She is Strong

The GI doctors’ team appeared at my bedside. “How are you this morning?” Someone asked cheerfully.

“Not good!” I opened my eyes. Told my story. “You see, I still don’t get any warm water in my flask now.  Your ward is unfriendly. Please stop the IV drip.”

They listened. Silent for a few moments.

Then they started asking me questions of what I do for a living, my home situation etc. “We know you had a stroke, this is why we are asking you these questions to see how you answer and if the neuro team needs to come today to see you. “

In the midst of these, one of the attending nurses exclaimed, “I know her, she writes in Mastika, I read her stories!”

 

 I have been writing x-cultural stories for
this monthly magazine for six years.

“So you write?”

“It is my hobby,” I answered feebly. So now what? Nurses are going to treat me nicer because I ‘write’?

Then they studied my file and discussed. More tests were ordered. “We don’t simply give you medication until we are sure what you need, so we need to make more blood and, urine tests.”  The IV drip was stopped but I must keep drinking water do I wouldn’t get dehydrated from the draining.

May was discharged that afternoon, “Stay very strong for your daughter, she has only you so you can’t give up no matter how painful things get,” she advised.

A man was admitted into the ward and shared the room with me. It felt awkward to go to the toilet knowing that he and several of his male family members were in the room.

The ward was still full of moaning sounds and screaming from male patients. It made the gynae ward sounded like a ‘heaven’ compare to this ward.

 A male patient

My family came to see me. They were shocked that some patients have TB and are quarantined in the rooms next to me. “Got to get out of help as soon as possible before I get any more infection,” I told them. “The antibiotics they give me are already giving me gastric problem, so I have to take gastric pills daily!”

The room I was in was dingy and the wall paint had come off. It was depressing. The gynae ward was painted in purplish paints. Oh no, I don’t want to go back to the gynae ward!

By Ching Ching