Stilts.

*Disclaimer: This post may be sightly offensive to some.

It was only recently that I noticed, that he always wears a cap. A worn-out, shoddy-looking cap, so that as people above walk by him, his eyes may avert their haughty gaze. It was only lately that I noticed, that sometimes when I spoke to him while I stood up, he would never look up at me, only to the dirty ground, as if he was not used to eye contact.

So today, I decided, to always be at eye level with Grandpa Zhou.

As some of you know, Grandpa Zhou is the 80-year old busker who sits at the dirty steps of the train station near my house and plays the harmonica for a bit of money. It's been three years since we've known each other, and each of our lives have been drastically transformed through each other.

Today, as I squatted by him in my PrettyFit flats, PepperPlus office skirt and white collared, ESPIRIT office blouse, people, as usual, stopped and stared.

Once upon a time, when I used to buy dinner and sit by him in my running shirt and shorts and slippers, I never felt awkward sitting by him. But as I progressed in my medical training and started to come home in collared shirts, high-waisted skirts, and sometimes, heels, with my handbag strategically hung over my arm for style, and my stethoscope tucked neatly into it, one day I realised, to my horror, that I felt awkward sitting by this old man who wears the same shirt for 4 days and smells odd because of it.

It's much easier talking to him while standing up. Surely fewer people would stop and stare. But was this what we were called to? Years ago, when I was younger, when I sat at the interview room with grand ideas of saving lives and nursing the sick, did I not say Medicine was my dream because I wanted to heal the sick, be close to the people? Did we not promise we would keep our feet and heads on the ground, where the poor and needy needed us?

Did we not promise that lives, not money, mattered; Ideals, not comfort, drove us.

I now see the challenge, and feel it too. Up and up we go, building stilts for ouselves, leaving the rest of the world down below. We grow to think, it's too dirty down there below. Perhaps, it takes a maverick to chop his stilts for something better on the ground.

A year ago, our education system changed. With the new residency programme that seems to favour those who apply for specialties early to climb up the corporate ladder fast and furiously, the entire medical faculty has been thrown into a mad flux of competition and anxiety.

APPLY NOW.
DO ALL IT TAKES.
IF YOU DON'T, YOU'LL BE LEFT BEHIND

are only some of the insidious messages broadcasted into our subsciousness. Now, all of a sudden, everybody wants to be a surgeon or an opthalmologist. ASAP. Everyone wants a bite of the cake which promises fast rewards and a fast-tracked career to success, prestige and honour. We have taken axes to make stilts for ourselves, no matter if this process destroys the forest. My stilts matter most.

I have nothing against this new system, mind you. Only something against the spirit of self-striving, insecurity and backbiting in one's effort to get up there, somewhere at the expense of someone else. Or so I've heard.

I'm not sure how realistic it is to apply for a specialty so early in life. Many senior doctors have cautioned, are still cautioning us against it, for it could produce a breed of doctors too specialised and narrow at too young an age, when experience has yet to fulfill its responsibility to our hungry minds. After all, junior doctors often specialised only after working and gaining experience in many fields after a few years.

I've nothing against this new system. I suppose, if God has called one to apply for a specialty, by all means, one should go for it. Nonetheless, axes have been drawn out of insecurity, stilts have been built out of fear of being left behind, and the ground has become a faraway place for some, a place we once thought we would be close to, close to the people we once said we would genuinely serve, not for money, not for pride, not for prestige, but out of love, genuity and compassion.

So everyone has been asking me what I've applied for. Is it Obstetrics and Gynaecology which was my first love? Is it General Surgery because of my fascination with the operating theatre? is it Ophthalmology because of what God spoke to me? Is it Paediatrics because of my love for children? Or is it Internal Medicine so I can pursue Infectious disease or Geriatrics in the future? Or maybe, Public Health?

It took me a long while to decide,

that I don't want stilts.

I don't want an axe to make my own, nor an axe to chop off the stilts of someone else.

I emphasize, there's nothing wrong with applying for a specialty early,

as long as one's feet are on the ground. As long as one knows it is what God has called one to do, and not because one is afraid, or insecure, or anxious.

I do not claim the higher moral ground for not applying for a specialty so soon. Each has its own benefits, depending on what God has called one to do.

Nonetheless, squatting next to Grandpa Zhou today reminded me, that once upon a time, when we learnt about bedside manners, we had learnt about the importance of sitting at the patient's eye level.

It made me wonder: how many of us do that now? As we move from third-year to fifth-year of medical school, our eye levels shift upwards too. We amass more knowledge, we begin to feel more important, and talk down to our patients who lie down, who crane their necks like flamingoes just to hear us spout long phrases and words like colonoscopy and aspiration pneumonia.

Yes, you need a colonscopy, sir. Please sign on the dotted line.

A man in a black shirt stood on the train platform above Grandpa Zhou and I. I saw him from the corner of my eye. Way above us, he peered down, and it reminded me of the many times I had stood and "talked down" to my patients, the many times I had stood to chat with Grandpa Zhou instead of sitting at his level while he huddled by the train steps. The man above was a spectator, uninvolved.

It made me wonder, would I become the kind of high-powered, money-churning doctor who sits high above, peering down at the lives of my patients? My patients, who live in one-room flats and sleep at the void decks and who come into my clinic complaining of gastritis because they ran out of food to eat? Yes, this happens in sunny Singapore.

Would I become a hands-off spectator peering down at my patients, uninvolved in their lives, prescribing medicines too expensive for them to buy, speaking in English with an accent I acquired from a post-graduate degree overseas?

I will never forget, that before we were friends, I hated Grandpa Zhou because I thought he was another lazy old man trying to earn easy money. It was only when I sat down by him one day, at his level, that I saw that he had deformities in his feet and right arm. Work is difficult with a handicap.

So in my PrettyFit shoes, PepperPlus office skirt and ESPIRIT white collared shirt, I forced myself to squat, and told Grandpa Zhou while looking into his eyes, "I have a special task for you. You've got to think about what your favorite food is and let me know the next time we meet, okay? We'll go to a nice place to eat when I have my break in 2 weeks time-a friend of mine is very eager to meet you."

So I write this down, in the hope that I may always remember, even years after I graduate, never to chop a tree down for my own stilts.

Meeting Grandpa Zhou, has been one of the greatest blessings in my life.

The Village of Stiltsville

Perhaps you don’t know,
then, maybe you do,
about Stiltsville, the village,
(so strange but so true)

where people like we,
some tiny, some tall,
with jobs and kids
and clocks on the wall

keep an eye on the time.
For each evening at six,
they meet in the square
for the purpose of sticks,

tall stilts upon which
Stiltsvillians can strut
and be lifted above
those down in a rut:

the less and the least,
the Tribe of Too Smalls,
the not cools and have-nots
who want to be tall

but can’t, because
in the giving of sticks
their name was not called.
They didn’t get picked.

Yet still they come
when the villagers gather;
they press to the front
to see if they matter

to the clique of the cool,
the court of the high clout,
that decides who is special
and declares with a shout,

“You’re classy!” “You’re pretty!”
“You’re clever!” or “Funny!”
And bequeath a prize,
not of medals or money,

not a freshly baked pie
or a house someone built,
but the oddest of gifts—-
a gift of some stilts.

Moving up in their mission,
going higher they aim.
“Elevate your position”
is the name of the game.

The higher-ups of Stiltsville
(you know if you’ve been there)
make the biggest to-do
of the sweetness of thin air.

They relish the chance
on their higher apparatus
to strut on their stilts,
the ultimate status.

For isn’t life best
when viewed from the top?
Unless you stumble
and suddenly are not

so sure of your footing.

You tilt and then sway.
“Look out bel-o-o-o-w!”
and you fall straightaway

into the Too Smalls,
hoi polloi of the earth.
You land on your pride—-
oh boy, how it hurts

when the chic police,
in the jilt of all jilts
don’t offer to help
but instead take your stilts.

“who made you king?”
you start to complain
but then notice the hour
and forget your refrain

It’s almost six!
No time for chatter.
It’s back to the crowd
to see if you matter.

Stiltvillians still cluster

and crowds still clamour

but more stay away

They seem less enamoured

since the Carpenter came

and refuesed to be stilted.

He chose low over high,

left the system tip-tilted.

"You matter already,"

he explained to the town,

"Trust me on this one,

Keep your feet on the ground."

-Fearless, by Max Lucado

LOL

LADY GAGA IS PWNING JUSTIN BIEBER LOL!!!

Tiny seeds.

Who would imagine that such a tiny seed would grow into a towering, formidable, life-giving oak tree?

It's like how we would never imagine that our tiniest acts would have such a large impact on somebody else.

Sometimes, do you feel like what you do doesn't matter? Does it feel like a smile, or a kind act you give out evaporates almost instantly, leaving nothing but a memory in the atmosphere? Does the answer of only God knowing and seeing what you're doing dis-satisfy you? I know I felt that way before, but less and less.

A few months ago, Grandpa Zhou stopped me in my tracks.

"Wai Jia!" he said in mandarin. "Do you know a Marcus?"

In mandarin, he had pronounced it as MAH KER.

"Mah-ker? There are many Mah-kers around, Grandpa Zhou. Which one are you talking about?" To be honest, I wasn't taking him very seriously.

"He says he knows you!"

"Well, okay. Tell me more?"

"Well, this boy. This boy who's a little older than you came to sit by me just the other day! He sat down and played the guitar with me, bought me food... and so I shared with him about my god-daughter, you, and about all the things you did for me which touched and changed my life... And I said you were very kind... and surprisingly, he asked for your name! And when I told him, both of us got a shock of our lives because HE KNOWS YOU!!! He's from your church!"

Mah-ker. Mah-ker. Ah yes, I know a Marcus! I remember now!

It was beautiful, to know that someone from Home would see Grandpa Zhou through a different set of eyes from the world-not my eyes, but the eyes of God.

A week later when I spoke to Marcus over the phone, we both chuckled. Grandpa Zhou plays the harmonica and busks at a train station in the north on some days and on other days, in the east. Marcus had met him in the north while I had met Grandpa Zhou in the east.

"What made you stop for him?" I asked Marcus.

"You know 2 years ago when you wrote an article in our church magazine on Loving the Poor and Stopping for One? (pg 7), it impacted me really greatly. So I told myself I would do the same. I didn't think the old man whom I stopped for was the same old man you had written about!"

What a small world.

Marcus has been seeing Grandpa Zhou regularly, buying him food, bought and watched a movie with him at a cinema and even accompanied him to a mid-autumn festival event last week.

Last week, I got another email from a stranger through Facebook:

Hi Wai Jia!

You must be wondering who I am. Ha, I'll tell you something amazing! You know the uncle who sits outside the Kembangan mrt (train station)? I know him too! Only this week did I find out that you are his "gan sun nu" (god-daughter). Haha, anyways, I forgot to intro myself, I am ZX from your church too. Nice to meet you! The uncle says you're very nice! It's amazing how God brought us 3 to know one another. Haha C:

God bless,
ZX

Today, Grandpa Zhou told me that when this teenage girl and her mother stopped to talk with him, and when he shared with them about this god-daughter he had, that I was from a church in the east called Cornerstone, they exclaimed that they were from the same one!

Last Friday, I got a phonecall from another friend.

"Wai Jia, I need to talk to you."

"What's up?"

R is a final-year law student, a budding artiste, a friend who has encouraged and inspired me greatly in many ways. He is always full of ideas and just set up his own theatre company to put up Christian theatre works.

"I read your story about Uncle Tay and his 5 shirts. And I read your story about Grandpa Zhou. I'd been organising a series of lectures lately for our law faculty- the latest one being on the topic of Social Injustice. The speaker challenged us to find one aspect of society to pray for and to take action in during the next many months... and to set small goals... ... So, well... I want you to know I'm starting a movement, to raise awareness about helping the elderly in our society who fall through the cracks. I've been speaking to various social workers and agencies to compile a list of helpful services and hope to bring this to people, help people help others. And I need your help, because you're what inspired me."

We talked.

"So what made you stop for Grandpa Zhou the first time you met him? That's what I wanna know, that's what I feel we can impart to our youth today."

"To be honest, R," I said- I knew I was about to spoil his poetic moment, "if you read my writing, I hated Grandpa Zhou at the start. He was mean to me. And I was darn impatient. I was too proud to stop for him. I didn't want to. It was God who made me stop, changed my heart. He humbled me. That was how."

Just as I left Grandpa Zhou today and gave him another fifty-dollar note from a pool of money given to me by my junior's boyfriend (he, whom I've only met once, had given me all of his Chinese New Year money given to him by his relatives for any purpose I wanted) for his medical fees, I caught sight of Rachel, my 7-year old girl from my Sunday School class.

I had shared with my Sunday School children the story of Grandpa Zhou before. I had taught them the value of loving the needy. I remember she was most attentive during those lessons, and she even asked me several things even though she was normally quiet in class.

Now, she saw me bending low to talk to Grandpa Zhou. She saw for herself what she had heard in class.

All these tiny incidents served not to remind of my own goodness, but to remind me of how God could use someone as self-absorbed and proud as me, to reach out to someone else, and how just such a tiny act of obedience can have ripple effects on numerous people, things and circumstance around us.

You just never know.

So the next time you do good and feel weary about doing so, remember that God is not the only one touched. Your smile, your gesture, your one small act of love does not evaporate into thin air.

Like a tiny seed which is the beginning of a giant tree that can bear fruit and provide shade and beauty for many others, your tiny act of love, too, can go such a long way.

I never knew.

Time, Place, Person

*Wai Jia has just finished her one-month internship in the department of Internal Medicine and will begin her Geriatrics posting next week.

"Auntie! What time is it? Where are you? Who am I?"

She was shaking. Her eyes were droopy. Her head was tossed to one side sleepily, as her chest heaved up and down heavily. One look and you knew something was not right.

During my one-month internship at our local geriatric hospital, where I was tasked to function as a junior doctor under supervision, I saw many elderly patients being warded for the same condition. They would come in drowsy, trembling, mumbling to themselves, spouting gibberish or even flailing about violently, at all times of the day. Once, during my 36-hour sleepless night shift, I was tasked to catheterise a male elderly patient at 2 in the morning. This involves the dreadful task (no doubt more dreadful for the patient) of putting a tube with the diameter of a chopstick through a man's private parts to drain one of any urine which might be retained in his bladder, which could be the cause of infection, a common cause of delirium.

"Uncle, where are you?"

Gibberish was his reply.

Not all patients with delirium present as obviously, though. One little old lady whom I took care of came in looking nothing more but sleepy. It was only on further investigation that she was diagnosed with delirium. Asking a routine set of questions helps to clinch the diagnosis.

By asking 3 questions, "Auntie, what time is it? Is it morning or night?", "Auntie, where are you now?" and "Who am I?", one gets an idea of how oriented the patient is to Time, Place and Person. It is part of the Abbreviated Mental Test.

Delirium has a fluctuating course. Patients get better, then worse unexpectedly. Mdm T's daughter confided in me one day, "I'm very worried. My mother has never behaved like this before. She's been asking me why the patient sleeping opposite her doesn't have a roof over her bed! I thought she was getting better, now she's gotten worse!"

I could understand. Just a day ago when I asked Mdm T the 3 questions, she answered that she wasn't sure if it was night or day, that she was in prison, insisted that she had to take a walk to a particular place called St. Michael's so she could have some 'good food', and said she didn't know who I was, even though I'd been seeing her day after day.

Bizarre, no doubt. Patients in a state of delirium become disoriented to Time, Place and Person.

Not oriented to TPP, is what doctors would write in a patient's case notes. Delirium refers to a clouding of consciousness.

My one-month internship ended yesterday. With the responsibilities of a junior doctor under close supervision and having 36-hour shifts to slog through (a feat of stamina through the night, no doubt- it means working and seeing patients from 650am till 2pm the next day non-stop), I finally had a foretaste of what working as a doctor in the department of Internal Medicine is like. Working life is different, tougher. And unless one stays strong to one's goals and faith, one easily becomes disoriented.

It made me wonder if I too needed a reminder to be oriented to Time, Place and Person.

36-hour shifts (also known as calls) 6 times a month can really throw one into a circadian flux- am I ready for working life? I was only scheduled for 3 calls this time. I have never lost my temper with a patient, and could never understand when I heard stories about patients and doctors getting into arguements. But I learnt, that at 5am in the morning, sleep-deprived and hungry and overworked, one can lose one's cool easily in the face of an over-demanding, whining patient. I know I nearly did. Overwork can cause a clouding of consciousness too, I thought wryly.

Time.

I asked myself, did I know what time it was? It made me see the importance of orienting oneself to Time, even though my body clock had been thrown out of whack, because it would help me understand that at 5am in the morning, working non-stop since 6.50am the previous day, I needed God's grace to be extra patient, extra kind even though I was tired, cold and hungry and didn't need someone to complain about my blood-taking skills.

It reminded me, that in the face of overwork, we each need to realise our limitations and remind ourselves that at unearthly hours, we may not be the same person. This awareness can help us be more aware of our emotions and reactions to situations.

Place.

Did I know where I was? Do I know where I am? I learnt, that it is easy to complain about one's job. God, how can they make us work 36-hour shifts? God, how come there're so many sick patients, why are some of them so ungrateful, why am I so grumpy? Why am I so lousy at some procedures? Am I in the right profession? I realised, my complaining spirit came from forgetting where I am- on earth, on "the side of heaven which isn't perfect", as what Prof S had told me. Once I remembered where I was, in a place between perfection and loss, redemption and fall, then I came to see and appreciate God coming through for me as I journey from one world to the next.

Do you know where you are? Or do you, like me, complain in a way as if this world were meant to be perfect? We aren't there yet. Heaven is still a while away.

Person.

Have you ever doubted your abilities? Trust me, on a 36-hour call when you're asked to draw blood from a patient whose skin is coarse and wrinkly and whose veins are dry and collapsed from every angle and you can't get that precious vial of ruby gold, all those years of studying and intellectual amassing just make you feel like a fool for not being able to do the most basic job a junior doctor is expected to do. At 3am in the morning, when the phone keeps ringing and nurses keep calling regarding another breathless patient, I can only imagine the overwhelming sense of helplessness and stress one feels. I suppose, it comes from forgetting the person one is and the Person God is.

It helps to be reminded, that I am but a little person, a child still learning, still growing, and in times of desperation and utter frustration, the Person of God is bigger than me, and He, not I, is in control. God is also personal, and is with me even as I fumble and try my very best. Remembering this, often brings me the much needed calmness I need to steady my hands and the strength to tell myself that no matter what time it is, and where I am on this imperfect plane of existence, the Person of God will consistently bring us through our hurdles, struggles and challenges, through and beyond the 36-hour call.

It is 3am in the morning. I am on earth, in a transit from fall to redemption, sin to perfection. I am little but God is big and with me.

And all at once, I find that when I'm oriented to Time, Place and Person, my consciousness is no longer clouded, and I can work joyfully and peacefully again, with clarity of mind, at 5am in the morning.

"Uncle, I have to take blood from you. It'll just be like a big ant bite, okay?"

"Because God is a person, He feels that which we feel.

After all, we are made in His image,

so it is expected that we would be able

to communicate our deepest feelings

and emotions to God."

-Billy Graham

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. "

-1 Peter 5:7

Halloween GaGa

Just thought I'd share this photo manip blend I did of Lady GaGa's OUT magazine photoshoot, which happens to be one of my favorite photoshoots of hers. And since Halloween is coming up soon, the mood is fitting!

On that note.... should I go as Lady GaGa again for Halloween this year or no? I was going to go as Michael Jackson but I'm really very lazy to go make a MJ costume... and I was Lady GaGa last year so I already have the wig and stuff so I would just have to figure out a different outfit..... what do you guys think?

Should I be MJ or GAGA for Halloween?
Say what you think in the comments box.

Okra

I'm in love with the vegetable I recently found out about from my aunt. It is called "okra." I went to her house for dinner a few weeks ago and she served it as a side dish with the meal and I was like "omg this is really good!" so I tracked down where I could buy it from. One of the fruit and vegetable stores near me sells it. I've never really seen it before and I've only seen it at that store but it is my newest craze!

This is Okra

Facebook Pix

For those of you who are following me on facebook... I added tons of new xxdj12345 pix on my Amanda Stardoll account, go check them out!

Beautiful

I thought this Michael Jackson art was really beautiful and wanted to share.

I love the background picture of gaga shown 

here at her first tour, the Fame Ball tour.

Monster Ball Costumes

Little Prince

Lol this is too cute!

How to watch youtube on Blackberry Curve 8520 using Digi Line?

Ok just to get things started again.

The reason i'm posting this up is because lately i'm unable to watch youtube on my blackberry curve 8520.

And this has become quite annoying because while I'm paying for unlimited internet access per month, i'm using probably like...ummm well...whats 1% of infinity?

Well let me tell you what is 1% for this instance. The feeling of using a blackberry curve 8520 without watching youtube is like filling up fuel in a Ferrari FULL TANK and only using like 10 percent of dat. 90 percent of it is probably burnt away unknowingly. You only get that 10% of thrill. Get it!Get it!!

So, coming from that point of view, it DOES matter if my blackberry can't watch youtube.

But all that has come to an end. For the many user of blackberry curve 8520 who is connected to the internet using digi services and can't watch youtube, the following procedures which I got it from a website would be able to help you as it has helped me.

Digi Need To Enable APN (digistrm) For YouTube Streaming
(http://www.digi.com.my/blackberry/faq.do)
This section is particular to DiGi’s BIS subscriber, for some reason (most probably for bandwidth control), DiGi need us to configure the APN to digistrm before us being to view YouTube video streaming. To do this, follow the steps below :
Menu -> Options -> Advanced Options -> TCP/IP
(TICKED) APN Settings Enabled
APN: digistrm
(TICKED) APN Authentication Enabled
Username for APN:
Password for APN
*Both Username and Password for APN Authentication are left blank*
Error Playing. An error has occurred attempting to play media.
For the first 2 weeks since getting the phone, I have not been able to watch any YouTube videos. It keeps prompting “Error Playing. An error has occurred attempting to play media”. The search for any information in google and my personal attempt to troubleshoot the problem led me to no solution. At the end of the 2 weeks I had nobody to turn to, so I gave DiGi’s support an attempt. I’m determined to solve this issue no matter what, even if it means terminating Digi. But to my surprise Digi support did manage to solve it. Kudos to DiGi!
To save the heartache of many future BlackBerry users I would like to share the solution with you. Please configure your BlackBerry browser with the below settings :
Browser settings
Menu -> Browser -> Menu -> Options :
[1] Browser Configuration
Browser: Internet Browser
(TICKED) Support JavaScript
(TICKED) Allow JavaScript popups
(TICKED) Terminate slow running scripts
(TICKED) Show Images
(TICKED) Use Background Images
(TICKED) Support Embedded Media
Browser Identification: BlackBerry
Start Page: Home Page
Default Search Provider: Google
Home Page Address: http://mobile.blackberry.com/
[2] General Properties
Default Browser: Internet Browser
(Type of Fonts here doesn’t really affect the settings)
(NOT TICKED) Full Screen View
(TICKED) Enable JavaScript Location support
Prompt Before:
(NOT TICKED) Closing Browser on Escape
(Ticked) Closing Modified Pages
(NOT TICKED) Switching to WAP for streaming media
(NOT TICKED) Running WML Scripts
**NOTE**
If the YouTube streaming still does not work after the reconfiguration above, please try restarting it (ATL + RIGHT SHIFT + DEL).


So there you go guys!Hope it has help most of you out there. I think it does work for other blackberry models as well if you have problems watching youtube.

Overdelivering.

"Free for dinner?"

And it amused me to know just a week after I had whined about not being taken out to nice places for dinner, I had 3 dinner invites. Two nights ago, it was my professor, a very admired figure no doubt, who took me out. She was, has been, is giddy in love with God, and when I asked her if there was anything she had ever been mad at God about, she looked at me quizzically, as if I were talking gibberish. And she smiled, a most radiant smile which glowed and vibrated and sang all at once.

"Wai Jia, how can we ever be mad at God? Haven't you read the other book called The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom I gave you the last time? She said, God will never give you what you would not ask for had you known the end from the beginning. Don't you know, He underpromises and overdelivers, every single time."

"Really?"

And I stared at her, sharing with her the flux of emotions I had had over the past few weeks.

"Why can't things be perfect? Yes I know the whole story about Adam and Eve and all... but why, why can't things just be okay? Why all this long drawn suffering?"

"Because this side of heaven wasn't meant to be perfect."

And somehow, it dawned upon me, that I need to trust God more, that He knew and knows best, and I... just don't. My emotions regarding the uncertain state of my second book only revealed to me how much it meant to me, and how I needed to let go. I was disappointed at thinking things would not come to pass. They said it'd be out by October, but it's mid-September and nothing much has been happening. I don't like silence.

I went home,and determined in my heart not to be mad at God anymore. God will never give you what you would not ask for had you known the end from the beginning. Maybe there's a reason for this all.

The next morning, I got emails from both the team from the Singapore General Hospital and from my publisher with the whole online copy of A Taste of Rainbow compiled and done up nicely.

I suppose, God has His timing. And I suppose, He just really wanted me to know, that I need only to trust, and not be worried about things. He wanted me to know, that I am fallible but He is not, and He most certainly keeps His promises. He wanted me to know, that I can completely trust Him, and really, there's no reason to be mad at Him because after all, He just wants us to learn some lessons, and...

... He underpromises and overdelivers, every single time.

"Help me, O God, to make a true use of

all disappointments and calamities in this life,

in such wise that they may unite my heart more closely with Thee.

Cause them to separate my affections

from worldly things and inspire my soul

with more vigour

in the pursuit of true happiness."

- by Susanna Wesley,

sent to me by a friend : )

PS: Mr. T got his 5 shirts today : ) and I've another 36-hour call tomorrow at the hospital. Yes, on a sunday. And even in that, I am learning we can honour God with our wholehearted service to every patient we meet!

Facebook

For those of you who would like to add me on facebook

My facebook is

Amanda Stardoll
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001634016860

And the xxdj12345 fan page is
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Xxdj12345/160229970658029

TOO FUNNY

AHAHAHA!!!

GaGa's new tattoo revealed!

As we guessed, Lady GaGa's new tattoo reads "Born this way" for her upcoming album with this as the title.

The VMAS!

Lady GaGa was nominated for 13 awards last night at the VMAs, becoming a record for most award nominations. She went home with 8 awards in total. 2 nominations were for her performance in Beyonce's "Video Phone" music video, so it was more like GaGa won 8/11. 

Way to go momma monster, I don't know how you ever thought you weren't going to win! Every time they showed the nominees and GaGa was included I felt so much suspense but when she began winning each award I knew she would reign over everyone and take them all!

I am a bit disappointed that she was not a performer because I knew she would have done something amazing, I hope she will perform next year.

Overall, I liked the show. There were several performances that were boring and I wanted to change the channel but I tried to keep my calm... LOL!

These are the outfits Lady GaGa wore for the ceremony

My favorite moment was when GaGa won her last award and revealed the title of her upcoming album and sang a verse from the song! Her voice was so amazing!!!

Born This Way

I Loved the performance by Usher

Loved Eminem

The others were okay. Except I hated Taylor Swift's boring performance and overall boring voice that is really nothing special... I don't know why they let her waste our time. And Florence + Machine... she has a good voice but I never heard of her and couldn't enjoy her performance because it was a little too weird.

Justin Beiber... apparently he was lipsyncing... LOL well I'm not a fan of his although I'm not a hater, I respect the boy and thought his performance was okay, but it wasn't cool that he would be lipsyncing. However his voice has changed and gotten a bit deeper and surely will get way deeper over time (I don't know what will happen to his career but we will have to wait and see). I liked when he played the drums because I didn't know he could play... so yeah I am neutral with him.

The Host... Chelsea Handler... I didn't really like any of her "jokes" which were more like insults. I thought her entrance was kind of funny though when she came down from the ceiling with a house on her head to Bad Romance, which was an obvious impression of GaGa.

Kanye West... well he was last to perform and there was a lot of hype about what his performance would be like and if Taylor Swift would try to interrupt him. I did kind of like his performance although when I heard him start singing the chorus of his new song "Runaway"

"Let's have a toast for the douchebags,
Let's have a toast for the assholes,
Let's have a toast for the scumbags,
Every one of them that I know
Let's have a toast to the jerkoffs
That'll never take work off
Baby, I got a plan
Run away fast as you can"

I was like "Ummmmm what?????"

But I still think it was a pretty interesting performance and worth the wait, I guess.

Let us still not forget what he did to Taylor Swift last year!

Aside from that, I really loved the futuristic VMA set and loved that Deadmau5 was deejaying the whole event.

Well, what else to say except Congratulations Lady GaGa, my mother monster, we did it honeybee!

On that note, I will leave you with a video of her famous performance from last years VMAs

Mwah!

In spite of it all.

I suppose that's the toughest part- to eat it all, love and hate, in a single bite. Sweet meat and bitter bones, succulent fruit and withered core, all at once. How does one love in spite of it all?

I suppose, that's the toughest part- to love God all the time all at once, even all the bits we find hard to digest, like the way He loves us in spite of it all.

I'll be honest with you. These few months haven't been easy. I've been mad at God for numerous tiny things accumulated over the course of time. At times, I was so mad I was ready to throw in the towel and say I was through with this. I've been giving Him the cold shoulder. You're unfair. You're silent when I need you. You see all these terrible things happening and people suffering and you let them happen. WHY.

Where are you. What are you doing with all your free time up there.

I was injured. I couldn't ride or run. My parents kept bugging me to "go out and see people", and to please "see someone your age in medicine". One of my ex-patients (a little 3-year old boy) kept getting re-admitted to hospital because of a chronic illness. His mother fought, is fighting so hard to keep things together and continue to trust in God.

I wanted to tell God how mad I was with Him for making us suffer this way. I wanted to tell Him it's unfair that I'm losing my friends, my closest of friends because they are leaving me and finding their other halves and I am sitting here patiently doing what I know I need to do simply because I know you've called me to the mission field and it's darn unfair that I can't ride or run or go out with people because of what you've done to me. It's unfair people go away after I'm upfront about missions. It's unfair that they're always so many patients at hospital. It's unfair we have to go on call for 36-hours without sleep taking blood and seeing people and resusitating patients and come home feeling wiped out. It's unfair that after submitting my paintings and writing so many months ago and them all promising that the project would be well underway and that they're on to it that I receive an email asking where my paintings are, and there is silence from everyone on the other end because everyone is busy. I'm tired of this writing and publishing and painting and waiting... I'm tired God, I'm emotionally drained. I don't know what to do or think because people haven't been replying to my emails and I have no one to tell but you and you keep telling me you're in control.

What control?

It frustrates me, God. It bloody frustrates me.

And Grandpa Zhou is asking me to join him for a mid-autumn festival charity dinner organised by a church near his home this Saturday night because the last time we met, I was feeling depressed and wanting someone to take me out on Saturday night to Dempsey or Starbucks to eat ice-cream and listen to music and read or draw or just, talk. And so he said, "Yar, you were feeling down right? So I'm asking you out on a Saturday night, please come for our event!"

But though I want to accompany him, I don't feel like going because I'm angry at You.

I'm angry.

I want to throw a tantrum. And I have. You're unfair. You frustrate me and you don't listen to me. You give me things, making me love and treasure them deeply only to take them away. And this isn't just about my injury, God. Your discipline hurts so bad. Why does it take so much to believe in you. Why are my hopes pinned on a kite gone astray.

I like fancy things too, God. I want to go for pedicures and perm/straighten/colour my hair like everyone else does and stay out late at night in fancy places. I want you to go away. Stop bugging me. Why do you keep bugging me.

I'm angry.

And it amuses me to see how mad I can be with Him, giving Him the cold shoulder on Friday nights and Saturdays when I'm feeling most alone and suffering withdrawal because I'm a workaholic and there's something about the sterility, bloodiness and neediness of the hospital which sedates and calms me, and yet feeling particularly tender and loving to him from Monday morning till Friday evening when I really need His help to draw blood from a patient whose veins are slipping from my fingers like runaway snakes. God, please help me. I need you.

How can we be so two-faced.

And I realise, we're like this every day.

Part of me is so bitter at you, in spite of all you've done for me. People look at me and say they admire the faith I have in you. But it comes with a price, and God, I don't know if I can keep paying it. I am hurting. And I know this is nothing but a big tantrum because I never deserved a such a nice bicycle and I never deserved to write and publish books, but will you please show me you are real and that you care. Just put me on my bike on a neverending road to a faraway place for a while with blue skies and yellow daffodils and hot green tea soy latte in a Starbucks mug.

I am learning-that that's the toughest part- to love God all the time all at once, in spite of what happens, in spite of how we feel, in spite of what we've lost. In spite of bitterness, pain and anguish. In spite of uncertainty and loneliness. I am learning, that that's the toughest part, to come face to face with reality, understanding that life with God isn't a bed of roses but an uphill climb, a constant challenge to believe that You're on my side fighting and rooting for me, and not an evil puppet master. Some part of me knows, nothing very much in this post makes sense at all.

I am learning, that that's the toughest part- to say I love you in spite of all that's happened, in spite of all that could happen. I guess I'm just frustrated that You're so silent, though I know it's more likely that you're praying for me and hoping I would be patient enough to see how much you love me.

You really love me?

And I guess the toughest part- is really fathoming how in spite of it all, in spite of my petulance and tantrums and hypocrisy towards you, you love us still, warts and all.

In spite of it all.


Please God, make my heart tender again towards you. I hate being mad at you.

I'm on 36-hour call again tomorrow.

"'Love the Lord your God with all your heart

and with all your soul

and with all your mind."

-Matthew 22:37

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

And lean not on your own understanding;

In all your ways acknowledge Him,

And He shall direct your paths"

(Proverbs 3:5,6)

5 shirts.

The old man stood me up. For half an hour I waited, and paced up and down the hospital lobby, peeling my eyes for a glimpse of the old man. I was annoyed, very annoyed. I had taken the trouble to pack the items for him, lug the big bag to hospital (this internship requires us to report to hospital on some sundays), and had rushed down to meet him.

I was annoyed.

Then I wondered, how much convenience does it take to convince one to help? How much convenience do we expect before we are joyful in lending a helping hand? That question stung me like a boomerang, and reminded me of that day when we met.

He was a thin, tiny old man with a chest so thin that he might have disppeared sideways. Dressed in a grimy collared shirt and old-fashioned black pants, he squatted by the side of the path leading from the train station to Singapore General Hospital.

He got up, tottered a few steps forward, then squatted down again.

I was curious. Everybody was. People walked past him and stared. Another elderly man with frosted hair stood in front of him, just staring, before walking off.

There was something about him which perplexed me. For he wasn't squatting in the way old men squat sometimes by the road, faced out, with shoulders back and their hands thrown casually across their knees. He was crouching, his back facing the sidewalk instead and looked like he was huddling himself.

I had taken the morning off from my internship, was there for my regular follow-up appointment and on my way back to Tan Tock Seng Hospital to attend a lecture.

More people walked by.

A kind Filipino nurse saw him and walked by. Our eyes locked briefly and she hesitated before going on her way. She stopped, I stopped. At that moment of uncertainty, I realised it takes a certain amount of energy to overcome one's inertia to stop in one's tracks for another. She was obviously rushing off to the wards, I was rushing off to a different hospital. Our hesitation gave each other courage and I said loudly in case he was hard of hearing, "Uncle, ler si mi dai ji?"

Hokien is a very rough language, even if one is trying to convey a gentle sentiment. Literally, the words meant, Uncle, what's your problem?

I thought about that incident 2 months ago when I suffered from the worst menstrual cramps I'd ever had in my life after delivering some items to a patient and was left hobbling home by myself, almost paralysed in pain, with no one offering to help me and was angry. As I looked at him, I was angry. He had been there for some time, why did no one stop for him? Is it inconvenience that we are afraid of?

I thought, how much convenience do we need to be convinced to stop for someone else?

"Jin tia," he said. Very painful. "Wa si lai kua lokun eh, kui dou." I came to see the doctor, just had an operation.

He lifted his grimy shirt to show me the full glory of his two scars emblazoned across his chest.

One subcostal scar and one laparotomy scar. That must have been quite a big operation.

I was angry.

Just how much does it take for us to stop? Why did I hesitate before stopping, and why is it that we fear being inconvenienced so much. I thought about that time when I was in such pain and a taxi driver stopped for me as I hailed for him, then immediately drove off again after he had a closer look and saw that I was pale from so much pain. What is it that we fear?

The nurse was very kind. "Uncccle, where are you going?" I translated it for her.

"Chinatown," he said in mandarin. "I'm walking there."

It would have taken anyone a good half hour to get there. The sun was blazing hot. "Zhu na li?" Where do you stay? I asked in mandarin.

"Chinatown hawker centre. I sleep there."

I suggested going back in a cab. It would not cost a lot of money.

"Wo zou lu hu jia, wo mei you qian!" Vehemently, he cried out, even in his pain, "No! I will walk home, I have no money!"

He calmed down a little after I handed the nurse a red note. We walked him to the taxi stand as he hobbled unsteadily, but I had to rush back for a lecture. The nurse offered to accompany him until he was safely in a cab.

"Why does your tummy hurt after seeing the doctor?"

"It hurts pretty often. When I am hungry, I eat food that is leftover by people who eat there. My tummy hurts sometimes when I am hungry."

Hunger, and we're naive enough to think the phenomenon doesn't occur in Singapore.

"Uncle, do you drink or smoke?" I asked firmly.

"No, never!"

I struggled briefly with giving him a fifty-dollar note, then eventually succumbed when I was reminded how easy it is to part with a hundred dollars each time I go for physiotherapy. Or fifty dollars for two pairs of shoes, for that matter.

"Uncle, this is my name and my number. You call me if you need something. And this is not for buying beer okay, use it to buy food. Okay? " I was using my Sunday School Teacher Instructive Voice.

He nodded. I left him with the nurse, and went on my way.

Days later, at noon, as I scrambled to set up my powerpoint presentation on Deep Vein Thrombosis to present to my senior consultant, he called.

"Wei Jia ah?" he said in mandarin. "Mr. Tay here. Yar. I'm calling. I need something."

"Yes, what is it?" I said, as I scrambled to download my presentation into the computer while everyone waited for me.

I sighed, chiding myself for so freely giving away my number and expecting to be disappointed by a demand for money.

But the words thereafter melted my heart.

"Ni you yi fu ma?" Do you have clothes?

Clothes. That was all. He asked to meet me in Chinatown hawker centre, at his "home". But the days have been so hectic I asked if he could meet me on Sunday (today) at Tan Tock Seng instead.

Mr. Tay has a long-drawn voice which sounds chronically tired, as if the voice had run ten miles, run out of breath and then revived itself to speak.

" I will wear black so you can find me. What colour are you wearing?"

"Blue," I said, as I thought of a bright blue dress to wear. Last night, he called twice to confirm our meeting, as if I would forget something so important to him, "because I have no more clothes to wear."

"Don't bring too many. Just a few will be enough."

Today, I waited. He didn't show up. More than an hour later as I headed to church, he called from a public phone. I was now rushing to church for a meeting and was in the train. "I can't meet you anymore, Mr. Tay, why didn't you come?"

"Wei Jia ah, I fell down yesterday so I couldn't walk to meet you. You can come to Chinatown now. I'm at a coffeeshop at Block 34."

"How come you didn't tell me sooner? Or last night when you called again? I brought all your stuff and waited for you."

I was disappointed and a little frustrated. I asked myself: If you had known it would be this inconvenient to help, would you still have offered it?

I got out of the train, and into a cab. If I cabbed there and to church, I would still make it in time. But the taxi driver said, "Block 34. It doesn't exist. All the blocks in Chnatown I know are triple-digit blocks. Or at least that's what I know."

Frazzled, I tumbled out of the cab. And then, in the interest of time, caught another straight to church.

My mind was in a mess.

If the world were a simple, happy, Predictable place, Mr. Tay would have been right there at Tan Tock Seng waiting for me, we would have had a yummy lunch together at the food centre, we would have gone grocery shopping together at Novena Square and we would keep in touch. We would be best of friends. Can you hear birds chirping?

But life is as such. That he fell. He didn't find a public phone in time to tell me in advance. I don't drive and so didn't think of meeting him at his "home". The taxi driver said Block 34 doesn't exist. And I had another meeting to attend.

Life is as such. He sleeps in a hawker centre and eats food leftover by people.

All I could think about was what went through my head when I offered my help. Was it conditional, that I would do so only if it was convenient to me? After all, I did ask him to travel to Tan Tock Seng where I was doing my Sunday rounds. What if he turned out to be demanding, how would that change things? And what if he wasn't being demanding, just simply... elderly. He's just a little old man needing a few clothes.

Am I too important for him? Do I feel so? Me with my "all-important" medical exams and my wardrobe of Mango and Zara and G2000 and Threadless T-shirts?



Just as I contemplated these thoughts in the taxi, my phone rang again. It was the 4th time he was calling me because 10 cents run out pretty quickly on a public phone.

"Wei Jia ah, ni you lai ma?" You coming?

I couldn't make it anymore. Time didn't permit, and I wasn't sure where he was. I wondered if I should just leave him, wondered if I had been stupid or naive to entertain him in the first place. Maybe he's a confused old man. Maybe he's disoriented. Maybe, it's just 5 shirts. It's no big deal even if I left things as they were.

Then I wondered if I was having all those thoughts because Chinatown is a crazy maze of a place and I didn't want to go through the trouble of looking for him just to deliver 5 shirts.

"We'll have to arrange again," I said, and thought about another two 36-hour shifts I would have mid-week and next Sunday. "I'm sorry, I've work during weekdays, maybe next weekend? Call me on Friday night and we'll arrange."

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

How convenient do circumstances have to be before I offer my help to someone else? How much must I think the other person deserves it and is worthy of my time? Do I think too little of 5 shirts?

Then I thought about how convenience is never a consideration for God, even when I ask Him for the most ludicrous of things. I thought about the many times I had prayed for things seemingly impossible to obtain, and somehow He made it clear to me that pains were taken to orchestrate something so divinely arranged that things happened in ways which stunned me. I thought about how undeserving I am of many things, my bicycle for example, but God still blessed me anyway. And I thought about all my tiny, seemingly trivial prayers that God still hears and answers.

Is my prayer for a good night's rest or my leg to be healed to small for Him to listen to? Is 5 shirts too insignificant to me?

I'm pretty sure God has a lesson to teach me through this.

So this is the plan. We're going next week and we're going to hunt him down to deliver 5 shirts to him. I say "we" because I'm looking for someone with a big heart, sense of adventure and A CAR to come with me. It doesn't matter if we've met before. Friends were always strangers before. Email me if you're available next saturday for an hour :)

We're going to find out where this "Block 34" is and Mr. Tay is going to get his 5 shirts.

"If there is a poor man among you... in any of the towns...

you shall not harden your heart, nor close your hand to your poor brother;

but you shall freely open your hand to him,

and generously lend him sufficient for his need in whatever he lacks."

-Deut. 15:7.

Give to him who asks of you,

and do not turn away from him who wants to borrow from you.

-Mt 5:42

You shall give generously to [your poor brother],

and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him,

because for this thing

God will bless you in all your work and in all your undertakings.

-Deut 15:10

Interview!!!

OMG I have a job interview tomorrow! I was really thinking that nobody was interested but now maybe I have a chance at getting a good job!

Writings.

Wai Jia is post-call today. That means she has successfully completed 36-hours of her shift as an intern in the department of General Medicine- that's almost non-stop action from 650am on a Wednesday till 2pm today, Thursday. This will be part of normal life soon after graduation as junior doctors have around 6 calls a month. It was tiring, but great fun as well. She will write about her experience soon but in the meantime, her toes have been tickled and she's trying to keep her life in balance.

Greetings Monsters!

Just giving a shout out to my fellow monsters 

and showing off my goods! LOL

Can't read

My Poker Face

It's all worth it.

* Wai Jia has begun her 1-month internship at the department of General Medicine. This means she will be 'working' like a house officer/resident as part of her training and will be on 36-hour shifts 3 times this month. One week has passed, three more to go. It's been tough and the learning curve is steep, but she has been enjoying it so far.

It's 6.50am but it is bustling with activity. Everyone is purposeful, no one is idling. I forget, the hospital never sleeps. Machines are beeping, people are breathing, hearts are beating, phones are ringing. There is never a quiet moment.

It is 6.50am. There's no buildup, the day starts full-swing.

A stack of files, thick with patients' case notes, each laden with medical, surgical, social and pscyhological histories awaits me.

"Wai Jia, I want you to take charge of these 6 patients," my senior consultant says. She is wearing a long skirt with a collared shirt. She has rosy cheeks and her baby face is framed by streaks of aged, white hair.

The sky outside is pitch black. It is still predawn. Fans are whirring and teasing the hair of patients, wet with perspiration, sleeping in the ward. Some are awake and have not slept for the whole night because of pain. I am examining the patients on my own, charting their progress, and writing their management plan down.

"Good morning Macik ('aunty' in malay), apa kabar?" How are you?

I am suddenly aware that I am doing what a doctor is doing.

Internship. It is a big leap from being a final year medical student to a house officer. This one-month internship at the General Medicine department was put in place to help us learn on-the-job skills to ease us into working life.

It is 6.55am. I have 6 patients to review before the more senior doctors arrive.

Mdm H is dangerously ill. She is wizened and frail and put on several drips and antibiotics. When her skin is pinched to be examined for dehydration, it is like rubber and stretches to the sky. Every day, I review her blood pressure and temperature because she is unstable. She is groaning behind the oxygen mask, and responds with a moan when I call her name in malay. Every morning I begin my 6.50am-day by checking her diapers and doing a per rectal examination (which involves sticking one's index finger into the anal canal) to check for blood. She has black stools- is she losing blood because of a bleeding gut causing her critical condition? We monitor her closely every day.

Mdm Y has metastatic adenocarcinoma. This means she has cancer spread all over her body. On the first day, I say I need to examine her but she is very hostile. "Tua yi seng kua! Lu buey hiao!" (The big doctor will come, you don't know nothing, I don't need small doctors!)

I am shocked but I realise she is in a bad mood for good reason. She has been vomitting all day, for days. Her stomach is so distended and tense, and it reminds of Questin Blake's drawing of James in James and the Giant Peach written by Roald Dahl. After draining as much as 3 litres of bloody fluid from her, she feels better and she smiles at me.

The other beds have shorter staying patients. Mdm S has a heart condition and asthma- my malay comes in handy because she knows no english. Ms M has dengue fever and I need to tell the family that they need to be screened for dengue- it is a disease notifiable to the Ministry of Health.

Just when I'm about done with examining and speaking with all the patients, asking how their night went, the house officer and medical officer come and I've to present everything that I've found so they can check through my work. Finally, the senior consultant Arrives and I present everything all over. It is a multi-level system, with multiple checks, so mistakes are elicited and corrected. There were a few mistakes I made. "It's okay," they say. They understand, they've been where I am before, "just keep learning."

By this time, it is almost noon. We whisk ourselves to another room, and I am to present a powerpoint presentation on hyponatremia (low sodium conditions) to all the doctors in the ward for our learning purposes. It is 1pm, but we have not yet taken blood from our patients. I rush off,

and panic because I have 3 patients to draw blood from, 2 of which have tiny, tortuous veins. I miss the first time, and cringe. Remember those times you heard people complaining about being poked in the hospital? I have now become one of those inexperienced people trying to gain experience. And I cringe because I am trying my best. Finally, I focus, with perspiration dripping down my forehead, and glorious crimson blood flows through the tube. I have never been happier. My first victory of the day. I heave a sigh of relief. Lunch hour has passed, another new patient is admitted and I attend to her with my senior. My gastric pain comes with a bang.

It is 3pm. I've to review all my 6 patients a second time before the day ends so that I can report any emergencies and my patients' progress to my seniors. I rush down to grab lunch, and buy lunch for my seniors because they have not eaten either. Breakfast more than 9 hours ago.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday... Friday. Every day, day in and day out, I learnt that this is what the doctors do. Once a week or so, they have a 36-hour shift (call) to do, which means working through the night since 6am till 2pm the following day. My first call starts next Wednesday.

I am exhausted. But smile because the patients are so sad, and only light up at another's smile. Many of them simply stare into space. Dr. E once told us, "Always smile, no matter what, because a smile halves your patients' pain."

He is always smiling.

I am busy checking somebody's blood pressure again because I don't want to make a mistake. I am engrossed.

"Doc. Doc."

I ignore the voice, then I realise there's no other staff in the room but me. Is she calling me?

Did she call me doc?


For the first time, I realise someone is calling me Doctor. And it is not, unlike previous times, because the patient is mistaken or confused or has dementia. She is calling me doc because I have been reviewing her, charting her progress, examining her and ensuring all her tests are done for the week. She beams at me, "Doc, when can I get discharged?"

"Mdm Tg, I think tomorrow will be the day. I'm sorry one of your tests got delayed yesterday because of a communication breakdown. We're very sorry." I use my grown-up voice to speak.

She smiles, "It's okay. Thank you so much for taking care of me."

I give myself a slap on the wrist. I shoud've checked the notes again yesterday. And I learnt, that we are human, we fall short, and we owe it to our patients to extend grace to us for our feet of clay and our daily failings. Every day, we make mistakes. Every day, we just have to learn from them and move on.

"Doktorrr," an Indian nurse smiles at me before I leave. It is 6.05pm. "Going home?"

I laugh, "Yes, er.... I hope so. We've been here since 6.50am!"


"Why you choose this job ah? So stressful, you know."

And I know it is a genuine question because a nurse like her, unlike the public, knows we don't get paid "much" for the number of hours we work in public hospitals. Someone once joked that for the pay per hour worked, junior doctors are paid almost the same as a cashier at Mac Donalds. They are not far from the truth, but I remember, that we are not in it for the money. Enough means enough. I am on internship so I am not paid but certainly, I now understand what public service means. Only dedication makes one stay.

Mdm Tg has been discharged. As I go about my daily duties to see other patients, I know she has been watching me. Watching me fumble, watching me report to my seniors, watching me arrive before she awakens and leave only after her dinner. Before she leaves, she turns back just to smile at me and thanks me personally for seeing her every day. She knows I am the most junior 'doctor' there.

I am really about to leave but remember I need to interview Mr. T to learn about his chronic kidney condition, and examine Mr. S with a lung tumour so huge that it is causing a huge pear-sized lump to protrude from his left breast. Mr. T had his first session of dialysis and is now very concerned about his kidneys. Mr. S just got told 2 days ago that his lump which causes his constant breathlessness is... terminal. Their beds are next to each other. Both of them are sullen.
"You know, I'm the youngest in the family, the only one who doesn't smoke or drink. And I've got lung cancer." Hai shi zhong, he says in Hokkien, still got hit.

I approach them. I smile, or try to. Their dinners arrive and I try to sound chirpy.

"Mr. S ah, wah, your dinner looks so good! Char Kuay Teow (fried noodles)! You even have wolfberry soup!"

"Haha, you like? Come, I'll share half with you. Jit lang jit pua (each person, one share)' he says in Hokkien. He laughs through his oxygen prongs in his nostrils.

Mr. T is next to us and he says in mock jealousy, "Hey, how come you have soup?"

I look over and realise he has a special diabetic diet and so has rice and fish instead. "Haha, don't compare!" I say, "haha both are nice!"

Mr. S with the lung tumor who just lamented about his fate now starts to laugh and joke, "Come come, we'll share. Jit lang jit pua."

He says the Hokkien phrase in a sing-song way. Jit lang jit pua, it means one share per person. I realise he's trying to be funny because he's quoting it from a famous Hokkien song.

We all laugh. It is past 6pm. My tummy is now quiet and no longer painful. My body, however, is more tired than it ever was from training daily. I now knock out and sleep till the next day shortly after I reach home and have dinner.

The indian nurse is still awaiting my answer, "Why ah, doktorr. Why you choose dis job, can you tell me?"

"I don't know, " I say. I think about the dehydrated, constipated and sleep-deprived state that my colleagues and I are in and say, "I guess, I just like it, I don't know why. It's very tiring but it's also fulfilling."

I wave at my patients, telling them I'm about to leave, and they all smile. Even though they are still grappling with news of their cancer or life-changing diagnosis.

"Thank you doctor."

And then I realise, it's worth it. All that work done just to hear a depressed patient laugh and make jokes and thank you genuinely because of an extra effort made.

It's definitely worth it.

http://ilovecharts.tumblr.com/

GAGASAURUS RAWR!

GAGASAURUS REX! RAWR!

New Album!

Hi everyone, I just want to let you know that I have redesigned myalbum on stardoll! Take a look and tell me what you think! And don't forget to vote5/5 ;)

Here are some of the pages in my album and remember... no copying!