4 February 2009 - The Day I was Admitted
I woke up at 7am feeling a bit groggy. Baby Sya has woken up and playing on the spread out quilt in the living room. She has this mystified look on her face. She knows something is up. I muzzle my nose into her neck to catch whatever soft baby sweet scent I can. This is the only thing I can’t bring along, if only there was a way to bottle this so I can spray it on my pillow when I miss her.
Mind you, I packed the very last minute. This is how surreal this feels. Reluctance holds a huge grip making my stomach twist in every corner. But everyone knows for the sake of my health I need this. I need to know.
The letters sit patiently on my blue luggage. I tried to manage as much comfort as I can in that little blue bag. But what comfort can I gain if my family is not around to hold me. I packed my Starbucks Journal...I wished to take a sabbatical from any gadgets as I possibly can. I’m angry inside aren’t I?
I am tired of those numbness, of the ache, of the pain in my knee, of feeling disabled but yet I can still stand on my own two feet. I hate giving excuses that I can take Liya to the playground with her inline skate because “mommy don’t feel so good”. I hate that I can only hold a firm grip, sit still when Baby Sya cries her chest out and I have to wait for DH to come out of the loo to pick her up from the crib. I hate myself.
I wish for more than anything in this world to not wake up feeling like a 89 year old lady when I am only 34. Living with Pain.
I am just too young for this…
I know I am going to miss home so bad that I shed a tear as I kissed and nuzzled my nose some more on Baby Sya. Her mystified look intense. “I know you’re going somewhere Mommy….I know…”
The ride to the baby sitters was painful enough that for once I don’t feel the aches on my back. I kissed Baby Sya again…and watch as DH takes her to Dayana’s place. It feels like God has torn my heart into pieces while I was wide awake.
Not as chatty as usual, I am stoic with silence, sitting still and making sure the back seat belt is comfortable. DH takes a small glance on the rear view mirror and asked me if I was ok. Words have no meaning for I am lost without composition.
HKL is congested as usual, the busy chattering of cars and people passing by this very narrow one way lane. DH drops me off the emergency entrance as I hold my admission letter firmly. The morning air is cold. I pace slowly to admission.
The admission office is colder. There is smell of old furniture. An idiot box chants some RTM soap dialogues.
“Kak, please take a number” a polite young medical officer great me and ushers me to the ticketing machine. All our lives, we have to take numbers and wait.
What if my number was up….you know..THAT number…the one written in your books…
1029. I don’t like the combination. 9 is very bad with me. 9 is so out of place with 2.
Now serving 1027. Please take a seat. You will be entertained soon enough…
This is the essence of government health care. It’s a waiting game if you don’t know it by now.
“I have my GL”
No questions asked.
“Have you booked a room?”
Hmm…I thought this was a ward admission…you can book rooms?
“I will call to see if there is room for admission in the first class ward”
Good thing I had that huge argument on the phone to have a simple procedure of sending my GL.
The day before I had asked for my insurance company to send a copy of my GL via email. What seemed to be a simple procedure turn to be my worst nightmare.
Ladies and gentleman. This is customer service in Malaysia. It took me 3 call centre agents to get the procedure right.
This admission room is cold.
“We only have 4 bedded at the moment. Will that do?”
“We’ll keep you KIV ed”
By 10am I am sitting comfortably on my bed. DH asked if I needed anything else. Everything seems perfect for now.
I have two roommates at the time of admission.
One young girl who has gigantic screws on her left leg. She was involved in a motor bike accident.
Just next to me in 12B is Auntie Palan who just did a knee op. Chatty. Nice.
DH made fun of how I spoke to her. He said, why can’t you just speak like an ordinary Malay. I jeered at him.
DH stayed for a while and left at 2pm.
I run through the usual. BP check. Medication. Tea time at 3pm and then Dinner at 6pm.
I took my steroids at 1.20am. They are DAMN bitter and lingers in the throat.
I was awaken at 4am by loud rustling of the hospital trolley and someone speaking in either Punjabi or Hindi..am not sure.
An old lady who has fallen has just been admitted by her daughter.
Very high drama that ended with her daughter transferring her to a private hospital because the actions taken weren’t quick enough.
Hey…this is public health…don’t they know that already?