Facebook

While I have set up an account yesterday, the account will remain largely dormant for a simple reason: My private life is not for all to see.

I will add you if you make a request.

I will use FB only be for staying abreast with information.

Little Cheer

There's been little to cheer about recently. So rather than rant and rave here, I numb myself watching TV.

It's better. Between trying to kill the earth by blogging about things and by watching TV, I think watching TV is better. After all, there are things that once said cannot be recalled.

Laundry's done. Time for it to go into the dryer.

One can wait too long...

Just ask American John Isner and Frenchman Nicolas Mahut.

Both men resumed play at Court 18 today knotted at 59-59 in the fifth set of their first-round Wimbledon singles match, having obliterated every record for length and longevity long before they were forced off court by the setting sun for the second consecutive night.

The match continued on serve with no break points until the American hit a backhand passing shot past the Frenchman in the 138th game of the set to finish the contest in front of a packed crowd on Court 18.

The amazing final score read: 6-4 3-6 6-7(7) 7-6(3) 70-68.

I believe this match will be remembered for a long time.

* * *

We sat at a coffeeshop waiting for our menu to arrive. Two reminders from the drink stall assistants later, the cze-char assistant came and asked what we wanted.

A wait later, the menu arrived. We thumbed through the menu rather quickly and decided what we wanted. This time, we had to beckon two different assistants twice each and none of them had the time to come near the table to take our orders.

Finally, a third assistant came by. By then, we were more than 20 minutes into waiting to be served. We stood up and walked off as the guy asked if we wanted to eat.

"No. I waited so long I'm full already." I replied.

Honestly, the entire operations can go "fornicate with arachnids". The assistant apologised for being extremely shorthanded today and what not.

But we simply walked on, choosing not to reply. If there isn't a good thing to say, don't say it. At least not along Sam Leong Road, beside Desker Road.

* * *

Ticked off army guys two weeks ago over their botched armoured vehicle movements that left a whole bunch of cars backed up into the Kallang Leisure Mall carpark. Cars were stuck on the ramp and the queue snaked into the car park itself. Pity the poor sods behind who had to pay for parking charges as they were still stuck in the "paying area".

I am rather certain that the armoured vehicle drivers had not been properly briefed on public road convoy movements prior to the first dress National Day Parade rehearsal. I am also fairly certain that the army acted in its own accord, failing to rope in the Land Transport Authority and the Traffic Police to help in closing roads and ensuring no traffic snarls to facilitate the convoy's movement. I am deadsure that the fellas planning the parade did not read the planning and execution papers that their predecessors in 2000 and 2005 had written.

The low CEP kapitan had the cheek to tell me that the "concept for 2010 is different" and "cannot (be) compare(d) with 2000 and 2005" when I told him that he should have read the prior papers.

If anything, I was the chief note taker at all National Day Parade 2000 executive committee meetings and I know what needed to be done when you are moving out all the green coloured moving metal pieces to challenge North Korea. Ok, the NK part, I jest. Still?

When I told a retired air force lieutenant colonel about the event, she went ballistic. What nonsense, she proclaimed. "The concept will definitely be different but the underlying principles will be the same." How we agree!

So, after a good 30 minutes of being stuck in a jam not of our doing, we were finally allowed to drive out when the armoured vehicle convoy drivers were made to keep in their respective lanes and not hog the middle of a two lane one-way road.

A little planning and a well-executed staggered road closure would have avoided many ugly scenes. But then, the men in green just love to be screamed at. Just watch how well adored the drill sergeants and parade commanders are...

* * *

And there is another aspect where one can wait too long, but the time is not ripe yet.

Later.

No more talk of darkness

Forget these wide eyed fears
I'm here, no one can harm you...

Just a particularly difficult period to adjust to due to the number of suddenly occurring events that require my immediate attention.

I try my best to tell myself that it will blow over, it will be peaceful and smooth sailing but my powers of persuasion - at least for the self - is not effective this time.

There are changes that are supposed to but not bringing about changes. It's a mild frustration.

There are changes that are supposed to have taken place but have not taken place. It's a matter of time and space and work is winning.

There are changes that are not supposed to even happen but they are taking place. It's a strain on my precious little time, time which could otherwise be used for getting work done.

And then there are changes.

I know I will come out on top of this pile feeling stronger and better but it just feels weird to be running constantly into brick walls.

I guess it is in the stars.

Just had a online tarot reading. It is almost entirely countrapunctal to what I am feeling now. Even the "gods" are more upbeat than I am. Perhaps I should do what I was told - stop going after perfection.

It's a fault. I know. But failed perfection is still an attempt that will deliver stellar results.

I should take it easy. I've done my preparations and I'll just let things go. It's not like I've never done it before.

Killing Me Softly...

Spent about two hours in the Changi General Hospital's Accident and Emergency Department's Observation Room when I went over for follow-up treatment last Friday. Immediately on entering the room, I was plonked on an empty bed. There was a patient on my left (Bed 7) and an empty bed on my right (Bed 5). No prizes for correctly guessing for my bed number.

Beds 1, 2 and 3 were empty while on Bed 4 lay this Malay guy who was conscious but hooked to various monitors. He's perhaps in his 30s or 40s and if anything, I'd suspect withdrawal symptoms rather than any real medical emergency. But what would I know.

Bed 7 on my left lay a sleeping guy, possibly a national serviceman, wrapped up in his blanket. I was not sure if he's malingering but I was beyond caring now. I had problems of my own to worry about. Bed 8 seemed to be occupied but the patient was blocked by the mass on 7. Bed 9 was empty. Bed 10 lay this Chinese man who looks like he's from China but I might be wrong. Beds 11 and 12 were empty.

I was waiting for my turn to get my CT Scan done. Right after I was made to lie in the bed, my blood pressure was taken and the nurses manning the OR counter began talking about the age of their new patient and his condition. Yak yak yak...

The nurses woke Patient 7 not long after I was settled in and asked if he could manage to go home by himself. I guessed that was the beginning of the long weekend and the hell he couldn't! So, off he went. I saw the gaunt patient on Bed 8. Bed 10 went up for his scan and I waited my turn, when the machine became available.

Before long, Bed 10 seemed to come back down while I fidgeted, went to the loo, was made to sit on a wheelchair, wait in the wheelchair, wheeled up to Radiology, and got my scan done.

Act 1 was complete when the CT machine fired the last x-rays through my skull and possibly semi-cooking my brains. I was wheeled back to the OR and made to get back on my bed.

* * *

"You must drink water. See, ask you to drink water, you don't want to drink? Today you're back in here again." So goes the son to his father, the patient on Bed 8.

"Yesteday, we came here and you were vomiting. They wanted to put you on the drip and you don't want.

"What can we do now? No point telling me that they use such a big (gauged needle) one on your now, right? Yesterday, if you take, you won't need such a big one.

"You need to drink water. How can you not drink water? Yesterday, when the doctors let you go home, you were told to drink lots of water. But you say the water makes you vomit. Now doctor X cannot do anything for you. God can't do anything for you either.

"Don't worry about anything at home. Everything will be fine. The home will still be there when you go home. You should just stay in here and start drinking water.

"You cannot go home now. See? Even God doesn't want to take you yet. So, how?..."

Apart from some occasional low groans and some raspy, unintelligible sounds, the son persisted on his soliloquy. There was resignation, not anger.

"See? I already take leave today. I got no choice since I have to bring you here. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work. And today I take leave to bring you here..."

The battle of making dad drink water was amazing. While I tried to resist turning over to take a look, when sonny left, I sneaked a peek. Old man seemed to be burning. His face is flush reddish purple and his lips were dry and chapped. His eyes were listless as he stared out into the clinically white lighted room, his mouth gaping like a beached goldfish gasping for air.

* * *

"Oh, Mr So-so. I'm your doctor. I've just seen your radiology report. I think you have got a mini-stroke. You know, a TIA..."

Man, I know a TIA. It's short for transient ischaemic attack. I just watched it for the third time on Royal Pains the night before. Oh shit, what if I had a TIA from the car accident...

The patient on Bed 10 must be pretty taken aback. Stroke? How is that possible? He looked perfectly normal. Normal weight range, normal everything.

"Mr So-so, TIA is like a stroke. You see your films? There is this dark region. The blood flow to the area is affected."

I could almost see myself spouting these lines. Man, when I go to the US for studies, I'm going to audition for a role in some medical drama. I could play the role of a plastic surgeon who gets a patient who wants a pair of 38H and midway into the headlights enhancement operation, she had a TIA, wakes up after emergency rescue and decides that, for the sake of her fragile life, she wants a pair of 42L instead. The patient's name? Miss Giant Parts Greenberg. ;)

"We don't know if there is permanent damage. No. You cannot go home. You must stay in the hospital and we need to treat you. We will find out the extent of the blockage and see if you have any permanent damage here.

Such words were not exactly the most comforting to me, since I'm also waiting for the CT scan results.

Doctor turned to Patient 10's wife and asked, "Do you know if he complained of any weaknesses on one side of his body...?"

A poignant Miss Saigon moment descends. I feel walls in my heart closing in, I can't breathe, I can't win...

* * *

I had quite enough by then. Between the time I was sent for the scan and my return, which was less than 15 minutes, the OR room dynamics had changed. There was now a Patient 5 on my right now and he was offered lunch. That junior category senior even asked to see the lunch menu. He really thinks that when the ambulance crew euphemistically call hospitals hotels, they are thus hotels? Crazy.

Patient 1 was an old man/woman - honestly, when you are old and shrivelled up, no one can tell your sex any more - and s/he was sleeping. Or maybe unconscious. S/he is awaiting admission.

Bed 2 was occupied by a huge Indian lady who was to be admitted. When the enrolled nurses asked her to sit up, they asked her, "Can you sit up?" and then asked if the bed, which was supposed to wheel her to her ward, could support her weight. Somehow, after watching Nurse Jackie, I feel strangely comforted.

On Bed 3 was a Malay old man who wanted to be given his painkillers, forget about any treatment and scoot home soonest possible. He looked like he wished to be home, never mind should anything happen to him. I doubt he was of dischargable patient calibre but to subject a senior category senior citizen to more treatment seemed brutal. And what do I know? I'm just an aspiring medical drama quack.

Patient 4 was more sober by then. Maybe they injected a little something into him? I was not sure. By then, I was already pretty much killed inside by the flurry of bad news and the negative vibes.

"Can I leave this place?" I asked the nurses. "I wanna get lunch."

"Do you have relatives with you?"

"No, I came alone. Oh, never mind. How long will this take?"

"About 1 hour."

"1 hour? I can wait. It's just another 15 minutes."

In an environment where it's bad news galore - the sign at the OR entrance
read, "Due to high occupancy, you will only be allocated your bed in the wards when it becomes available," or something to that effect - find an excuse and get out before your heart gives out when your news come.

Still, high occupancy rates in "Cannot Go Home" Hospital? Amazing. Singaporeans must be damned desperate to go there.

As I waited, there was a fresh commotion in the nurses area about how they intend to complain about a staff nurse or doctor who passed disparaging remarks about the hospital. Apparently, the fellow said something like, "No wonder people say Changi is a bad hospital. If I had a family member who was ill and needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn't even send them (sic!)here." And to make matters worse, this utterance was made in front of the public. Apparently, the OR nightingales are going to launch a joint attack on the hawk by claiming that he was out of line, unprofessional and whatever.

Ah, at least some bitching near my comfort levels. I don't know what transpired but the nightingales seemed perturbed enough to say words to the effect that Changi is a great hospital and if any of their loved ones fall sick, they would have no qualms to send them here because of the high levels of care. Oddly, I feel a little more confident, even if Changi is not even on my shortlist for anything.

* * *

1.15 pm. The wait was getting unbearable. The OR was not exactly changing much in terms of patient numbers but there was clearly a need to get rid of bed hoggers. My case came up for review at the counter. A re-triage of sorts.

"This patient looks all right."

"Yah, 29 years old..." - goddammit, there is ABSOLUTELY no one who's 29 in the OR! I'm the youngest and I'm way past 30! - "and the signs are stable. Blood pressure ok."

"Ok, let me call Radiology."

29 years old? Ha! I was 29 once. But how could they work out my age to be 29 when that was half a decade ago?

"Hello, Radiology? A&E OR ah. Can I discharge this patient? We need the beds."

The next thing, I was told I could leave the observation room.

At that moment, I knew there was nothing very serious. But honestly, the lack of privacy in the OR and the deluge of bad news bombarding the patients in the room can rapidly cause anyone to slip into a transient depression. The what-ifs can really be heart stopping and mind blowing.

I quickly bundled out of the OR and went back to the waiting area, where the doctor walked out of his consultation room and asked for another 2 hours to clear my case as the senior enough radiologist wasn't available to countersign on my CT report and a verbal ok from Radiology and from only one radiologist wasn't good enough to get me discharged as an emergency case.

Still, being able to get out of the A&E for a quick lunch and some shopping to remove the negative thoughts and vibes that plague the free mind - despite the giddiness from the mild concussion - can be a little uplifting.

6% or Blisters

The new Ikea shelves arrived on Saturday.

Being spatially spastic, diagrammatically dysfunctional, dexterity disinclined, and work tool-totalled, I paid the delivery guys to build up two of the 2 metre bookshelves that I've ordered. The third shelf is already assembled, as it is an AS-IS item with a corner chipped off. But there is a good amount of money chipped off. As the damage is not structural, buying it is not too much an issue.

The cost of erecting each item is 6% of the item's cost. This is not too much money but sometimes, it is not just money.

I've also bough 6 doors for my two shelves. Being (more) fickle (than a bee in a field of flowers in bloom), I decided that it might not be sensible to get the delivery folks to do the door assembly. After all, I might want the configuration that I specified and have to end up reassembling them. And worse, since the delivery guys depend on hand held drills, the screws they put in tend to wear down the wood quite a bit. It is somewhat different when you do it manually. Perhaps it is the lesser strength used and the lower speed of entry. The wood does not get worn away that quickly and certainly, removal and reassembly are possible.

There were another 6 doors that were to be put up for the existing shelves. (And for good measure, we took down the existent doors on the two shelves we already have and changed the opening direction. Worse! At the end of the day, we bought another 2 doors for a third shelf.)

So, by the time the third door was up, I have a large blister on my right middle finger and by the fifth door, the handle of the screwdriver was wet. I've bust the bubble. And I was faced with the unsavoury prospect of finishing the doors or keeping it to another day. Somehow, another day is often no other day. So I grinned and bore it and the doors were done! Don't ask me what hit me, but I did. I even managed to assemble two drawers, which I never thought I could.

With the additional strain on the other fingers and thumb and the bust blister, there was much pain each time I touch water. Sigh. What a way to get things done. Paid the money and got the blisters. The worst of both worlds!

Mental resilience

We are never taught to lose gracefully.
Our forefathers knew how to lose. Gracefully or not, they learnt to bounce back.

We will never want to lose.
Our forefathers knew to treat a win as an exception than the norm.

We cannot consider a loss as an acceptable outcome.
Our forefathers consider a loss as a lesson; an experience on which to build future conquests.

We are unable to live without structure; certainty was needed.
Our forefathers lived without structure; uncertainty ruled.

We will never want to be forced to live a structured life; we wanted to be in control.
Our forefathers lived regardless of structure; they learnt to cope with whatever little control.

We are unable to cope when the structure is taken away.
Our forefathers yielded with the times, like water taking the shapes of the obstacles in their way and slowly wore away the impediments.

We expect only good news - one after another.
Our forefathers hoped to get good news too - if it ever reached them.

We will never want bad news.
Our forefathers were always hopeful that bad news would not come their way.

We cannot even accept bad news as outcomes of our bad decisions.
Our forefathers stoically accepted the outcomes of the decisions, regardless.

We need pats on our backs for our work done.
Our forefathers were only too glad to be able to keep the skin on their backs.

We fret when we do not get it.
Our forefathers were only too glad to avoid the "whips" that could cripple them.

We even fear other people getting patted on their backs when we do our work.
Our forefathers knew one man could never get the whole work done.

We demand attention for ourselves.
Our forefathers were happy to stay out of the limelight.

We will never accept being sidelined.
Our forefathers knew that seeking attention is akin to a moth seeking a naked flame.

We will not accept any work that might not get us the attention we desire.
Our forefathers would have just have gotten the work done.

We have a problem.
Our forefathers had problems.

We will never accept that we have a problem; the problem is someone or somewhere else.
Our forefathers may or may not accept that problems existed but for whatever it took, they owned the problem.

Even when diagnosed, we may not even get help for our problem.
Our forefathers would be only too happy to have their problems diagnosed.

Yet as our forefathers lived to ripe old ages and died natural deaths, we - the baby boomers and after - are dying prematurely. A good number of these deaths are by suicide.

I think mental resilience is the main contributing factor.

While advances in medical science have helped diagnose many psychological and psychiatric disorders, the societal support structure and medical service providers are badly-equipped to handle diagnosed cases.

Our forefathers probably had a decent family unit to look after them. What do we have? Medical social workers? Hospitals?

Our forefathers probably had it really bad and what they have now would still be better than what they suffered in the past. So they suffered willingly. What about us? We enter the world and see it enter its golden age and then right after, it goes downhill. What else is there to give us the impetus to carry on living in this world?

The villages our forefathers came from were probably their cocoons. The world out there is an entire different universe. For us, the world is our cocoon. If our haven is compromised, from where do we seek refuge?

The outcomes for the two "distinct" generations become obvious - our forefathers ask to be kept alive by all means, we try to die when we hit our first major snag.

Our survival instincts are much less acute than our forefathers'. Progress has made us go soft and vulnerable. We lose our "under siege" mentality and the resilience to say "hit me with your best shot, buster!" but "don't count on it 'cos I'll bounce back, and bounce back stronger than you have ever seen!"

In short, Society also needs to deal with the "global warming of the minds". Whereas a cooler period existed in the past, the heat from added stress and not having undergone the baptism of fire through life-changing moments has brought about a few generations of more and more "mental weaklings".