusal of stripping. The personal problems. The doubt. The discouragement. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, not knowing even where exactly am I, and armed with just the guitar by the side; there was this heavy, weird feeling of being alone, orphaned. Slowing down the pace, a part of me wanted to squat down right there and then and cry and call for SOS. It would be nice to be weak, to cry, and have some concern, and lap up a bit of good old fussing once in a while. The idea of having someone cabbing down in my time of need at my request to somewhere this deserted in the dead of the night, and to collect and accompany me on this trip, was so temptingly comfortable.

Maybe it's pride or stubborn-ness or the fighting spirit at work, but the feeling of conceding and bowing down to defeat this easily is disappointing. It may sound foolish, but at that point of time, it's seemed to be a classic moment of either you break, or you don't.

Ignoring whatever feelings, I ventured on forward; not knowing even if it's the right direction or if it's the right thing to do. What if I get kidnapped? What if I meet some pervert? Before long, I came to this deserted carpark. An empty carpark in the dead of the night is so mightily and unbelieveably freaky. I walked on further, and from a distance away, finally saw Block 1 of SGH. It felt like spotting a mirage in a desert.

The ground level of the hospital building was so frighteningly isolated. Except for a couple of late visitors, there were barely anyone else around. The only sounds were that of my wedges "click-clock-ing" against the floor tiles. The shops, the pharmacies, the stores were all closed for the night. The clear reflections reflecting off the glass of the shops on both my left and right were so eerie.

I relieved my long-suffering shoulder of the guitar shoulder strap, and carried it by hand instead. It was getting increasingly heavy as the minute passes. I chose not to listen to the iPod, preferring to have my 5 senses on the alert. Don't turn and look even if you hear anything weird. Just walk. Don't get distracted by the reflections. Don't look. Just walk. Smile, be easy, just walk. If someone taps you on the shoulder from behind, just run. If something floats pass in front of you, just run. In the opposite direction. As fast as your legs can carry you. Don't dump your guitar while you make your fanatic getaway. You'll have to go back for it later. Hold it tight; hold it well. Be cool and calm and don't think too much and just continue to walk.

I reached Block 4 safely, in one piece. Taking the lift, I got to the A&E level. It was like entering a different world. Unlike the ground floor, it was full of people, bustling with activity. I made an enquiry at the counter, and got the updated ward details.

Found and located my mother easily. She was awake, but still on the drip. Now that it's just only the 2 of us alone, the reality of everything seemed to punch me in the face. It seemed so surreal. The IV drip. The medical equipments. The heart monitor. The pulse rate. The BP readings. The atmosphere and environment. The people in lab coat. The bitter smell of medicine. The hospital bed. The woman lying on it. My eyes followed the fluctuating line on the heart monitor as it moves along. I listened to the accompanying beeping. I read the BP readings and pulse rate. I looked at the steady flow of droplets in the IV fluid bag. I felt the cool air of the air-conditioner. I breathed in deeply, and deliberately etched into memory this moment. Instead of a million things flashing by the mind as how it's usually and typically depicted on TV shows, my mind was clear instead. Crystal clear. With the exception of a couple of things, my mind was totally blank. Nothing matters, anymore. At least, at this point of time.

The nurse came, and drew the curtains for some privacy. I was left on my own again. I wrapped my right fist around the neck of the guitar; happy to feel something of strength. The small piece of wood feels so solid; it gives a sense of assuring stability, bringing with it a pull back to reality.

Minutes later, the nurse drew back the curtains. My mum was now off the drip and ready to be discharged.

We cabbed home later that night, and I came home - hopefully, subtly - a somewhat different person.