Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Jet Plane.
"No, mummy, it's not. It's NOT a Disney spaceship."
Going for an MRI scan can be very scary, even for adults. One has to stay very, very still and go through a very, very noisy tunnel to allow a powerful magnetic field to align the nuclear magnetization of ions in the body. The rotating magnetic field detected by the scanner then constructs an image of the body which the doctors interpret. To find out what was wrong, they had to do an MRI scan for Jordanna.
"Yes it is a spaceship, imagine... it's a Disney spaceship..." Her mother was sharing with us how she coaxed her child. Even adults find it extremely unpleasant to go through an MRI scan. Some find it claustrophic and even require sedation.
But instead of squirming, throwing a tantrum or kicking a fuss like most kids would, little Jordanna merely said, "No, mummy, it's not... it's... IT'S A JETPLANE!! Like the one we saw on TV!!"
A jetplane.
So is this what courage sounds like- the ability to see all things from a different perspective.
These children from my Sunday School class just never fail to amaze me. Her courage makes my challenges and mountains seem altogether surmountable, altogether small.
The pain in my fracture is still there. Some people have still been worried about how I am coping. To be honest, I do miss being well. But I realise, that seeing this whole ordeal from an entirely different perspective has been most liberating, too.
When we find ourselves going through a black, scary, noisy tunnel, and are told to be still, to remain paralysed, do we find ourselves caught up in fear? Or can we, like little Jordanna, look at the ordeal from an entirely different perspective.
I realise, that seeing the world through the eyes of a child can be most refreshing.
It was not that she downplayed the situation or denied its reality. After all, private jetplanes can be very cramped, and very, very noisy at take-off, too.
Courage, I suppose, is the ability to accept reality and yet making the choice to see things differently.
Today, I tried deep-water running. It's something my physiotherapist has recommended me to do. It involves tying a hydration belt around oneself and running against resistance, quite a tiring feat indeed.
The day she brought me to the pool to teach me this form of physiotherapy, I insisted it was most embarrassing. "Lean, Mean Triathlete" had now been reduced to a float-user in the pool, haa- like all the other elderly aunties in the public pool. (Yes, pride gets in the way.)
But today, looking through Jordanna's eyes, I saw how it was merely, different. And it turned out to be quite fun. Refreshing.
Have you been forced into a place you don't really want to be in, too? Are you made to do something you wish you didn't have to? Are you forced to be still?
Close your eyes. In the face of Jordanna's challenges, everything seems so small, now.
So now, when people ask me what I've been up to, how I'm coping, I simply smile. And wish I could tell them, "I'm on holiday, on a jet plane. And it feels quite... right. "
Saturday, May 29, 2010
GO HABS GO
Ducks
Driving
Working finally!
Well this week I had my final exam on Tuesday. And I spoke with my teacher who is also the owner of the school and told her I would like to work there to do clients. She said that is ok because I am very good and she knows. I began on Wednesday and continued on until today and now I am off Sunday, Monday Tuesday and will continue again for Wednesday.
I will be working Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday of every week from 9:30am until 2:30 pm.
The money is really bad because I only get 50% of whatever i make and the prices are really low because it is a hairdressing school. But I am doing it to gain experience.
It is just me who is working because my class is gone because we finished. The new class is there but they are only halfway through their course so they are not allowed to do clients.
It is very busy and since it is only me it gets very hectic. I am running around all day and I have no time ever to take a lunch or a break or even sit down for a minute or go to the bathroom or anything. I am even getting stuck staying later some days because there are so many clients to do.
On Fridays it is a bit better because some students came to help out with the clients. Fridays are usually the busiest days there so I am lucky that i am not alone. And this girl from the new class comes in and I have her be like an assistant to me to help me wash the clients hair, kind of like how I started out when I was helping out the hairdresser that used to work here. She just quit about 2 weeks ago because she had a fight with the boss and found a new job so that I why I can work there.
I am like kind of in charge I guess. And on Saturdays I am usually going to be all alonee. Today was my first time being alone. They gave me the keys and everything so I could open up and close. It wasn't very busy. I only had 2 clients because I think a lot of people probably think that we are closed on Saturdays so yeah.
But anyways I am off to a good start. I will relax the next few days before I go back to work because it is pretty exhausting stuff but I am getting used to it :)
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Needed.
For the video, you don't have to be a pro, just someone with a big heart, a little bit of experience and an afternoon to spare to have a lot of fun.
For the website, you just need to know how to use tumblr, heh.
Please do drop her an email at tanwaijia@gmail.com if you'd like to find out more. The main thing is to have fun. She'd really appreciate it. Thank you :)
Please don't go.
It cannot be removed. She is 7 years old.
Oh God, please don't take her away.
You've always been such a good girl. You often volunteer in my class, you're polite, and you very often turn your head around during class just to smile at me or make sure I'm actually watching you. I remember once, you came to tell me how young I looked compared to the other teachers and you were so amazed by that, that most of the teachers were mothers and I was so... young. And when I asked you how old you thought I was, you said TEN! TEN YEARS OLD!! and we both giggled ourselves silly.
One Sunday, you shared with me Lolly's story. Your mother was telling that story to the entire children's church and you volunteered to act as the sunflower. Your hands were your petals, and you were looking to the sun. Sunflowers always look heavenward.
Last Sunday, I went to the children's church extra early. I wanted to give you a flower made by Zhang Qing. I wasn't scheduled to teach that day but I just wanted to see you.
You weren't there. They said "something cropped up" and I wondered what it was. Were you ill, had you gotten worse. I didn't dare ask more. Because if I did, I wouldn't know where to stop. What happened to you. How did they find out. What were your symptoms like. What does this mean. Why can't they operate on it. What is the diagnosis. Is it a high or low-grade lesion. Does this mean chemotherapy or radiotherapy. When will you get well. Does this mean you are leaving us.
No. Please don't go.
I blame myself somewhat. Because I saw your squint from the start. A squint is a divergent or convergent gaze in the eyes, what some people may unpleasantly describe as being "cock-eyed". Another child and you in my class had squints and I had asked you both about it, about whether you had seen the doctor. Because a squint could mean having a harmless lazy eye which could be easily corrected by wearing an eye patch, or could imply a raised pressure in the brain because of a growth. I spoke to the other girl's parents, and they assured me she was seeing a doctor. I remember that day when I tried to confirm your squint by getting you to play some "eye games" with me, which really were clinical tests, and you said to me, "How did you know I have a problem with my eyes? How did you know? Mummy took me to see the doctor already. They make me wear an eye patch." I was worried I had hit a raw nerve with you but I forgot, you are still a child, and you only giggled it away. You were so tickled that "I knew".
So I left it at that.
I didn't know, your squint was a sign of something growing in your brain. It was a classic 6th cranial nerve palsy because of increased intracranial pressure. I saw it from the start.
And now they say you have a tumor in your brainstem that cannot be resected. How can this be. It's so unfair.
So I was relieved to see you later at the adult service sitting with your parents near the pulpit. In the middle of the sermon, I came to sit next to you and passed you the flower, because I was worried you might rush off later. You really liked it. I held your hand.
"Are you scared?"
"Yes," she said. "I was scared last week. I have a plaster on my head. They made me sleep from 2pm till 7pm. I was scared."
That was the brain biopsy. That means they had to take out a bit of your brain to test the tumour to see if it is... bad. Is it bad? I didn't even dare to ask.
"You dyed your hair?" I asked, stupidly.
"No, I'm wearing a wig," you whispered very quietly in my ear. Silly me, of course. Of course they had to shave your hair for the biopsy. Of course it was a wig. Stupid me.
I looked into your face and saw your squint was worse. You jumped to sit on the floor by the steps and as you got up, you nearly tripped because you lost your balance.
Ataxia due to brainstem compression. We've been learning about brainstem abnormalities in the Neurology department for 3 weeks now. It causes one to lose one's balance and sense of coordination.
I asked you for a hug and kissed you as I always, always do. You have always been precious to me.
Did you know that that morning, all the children at Sunday School were praying for you? We gave out colourful cards and all of us wrote our prayers and well wishes for you on those cards. I asked the children if they knew you were sick, and each of them understood. Those I asked were 6 and 7 years old, from our class, and they said they knew.
They used the word Cancer, the word we are never allowed to say at the hospital. We must say mitotic lesion or neoplastic growth. Or carcinoma. But we never say the word cancer. It is taboo. It is as if saying the word places a curse on someone. Did you know, we get marked down for using the word Cancer during our examinations- the word must not exist. But children do not care for euphemisms, and each of them believed God would heal you.
God, will you?
Please don't make her suffer.
I'm scared, too.
After church I went for my flute lesson as usual and I played all the sad songs really well, and the happy ones badly. Some of my notes were shaky because my nose went sour and I was trying hard not to cry. I was angry with myself for feeling so sad, when it would be impossible for me to imagine what it must be like for your parents. I was angry for being scared, when I cannot imagine how it must be like for you. You are so brave.
I won't forget your smile, I won't forget the story you shared with me- it was the story of a girl named Lolly, who knew she could be secure in God's love, no matter what the world threw at her. It was a story you liked very much.
Aaron is another 7-year old in our class. I remember he often sits next you. 2 weeks ago, I heard him say you were his "GIRLFRIEND!" He was so proud of it! He was beaming. And you were giggling yourself silly because you were his "GIRLFRIEND!" Worried that he would be crushed by the news, I talked to him today to find out how he was coping. But he was smiling, and he said, "I am praying for her." And we both put fingers to our lips because it was our little secret that you are his "GIRLFRIEND!!"
"Don't tell anyone, okay?" He smiled cheekily at me. You, Aaron, are such a charmer, the slick and smooth kind, precisely the kind of boyfriend I would never want to have. But I just laughed. And wondered what you would do to me if you found out I wrote about your love story here on this space! But I am proud of you, Aaron, because you like her for who she is and not how she looks- I don't know many men my age who would see past a squint. And you like her still even though she is... sick. Is it true that boys treat girls better when they're still boys? I hope not.
For all our knowledge and wisdom, life can hit us in the face. That day, was a stark reminder of our fragility in this life, and the frustrating limitations of medicine.
It cannot be resected.
* Prayer request: Please, if you could spend a minute or two, pray for her.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Holding Your hand.
I liked that.
At Sunday school, the children I teach like to take my hand. Today, as we sang and danced, one of you darlings took my hand and held it throughout the session, lightly, gingerly and yet, so faithfully. When you got tired, you simply tossed my hand to your bosom so you could still hang on to it loosely.
You never let me go.
Today, my fracture site hurt. It hurt when I sit and when I stood. I think the pain has become more pronounced only because I have become more aware of it. I thought about the intensity of my personality, what J had spoken to me and warned me about- that it is both my greatest strength and weakness; I thought about how the fracture could possibly have happened; I thought about the ways I could've possibly grieved God with my own self-striving attitude.
All this while, He never let me go. Even as I ran away, time and again, because I wanted more control, because I thought I knew better, because I wanted to be sure I could hit the mark, He never let me go. He never chained my hands or gripped them cruelly. But up or down, swayed left or right, He always held my hand, lightly, gingerly, even when my grasp went limp.
Holding hands is a 2-person thing, isn't it. It is tiring to hold on to a hand which doesn't cooperate. It is hard to love someone who doesn't love you back. But even when I let go today, my little child never let my hand go. She just played with it, wanted a sense of being close to me.
My heart is not completely surrendered. There are days I still want to keep doing things, to keep my time occupied, when I know you have asked me to rest, to pray, to simply be. Even then you are patient. You could choose to dispose of me- surely you can afford it. But you are furiously in love with me, with us, how could you bear it?
A friend told me about the story of a shepherd, who loved his sheep so much that he had to break a leg of one of them because it kept straying. If he had not done so, it would have gone astray and got eaten by a wolf. Yet, it was the injured one which grew closest to the shepherd.
The doctor said, no races for 9 months. That's about the duration from now till my final exams- it's not a lot of time if you think about what I've missed out on because of my illness. I always prayed that you would tell me when to stop, when to let go; I often prayed you would help me cling loosely to all my possessions, especially my bike which I love; I prayed hard you would help me to be a competent, compassionate and professional doctor. I guess, with this fracture, you answered all my prayers, in the most perfect and painful way. In some way, you broke my leg, too. Call me crazy, but it makes me love you more.
Pain is sweet. This is a different sort of pain for a different season.
Thank you for reminding me, that in spite of it all, you are always there, ever so patient with our repeated failings. When will you tire of my rebellion.
So God, help me to be still. Help me to stop doing things, to stop running away.
I just want this moment to savour, just to hold your hand, too.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Fracture.
It's been 6 weeks. I want to talk about it.
People have been concerned. Are you okay? Have you been coping? Are you depressed?
Yes. Yes. No.
They were worried because they knew a large part of my life would be gone. They were concerned because they knew it was important to me.
Yesterday, at my followup appointment, the doctor took an X-ray for me. "From your persistent symptoms, I think you may have a stress fracture. You need an X-ray."
"I thought you said it wasn't necessary. Anyway, if it really is a hairline fracture like you said, we won't be able to pick it up on the X-ray."
"Yes. But if we can, it's probably serious then."
To my juniors doing Emergency Medicine and Orthopedics at the moment, please spot the pathology:
To be fair to you, this isn't a very good photo, but there is an obvious fracture on the left inferior ramus of the pelvis and a callus formed around it.
"No running at all for the next 3 months. No racing for the next 9 months.You can start biking on the roads, maybe in July."
"9 months? That's like, next year."
"Yes. It's always best to recover fully before starting out again."
I'd to trust him. He's Ben Tan after all, Singapore's most renowned sports doctor. He himself is a triathlete, an ASEAN gold-medallist and boasts a sub 3-hour marathon timing.
"How did it happen?"
"It's accummulative."
"But I wasn't even training a lot."
"Everybody's threshold is different. This fracture is common in female athletes."
Apparently, it wasn't only my gracilis muscle which was torn. All the other muscles around it including the adductor magnus and 2 hamstrings were torn, too. The adductor magnus tugged so hard at the pelvic bone that a part of it got fractured.
Some friends have been worried about how I am taking the news. Can you walk? Does it hurt when you walk? Are you okay?
Yes. Sometimes. Yes.
It's very strange how an incident which ought to have devastated me has been one I am most grateful for. God taught me much through this, and I am still learning much now.
Perhaps the greatest lesson I've learnt is not to strive by myself, but to trust more in God. I am amazed by how my injury parallels that of a man named Jacob in the bible. Jacob loved God a lot, but he often relied on himself to get God's work done. One day, an angel wrestled with him and injured his hip and sinew, as it was God's way of getting his attention, to humble and teach him. After that incident, Jacob was forever changed.
Isn't that just like what He did to me?
Like Jacob, who walked with a limp after an angel touched his hip and caused his sinew to shrink, I feel like I have gone through a spiritual experience as well.
This incident has changed me, and I'm thankful. It has taught me self-control. If I hadn't injured myself that day, I believe it would have happened later. It is just like me to want to be valedictorian in everything (a terrible trait, indeed)- if given the task of cleaning windows I think I would have cleaned them so I could be Valedictorian of the Window Cleaning Association. If I did not injure myself, I think my studies would have suffered- because I would try to be good at both, and fail. Dr. L did warn me.
In Mandarin, there's a saying- yi xn bu neng er yong.
It literally means, you can't use one heart for two things. Metaphorically. it means one must be wholehearted and devoted to only one thing at a time. If not, the heart becomes divided. This season, I want to dedicate myself to being a good doctor. I am in my final year, it is the final lap.
I do think about that fateful day often- it runs in my mind like a bad video. If I had been wholehearted about my work and gone back to the hospital that Sunday, this may not have happened. Nonetheless, there is a peace about this all. There is beauty in knowing that this may be God's way of chastening me. And His love for me grants me profound relief.
People have been worried for me, that I may blame, question or suspect God. But they have instead come up to me telling me how encouraged and downright surprised they are at my response. It's hard not be grateful, because deep down inside, I know God has a reason, and his plan is always good and best.
Because of my injury. I have learnt to rest. Because of it, I have learnt to be humble and patient. Because of it, I have had the chance to sort out my work and refresh myself in my studies. It has done me a whole lot of good.
But perhaps what I'm secretly most joyful about and relieved for, is knowing that God has used this for good.
You know, I always doubted myself when I was training. A Taste of Rainbow, a book birthed from my recovery from my illness, was getting published, and I often wondered if triathlon training was merely a facade I hid behind to mask the old fears and hang-ups I had about my weight, and self-esteem. How long could I keep up with it? Had I "recovered" only because I had found a new crutch to lean on? Was I eating well only because I was doing so much sports?
Training to that extent was becoming unrealistic, and I did not want to know that that was my new master. I did not want to be enslaved to a new regime that I would be emotionally and physically bound to. In Hiding from Love, John Townsend writes of how many of us use "legitimate" activities to fill the holes in our lives. Unlike alcohol or smoking which are obviously bad, many of us use work, sports, charitable acts etc to fill the empty spaces we have inside.
It's true. I find I can almost always swim, bike or run indefinitely when I'm having a bad day.
But being injured and at peace with my injury made me realise, how God has set me free. Seeing how uncannily similar my injury is to Jacob's, and how uncannily similar the lessons to be learnt are, I find myself at peace with this pain. Though I miss running, I am also refreshed by my new lifestyle. I am fine with training, and with not training; I can rejoice in plenty, and rejoice in want.
This for me, has been incredibly liberating. I can finally stop doubting myself. I have recovered from my illness. I can be sure of that when A Taste of Rainbow gets published. I am convinced.
Knowing that nobody will bug me to compete in any more races this year as I take on my final exams has also been a source of relief. For now, I am estatic to return to my book writing and publishing, my missionary book-reading, my studies, photography, Sunday-school teaching and poetry. Suddenly my mind has been freed up to pursue other things. Some days are harder than others, especially when I long for a long run, but I am mostly happy.
Training for triathlons was a season in my life. There were many precious life and spiritual lessons I learnt from racing, many lessons about Faith. That season has now ended. And I'm ready to let it go, revisit it when and if God permits. I want to move on. Exciting things await.
I remember Pastor's last words to me a week before my race, a day before my injury, "Wai Jia, just finish the race." There was a twinkle in his eye, of genuine love.
I still think about what he said. Finish the race.
I now see, it is a different sort of race. I learnt, that nothing can bring us down when we count it all joy when we fall into various trials, because overcoming our setbacks produces patience, endurance and character, which are needed for us to complete the real race in life, the spiritual marathon of faith, that we have been called to finish. There will be times of grief to overcome, but God's grace will be enough.
To all my friends, who've poured out your concern, love and support on me, I appreciate it very much. You've made this journey bearable and memorable in every way.
The fracture will take a long while to heal, but it will.
" In this you greatly rejoice,
though now for a little while... you have been grieved by various trials...
- 1Peter 1:6
"And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations,
knowing that tribulation produces perseverence;
and perseverence, character,
and character, hope."
- Romans 5:3-4
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Vision for God.
Out of all the specialties that I've been exposed to, I remember finding Paediatrics the toughest. I hated seeing sick children. I remember being depressed every day during that period. So when she, my Professor With A Legacy, told me straight in my face that I wasn't keeping up, it was like a slap in the face. I remember her asking me to examine a patient's heart. And I stood there, my mind as blank as a sheet as I took in the gravity of reality- that the patient was a little boy with Down's syndrome and multiple abnormalities, abandoned by his family after he had undergone several surgeries. She asked me questions in front of my peers, and I stood there, tongue-tied, overwhelmed by my own grief and shock.
I knew from that day, that as much as I love children, I could never do Paediatrics. I had expected to do very badly for my exam, but I didn't. She gave me extra one-on-one lessons. She wanted to get to know me as a person.
Yesterday, months after my Paediatric examinations, and many weeks after she sent me home in her car one day after we'd bumped into each other outside, she text messaged me to meet her. "I've something for you."
Two books, and a letter.
Vision for God, a beautiful book of the story of Margaret Brand, a medical missionary who trained in London and then served in India with her husband, the famous Dr. Paul Brand whom Philip Yancey wrote books about. She became a world expert on leprosy's effect on the eye. She was Chief of Ophthalmology. "I've this brilliant book I absolutely must give to you, Wai Jia," I remember her telling me that day as she drove me home.
Another book called Granny Brand, the real life story of a woman who, together with her husband Jesse Brand, served the people of India through nursing, teaching and preaching to the diseased and poverty-stricken hill people. Her husband died of blackwater fever and she continued to carry his dream to fulfillment.
Her gifts really touched me, because she remembered my dream to do missions, my fears of Ophthalmology and its temptations to detract me from my goal, and my love of reading. That day when she sent me home, she gave me another book in her car- The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom.
This time, she wrote:
" How are you doing in your schoolwork? You are probably a fairly good student judging from your grades, at least the grades you got for Paediatrics. Don't get too discouraged if you don't do that well here and there- that happens to most of us! Medical school is only a step on the way to being a competent and compassionate doctor.
Whoever told you that ophthalmologists are not helpful on the mission field is mistaken... ..."
She remembered what I had shared with her.
"... One of your concerns was being sucked into the world of wanting more money/position/power. That threat is very real. Part of the problem is the length of training required to practise as a specialist. About 6-7 yeats in Singapore. When you're in the system for so long, it is quite hard to get out. Well, there are a few things you can do. First, keep close to God. He is your best compass."
Her letter was such a surprise. Such an unexpected blessing.
I met her just after I had participated in a meeting with my Vice-Dean about improving our medical curriculum- I've been roped in to help improve the system. Improving the curriculum for my juniors is something which weighs on my heart. Her love reminded me, that I too, ought to aspire to be the kind of doctor who gives back to my juniors, and students, to help them continually aspire to become doctors of inspiration and hope.
She wrote many things... "Practically, you can make frequent trips to missions fields... "
But the one which touched me the most was-
"... I'll pray for you, stay close to God!"
I still remember that day I felt so terrorized when she sized me up and asked me why I wasn't performing, why I wasn't up to par.
I got a really tough case for my exam, Prof. My patient was a blue baby and I'd to disgnose his heart defect.
I passed it well because of you.
Thank you for reminding me what it means to be a doctor- not only a physician, but a teacher, mentor and friend.
It is doctors like you who help me remember to keep my vision for God burning, and ever so real.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Heels of Steel.
Maybe it's a sign, that it's about time I dealt with it.
I met a friend for tea today. He shared with me that the girl in his life was shutting him out because she was afraid of being in a relationship. Past issues were haunting her, and she felt unable to trust and receive love again.
" I don't understand it. And it's frustrating for me," he said. But I understood why she reacted that way.
Because I thought to myself, I would do the same too.
Run away, shut down, and hide from love. And that realisation scared me.
I was browsing in the church bookshop today when I chanced upon a book called "Hiding from Love" by Dr. John Townsend. It was about learning to change our withdrawal patterns within us, which can be both isolating and destructive to our growth and relationships. It didn't take me 2 minutes to decide I needed to read it.
And so, when he shared with me just a couple of hours later that this girl was "running away and shutting him out" because she was afraid, it wasn't hard for me to see that perhaps God had something about that to say to me, too.
I could perfectly understand her reaction, why she was scared, why she wanted out. She was hiding from love, and running away because she was afraid of being loved.
"It's so unfair to me, and frustrating too."
Till today, I am still trying to figure out what it is that I am petrified of.
Perhaps, it is the fear of knowing I might disappoint somebody or myself: I have bouts of moodiness, I sometimes think too much, and need a lot of personal space. I am not as independent as I show myself to be. And yet, fiercely so at times.
Two weeks ago at a train station, I spun around from a stooping position, only to find R, an old friend from primary school watching me, with arms folded. He had been standing there for a long time, observing me. R used to sit next to me in class in primary school. He used to bully me when I was ten, ha.
"What a surprise! Hi R, how're you doing?" I said, straightening my back from bending down.
" I recognised you from afar."
"Haha, oh dear. That can't be good. You mean I look the same since primary school?" I joked.
"No, cos of the way you were talking. You stopped to talk to the man in that wheelchair selling tissue."
"You mean Peter? Haha, I met him at another train station before heh."
" Yup, no one else would do that. That's how I recognised you from afar."
From afar.
Sometimes I think people see me from afar and see only the good bits. Medical student, triathlete, author, missionary-wannabe, overcomer- it's like she has it all together.
But what they don't know is how much I struggle with medical school. I wish I could tell you I love every bit of medicine, that it's my sole consuming passion- but it isn't. I like medicine, but to me, it's just a tool to reach people, the hurting and the poor. I don't enjoy putting intravenous lines and plugs into people, I don't enjoy seeing people cry, groan and die every day, I don't enjoy working 36-hour shifts. I don't. Sometimes, in the face of mercenary inustice and fatigue, I hate this job. Sometimes, I wish I were teaching children instead. But I do it because I believe there is a greater purpose in it, that God has a plan, and I am convinced of it.
What they don't know is that this triathlete isn't a real triathlete at all. I've only done one mini race and I'm an accident-prone amateur. What they don't know is that I tend to take things to the extreme, that I'm still struggling to find a balance between work and play, and learning what it means to be comfortable with my body. I am still finding that equiibrium. What they don't know is that triathlon is a seemingly healthy way for me to deal with life, and its absence has forced me to deal with the holes it used to help fill.
What they don't know is that behind every book are tears, buckets of tears because of my own wilfulness and sinfulness. Tears of my own, and of those who love me, those who had to see me suffer. Behind every book is a lot of unspoken suffering. It is not at all glamorous.
I remember I went home sobered that day. R had thought the world of me. He thought I was very kind and generous to Peter. He mentioned he thought I was a saint. What he didn't know was that on my feet were brandnew heels, heels that I liked very much and so bought the day before. Nothing wrong with buying heels except that they cost about sixty-dollars and I already have enough shoes. I bought them because I liked those polka-dotted, vintage-looking wedges very much. At best, I am inconsistent, I thought to myself. Remember, I left that elderly lady at the traffic light junction.
I could perfectly understand why she wanted to run away and hide. I have done it before. It is because of fear. I can see myself doing it again, and hurting people who love me. It is a silly, childish thing to do.
And perhaps, it's time to grow up. Not just to grow up, but to stop hiding.
Later we talked about relationships and marriage. "Relationships are important to me. But I've told God before, that if need be, I'm willing to go through life being single in the mission field if that's what's required of me..."
"That sounds very good. But is it also an excuse to run away (from marriage/intimate relationships)?"
Silence.
"Yes," I said. "It could be." My fingers searched for my cup.
At church today, my pastor made a specific appeal to everyone, for a couple, any couple to come forward to volunteer to be missionaries to Africa. They needed a married couple willing to stay there for about 5 years, who had skills in administrative work and with prior experience of leading a bible study group. The couple had to be committed, had to have had some form of leadership training in a bible school and no outstanding debts. I remember having goosebumps. Tears welled up in my eyes because I thought to myself, that was the answer to my prayer. For the longest time, I had prayed that my church would make appeals like this so that one day I could be sent out, too. Today was the first time an appeal like this was made, and I was glad. But Pastor emphasized he needed a married couple, and that troubled me, made me sit up and question God, and myself.
I suppose, we all have things to deal with. And it's about time I dealt with mine. John Townsend writes, that as children, our hiding patterns may have protected us in a threatening environment. But what served as protection for a child can become a prison to an adult, isolating us from the very things we need to heal and mature.
Do you have a hiding pattern, too?
There's a story in the bible about Adam and Eve. After eating the forbidden fruit out of rebellion, they hid from God. Hiding, besides disobedience, was one of the earliest sins committed. It is an ancient, ancient sin. If only they had come clean.
I can see how certain incidents from the past have left an indelible impression on me, how they has left me deeply cynical about relationships, how my defense system goes up and shuts my system down when my fences are breached. But I am also learning, that I am a grown-up now, and I have the choice to free myself of these debilitating and false beliefs. Time is needed to delve deep inside to ask the tough questions.
Are there things you are afraid of too? Things which prevent you from forming meaningful and intimate relationships?
I have been thankful for my injury. I have stopped asking God for healing, because I truly believe this is a season for rest and reflection and to sort the deep things in the hardened bits of my heart out. I truly believe, that once God has taught me all He needs me to learn this season, my leg will naturally be healed completely. But for now, it is good for me to be still.
And so I suppose, it is a good season for me to stop, to rest and reflect, and to finally be brave enough to come out from hiding to see the truth, to be honest with myself and to see my feet for what they really are- feet of clay clad in heels of steel. Because only then, can restoration begin and can I, can we truly, be set free.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
A Lesson in Everything.
Every morning at the hospital, my clinical group meets up with Dr. L no later than 7.15am for a tutorial. He teaches us about strokes, fits, headaches, dementia and the like, while weaving in stories of life, and imparting wholesome core values to us. Being an intense man, he does not tolerate mediocrity. A couple of days ago, I had arrived 3 minutes late for his morning tutorial and made a point the next day to reach the hospital on time, if not early.
He doesn't tolerate mediocrity. He expects everyone to give their best. "I treat you as who I think you will become- a giant. Not what you are now. If I don't believe in my students, who will?"
That morning, I scrambled. I brushed my teeth while preparing breakfast and wore my ear-rings on the way out. If the journey went smoothly, I would be a few minutes early. I heaved a sigh of relief.
Then, an elderly lady plopped herself next to me on the train carriage. She asked me in mandarin whether I knew the shuttle service at the train station had started its ferrying service to the hospital at 7am in the morning. I was reading my neurology handbook and was slightly irritated by the interruption.
“Shuttle service? What shuttle service? You don’t need a shuttle bus to go to this hospital.”
“Yes, I do, I think I do…”
“No no, auntie, I will walk you there. It is very near. Its right at our doorstep.”
As we walked out of the train, I found myself worried that I would be late. The decision to walk with her would definitely slow me down. Have patience, Wai Jia, I told myself. God'll send you there on time, don't worry.
Trying to be polite, I asked, “Auntie, how do I address you?”
“I live in Hougang.” She said.
“No, no, I asked what your name is.”
“Oh ya, I’m going to the hospital.”
I then realized she was almost deaf. Two huge growths grew from each of her ears like cauliflowers. Almost late, I was exasperated by now, and desperate to call my friend to ask him to tell Dr. L I would be late. He didn’t pick the phone up.
As we walked out of the underground tunnel, I was becoming more anxious. I’m going to be late, again. I was irritated, but walked her up. Amazed at my impatience, I pondered about how the busyness of medical school has changed me, and the irony of it all- how we study so hard for the sake of our patients, only to end up being irritated when they need directions to the hospital to see us in the first place. My neurology handbook was still clasped tightly in my hand.
“Here, see. It’s so near. We’re here already.” I wanted to bid her goodbye.
“No, no. It’s not this building. I have to take the shuttle bus.”
My heart sank like a dead bird within me. Not this building? Shuttle bus?
I stopped another doctor rushing to work, who thankfully stopped to help, and gave us directions. It was then that I realized, that there was another wing to this hospital I had not known of, and yes, there indeed was a shuttle bus, but on the other side of a shopping mall across the road.
“Auntie, you’ve to go through this mall to reach the bus, okay?”
“Through the mall? Oh, I’ve never been to that mall!”
“It's easy, just cross this road at this traffic light, walk across the mall and you’ll be there, okay?”
“I’ve never been to that mall.”
“Its just right here, across the road. See?”
I wanted to walk with her. But I was already late, and I could not get through to any of my friends on the phone. “Auntie, I’ve to go. Cross the road, and cut through the mall, okay?”
I left. And then, never felt so selfish and wretched in a long time.
I arrived on time, plopped myself on the chair and shared my little encounter with the elderly lady this morning with my friends and sighed. I felt terrible. I couldn’t believe I left her at the traffic light just so I could be on time. Yet, a part of me was relieved, and ashamed of being so, because I knew that following her through to her destination would take me the whole half hour. By then, the tutorial would've been almost over. I then thought: If that person were God, I think I would have accompanied her.
I arrived just a minute before Dr. L. The tutorial was about dementia.
Dr. L said, “When you interview your patient, ask them if they ever got lost outside, and if they had to have a Good Samaritan bring them home before.” He shared that even in the midst of our studying, we must remember, “that the most important thing, is to be kind at all times.”
That was a stab in my heart.
Just after the tutorial ended, my friend S came up to me, and said, “See Wai Jia. You were that Good Samaritan this morning! So don’t feel bad.”
I was horrifed. “What good Samaritan?! I left that old lady at the traffic light!! I wonder if she found her bus... it might have been too early for the bus service to start, no? Dr. L talked about being kind… I don’t know what got into me this morning… ”
I wondered where my compassion went.
S was more practical. " You can't make everyone happy, Wai Jia. As a doctor or doctor-to-be, you have to understand that you need to take care of yourself too."
I wish I had the perfect answer to everything. But the fact is, I don’t.
I wondered if it was coincidence that the prayer story for that night read:
" When we find ourselves in circumstances that are beyond our control, frustrated from our lack of effectiveness, we can know with certainty that we are to realise our weakness and rely on His strength. God often places us in situations in which we are over our heads- even letting us fail miserably, sometimes- in order to teach us this. He must break us of self-reliance." - Chris Tiegreen
Perhaps, the greatest lesson I learnt was this: that in time to come, we will face more situations where we will be torn between our sense of duty and our limitations. It is then where we need to stop, not necessarily to beat ourselves up, but to realise that we are limited, that God is, on the other hand, infinite. And then humble ourselves to realise that no matter how wretched a decision we made, there is still something to learn from every experience.
I suppose, there isn't a model answer regarding what should've been done, and how far I should've gone.
But I've learnt, at least, that it doesn't hurt to leave home earlier for work, so we leave room for a little kindness alone the way.
- Elaine Richardson
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Nystagmus.
It is called Nystagmus. Congenital nystagmus refers to these involuntary jerking eye movements present from birth, often due to blindness.
Adil (*named changed to protect identity) was a patient I saw at my professor’s neurology clinic today. She had come in because of seizures, which had become more frequent because of her poor diabetic control. Though she laughed and joked with my professor, I could tell that her highly strung voice and pressured speech were filled with curiosity and a certain desperation. “Doctor doctor,” she said, “I want to ask you ah. My friend said… about my diabetes... Is it true?”
“And also ah, I want to ask you this, and this also…”
The consult was over, but she would not move. Her eyes jumped back and forth, as if desperately hunting for answers. My professor answered her every query patiently. I watched her pressing in for the answers to her endless questions, as if they were a way to fill the gap which her blindness had dug. She sat at the edge of her seat, relentlessly asking questions with her shrill, childish voice. I thought she was seventeen. I later learnt she was more than thirty.
There were many patients waiting outside, and my professor was keen to politely end the session. But as soon as she got up from her chair, she reached out her hand for mine and said, “Thank you. You're my doctor's student, right?”
The black beads in her eyes bounced back and forth like bullets.
I could not resist but ask, “Were you blind from birth, dear? How did it happen?”
“Oh,” she said, “I was born blind.”
Her elderly mother who had accompanied her answered, “She was a preterm baby, born at 7 months. The doctors said she became blind because of oxygen toxicity. It was either her brain or her eyes- they needed to get the high levels of oxygen to her brain to save her at the expense of her eyes.”
Adil interrupted her mother, explaining, “You know… I told myself, my brain is more important than my eyes, so even now, I still continue to be strong. I read Braille, I go out with friends, I help my mother with the housework…” All this time, her head hung low and her eyes continued to dart aimlessly, as if groping, searching for something.
She continued, “Do you know how I ended up in this hospital? My friend told me the eye doctors here are really good. Many years ago when I heard that, I thought there may be a chance I could see! To see!! Wow, I thought to myself, finally I could see… my mother’s face, flowers, the sky, colours… the colour RED! Wow. But then the doctor told me they could not help me, that’s when I broke down and cried… but now... now I think my brain is more important than my eyes.”
I held her hand. “Thank you for sharing.”
Later on, I asked a friend, “Why is that people born blind have such glaring nystagmus?”
“Oh, it’s because they can’t fixate their eyes, dear.”
People who are blind from birth have congenital nystagmus because their eyes are unable to see, and hence unable to fixate. Their eyes dart about aimlessly, because they cannot focus.
The blind can’t fixate their eyes.
Am I blind, too?
Of late, my eyes have been so unfocused. With the new medical programme and demands to decide on our area of specialty SOON, NOW, RIGHT NOW, my eyes have been roving, scanning the horizons for a glimpse of a glorious meadow. To and fro, back and forth they scan, but find nothing. God, what do you want me to do? Why is it nothing seems to fit? I wish I could tell you I knew what to do, that I found something I loved and knew I could do for the rest of my life. But it is not so. What I love I do not think I could do forever, and what I think I could do forever I do not love with that giddy exuberance. It is like forcing me to marry now. It’s not fair, and I’m not ready to make a decision of such gravity. My eyes are tired from searching, and I want to fall asleep. My lids are heavy. The System is making me decide, and I am afraid. Is it Ophthalmology, is it General Surgery, is it Obstetrics or is it Internal Medicine? Is it none of the above, is it Public Heath?
In general, nystagmus improves when the patient tries to fixate or look directly at an object, worsens when the patient is sick or fatigued and may even stop in certain directions of gaze, or when looking at objects closely, with convergence.
I wondered, would my own emotional and spiritual nystagmus improve when I started to fix my eyes on God, too? Would they finally be aligned and would my vision be clear once I stopped roving and started to look in the right direction, started to fixate upwards?
So perhaps, it is not that I have been myopic that I have failed to see. But maybe, simply impatient and looking in the wrong directions. My eyes are scanning the horizon anxiously, without the ability to fixate.
And so I pray, that my eyes may be drawn back to the One who really matters. Because it is only when I look up and fixate my eyes on what’s truly important that perhaps, my sight and 6/6 vision will be restored again.
Photo by Xi.
"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus,
the author and perfecter of our faith,
who for the joy set before him endured the cross,
scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men,
so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
- Hebrews 12:2
Just so I remember.
Hey Waijia,
I'm not sure if you remember me. I came to support group with X about a year-ish ago and at that point, I think you had just recovered... I remember the initial impact you had on me- that you were a genuinely caring person that I could trust and would want to be in contact with. And I remember texting you and talking to you.
At that point, I was still really sick and really far and distant from God. You invited me to church countless times, asked me out, constantly reassured me that everything would be okay. I knew you cared, and you seemed to understand, but at that point, God to me, was just there. He wasn't real. He was just some figure that I guess had somewhat of a role to play in everything. But I had no real relationship with him, he was more of an authority figure with a fullstop. Not a friend, not a father and it just scared me to think of him to be anything more than that- I didn't want to commit or deal with more hurt than I had at that point, that I continue to have. I can't remember when we exactly stopped talking but I just want you to know Ive been reading your blog, and sometimes I even see you around the hospital...Yeah, sad to say (I guess..), I'm still looking and trying to recover.
But recently, I'd say, its been different, I've DEVELOPED and grown so much in God and with God and I think I'm really starting to learn that he plays a role in my recovery. That I need to recover for him and can only do so through him.
Theres so much I want to say through this email but mainly, I guess thanks :) Thanks for being there at that point, thanks for writing and I just want you to know how much of an inspiration you are to me (and I'm sure many others). Reading your blog gives so much hope and its just incredible :)
Cheers and God bless!
XX
P.S: I just have a pretty random question, was it more a process for you? Or was it just a "great awakening" one day? In terms of realizing that you had to fully give it up and surrender it to God?
Thank you for making a difference to my life, too dear. And for letting me know my experience was not for naught. In the same way, your experience will also help someone else along the way someday.
To answer your question, Recovery is all about Process. Walk your journey with God.
Love.
Near midnight, I received a text message from a face I hardly talked to:
Hi Wai Jia, I was reading your blog and am greatly encouraged by your writing. Thank you for sharing so richly :)
Thank you for your precious words. They mean much to me. I just want to remember these 2 letters which came in yesterday so I can read it again when someone hits me in the face in malice about my writing, which does occur from time to time. Philip Yancey says it takes 17 postive letters to erase 1 hate mail he receives, ha.
Thank you.
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Writer's paradox.
A friend once asked me before, "I mean, you've written it on a public space, so why can't you talk about it?"
It's funny. I could never explain how I could be so open about my thoughts and life on this space, in letters and in writing, and yet feel so intensely guarded about them on a face-to-face basis. I find it awkward when what I write becomes part of conversation. It takes me time to transit between being open with what I write and candid talk. I don't particularly fancy talking about my writing. It makes me self-conscious.
I could never explain why until I met the man. This fine man, whom I had imagined to be a wrinkly, crinkled quiet old man but who instead, was a greying man with an exuberant personality and hair which looked like it had been shocked by all his electrical thought waves, the kind Einstein had.
Suddenly, as the words left his mouth, I understood. I understood that part of me which was lost in translation and had now found its way home to a piece of my heart and being which I thought had been lost forever.
Philip Yancey is the amazing author with multiple award-winning international best-sellers which have sold more than 15 million copies around the world. He is responsible for famous works such as Where is God when it hurts?, Disappointment with God, and Fearfully and Wonderfully made. Last week, I met the man and spoke with him. He came to Singapore from Colorado, USA to give a writers' workshop for authors and writers-to-be. I was fortunate enough to attend it because my professor let me take the morning off.
It was amazing.
If you read his writing, you will find he does not talk about how he has succeeded time and again to reach God. Instead, he writes of his many failures and ruined attempts, and of God's success in reaching him in those times. He is exceptionally candid.
During the question and answer session, I asked him a question. Because A Taste of Rainbow is now with my publisher and in progress, because it is a book birthed from an intensely personal journey, and because its effectiveness to reach the hurting will also depend on how comfortable I am in being open about my experience, I wanted to know how Philip coped with his audience's response. How much do you decide to share, especially when this encroaches on your private life and when your work evokes a response in the audience which you eventually have to deal with?
He replied, " I have 2 worlds. Writing is my private world, and then meeting people is another world altogether. When I write, the 2 worlds are completely separate. They do not mix. This gives me the freedom to share, to express myself, in a completely genuine way. Because I believe writing should be authentic. In that private world, I do not care what others think. I write for myself, because I am able to work out my faith using words. I write for myself, and to my astonishment, my writing encourages others too. So, to answer your question, just let it all out, authentically, in that private world of yours, and don't let anything stop you. Because only then, do you honour both the craft and God."
Suddenly, in those words, I discovered and understood a part of myself I never did, and could never articulate. It is true. I write for myself, and I keep writing here because the emails I receive from strangers from time to time astonish me, that what I write brings occasional encouragement to someone else. But to be honest, I write because I am simply, looking for God. That is all. And the only way to do it, is to be honest, authentic and plainly, genuine. Speech, and everything else, are merely interfaces I am less comfortable with, interfaces which I can never be completely true to, because I find image, and speech and this mindlesssenselessboggling talk all very cumbersome. I am a hindrance to what I am trying to say. But words on a page, ah, have such passive and quiet power. They sit there, and it is okay if you do not read them. They only engage you if you accept the invitation to be engaged. Words in speech, have the potential to be too in-your-face. Body language and tone and image are troublesome things.
I write from my heart, because it is the only way I know. I don't fancy talking face-to-face about my writing, because it is my private world, even though it is on a public platform. It is the paradox of what Philip talked about, being as candid as possible to be true to God and the craft and your audience, and being careful not to let the 2 mix because it makes one self-conscious, distracted and therefore untrue to the craft and God. His words helped me understand my own humanity and vulnerability, in realising that one is still human, still shy, sheepish and embarrassed about talking through certain things.
So thank you, Philip, for helping me understand this part of my humanity which I felt like a fool for not being able to reconcile. It is simply, the paradox of writing. The writer's paradox.
Because of you, I now understand that part of me which was lost in translation and has now found its way home to a piece of my heart and being which I thought had been lost forever.
Philip Yancey! Love his crazy hair.
Whatever makes you happy.
Silence.
"What if, I end up doing something out of your expectation? I mean, I know you always thought I would do surgery, but what if... I didn't? What if I ended up in a specialty that's unglamorous in the public eye, or to you? What if I don't specialise? Then what. "
Silence. Uncomfortable shifting.
"It doesn't matter, Jia. Do whatever makes you most happy. If that's doing medical missions then go ahead. Because that's all that counts. Don't do what makes us happy. You've grown up. We'll be happy with whatever makes you happy."
And when those words left your mouth, I just wanted to cry.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Welcome Home.
"You say, what?... How did this happen? ... Is he okay? Can he walk? What do you mean he needs surgery?"
At once, I wanted to be by his side, and tell him everything was going to be okay. I wanted to give him a big hug and tell him I was sorry I always acted so cool and nonchalant every time he expressed his love in such an unabashed manner towards me.
Roger had to be sent to the hospital to get stitches because a heck of a big monster dog attacked him, bit him and wouldn't let go.
Roger is my dog. Even though I don't usually talk about him, and even though I know I would've gotten a cat if it weren't for my family's hatred of feline creatures, I love him to bits.
The groomers had picked him up for his usual weekly grooming session. According to them, the dogs are usually left free to roam around the shop because each dog usually finds his own space and has enough sense to mind his own business or back off, especially if they sense a threat like a really big monster dog. Roger, being his usual friendly, curious self, says hello to everyone. The groomers said he went to say hello to the monster dog which was twice as tall and long as him, the monster dog got scared/offended/hysterical and so attacked. One surgery later, Roger was walking again, albeit with a limp.
This is the monster dog which bit Roger. If I see it ever again, I will... EAT IT.
The thing that never fails to amaze me, however, is Roger's resilience. He's not perfect- far from it. My elder sister, when she still stayed with us, used to call him "dumb dog" affectionately. When he was little, he used to barge around the house a lot in bursts of hyperactivity, crashing into furniture and toppling things over. Once, he ran so hard into a glass door he had to shake his head comically to regain his composure. We all agree he's too curious for his own good, sniffing everything and anything, even dogs too big to make friends with.
But one thing I know, is that every time he gets into trouble, he bounces back up really quickly. Nothing gets him down for long. And even after a really hard smack and lecture from me after doing something wrong, he never fails to snuggle right back up to me to ask for forgiveness. I often give him the cold shoulder because one must be careful not to reward hyperactivity (which he is 98% of the time). I have to be very careful about when to be warm towards him so I don't reinforce negative behaviour. Our helper bathes and walks you, my father pays for everything you need, and I... just keep you company, or vice versa rather. But when all of us call for you at the same time, you come to my side immediately. When we let you roam about the house, you always enter my room first, even if half the world is calling for your attention.
Once, I remember a friend drove over to my place specially to give me a bike decal sticker of my name to stick onto my bike. He was being nice, and you knew it. And you knew that my bike meant something to me. So when he walked into our living room, said hi to me and touched my bike, you bit him right there in the balls. I have never seen you so fiercely protective, except for that one time you bit the man with a LOUD BOOMING VOICE who came to fix our air-conditioning. But that's okay, I think people ought not to speak in loud booming voices too. I should warn my future boyfriend about you, that he must pretend not to like me at all in your presence and not to speak in a LOUD BOOMING VOICE, because I keep forgetting, because of how small you are, that you're a pure-bred guard dog.
So I'm just really glad you're coming home today, finally. Because I really miss you. And I promise I won't threaten to get a cat anymore every time you're being naughty, because for all that's happened, you're still a really good dog.
Welcome home, Roger.
Photo of Roger taken by Gloria W on my birthday
Friday, May 7, 2010
The Female Doctor.
"The worst woman to marry is the female doctor."
A few weeks ago I attended a talk on balancing family and medical life as a doctor, held by two female senior doctors who had their fair share of challenges throughout their lives and who loved God, their families and jobs passionately. The talk was encouraging, enlightening, but a tad disturbing, too.
"The worst woman to marry is the female doctor," said one of them. It stuck in my mind like bubblegum on a train seat.
While it is of course a generalisation and a sweeping statement, I could understand where the speaker was coming from. Sure, there're many wonderful female doctors out there who're good mothers and daughters and wives and humanitarians all rolled into one. But it was quite clear to me, that I understood what she meant, and where she was coming from.
Because it's no fairytale to be attached to a doctor. Maybe it's still moderately acceptable to be attached to a male doctor if you're a very understanding wife, but to be attached to a female doctor... who falls into a particular kind of category... especially when one is not from the medical fraternity... can be... quite sobering, actually.
We're in the hospital before dawn and depending on which specialty we're in, we leave by dusk, if not, later. For the first many years of our working lives, we've to do 36-hour shifts once or gasp, twice, thrice a week. We are in the wards, running about, sometimes up and down stairs because a patient needs to be seen NOW. LIKE NOW, DOCTOR, COME NOW!!! We are assertive because a doctor very often has to be the leader and give clear instructions to the team, or at least, be trained to be decisive and upfront, because if not, SOMEONE MIGHT DIE. By the time we get home, we are tired and need to study for the next day's work and next exam. (There are always exams, even while working. We are constantly being assessed by The System. ) We have a 5-year bond to fulfill after graduation. We might need to go abroad to further our studies for a year or so, even while pregnant or married. We are competitive, strong-willed, financially stable, and fiercely independent. We don't need you to buy us pretty things because we can get our own Kate Spade if you don't. (Of course it's nice if someone does, but you get my point.)
Scary, aren't we. Or so she portrayed anyway.
She told us her wake-up call came one day when her husband who isn't in the medical profession told her he was tired of her running the family as if she were running a hospital ward or the emergency department. He gave her feedback that he wasn't her nurse. Ouch. It was then when she had to take a stop-check and fall on her knees to ask God for strength, wisdom and a spirit of gentleness at home.
The talk, among other things, sobered me.
My injury showed me how busy I already am even without training. On a typical day, I train in the morning, get to the hospital by dawn, work till evening, attend talks/conferences/bible study/church at night, study when I can, journal, and then fall asleep. Weekends are fun, I train more, and do my little artsy-fartsy projects to keep my head sane. I made a commitment to myself and God that I wouldn't see anyone until I graduated, because this season is important for me to focus on personal growth and getting to know God more. I've only just tasted the goodness of life after recovery, and tasted what life with God should be like. Pastor S confirmed it, and said when the right person did come along at the right time, things would be sealed quite quickly and divinely. I think I believe her.
But it's also true, how some part of me is terrified, too. I like spontaneity, change and freedom-those clingystickybubblegumchewygooey couples reeaaally get under my skin. I am allergic to them by sight. And I am afraid because I have seen so many unions fall apart. I have seen and heard dramas unfold, in the most tragic, graphic and treacherous of ways. While seeing more heartwarmingly lasting marriages at church and the mission field has helped strengthen my faith in this area, there is still fear, resistance and a great deal of skepticism. The female doctor complex is not helpful.
One of my professors shared with me over lunch that his girlfriend (now his wife) broke up with him during his housemanship year (the year where one never sees daylight and does 36-hour shifts once, twice or thrice a week) because she couldn't understand why he had to work so much. He fell apart in the operating theatre one day and cried his eyes out. (Don't worry, he wasn't operating.) That was when he knew he couldn't live without her. Many years and hurdles later through the medical minefield, they are happily married and having their first child.
I could see why things happened that way. I mean, this job is... in some way, insane. It baffles me to know how anyone could tolerate this crazy life led by their spouses.
I used to think it was terrible for medical professionals to get together because each was so busy- I still think so now. But I now also see how it can be terribly difficult for someone from a different profession to understand the terrible demands, emotionally and otherwise, of this very unique and demanding profession which forces one to grow up too soon, too fast. One can never get used to seeing death and illness and injustice on a daily basis. All in a day's work.
Sometimes I come home from a crazy day-one death, one emergency, one really cool operation, then another terrible heartwrenching story, and wish to share the day's happenings with my family. But no matter how much they love me, they'd have none of it. It's just too gross/depressing/downright weird for dinner conversation. Think: hey MOM! I just performed my first rectal/vaginal/eye examination today! They try to be encouraging, but end up fidgeting with their food and saying, "Oh...er, okay. Good for you?"
I don't blame them.
At the question-and-answer session, I asked the speakers how they coped with being married to non-doctors. Thankfully, both were married to people from other professions. " We have our rough times. But understanding each other is very important. And if he's a good man and really loves you, he would want to understand and support you in every way possible as well."
Really.
I remembered a female doctor who invited me to her home once for lunch, just so I could see her family. She's a well-known doctor. Her husband is a technical college teacher. They both share home duties. They have 2 sons. You could tell their love was thick. They laughed about the times she had to take major exams to be a registrar from a medical officer, then a consultant from a registrar, while working and when life was utterly miserable. "He really took good care of me." They both laughed. Life was tough, but good.
Yesterday, I heard of this high-flying, middle-aged female doctor who only got married 2 years ago. She told all her trainee doctors not to date or get married until they had become consultants because they should know they had sold their souls to The System.
Haa.
I always told God that He'd have to give me a really big, obvious and consistent sign should He find the right person for me. Because in spite of my idealism, what I've seen and heard has turned me into President of The Skeptic Society with regards to relationships and marriage. I suppose, nothing short of the drama of lightning and thunder might move me. Just 2 weeks ago as I prayed, the image of a flower bud consistently showed up in my mind. It was like God's way of assuring me that it's not time. And if anyone or I should pry that bud open, then it shall never bloom. One day it might, but when, nobody knows.
It was a few days later when I came acoss this quote, " Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." - Anais Nin
Life's greatest risk. That's what it is. Indeed, God'll have to move me to take this heck of a giant risk, if I ever do.
Backpacking alone to Nepal and China and India is, I find, far less risky than this Decision. And although I do carry admiration for many of my peers who've gotten together, I can never understand how they could get together and commit to each other so early in their lives.
Of course there are days I wish I had someone to take me out. But those times have become fewer and fewer. A few weeks ago, my cycling friends and I went to the jazzy Ben and Jerry's icecream bar at Dempsey Hill, a popular place for chilling out at night with friends and loved ones. To my horror (and most definitely theirs), I realised that was my first time ever to the place-I have never been much of a night person. I don't drink a drop, don't like being around alcohol and would rather wake up at an unearthly hour to bike than to sleep at an unearthly hour. It was then that I wished I had had some company to drive me around, take me to nice places, you know? Yup, here I am backpacking by myself to rural ends of the earth, and then complaining I've not been to Dempsey Hill because no one is taking me. Riiight.
The future holds a great deal of uncertainty. I no longer know what specialty I'd like to pursue. Obstetrics and Ophthalmology look far away in the horizon for many reasons. All this, plus everything else, makes this female doctor feel very terrible and terrifying indeed.
So I suppose, it is a good thing, that I am a bud now, because God knows I need so much time to sort these things out, to let His plans unfold in my life. I'm just a big kid trying to grow up in time.
The future holds so much uncertainty. Nonetheless, the only thing that comforts me is knowing that like the flower, everything happens in due season, even if it takes a long time.
Wow Stardoll!!!
Now all I need them to do is release a Prince doll and a Beyonce doll and I would be satisfied!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Sharpened pencils.
All eyes were glued on the teacher during Sunday school yesterday.
"A PENCIL!!"
"Is a pencil useful?"
"YEEEESSS!!!!"
"Is the eraser bit useful?"
"YEEEEEESSSS!!"
"But this pencil can't be used for writing yet, can it? And why not?"
"YOU NEED A SHARPENER! SHARPEN IT!!"
"Yes. Don't you think we are like pencils? Unless we allow ourselves to be sharpened by God, we will never become useful."
God, why is it you always grip my heart the way you do in Sunday School. I feel like a 7-year old when I learn your lessons.
I had just journalled about the importance of writing our plans in pencil so God can use His eraser in our planning, when I was forced to walk my own talk.
I decided, that even though I had planned to do the Olympic distance triathlon and my first full marathon this year, I would stop.
I just don't see the point of racing anymore, not this season at least. My bike Faith was a beautiful present. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing will ever change the many priceless lessons that God taught me through the sport, the invaluable friendships I was blessed with and the wonderful memories of that season.
But it is important to realise, that that season has passed.
Yesterday was my first day in the Neurology department, and I was put under one of the most intense, and inspiring doctors I have ever met. Dr. L heads the most prestigious neurology department in Singapore and is well-known for being a doctor with both head and heart, for patients as well as students. He is famous among students for being able to remember even the tiniest details about them, and for his genuinity in getting to know them. He spends about an hour a day teaching students neurology, and lots of time talking to them about life.
Today, he talked to us about Responsibility. "Whether you admit it or not, you are part of an 'elite' group in society which has a Responsibility to the 'non-elite'. What does the word 'elite' mean to you?"
Snob. Bad attitude. Arrogant. Inability to relate to others. These were just some of the answers given.
"As a doctor, the most important thing you must remember is to be able to relate to your patients. Don't you know, that the so-called 'non-elite' in our society are the people who have helped you through life the most? My daughter was doing a project at her research laboratory. Who helped her open the door to the labs every morning at 7am faithfully? It was an old grandmother, the lady sweeper. When she finished her project, she gave the grandmother a box of chocolates and a card. The old grandma nearly cried. These people are the 'non-elite' and they have served you. Now, it is your responsibility to take care of them. Are you doing your best?"
Something stirred inside of me, something that was once near, and now further away than I wished.
"Wai Jia," he turned to look at me. " Ah, so this month we're going to eat, live, and breathe neurology, right?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
" What if you can't swim, bike and run?"
I looked at him, amazed that he remembered this tiny scrap of detail which he had found out about me at least 4 months ago. He enjoys dropping bombs randomly on students, just to keep them on their toes.
"It's okay. I'm prepared."
He turned to everyone in the room and said to them, "Everyone, mark what Wai Jia just said."
"I'm sure, sir."
He turned to look at me again. He has an intense stare. " Medicine, must be an obsession. For your patients' sake."
The way he said it, and the context in which it was said, touched my face across my brow and sank right into the depths of me, and gripped my core.
An obsession. Now where have I heard that before. His words were like a dream that grew tired and turned its back on me, a long long time ago.
"I don't tolerate mediocrity. And I believe that in life, we ought to remember three things. One, where your treasure is, your heart will also be. So always, yong xin. For everything you do, do it with full concentration."
Yong Xin, when translated from mandarin literally, means to use one's heart. Metaphorically, it means to be conscientious and wholehearted in everything one does. I couldn't remember his exact words, but I knew he implied that he didn't approve of the sport if it went further than recreation.
Have I not been wholehearted in the pursuit of medicine, in my responsibility to those who matter? I thought about the routine of work, the waning passion towards certain specialties, the self-doubt- can I ever become the doctor I thought I would become? Who am I becoming, and why do I not like what I see. I thought about the "well-balanced" image protrayed through my varied interests and activities, and its contrast to reality- in actuality, one can spread oneself too thin.
"Two, one must learn obedience. Three, read a lot of books. And if you're a girl, marry a man smarter than you."
My first two years of medical school were spent largely being ill. It was by God's grace I actually got through them. A brain doesn't think very well when it is constantly starved. My third year was spent in and out of hospital and skipping lessons to go for medical appointments and getting back on track. My fourth year was my first solidly stable year, where medicine became thoroughly enjoyable. Now that I am a final year medical student, I have one more year to get my act together to become the kind of doctor I had aspired to be.
I am now a final year medical student. I need to know my priorities, my Responsibility.
I eventually thanked Dr. L. To which he replied through a smiley-faced text message, "I don't mince my words :) I'm glad you took it positively."
Sports is not wrong. But there is a time and season for everything. And for now, after much thought and prayer, I know racing must go. I will certainly still swim, bike and run, but only for leisure, health and friendship. There will be a season to do a triathlon someday. That time is not now. I only have 24 hours in a day- I write, I teach, I have another project coming up, I visit patients. These things, and not my indulgence in my hobbies, are what will count for eternity.
Perhaps, it was more than coincidence that the prayer story for last night was based on the bible verse, "Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life."- John 6:27.
It was a sobering thought, to realise how all our time ought to be spent working towards something of value. There was a season to bike, and to learn lessons. There is now a season to stop, so I can continue learning lessons, and not stagnate.
So I took all my medals, put them in a pouch, and gave them all to Dr. L. I was surprised at the tears when I packed them, because of the memories each one held. My first triathlon. My first half-marathon. My first 40km bike race on Faith. My first 90km bike race on Faith. A race I didn't do because of my injury.
I knew deep down, that it was something I had to do.
Because where your treasure is, there your heart will also be. The chapter about Faith has closed and a new one has begun. The lessons learnt from biking and racing can certainly be put into my studies- lessons of endurance, focus and discipline. It's about time I settled down to finish the unfinished business in my work and work on my proficiency as a doctor. Because in less than a year's time, that's what people will be calling me. Doctor.
I can serve them by being a better student and doctor. But what has another personal medal got to do with them? There is a lot of peer pressure in the field of sports, and I just have to learn to say it's enough for me, and trust that those who matter to me will respect that decision. There is a lot of peer pressure in this field, a lot of unecessary goading.
This injury has certainly been the best thing that has happened to me this year. And I'm just glad my plans were all written in pencil, and that God, not me, holds the eraser. Sharpening may be painful, but I'm sure all this has a purpose, and at the end, it will be for good. I would be more useful, certainly, in working not for food that spoils, but for that which endures to eternity.
God, help me to put my heart right where it should be.
Even while I'm tearing and struggling and learning to let go.
Now where's that neurology textbook I was looking for.
"It is his work. I am like a little pencil in his hand.
That is all.
He does the thinking.
He does the writing.
The pencil has nothing to do with it."
-Mother Teresa
