Back to Life

Alright. I came back with vengeance today. Woke up really early, drove myself to Taman Tun Park for some mean morning exercise, went wet marketing, returned home to cook for my niece before she left for school, washed my car, sneakers, did the laundry and some housechores - all before noon! Good, good! At least I am putting that injured / pained / weak hand to use again, and of course I wanna see how far I can stretch it.

Now that the chores are outta the way, it's back to work again... gotta conjure up this story on Vietnamese Coffee Culture for Flavours. Shikes! And I haven't started! AND there's this other piece to spice up for Weekender... Sigh, how many ways can you jazz up a dry, flat, boring story? Sometimes I wonder if I could really stop writing (no, I don't think so... it's just too much a part of me, and I s-t-i-l-l enjoy it.)

So I am probably not going to be that famous and dedicated writer in glasses sitting in front of a typewriter with a cigarette butt sticking outta her mouth and stained coffee mug nearby (this was the strange notion I had of myself while growing up); but minus the cigarette, typewriter and famous parts, I think I've come pretty close.

There. Life is not perfect and CTS still sucks, but it is still darned good compared to what comes in second.

Brewing some Vietnamese.

Two Months

August and September were months of extremes, if you ask me. Firstly there was the sense of a post-mission low after 3 glorious weeks in Port Dickson and Hanoi leading the OM team. It was a great, although unevnetful trip where 'grand action' was concerned. We were instructed to play tourists whilst we had prepared to dig trenches. Oh well...

Then there was of course, there was my adopted father's visit from Virginia Beach for almost a week. A totally shameless 'makansutra' outing. The binge continued with my birthday bash(es). This yeah was tremendous! I was eating non-stop with friends, family and more friends! (The last meal is lunch tomorrow with my buddy... almost one month after my actual birthdate!). I am truly blessed.

Then came the lowpoints. I had fallen ill. Was in bed for 12 days, drugged and drugged again. Not fun. Anymore sleeping and bedsores will peek outta my skinpores! Sigh. A-n-d then, my left arm started acting up... nerve pain! Yikes. This time round it had all the classic symptoms of CTS and freaked me out big time. I was walking around with a bent elbow and clawed hand, probably resembled the person who inspired Frankenstein had it not been already written. Great.

So today I am taking it easy (again!). Sigh... hasn't worked much since August and September's gonna be over soon. Next week I will be in Chiangmai and won't be back till Oct for a shoot.

Life continues...

No Melanoma!

The biopsy results are out.

That patch on my arm is a bundle of spindle cells, what the doc diagnosed as micro-fibroma. Benign but recommended to be taken out sonnest possible.

Yay.

But I would have to refrain from using my left arm for another month after the operation on 12th April. Which means no swimming or driving until mid-May. :(

Still, I am happy its not melanoma.

Some Skin Less

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A couple of weeks ago I went for a skin biopsy and MRI one day apart from each other. For me, it was a first time for both procedures, although I had a biopsy done few years ago prior to a lumpectomy. The skin biopsy was done at the dermatologist's request since there was a strange mole growing at the back of my underarm near the shoulder joint. The procedure involved extracting a slice of skin where the mole is, and sewing the incision shut.

I hadda go under local anaesthetic for this, so I promptly arrived at the hospital's minor operating theatre one cheerful weekday morning, aptly armed with Michael Griffith's "Take My Life". (That is a good book to read should you want to get serious with your faith).

The dermatologist called me in, told me to change into the hospital gown, took photos of the mole and told me to lie down on my side on the operating table. She then spread the big sheet of surgical paper on the mole and started to poke it.

"Does this hurt?"

"Yeah."

"OK, I'll give you the jab now."

"Ouch."

She started poking the other parts and it hurt too, so she gave me a second jab. By the time the second injection sank in, I lost all sensation and wouldn't have realised she was cutting away at my skin had it not been for the scraping noises.

Well, there was an uncomfortable silence. I was lying on my side with a paper covering my shoulder and dermatologist behind me carving out my skin. So I did what I always do when I am nervous / bored. I asked questions.

"What's that red socket on the wall for, eh?"

"What red socket?" asked the dermatologist, amid scraping noises.

"The one next to the normal white one."

"Oh, that's for blackout emergencies." the staff nurse butted in.

"Really?" asked the dermatologist.

"Yeah, all operating theatres have an alternate energy supply."

"Oh, I didn't know that," said dermatologist.

Well, I sure hope she knew what she was doing to my skin. When she was done, I had three stitches which came off two days ago, leaving three rather ugly needle holes. The biopsy results will be out tomorrow.

POV inside a Coffin

"Oh, oh... what did I get myself into?" I wondered as the nurse clapsed a cage across my face, locked my head in position and began to press a button to slide me into the MRI tunnel. All around me were crackling and buzzing noises. I was strapped to the sliding table, hands and feet unable to move. Can't even scratch my nose or slide my bangs. Felt like a science-fiction movie gone terribly wrong.

"Don't worry about the noises inside, ok? It's normal" the nurse coo-ed in her most reassuring tone. *Sure, now where have I heard that before?*

"How long am I supposeda be in there?" I asked.

"Thirty minutes."

What? Thirty minutes immobilised inside a coffin contraption? What kinda nonsense is this? Why wasn't I told this earlier? I waited three months for this appointment, and in between that the hospital called me twice and made me wait another 90 minutes in the waiting room prior to the procedure and no one told me it would be like this???

Somehow I didn't think the nurse / radiologist would be jumping in eager anticipation to hear what's on my mind, so I kept quiet, swallowed hard and hoped that my nose wouldn't itch for the next half an hour.

"Hold on to this," she said, pushing a call-button device into my hand, "press if you need anything."

It was so cold. Sterile. The nurse spread a blanket over me. I started to slide into the sinister machine that opened up to swallow me whole. The examination room disappeared into the far horizon at my feet. I was totally inside the belly of the machine. Tunneled-in. Trapped.

Man, if I were to ever have a first-eye POV (point of view) of what its like to lie inside a closed coffin, this would come really close. It is deadly silent. For a moment. Then a buzz pierced the air. Then humming. Crackling. Then all at once there were noises all around me! It was deafening, and I admit, unnerving.

I started to think about being inside a real coffin. Death is a reality for all, but no one really cares to think seriously about it. It is a certainty that we move closer to everyday, whether we like it or not.

I thought about death that day inside the MRI machine, and I am thankful that I know for sure I could still crawl out of that tunnel when the 30 minutes are up. But what about those who may not even have the 30 minutes to live?

Life is too short. Like vapour. When it is my turn to lie in a real coffin, I don't want to be leaving behind a trail of regret and sorrow of what might have been. And I am really grateful I still have the time to play my cards right.

The results of the MRI came out.

Everything's normal.

Mole in the Arm

"Hey, what's that thing on your arm?" my friend asked over lunch two weeks ago.

"Nothing, it's just a mole." I replied.

"Looks like an awfully big mole..." he continued.

"Yeah, it grew."

He suddenly turned and looked at me, concerned. "You better get it looked at."

"OK."

Of course I forgot all about it. It was just a tiny mole about a year ago when I first discovered it... or maybe slightly longer, I don't remember. Anyways it is tucked on the far end back side of my arm and usually would not be noticeable unless I have a sleeveless shirt on. To my surprise, it had grown to about an inch in diameter.

Yesterday another friend saw it and asked the same question. When I replied her, she turned grave. She has had surgery to remove a neck tumour, a hysterectomy and now discovered another tumour on her jugular. She insisted I saw a doctor about the growing, painless, hairless mole on my left arm.

So I called my doctor friend. He sounded worried when I told him my symptoms and will help me locate a dermatologist at the hospital. I'll speak to him again tomorrow, and hopefully find out how to maneuveur my way around this derma-adventure.

I thought about dying. I imagined various scenarios - bedridden, sick, funeral. I could visualise it... only up to the point where I know Jesus would open his arms and welcome me Home. Nothing beyond that.

I cannot imagine heaven. What it would be like... what the colours would be, what kind of songs would be sung there, how the saints of old would look like, what my new body would be... and what would Jesus be wearing.

Isn't it weird that people think Jesus walks around in a long, white flowing robe? We are so conditioned by the impressions of artists throughout the ages. I won't be surprised the Jesus I finally meet looks nothing like what I have seen. In the same vein, here is a piece on the relevance and dangers of religious movies. "...films cannot be used to present the Scriptures visually without becoming idolatrous. Not only are the images historically false (they are conjured up from the imagination of a screenwriter of director) but they must also conform to the mechanics of the medium (acting, cinematography, art direction, music, sound effects, etc) which are designed to manipulate the senses and emotions for dramatic purposes..."

Jesus can only be whom He is described to me in the Word.

The Day I Survived

This is such a weird day.

Woke up early to check my mom outta hospital. Still groogy after yesterday's fever antibiotics. Arrived hospital at 9am-ish. Walked to the ward while talking on the phone. Before I knew it, I stepped on a small patch of water on the floor, slipped and fell on my back. The nurses rushed to me. They hoisted me up and put me on my mom's bed nearby. The doctor arrived and asked me if I needed attention. The ward sister came to take down my details (in case I needed hospitalisation).

OK, enough embarassment already.

So I shoo-shoo-ed them away (by telling them I was perfectly fine) and after a while, proceeded to a quick brekkie at the cafeteria. Had a slice of marble cake, one milk tea and one Milo. Mom called and said she would be able to check out the same day.

Yay!!!!

BUT we hadda wait. OK, I can wait. One hour passed, two hours... and meanwhile, I was developing symptoms of having a seizure attack. Not good. Not good at all.

I went back to ward nurse to ask for a bed. She said the hospital beds were full but there're some seats at the corridor I can use, or else there's also a wheeled stretcher without brakes. I opted for seats. When I saw those single rattan chairs, I groaned. The're no way I can lie comfortably on those.

So I cramped myself in feotal position and snugged into two single chairs facing each other. It was really awkward and I was uncomfortable, but it was better than no lie-down place at all. I switched positions several times but they were all equally uncomfortable. Meanwhile, my phone kept ringing.

I don't know how but I managed to get some sleep. Too soon, my phone rang again, and it was my mom saying it is time to pay and check out of the hospital. After some ding donging here and there, we finally checked mom out at 3pm, six hours after I had arrived at the hospital.

I was too weak to drive, and WL hadda bring us all home. Left my car in the hospital carpark, and I went home to cook porridge for my mom and myself, before taking my long overdue fever medicine and zonking off till 6.30pm. Then later I hadda retrieve my car from the carpark (but not before dropping by to visit Mrs Tan, the 98-year-old stroke victim from my mom's ward). Mrs Tan's daughter was with her, and she even agreed when I suggested to pray for her. Good, good, good. I may visit her some more in the near future.

Disguished Opportunities

It was a visitors' party at my mom's hospital room. First there were LP and my dad, followed in quick succession by my aunt and uncle, then my cell hosts, and then my mom's cell members before finally, my cell members came and took me out for dinner.

In between there was this very stimulating conversation going on between the patient in the next bed and I. She was almost in tears when I told her about God's provision in my life. Later I shared Christ with the patient in the far end of the room. She is 96, her lungs are hardened and she practically lays on bed as good as a vegetable but I spoke to her in Mandarin anyway. She looked longingly at me, her eyes welling up with tears. She tried to move her arms every time I touched her (I noticed that her relatives would visit, shout at her and not even touch her). I asked her to repeat the sinners' prayer with me even though she can only say it in her heart.

There is so much hope to be given to a waiting world.

My mother's hospitalisation may be seen as a mishap to some, but for those who perceive, there has never been a better opportunity to share the Gospel.

Today's Reading : Romans 1:16-17

Night Out

It is also confirmed that I will be staying with my mom at the hospital tonight. Just got back home to pack a few things and head straight for Assunta again. Mom's got a single room and there's an extra armchair-bed for me. Tomorrow I gotta head for the market really early to get er....

1. Frog meat
2. Baby bittergourd

This is so that I can go home and double boil them stuff with a bowl of water and serve them to (poor old) mom! Apparently this concoction worked wonders on my friend's friend.

Nat tested negative for dengue. Phew... at least her parents can sleep soundly tonight.

To Hospital, To Hospital...

It is confirmed. My mom contracted dengue. Her platlet level is still ok, at 205 per 1000, and the GP says to wait for further tests. But I am checking her into the hospital tonight. At her age, anything can happen. She's worried sick, and rightly so I guess.

Right now we are packing her stuff for the stay. I will prob stay in with her for the night, depending on circumstances. Tomorrow I will be making this herb concoction which is supposedly good for her immune system.

I had better brace myself for the home - hospital - market - home circuit.

Nat is also having fever for the past 5 days. Now her parents are concerned it may be dengue as well. Heck, I am also feeling under the weather the past coupla days...

Just a wild thought - if all of us have dengue it may be easier as we would all be admitted at the same time and can still see each other....

Yeah, right.

Gotta get under the Wings

Dengue. The word escaped from my mom's mouth as she got into the car to break the news to me. OK, so it's just suspected dengue since she had non-abating fever for 5 days running even with antibiotic intakes. But the doctor wasn't taking chances, especially since she's already 70.

She's worried, about her health, hospital stays, bills, household matters, etc. My mom's a constant worrier, even when she's completely well. I try to un-worry her. In any case, the results will only be known in about 2 hours' time.

This news could not have come at a worse time. Already I am struggling "being at multiple crossroads" in my life, and this process usually saps all the energy outta me.


Today's Reading: Ps 91

Thorns Can Be Good

So. I seriously do not know what's happening to my body. Get sick once in an average of 2 - 4 weeks, a bone spur, loss of strength in arms, fingers, etc, anaemic and... I am forced to entertain the thought that immortality is grossly overrated. I may meet my mortal end sooner than I think.

Morbid? Yeah. Depressing? Slightly so. Only because I am none too entirely prepared for it. I turn 37 this year. Had some really fantastic life behind me, and I think I am richer than anyone I know coz I already have and done all that matters. However, one thing still leaves me stoked. The rush of seeing the light turn on in someone's heart and mind when they understand Truth.

Yesterday I was a wreck and feeling worse. An impending flu attack left me with terrific headaches, bodyaches and a sinister soreness creeping up my throat. I was frustrated, angry, defeated (being sick makes me this way). As I sought solace in my chatmail, a friend signed in. We exchanged pleasantries, jokes and then started talking about doctrine.

The discussion quickly picked up speed. She asked, I answered. I asked, she replied. In that flurry, something happened. A sudden illumination dawned. Truth visited her. A great work of the Holy Spirit.

God works any way He chooses, but it is in frailty that His strength is most evident... why then, are we so afraid of being weak? Of being helpless?

Grant courage Lord, as not to shy away from pain, from suffering and from the thorn where Your grace is sufficient.