scentofrain

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2011-06-19T22:43:00.000+09:30

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Choices

2011-05-01T19:59:00.000+09:30

First, an update on Mr Wrigglebottom (aka Babybum):

He's a big kicker/ somersault artist. Well, technically I've to have another pregnancy to compare him with - whether this is normal fetal activity or a trampoline master in the making. I hope he plays soccer. (Even if he picks up Aussie Rules Footy in the school yard, pleeeease be partial to soccer.)
Since conception, he's consistently liked peaches and orange juice. His new thing is apples. He had a Ribena and raisins phase. Only tolerates junk food in moderation. I'm incubating a health junkie.
We have 3 names picked out. We'll see which suits him best when he emerges. No, not into stringing all 3 names together, he's not Prince William Arthur Philip Louis. Just "[insert name] Hasibuan" on his birth cert, thanks. His grandparents have been warned.

And now, on to today's entry!

Look, guys, I'm really sorry if infants and boobs and perineums ain't your thing. Work's great; the weekends and days off and quiet little Adelaide are as happy happy joy joy as ever, but my hormone soaked brain is obsessed with my gestation and all things pertaining to his cute little self at the moment so if i'mma blog, this'll probably be the theme for a while.

So yesterday I watched the 2008 documentary The Business of Being Born. It's really interesting even if you're not expecting - you can just watch it as a critique of the American health care system, particularly with respect to maternal medicine.

I can't describe how thankful I am to work in Obgyn late last year/ early this year. It's not something I would ever consider as a specialty, and is usually a rotation offered to junior doctors who are considering it as a career or to General Practice trainees as part of Women's Health. So the whole while I was doing it, I treated it as "just another job". (Actually, there were certain points when I wondered why I was being punished with it.)

But soon enough I saw what an invaluable experience it was for me as a woman. You know, you always hear the argument thrown around that it was the norm for women in the past -and indeed, in some rural communities today- to have witnessed and aided in the labour of their fellow womenfolk. It's a rite of passage lost to the modern woman, resulting in anything from a crippling fear of the unknown to an unrealistic (almost romanticized) expectation of the birthing process.

So the whole experience in Obstetrics? An absolute privilege, even from a non-medical point of view.

The other plus point is to know how the system works and therefore what birthing options are available to me now as an expectant mum. As mentioned in the documentary, unlike the United States, Australia has a similar system to the UK and many other European countries where there is a midwife-dominant model of care, with very accessible medical backup.

Nonetheless, it still is a hospital environment, and though nowhere near as pushy as what you see in the documentary, the time constraints and the "readiness" to intervene with Syntocin (similar to Pitocin) and ARM's and vacuum/ forceps and The Big C Word exists. But no, the decisions are not motivated by money or selfishness or fear of litigation. From experience, I can vouch that we're not lurking in the corner rooting for a "Failure To Progress" so we can jump on a labouring woman and perform a Caesarian section.

At the end of the day everyone involved truly just wants a healthy mum and a healthy baby. And each woman who ends up in ICCU or each stillbirth is one too many - a loss that dampens the morale of the team for weeks on end.

For all the bad press the medical profession gets especially from certain members of the community who hold certain extreme views about childbirth, I have immense respect for the Obgyn Registrars and Consultants I worked with. I've witnessed them literally save lives of mums and newborns with their decisiveness and skill. And it's only when I reach home at the end of the shift when I realize, "Wow, I was part of the team too, what a privilege."

However, after that accolade I must admit, I'm actually booked in at the Birth Centre.

A Birth Centre is set up to be as alike to a home environment and as different to a hospital setting as possible. I've nothing against home births (my grandma had 6 home births by choice) but I know it's not something that'll work for me at all. Ignorance is bliss, and my medical mind will not be able to relax labouring outside a health facility because I know I'll be thinking of every possible complication along the way. I already spent my entire first trimester petrified by the possibility of miscarriage.

But being in a Birth Centre room is nice because I don't feel like I'm in an actual... hospital ward/ room, which when you think about it, is kind of like my "office", know what I mean? The one I'm booked into is actually literally down the corridor to the labour ward - much to Ridwan's relief! It has a double bed (instead of a hospital bed) and armchairs and a kitchenette. Also, a bath for water birthing, which I haven't decided on one way or another but may use for pain relief.

The model of care involves one midwife who follows me through my entire pregnancy, labour and 6-week postpartum period, including house visits and guidance with breastfeeding. I've enthusiastically consented for a midwifery student to be involved too, because my patients have taught me so much and I want to give back to the system. And I'm fully aware that with the exception of seeing my GP for specific complaints, there may not be a single Medical Officer involved in this entire process at all.

It's a decision frowned upon by some of my doctor colleagues - "no epidural?!?", "a hippie midwife?", "what if you need medical intervention?", "WHAT IF THINGS GO WRONG?". But what if things go right? And for the record, my midwife is not a hippie.

I just want to give myself a chance to do it like how mum and grandma did - I miss them even more now that I'm on this journey, I've so many questions! I want to give myself a chance to recover from a physiological phenomenon, not an emergency surgical procedure. I want to be guided by someone I've grown to know, not someone rostered for the shift. I want to be able to walk around, move, get into different positions, float in a tub, suck on a popsicle, take my time...

I don't know how my experience will be and I don't have an elaborate "Birth Plan" or any special pain combating technique up my sleeve. I just want to give myself a chance, in the most supportive environment available. We'll see how it pans out...

Breaking the news

2011-03-19T12:59:00.001+10:30

I began crying the moment I got into the car. "What's wrong? Was it a bad day at work? Was anyone mean to you while you were waiting for me at the lobby?" Ridwan's posed me a series of calm, concerned questions. I couldn't answer any of them, couldn't get any words in between sobs.

And like a vicious cycle, I felt increasingly worse about myself for getting upset at all!

I didn't mean to be unthankful. In fact, somewhere in my messed up mix of emotions was thankfulness and elation - I've always wanted to be a mum, Ridwan and I have been talking about our hypothetical children for ages! But I was so angry with myself for "not doing it right".

Now that we are, well, adult and working and independent and contented in the midst of building our life together, surely the responsible thing to do was to make sure all our affairs were in order before conceiving. We're in the midst of Australian residency applications, Ridwan only recently enrolled in Open Uni, we had travel plans, I haven't even decided on a specialty yet... all the thoughts and worries I had been suppressing the entire day in order to perform at work slapped me in the face in that car ride home.

Also, even though I absolutely adore my siblings, I've always wanted my kids to be only a year or two apart from one another so they're never lonely. So now that It has begun... I think I've to put my career on hold.

Oh and then there was the huge sashimi lunch I had the day before finding out. Not to mention all the dubious junk food I've been having, the skipped meals, the basic lack of anything with with true nutritional value. I wasn't exactly looking after myself - work's simply too busy. Good thing I'm a nonsmoker, nondrinker.

And the main thing really, was the realization that we are here, by ourselves, miles away from any family support.

I always imagined that we would make a conscious decision to conceive. Plan it all, take pregnancy supplements, mark my ovulation dates on a calendar. In my mind's eye, it's a beautiful sunny weekend morning and I'll wake up, pee on a home test kit, discover the positive results together with Ridwan, then go out for a celebratory brunch. Maybe buy a pair of cute baby socks for luck.

When we reached home, I curled up on the couch, letting the last few sobs die down. Ridwan had his arm around me waiting for me to tell him what was going through this head of mine if I so wished. He never pushes. "I'm pregnant," I squeaked, my head buried in his chest.

I sensed his body relax with relief. "Is that it? Then why are you crying? Alhamdulillah."

First for 2011

2011-03-14T12:51:00.001+10:30

HELLO INTERNETS!!!

*crickets...*

Where do I even start?

I'd really like to get this site going again. Mainly because I look at my archives and can't believe I didn't document 2010 as regularly as I did my years at uni - what a waste! It was a memorable, exciting, awesome year!

But perhaps the silence on the blog is testament to how busy it was. My first year working, getting used to graveyard shifts and sacrificed weekends. And of course, as family and friends already know, 2010 ended with a big surprise: Ridwan and I are expecting our first baby.

Some time in late November, my mum made a completely out of the blue comment that perhaps it's time Ridwan and I considered starting a family. Of course I said, "insya Allah". But also mentioned that I've other things I needed to get in order first, other plans to fulfill. I gave the arbitrary estimate of "two more years".

But later that very week, wondering why my period had not come yet, I peed on a stick at work (there are boxes and boxes of them in the store room) and it lit up.

I was stunned.

So the preceding week plus of vomiting was not gastro after all. Also, it probably explains why I'd begun fainting during long, hot, tiring Caesarian sections. I was doing Obsterics and Gynaecology at the time. No, the irony is not lost on me.

I had to break the news to Ridwan, but I didn't want to do it over the phone.

How to dodge ASIO. Or the FBI. Or whatever.

2010-09-27T23:25:00.001+09:30

Me: Hey look! I got an email saying my free iPhone cover's on it's way!

R: So how did you do it?

Me: Well you gotta install the iPhone4 Case Program App. There're quite a few designs you can choose from.

R: And you just give them your address and stuff...?

Me: They already have that...

R: ...from our iTunes account...

Pregnant pause

Me: I know, it's scary when you think about it. Apple has a record of every single household that has its gadget.

R: We give up our privacy? All that for a phone? Are we gonna regret this in the future?

Me: I don't know. But hey, we're playing Waterslide and Rollercoaster and Unblock Me instead of Shoot the Infidel. I'm sure it's fine.

R: How do you know the mic's not on? They could be listening.

Me: (in a louder voice) Surely they can appreciate sarcasm.

R: Ha Ha. I said HA HA.

Mercy

2010-08-19T16:20:00.004+09:30

I started eating for sahur at quarter to five even though fajr wasn't till half past. You never know when you're gonna be paged away! Sure enough, at five exactly, I was paged to review a febrile, tachycardic, possibly septic young patient. The taste of mango and peach yoghurt, the last thing I swallowed, was thick at the back of in my throat. I glanced at my watch as I was climbing up the stairs. Surely there'll be time for a sip of water after I go see this boy, insya Allah.

But there wasn't. By the time I was done seeing that boy and a few other things on the ward (there's always multiple unavoidable "by the way... since you are here... can you please write up some more pain relief/ have a look at this drain/ the patient in Bed 4 has some chest pain/ etc etc etc") it was quarter to six. Ah, I'm so thirsty, I think to myself.

By then, a few things that needed sorting out had cropped up in a different ward. Things that could wait. I went to do fajr first. The fast for the day had well and truly started.

I resumed working immediately after that. As I was walking back to the doctor's lounge, I saw my water bottle at a nurse's station along the way. I had been looking for it all night! Must have left it there earlier during my shift.

And then I started drinking. I drank. And drank. And drank. Until there was no water left in the plastic bottle. Got paged about a hypoglycaemic patient, sorted that out (not without having a chat with her about her grandkids and great grandkids, no less!), then continued my saunter back to the lounge.

As I was buzzing myself in with my ID Card, I noticed how light and empty my bottle was, and it struck me! A little chuckle escaped my lips and I stood there for a few seconds shaking my head. "Then which of the favours of your Lord will you deny?"

* * * * *

Ramadan kareem, everyone. I hope it's been a beautiful week for you. I was lucky enough to start my fast on my week off. Meanwhile, this week I'm reacclimatizing to the routine while I finish off my final week as a Surgical Intern on night duty. I move on to the Emergency Department next, but will have a break during that to return to Singapore and Indonesia for Eid, insya Allah.

Been thinking of closing this blog altogether because I can't seem to find the time (or commitment) to update it! But I know I'll regret it, so it's staying for now. Life's been good, a mixture of contentment and hopefulness, alhamdulillah. Till next time, have a blessed month! xox

Hi everyone

2010-05-30T17:33:00.002+09:30

I feel like I should account for my disappearance.

How I've missed you.

The simple excuse is that I've been busy. I joke with Ridwan that I must work twice the number of hours he does but probably don't earn twice as much. Then again, I shouldn't complain, we have it better here than our peers in a handful of other countries - I'm almost embarassed to tell my friends back in Singapore that on some days I actually do leave work at five! And I've only had to work both days of a weekend once! (It was a long weekend, I had the Monday off.)

It's a good thing that I'm not one for sleeping in. Each day off has been seized like a precious prize. Each afternoon or evening away from the hospital a respite. It's become more important to be in the moment with my loved ones. Online presence - not so important. Unless it's replying to a personal email or FB message, of course!

Nevertheless, there's much that I am looking forward to share if indeed there was time to spare. Stories and thoughts from the last couple of months, and whatever pops up in the ones to come. I'm starting a "service" rotation soon in which I alternate working from 9pm to 8am for a week straight with having a whole week off. Maybe then, there'll be quiet moments to write, to reflect, to blow the dust off my camera...

Till then.

With love,
Elia

Timeline. In case you're interested.

2010-03-09T23:06:00.002+10:30

0805hrs
Arrive at my office five minutes late. Three medical students already waiting. Night Intern waiting with them to update me on overnight happenings pertaining to my patients. I learn: one patient died, one was over narcotized and one had a fall on the way to the bathroom.

0820hrs
Consultant arrives ten minutes early for the ward rounds. The Consultant does full rounds only on Tuesdays and Fridays. I'm SO THANKFUL it's a Tuesday because today, both the RMO and Registrar sit for exams making me a one-man team (with three medical students in tow). We had several admissions over the long weekend. Our patient list is loooong.

We start seeing our patients.

0900hrs
Handover meeting. We get one new patient but my Consultant negotiates with the other Consultants... and manages to put that patient under a different team. I'm so relieved because the workload's too much for me as it is. We continue seeing our patients.

1045hrs
We finally get through our entire list of patients. Lots of "jobs" for me to do as part of their care plan. I get started with some help from the medical students (who I think were taking pity on me).

1100hrs
Discharge Planning Meeting. I surprise myself by presenting 25 different patients from memory to the attendees - I didn't mix them up! Yay!

1130hrs
Meeting ends. I get back to work.

1134hrs
One of the three(!) pagers I was carrying beeps. Patient in a different ward has chest pain and is in rapid AF. I go to review the patient... with three medical students in tow. I start managing the patient and ask the nurse to initiate a MET Call.

1139hrs
Help arrives. Patient stabilized but still needs ongoing management and cardiac monitoring. Discuss possibility of transfering patient to ICCU... but Coronary Care Unit deemed more suitable. Medical students watch in fascination as the entire process unfolds.

1245hrs
Arrive late for Intern Tutorial after sorting out patient's transfer to CCU and contacting patient's family. I know it's a hectic day but it was an ECG Tutorial by Dr V. If there was ONE THING I can do for myself today, it's to attend Dr V's tute. So I did.

1330hrs
Tutorial ends. Rush back to ward. Get back to work. Medical students left for their tutorials.

1430hrs
Not under any delusion that I can do it all on my own, I call for help.

1500hrs
Help arrives! In the form of an Intern from another medical team! She helps with the "small" jobs like drug charts and IV cannulas, while I review patients, liase with medical imaging, order tests and chase the results for others, write up discharge medications, request consults, blah blah blah...

1630hrs
Things are surprisingly under control. Just a few more referrals and calls to patients' family members left to do. Manage to squeeze in first toilet break for the day. And a sip of water from the drinking fountain/ water cooler/ whatchmaycallit.

1730hrs
More or less done with the day's work. Rush to lobby where Ridwan is waiting patiently - we've a show to catch at 1800hrs! Realize the travel mug of coffee he made for me in the morning is still full. I gulp down cold coffee on the way home. So thirsty.

1740hrs
Change out of work clothes. Ridwan, sis and I head to the city. Traffic was baaaaaaad...

1815hrs
Running late for the show. Car breaks down! Or more specifically, heats up in a smoke.

1845hrs
Manage to park smokey car in an alley. Walk to show venue. Catch last 20minutes of the stand up act. Catch up with one of the performers who's an old friend from uni, tell him about our car fiasco. We get free tickets for tomorrow's show! Aren't they sweet?

1920hrs
Have dinner in the city. Did not realize till then that I was famished.

2100hrs
Head home with 2 pitstops along the way for fear of car heating up again.

2150hrs
Arrive home. Drink some water. Write this. Wash up. Go to bed.

How to keep your wife happy

2010-02-25T21:54:00.000+10:30

First, some background information (in the simplest terms possible). In Australia, you can "salary package" a portion of your pre-tax salary so that you only pay tax on the fraction of your salary that you don't "package". Your "packaged" salary can be used for several things including rent, credit card bills, mortgage, getting a car (including its running cost) and laptop purchase, to name a few things. In Victoria, even "food and entertainment" expenditure can be deducted from your pre-tax pay.

Yesterday, I text messaged Ridwan around lunch time to basically say oops! we forgot that we're supposed to meet up with the salary packaging lady today. And then today in the car...

You know what? I got the day wrong! We're supposed to talk to the salary packaging lady today, not yesterday! She comes on Thursdays, not Wednesdays!

RIDWAN

Yeah, that's what I wrote in my organizer diary thing.

Why didn't you say so?

RIDWAN

I jotted it down when you first told me. And then late last week, you said Wednesday. And you reminded me again earlier this week that it's on Wednesday... So I thought I jotted the wrong day down coz, you know...

Coz... what?

RIDWAN

Coz you're always right!

I'm always right?

RIDWAN

(laughing) Yeah... you're always right. I always doubt myself before I think you're wrong.

Sweetheart, this is why our marriage will last a long long time.

Subliminal messages

2010-02-17T21:19:00.001+10:30

Ridwan passed me the notebook after he was done with it and I found that he'd changed the desktop background. He didn't mention anything about it but I'm guessing right there's a black-and-white image of his dream come true. Which is the easier job - cat litter duty or diaper duty? Coz I'd like to volunteer for that one.

The tweet that got too long

2010-02-13T00:50:00.000+10:30

First things first: scrubs are like the most comfortable thing in the world! I've three ~~stolen~~ sets at home that I wear as pyjamas.

In some hospitals, its the standard uniform (not in the one I'm working in which is the case in most, if not all, of the hospitals in Australia). Nevertheless, in the operating theatre and its surrounds, everyone has to wear scrubs.

I usually take off my hijab and put on a scrub bonnet. I admit, my neck's exposed when I do that. Also I put on a scrub "jacket", which is long sleeved, over my short-sleeved scrub top. When I scrub in for a surgery, this jacket comes off and is substituted with a sterile surgical gown... and gloves and a mask. All that gear leaves only my eyes, forehead and a bit of my neck exposed.

When I'm wearing scrubs while not in theatre (eg. Emergency Department, on the wards during a long shift/ on call, sometimes on my anaesthetic rotation last year) I leave my hijab on and tuck it into my scrubs top. I admit, it does get a bit hot. Especially since I'd also be wearing a long-sleeved tee underneath my scrubs. If I don't have a t-shirt on, yup, its that long-sleeved jacket thing again.

Different docs and nurses and other theatre staff who wear hijabs have different ways of adapting to scrubs, I guess. But that's how I do it. Thanks for asking the question :)

One of the things that took place today

2010-02-06T11:12:00.000+10:30

I was in my sister's room on the phone with my sister who's currently on her (Southern hemispheric) summer holiday in Singapore when I suddenly heard a loud DANG!

The first thing that came to my mind was a bird must have flown into the window, crashing into it, not realizing it was closed. Not because I have an imaginative mind but because IT HAPPENED BEFORE. One day I was innocently minding my own business, looking out of the bedroom window at the horizon when a rosella banged into the window right in front of me. Which only led me to wonder: WHAT THE HELL WAS IT GOING TO DO TO MY FACE?

Anyway something went DANG! and the next thing I know, Ridwan was limping into the room, holding his right wrist in his left hand whimpering, "I stretched and hit the fan." Why he was limping with an upper limb injury, I don't know.

"Hey, I gotta hang up. Ridwan cut his wrist. I miss you, bye!" I ended the conversation with my sister.

I looked at the clean, precise, mechanical, almost surgical slit on his wrist. The first thought that came to mind was: that must sting like a hundred paper cuts. Second: yup, I definitely married the tall guy with freaky long limbs. Third: wish I had some surgical superglue and steri-strips. Think 3M only makes those hooks you can stick to the walls? Think again.

Thankfully, the cut wasn't deep or extensive enough to involve either his ulnar or radial artery. Or I should say: ALHAMDULILLAH. I dressed it the best I could with the pathetic band-aids that we have at home, whilst dreaming of hypafixes and opsites and tegaderms. That and pressure to control the imminent bleed.

Now dude looks like an emo kid.

(No offence, emo kids - cheer up! Ok, bad joke. Here: get some help.)

Finally, the perfect audience for my (lame) joke.

2010-02-05T23:10:00.000+10:30

Me to the two ward pharmacists nearby:

It's almost 2. Shouldn't you girls go get some lunch?

Ward Pharmacist 1:

Yeah. I'm starving... But I'm just gonna fax this off to pharmacy before I go.

Ward Pharmacist 2 to me:

How about you? Have you had lunch?

Me:

I don't even know what that is anymore... (Sadface.)

Ward Pharmacist 1:

You're nuts. Don't you ever take a break? Go have lunch!

Me:

I don't have lunch, I have... Pantoprazole.

I realize, this is probably funny to very few people. Thankfully, the two pharmacists loved it. Either that or they took pity on my attempt at wit.

In some other universe, all street signs are like this. And people break into song.

2010-02-04T22:55:00.000+10:30

This is the street sign I tweeted (twittered? twat?) about ages ago. The one Ridwan and I delightfully spotted next to the train station near our place during one of our evening walks. I mean, seriously, "Kiss & Go" on an official town council street sign? I have more faith in the human race already.

This is the sort of thing I should be emailing my mum about

2010-01-31T15:33:00.001+10:30

So. I haven't got my full pay yet because the payroll office got my bank details wrong. What I do have cashed into my account is the fraction of my salary I've chosen to package. Uhm... yeah... riveting stuff to blog about.

Anyway, I was all sigh, this sucks donkey balls (Ridwan hates it when I use this phrase because he can't help but PICTURE IT. I don't have a mental image of it. At all. It's just sounds to me.) about it on Friday when the situation was explained to me by the very helpful, very efficient HR folks.

But I got over it quickly enough and was pleasantly surprised to find that I still love my (tiring, panic-inducing, ego-trampling, patience-testing) job without the pay, and I still sincerely care about the patients. Any good outcome or quick "thank you, that helped!" is worth more than the money. Which I take as a good sign that I'll enjoy relief work... insya Allah.

NOT saying that I don't want this mess with my salary to get sorted out asap. One has to pay the bills.

I did an 8am-to-9.30pm cover shift on Saturday which basically means 13.5 hours of non-stop work - no meal break, no prayer break, one very hurried toilet break and a splitting headache at the end of it from dehydration, hunger and all the adrenaline. Also, the bonnet underneath my hijab slipped off my head with my hijab still on at about 8:45pm.

I know in some countries junior doctors are on call for 72 hours or some crazy shit like that. Does this make you a tougher, more efficient, more experienced albeit exhausted doctor? Probably. Would I ever want to work anywhere I'll have to do a 72-hour shift? I don't think so.

I hate to be the one watching your life go up in a smoke

2010-01-31T13:37:00.000+10:30

Behold the humble, innocent-looking, little cigarette which has the power to make otherwise sensible men (and women) depreciate themselves to abate their cravings for it. Detriments to health and wallet aside, it always intrigues me when I spot a person, or a line of strangers, outside a no-smoking building sucking and puffing away on their cigarettes.

Growing up in Singapore, I didn't think much of it. Each day's weather was almost constant, predictable. At the most, the determined smokers had to put up with a bit of rain.But witnessing them exit the building just for a smoke when it's more than forty degrees (Celcius!) out, or with snow and wind threatening to blow out the flames that ignite their drug of choice, my mind is rightly boggled.

One step up from that is catching hospital inpatients hanging out outside the hospital building for a fag. Usually they're in their flimsy hospital gowns. Some barefoot. Some so sickly you wonder how they managed the journey from ward to front entrance. A few holding on to their drip stands (with the drip still running!) with one hand while the other holds a lit cigarette. Fortunately I haven't spotted any who's out for a smoke while still connected to an oxygen tank!

Of course, it was less than 50 years ago when it was not uncommon for doctors to do their ward rounds while smoking cigarettes. I'm glad those days are long gone.

I understand that smoking is not as simple as enjoying a cheeseburger. It's socialization, it's chemical addiction, it's habitual, it's a coping mechanism, it's teenage experiment gone wrong, it can be so many different things to different individuals. Also, I won't stop being your friend or refuse to sit next to you just because you are a smoker - though yes, my watery eyes and irrepressible cough is due to your smoke blowing in my face. And, like most people, it's not as if I haven't tried it to see what all the fuss about. But you gotta admit, like an infatuated teen, the innocent-looking little cigarette makes smokers say and do some pretty crazy things for its sake.

Anyone up for a few snags on the barbie, minus the cold beers?

2010-01-26T09:23:00.001+10:30

Today is Australia Day, a Public Holiday. I was supposed to work today but the relieving RMO put his hand up for the short round this morning, leaving me, and my regular RMO, with the day off! Couple this with the fact that I had yesterday afternoon off because I had to go for an xray and a blood test - the awesomeness cannot be denied. The tests took no more than an hour. After that we were free to roam the city before gravitating to... Ikea. Yet again.

It's not that I don't like going to work. Underneath it all, I'm a regular masochistic, workaholic Intern who spends a couple of hours each lovely languorous weekend secretly wishing I was back in the ward. But today's the first day this year that Ridwan and I are having a day off together. (Yes, he works most weekends and has his days off during the week.) So even though my body couldn't help but get out of bed and into the shower before 7 o'clock this morning, and even though Ridwan's actually out picking up a ute for the Australia Day Parade later this afternoon, I think today is gonna be pretty sweet.

Another reason why Radiology isn't a bad specialty to consider

2010-01-25T22:08:00.001+10:30

I miss the weekly study circles here. I miss the sisterhood. I miss the big, strong community in Melbourne. I miss my undergrad days and being part of the Society. I miss the adorable little kids at Sunday school. I miss my friends there. I miss the talks and lectures and seminars at Copland Theatre and IISNA and the community mosques. Lately, I've been feeling like I'm fading away. That all I'm managing with right now is the bare minimum.

x x x x x

I have a theory. My theory is that in Muslim majority countries, doctors can pass their pagers to a colleague when they take a few minutes off to pray. Especially if it's a code blue/ arrest pager.

Baby Talk

2010-01-24T12:14:00.004+10:30

It's a Sunday summer's morning. The bittersweet taste of the flat white I had for breakfast lingers in my mouth. I am sitting in our modest¹ garden. The washing machine is churning the first load of laundry for the day while the rest of the weekend's cleaning and errands await. And somehow, before this day ends and the work week starts again tomorrow morning, I must fit in some studying² and revision.

The one thing that's been popping in my mind lately, especially during moments when I've time exclusively to myself such as this, is how I cannot imagine having to take care of a kid right now. I like my present life with Ridwan, and the plans we can make without having to factor in another (dependent) human being that I feel a little guilty for being relieved about being childless and having the option to remain so.

Of course, I want to have kids eventually. (Duh.) I've never imagined it any other way. Just not as soon as I had previously thought. And as long as I don't watch videos of Nina or Capucine, my ovaries? They remain perfectly intact.

Before, it was a case of let's have a kid as soon as we're stable³. Now it's become let's enjoy the stability and freedom for a while... and then have a kid when we actually want to. Meaning: even if we miraculously sort out our careers and residency issues before the end of the year, I still don't want to play mummy yet. I wonder if that comes from selfishness and a regression in my level of maturity, or if I'm convinced by the camp which argues that the more you accomplish before being a mum, the better mum you'll be⁴.

Meanwhile, I get a lot of joy from playing with friends' kids and baby cousins (and handing them back to their parents for diaper changes or meals). And if there's any consolation to the tiny guilt⁵ I feel for avoiding motherhood, it's that it seems Nina's and Capucine's parents waited a while before settling down and having their beautiful⁶ daughters. So, I guess no rush to have a baby before I turn thirty!

1. Modest because it appears that Ridwan and I (but me, especially) are hopelessly clueless about gardening; the only thing I can be depended upon with flowering or fruiting plants is the harvesting.
2. No longer motivated by exams but by instances of having a patient in front of me and thinking WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT THIS?
3. Also translating to let's be stable asap so we can have kids!
4. OK, fine. Another excuse, because again, even if I accomplish my life's ambitions before the end of the year, I'm still not ready yet.
5. Guilt mainly caused by grandparents who SIGH TRAGICALLY, then 'subtly' lament, "Oh, what can we do when you don't want to give us great grandkids?" MAKE ME FEEL KINDA BAD, that's what.
6. A huge part of what makes them such well-adjusted kids must be the mature, calm, sensible parenting they receive.

Maybe I should stick to my black canvas flats with floral insoles

2010-01-21T21:14:00.001+10:30

because today was a bad day. A phenominally bad day. Albeit not bad professionally, just emotionally. I had a frustrating night on cover shift on Tuesday and things haven't looked up since. Today, I decided to give my comfy pretty new shoes a rest and BAM! I have a day that feels pretty much like I've just been hit by a bus. And then I wake up in hospital the next day without a leg and find out MY INSURANCE WON'T COVER THE COST.

Since I'm generally feeling low and apologetic at the moment, I'm sorry that this blog has been esoteric and self-indulgent of late. (Although not very sorry. Just a little.) Blogging started off as a semi-private journal I share with my friends, and although it's kind of nice to occasionally have a surprisingly public audience for pieces of writing I've actually put some extra thought into or pretty pictures I've decided to share, this still is, essentially, a lame blog chronicling the life of some girl living in Australia with her high school sweetheart. And right now, just when she thinks she's all grown up and working, she realizes that life still has a few lessons to teach her.

The little joys we scramble for when everything else seems to be crashing down

2010-01-18T20:10:00.001+10:30

Today was one of those days.

It wasn't a bad day.

It was just one of those days:

when I don't get to have a sip of water the entire day,
when my pager doesn't stop beeping,
when I don't get to have my ONE toilet break till I was absolutely busting,
when I miss lunch completely (which, unfortunately, means missing zuhr as well),
when a patient's daughter wants to speak to me at the same time another patient is trying to discharge himself at the same time a nurse wants me to do review another sick patient...
when I spend so much time on my feet I was really thankful... for my shoes!

I had a new pair of shoes on today - black canvas flats with pretty floral-patterned insoles. And in spite of all the running around to different wards and departments, the climbing up and down flights of stairs, nary a blister! Let's put things in perpective here: I get blisters wearing Crocs, I get blisters wearing sneakers with socks!

In all honesty, in a hectic day as an often lost and self-doubting Intern, awesome ballpoint pens and comfy shoes are a godsend. I don't know how many times I smiled at my feet just to boost my morale today.

Settling in

2010-01-17T14:35:00.000+10:30

Life would be easier if starting work simply meant putting into practice my clinical skills and theoretical knowledge (or lack thereof ha ha) (such an unfunny joke if you were actually A PATIENT) and had nothing to do with also getting my head around administrative Stuff, how the tax system works, financial planning, legal rights and responsibilities, visa applications, et cetera.

But now that I've begun my duties on the ward and done my cover shifts the focus is back on what makes us tick - because despite the long hours and difficult decisions, my fellow Interns and I are enjoying the experience and can't imagine working in any other job.

I'm easing into Aged Care and Aged Care itself is allowing me to really ease into the year. At first I was worried that it meant complicated patients with multiple comorbidities but although this true, their advanced age also calls for less aggressive management; so at the end of the day, it's a lot of stabilizing the acute medical problem they've come in with, patient advocacy with regards to placement and community supports post-discharge, palliative care and simply being a listening ear.

I do love old people. Even the crankiest ones have their funny, heartwarming moments. "You are just like my daughter/ grand daughter!" comments are always taken positively. And even though I've to reintroduce myself to the ones with dementia EVERY SINGLE DAY (sometimes more than once a day), Geriatrics is a pretty good start to Internship.

Forget the tub of Häagen-Dazs

2010-01-06T21:43:00.000+10:30

Ridwan made us each a small plate of nasi panas, kicap manis and telor ceplok (or telur mata lembu in Malay) for a nighttime snack. We both agree it is comfort food that reminds us of our childhood.

He commented that it's nice & filling enough to have EVERY DAY.

And I was all, YEAH HONEY, EXCEPT WE'LL GET SCURVY.

For the uninformed:
nasi panas = warm rice (preferably white, long grain, jasmine rice)
kicap manis = sweet soya sauce
telor ceplok = egg, sunny side up

For posterity

2010-01-05T22:36:00.003+10:30

Just thought I should jot down my thoughts about starting work before my first day of Real Employment which, by the way is tomorrow. Which, accurately speaking, isn't really my first day of work since we have a week-long orientation / refresher crash course / getting-to-know-you programme lined up. But I think we start getting paid tomorrow. I think (read: HOPE).

Even if we didn't though, there's plenty of free medical indemnity or pharmaceutical company sponsored meals in the one-week period to make up for it, and since the only life I knew before this is that of an impoverished (+ almost malnourished) student, I'd say it's pretty swell.

So yeah, I graduated, alhamdulillah. On the one hand I really feel like I'm Ready -so ready to work and enjoy this amazing, rewarding job and put my student days behind me- but on the other I'm completely freaked out, petrified, anxious, self-doubting, shitting in my pants while being scared shitless, anticipatorily mourning the loss of long semester holidays and being able to get out of the ward before 5pm to go to the "library" to do some "studying"...

I wasn't struck by any great celebratory sentiment surrounding and during my Qualifying and Graduation Ceremonies. Taking the (modified) Hippocratic oath felt somewhat momentous, but only insofar as to reaffirm what most of us already feel, know and practice.

If I had to describe how I've been feeling since graduating, it's the simple realization of having arrived where I'm meant to be.

While studying for my high-school leaving exams (the Cambridge GCE 'A' Levels), I got it in my head that I wanted to study Religion and Medicine in a prestigious university in the Middle East. True story. Nevermind the fact that my level of Arabic was limited to reading the Quran and primary school level grammar and vocabulary. I confessed my fantastical aspirations to my parents who, impressively, did not ask if I WAS COMPLETELY OUT OF MY MIND (even their facial expressions revealed neither shock nor amusement) but instead simply told me to just "do my best".

Fastforward to exams and results and the time came to choose where to go and what to do for university. By this time, I got in in my head that I'll be an architect (oh the fickle mind of an 18-year-old), except my dad's attitude towards that was Over My Dead Body.

So I applied to a handful of scholarships and to one of the local universities: Medicine as my first choice and Engineering as my second. At the time, it was the only Medical course available in the country, and I guess I wasn't good enough for it. I got accepted into Engineering instead.

But I was also offered a scholarship to do Behavioural Neuroscience in Melbourne. Obvious choice. Apart from my parents, I will always be indebted to my benefactor for their generosity and somehow, for picking me out of all the candidates. Alhamdulillah.

Incidentally, although it was never part of the plan (scholars were usually sent to Canada, but for my batch the economic downturn led to a change of plan), I was reunited with my boyfriend of 2 years: Ridwan. Yes, it's the same Ridwan I'm married to and still head over heels in love with.

My undergraduate uni life will forever remain amongst my best ever - in those three years, I enjoyed campus life to its fullest, met lifelong friends, grew attached to Australia, became me. In my third year, I applied for a job as a research assistant but a Doctor in the interview panel offered me a job under his wing at the Children's Hospital.

He is the second benefactor in this journey because later that year, I discovered that there are postgraduate-entry courses for Medicine in Australia. I applied and I really believe, out of all the extracurricular activities I listed in my CV, that job gave me an edge in my application. Good grades are a given, you need something else to win the attention of the admission board and that nice Doctor gave me a cool, relevant job.

I moved to Adelaide in 2006 and the rest, as the cliché dictates, is history. Well, not really. It's all still in progress as a new chapter begins... tomorrow.

How I spent the time between studying and working

2009-12-26T18:33:00.002+10:30

I had 2000 pictures to choose from - the product of my, Shasha's, Shakeel's and Fatin's cameras. But of course I wasn't going to bombard this site with them. Heck, I can't even bring myself to torture you, my four loyal readers, with 200 of them because as much as I think most of them are shots good enough to share, I do honestly value your time and internet access quota :)

It was really hard to pick the ones for sharing. The first instinct was to pick at least one good photograph from every place we visited or meal we had or experience we created... plus family/ group pictures. But that resulted in a lot of panoramic scenery shots you can get from postcards and travel websites, and food shots you can get from... well, dedicated foodblogs and such. Also, there are some things like our afternoon of exploring caves that simply have to be experienced and photographs do not do justice to.

So the ones above are 73 of my favourite ones, all left unedited. Some, I suppose, can be considered plain, but I've included them because they were captured by Fatin, so it kinda makes them cute. Want to guess which ones? Hint: they're usually overexposed because she never switches off the flash, or they're taken from a height of about 3 feet.

We managed an impressive itinerary in a just-under-3-week period, including a six-day sojourn in the North Island of New Zealand. By the way, my dad's business partner, Uncle P, and his family were holidaying with us too. We stayed in downtown Auckland the entire time and made day trips to locations that interested us within North Island. I loved our accommodation - a service apartment just off the main shopping and dining precinct of Queen Street, a two-bedroom unit each for my family and Uncle P's, and a one-bedroom one for me and Ridwan.

New Zealand did not disappoint and is every bit as picturesque and rich in natural beauty as it is reputed to be. I can't imagine how exquisite South Island must be if North Island, touted to be the "less pretty" one of the two, already managed to take my breath away. Amongst the places we visited were Karekare (a secluded, black sand beach accessible only on foot, where The Piano was filmed), the Bay of Islands, Matamata (home to the Lord of the Rings' Hobbiton Movie Set) and Rotorua. We had plannned to visit Tongariro and Ruapehu as well, but spent too much time shopping... Apart from that, we explored Auckland and its surrounds including Parnell, the museums and the parks.

When back in Adelaide, we did pretty regular things like strolling in the Botanical Gardens, down Rundle Mall or along Glenelg Beach. We ate out often and I fed them my culinary experiments when we didn't, to everyone's joy or horror, I do not know. We browsed and shopped at markets and malls and factory outlets and IKEA. (My parents are Ikea nuts. Then again, so am I.) We visited the Cleland Wildlife Park and Hahndorf, and took a day trip to the World Heritage Listed Naracoorte Caves and Mt Gambier so I could show off my "hometown" of six weeks. Visiting Mt Gambier again was sweet because it turned out to be my favourite rotation of the year after all. Oh, and of course there was the my whole graduation and stuff... but that's another story for another post... for another day.

Enjoy the pictures, folks!

Recollections from yesteryear (Part IV)

2009-12-03T13:55:00.001+10:30

Picture from http://inpalestine.deviantart.com/gallery

After visiting a few more sites in Saudi -Arafat and Masjid Namirah, Muzdalifah, Mina, Jabal Nur and the Hira cave, among others- we flew to Amman, Jordan. Having been stored in my dusty brain for more than 9 years, my memories of the entire experience are sketchy, save for a few vivid ones that stand out either for the emotion they evoked or the beauty they possess that is hard for the mind's eye to erase. I remember an image of the Masjid Al-Haram from inside the Hira cave, framed by the rocks which form a large crack in its wall. A few of us younger ones in the tour group had hiked up the mountain at night when all was quiet and still. The knowledge that the eyes of our beloved Prophet Muhammad (saw) once beheld the kaaba from that very vantage point was surreal. During our descent of the mountain, I felt nauseous and faint, and had to sit on the rocks for a while. The group proceeded without me and so even after I'd composed myself, there was still about 10 meters between us. I didn't mind - the solitude was peaceful.

We spent half a night in Amman, departing for the Israeli border in a bus/ coach at midnight. My memory may be sketchy but my habit of keeping journals since I was seven helps tremendously - I'm writing this with my 2000/2001 journal open on the table next to my laptop. Before I digress further...

At the Israeli customs, myself and several other young travelers in the tour group (pretty much the same few who climbed up the Jabal Nur) were requested to step into an adjoining room with our luggage bags. A thorough search was performed of our belongings. I didn't think much of it at the time as my bag had activated the metal detector - turned out it was the clippy metal rings in my file binder. I had an exam coming up, remember? I brought my lecture notes to study at night before bed.

Kids, this was way back when you didn't have to put all your liquid toiletry containers into a ziploc bag. When you could have a 1L bottle of Coke with you on board. When your airplane meals came with metal cutlery. This was merely 3 months before the intifada.

We had lunch in Jericho. I distinctly remember that the food was excellent.

Whilst in Jericho, we visited the Tomb of Prophet Moses (as). Our first stop in Jerusalem was the Dome of Rock on the Temple Mount and its immediate surrounds. I marveled at the architecture and was fascinated by all that our guide related to us - Isra Mi'raj, the Crusades, Salah a-din... I was happily immersed in an experience inspired by history and legacy.

My parents gave me free reign to the camera. I've only recently realized how generous it was of them to have done so. Now, kids, this was way back when we still used film, before digital cameras became the norm and you can take 47 shots OF THE SAME THING and then pick the best one! My parents let me waste/ use (arguable) as much film as I wanted and developed them all. My favourite photograph that I shot was that of a man pushing a wooden cart filled with bread up a cobblestone path, almost silhouetted against the light coming through an archway in the background. The picture evokes the comforting yeasty scent of freshly baked bread.

It's a pity that although I have my journals with me, the photo albums reside in our family home in Singapore. I'd love to share a few shots with you.

After our long journey, we slept well that first night, leaving our hotel rooms before dawn to make it to congregational fajr prayers at Masjid Al-Aqsa. I remember I was a little late, the prayer had already begun, so I joined the jama'ah immediately upon my arrival.

It wasn't till I sat down in contemplation after salat that my eyes fell upon the bullet holes on the walls of the mosque. And something clicked in my 17-year-old brain. For the first time all the news I'd heard growing up about the Palestinian struggle on the radio and on TV -to the point of desensitization- became real. Later during our visit, we drove past a few Jewish settlements, dumbfounded by the tall concrete, electric-fenced walls. We passed the security checks at the Western Wall and the Ibrahimi Mosque, my naïveté wondering why we can't just all coexist in peace like we did during a better Age than this.

I listed a few other sites in my adolescent journal, mostly of burial sites of notable individuals. My favourite, not surprisingly, was that of the female Sufi poet Rabi'a al-Adawiyyah. Our last stop before crossing the border again was the Dead Sea - no time for a quick dip though. Back in Amman, we visited the Kahf al-Raqim, the cave of the "seven" sleepers mentioned in Surah Al-Kahf.

That Sunday, the 18th of June 2000, we touched down in Singapore. I sat for my Mathematics exam at 8am the following day. Life went on, irreverent of the significance of the preceding weeks.

Click to read Part I, Part II and Part III.

Squeezing thru the birth canal that is Medical School

2009-12-02T17:00:00.006+10:30

So apparently, I don't actually need to turn up at the hospital the next two days. My assessment forms have been submitted and I'd have to do something REALLY MINDBLOWINGLY SIGNIFICANT for the form to be retrieved and my grades altered. Examples include: single-handedly performing an emergency craniotomy in the angiography suite or, conversely, tripping over and stabbing someone in the eye with a paracentesis implement. If I stay at home, all I'd be doing is maintaining the status quo.

That means I'm done for the year.

Check on me tomorrow, or later this weekend. It hasn't sunk in yet. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I can't bring myself NOT to dress up and get ready for "work" tomorrow morning.

See, that's the thing: it's not even work that I do. If I were in a service rotation (ie. one where I'm part of a team based in an inpatient ward) I'd definitely go in and stick around till the end of the day, no doubt. Coz then I'll actually be ~~free labour for the hospital~~ helping the team out. But I'm not really being of service to anyone in Radiology. If anything, everyone's been of "service" to me - the Registrars and Consultants and Radiographers who teach me while they work and answer my questions, and the patients who allow me to be there during their procedures. I reckon I should give them a break from the hovering Med Student.

Conscience, may I?

PS.
Truth #1: I'm happier about finishing Med Sch than actually being a doctor.
Truth #2: I'm more excited about my family flying over for a holiday than for my graduation.
Truth #3: If I'm still undecided in 5 years, Radiology's definitely my Plan B.

Les Petites Marions

2009-11-25T19:49:00.002+10:30

(At the risk of weird, psychotic strangers hunting us down on Google Earth:) we live in a suburb called Oaklands Park, within the City of Marion. There are a few historical landmarks in the area - old cottages, churches, almond groves, etc. And there are these bronze statues of Little Marion doing various (inquisitive and/or playful) things, which I like very much.

Hajj - for my education

2009-11-24T15:53:00.001+10:30

I'm trying to prepare for my Radiology assessment tomorrow and presentation next Wednesday but as usual, whenever I've actual, legitimate work to do my mind goes off wondering about something else. I started thinking that I should inform the department about taking this Friday off to attend Eid Al-Adha prayers and then I realized that even after going through the rites of hajj countless times in various classes and study circles, I can't rattle it off from memory. So I thought I should make a flowchart.

I started scribbling phrases and arrows in my notebook when it dawned on me to just google for one. All these fantastic Islamic websites and blogs and not a single flowchart? Impossible! Didn't take long before I found one to my liking... on a travel agent website:

Further notes (in brief, so they'll make more sense if you're Muslim):

Hajj is invalid if you don't spend the afternoon of the 9th of Zulhijjah in Arafat.
Muzdalifah is where you gather the pebbles.
The rest of the world celebrates Eid Al-Adha on the 10th of Zulhijjah. (This year it's this Friday, 27th November, insya Allah.) This is the day the slaughterings are done.
Tawaf Al-Ifadah is also known as Tawaf Az-Ziyarah.
"Rummy" on the afternoon of the 11th. Then leave Mina for Makkah before sunset in the 12th. If you're still in Mina for whatever reason after sunset on the 12th, "rummy" again on the 13th before leaving for Makkah.

Ok. Hopefully I'll remember it now :) If there there are any mistakes do tell me!

Happy

2009-11-22T13:19:00.001+10:30

I *love* this duo! Found them on capucha.tumblr (linked in blogroll on the right). It's been raining all night and all morning, but the wind blowing the clouds away, a gorgeous sunny Sunday summer afternoon revealing itself and THIS HAPPY VIDEO makes me wanna take a walk round the neighbourhood.

Will I ever learn not to have coffee after 5?

2009-11-19T01:31:00.008+10:30

One of the few non-incriminating candid shots of the evening

INGREDIENTS

(Makes 8)

Crackers, breadsticks and puff pastry stars
French onion & sour cream dip
Mascarpone & pesto savoury pinwheels

Orange, grapefruit & Spanish onion salad with balsamic dressing
Lisa's Awesome green salad
Happygrub-inspired potato salad
Donna's homemade satay sauce
Chicken skewers

Homemade coconut, white choc & ginger biscuit tarts
Homemade salted caramels
Somi's chocolate & mocha fudge slices

Copious amounts of tea & coffee

Cranium, the board game

METHOD

Arrive at hosts' personally designed and built home. Hugs all round. Chips 'n' dips & pinwheels available for grazing. Drinks self-served.
Indulge in grand tour of house by male host. Ogle at walk-in-wardrobe and female host's gorgeous Carrie Bradshawesque collection of shoes. Say 'hi' to Watson & Crick, the two felines in residence.
Males present put the chicken skewers on the quintessentially Aussie Barbie-in-the-Backyard. Meanwhile, females present assemble Lisa's Awesome Salad of rocket, cos lettuce, baby spinach, red coral lettuce, golden walnuts, avocado and mango with lime, chili, garlic and olive oil dressing.
All sit at table to enjoy much degustation and conversation.
Adjustments in tableware to allow for sweets and caffeine. And more conversation. The robust, French pressed coffee is beautifully irresistible, especially when served in chic little espresso cups. The milk jug is in the shape of a cow.
Attendees progress to living area for a rambunctious round of Cranium.
Second round of Cranium, resulting in headaches and sore throats from much laughing.
Goodbyes said. Hugs all round.
Return home, collapse on bed, desperate for sleep but kept awake by caffeine coursing through veins and diffused in brain. Read a bit of Vikram Seth to try to settle down and fall asleep. Give up.
Blog, ~~whilst hoping someone will upload photos from tonight for pilfering.~~

If I could reach up and hold a star for every time you've made me smile, the entire evening sky would be in the palm of my hand

2009-11-17T06:36:00.002+10:30

After psyching myself up for it for months, telling myself to accept that that's the way things have to be sometimes, that when you live so far away from your loved ones, you'll end up having to miss out on so many special occasions... after all that Affirmation Girl talk, I still cried looking at the beautiful wedding pictures on FB. It's ok though. Sure, my heart aches for not being there. But the joy of witnessing the day through those pictures and knowing that these two amazing individuals are about to embark on one of life's greatest journeys together more than trumps any sadness or self-pity that threatens to creep in.

A pause from the pilgrim's progress

2009-11-14T03:03:00.005+10:30

I started writing this in the wee hours of this morning but succumbed to sleep before wrapping it up and publishing it. More than 18 hours later, I present to you...

Let's take a break from the trip down Middle Eastern memory lane, shall we? I'll write about Jerusalem in my next post. Insya Allah.

I knew I shouldn't have had that coffee. Now it's past 3am and my brain's still going at a mile a minute. But I can never resist that Chocolate Macadamia taste - I'm more of a tea person and I cheat with my coffees, prefering milky mochas, cappucinos or flavoured lattes over strong shots of espresso any day. Besides, it was brewed and brought to us by the men in our lives while we ladies sat chatting and laughing on the sofa.

Not long ago, a study released its findings that intelligent women have better sex and orgasms. Frankly, I think this has quite a bit to do with intelligent women being smart enough not to pick lame, selfish douchebags as their life partners and bedfellows. Now, where was I going with this? I swear I had a point when I started the paragraph.

Anyway, I just held a little get together at my place so that the few of us Muslim girls Interning at my university hospital next year (plus one lovely future Intern who's heading to a different hospital) can meet up and get to know each other before we all start work. It's more than obvious that those of us who are already married are espoused to amazing men who are empathetic enough to listen to us whine (almost daily) about our woes in the world of Medicine, patient enough to hold off having kids till we've gained a firm footing in this field and brave enough to show how much they adore us. In return, they get stories from/of geriatric patients and free pens. Occasionally we bring home tongue depressors or a bit of gauze.

I'm really looking forward to 2010. I sure I'm gonna have some totally shit days when I feel like I've managed to single handedly blotch the entire hospital system but knowing that there are these awesome girls to go through the journey with makes it seem not so bad after all. Besides, with all of us being either from interstate or overseas - actually, just zone that down to Melbourne and Singapore respectively- friends take on a more meaningful role, truly as Family away from the first family that loved and raised us. At least for me, as much as I'm extremely fond of my friends back in Singapore, I realize that I share a stronger kinship with the friends I've made here living in Australia.

Of course, its also great that our men have found one another. They can hang out together, attend Friday prayers, go fishing, play video games, catch a movie while we're at work. Or at home catching up on sleep in between shifts. But they should never play Cranium without us.

Recollections from yesteryear (Part III)

2009-11-12T13:19:00.001+10:30

The sense of being overwhelmed eventually washed over, replaced by peaceful tranquility. We performed the various acts of pilgrimage together as a family. I haven't mentioned this but my maternal grandparents were also there with us, as was my late paternal grandmother. Shakeel, not yet six at the time, was doing his bit earnestly. He was very cute. We're so fortunate to have had that time together, all of us.

I scrutinized the kaaba closely on my first day there. So this is where I've been facing each time I pray! This is the structure that forms the uniting, geographical, tangible epicentre of my Muslim faith! Having always been under the impression that the kaaba is a huge, imposing piece of architecture, I was surprised to find that this was not the case at all. It is only of a modest size, sweet and pristine in its simplicity.

Naturally, being not only pilgrims but also tourists, we visited several places of interest such as date orchards, museums and the kiswah factory. Now, dear Internet, this educational touring appealed to me immensely. Ridwan and I are soulmates and kindred spirits in many ways, but one of them is surely our love for exploring and acquiring random new facts and knowledge (not to be confused with academic pursuits!) including sitting back, engrossing ourselves in a good documentary. That is why, as sad as I was to leave Makkah, after vowing that I'll come back at least once more to the holy land, I could not help but look forward excitedly to the coming week in Jerusalem.

Recollections from yesteryear (Part II)

2009-11-11T12:33:00.005+10:30

It was like being transported to another world. The walls inside were whitewashed just like the exterior. It was summer and one could feel the temperature drop upon entering the mosque. The patternless deep maroon carpet in the prayer areas stood out, as did the navy blue square tiles of the courtyard. There were fresh green plants in pots arranged geometrically along the periphery of the courtyard. But the pièce de résistance was a big -but not overbearingly, clumsily large - white fountain in the middle of the courtyard, its sprays and falls of water illuminated by sunlight to pure crystal.

There are moments in our life, I think, when we're faced with beauty so sublime that our eyes greedily try to take it all in and our hearts are moved by such aesthetic pleasure. It was a tug at the heartstrings I've only experienced a few times before that day in the courtyard, but in the years that follow, would feel again and again: exploring the emerald Tuscan hills in a rental Fiat; standing at the edge of a cliff looking out to an endless sea; watching warm Parisian lights twinkle on a cold winter's night; finding a single, old, large, majestic tree in a pasture... The world is full of beauty, if only we pause to look.

Before long, we arrived at our destination. We had donned our ihram earlier and were approaching the Masjid Al-Haram on foot from the hotel lobby several blocks away, crying out the talbiyah, proclaiming we are here, we are here, we have arrived! I don't have the vocabulary to name the emotion I was feeling at that time - it was a novel feeling, slowly creeping up to my consciousness.

Because I had been so reluctant to go in the first place, I hadn't pictured the moment in my mind, so it only sunk in at that precise moment where I was, what I was there for, why I was there. It hit me like a slap. My petty world of school camps, teenage infatuations, music fads, popstars and end-of-term tests was spiraling down into inconsequentiality.

We entered the mosque. After praying two raka'ah, I remained seated on the floor, shaking, gasping. Facing the kaaba, my heart wept, my entire body sobbed. I was there, I had arrived.

Recollections from yesteryear (Part I)

2009-11-10T11:18:00.007+10:30

Last weekend Ridwan and I attended a seminar about the Crusades organized by Islamic Legacy. It was a whole-day event, but we had to leave after lunch, so are now going through the second half of the story using a really awesome CD made available on the day. Now I'm thinking we should have gotten 2 copies of the CD, one to give to Shakeel. My brother's into these things. He willingly reads his History textbooks and his History essays aren't bad at all.

In 2000, when I was a hot-headed, difficult, moody 17-year-old, my parents decided we should go to Umrah. Let me just tell you straight up that I was not happy. Uh-uh. I was going to miss exciting school camps - I was in the Students' Council since I was as charming and caring and proactive amongst my teachers and fellow students as I was a complete Pain in The Ass with my parents. I was going to miss my then-boyfriend. (Now-husband. Ha. Ha.) I was going to have to sit for my mid-year exams the moment we got back. (Not that i would have been fervently studying if we had stayed in Singapore. Read: School Camps & Boyfriend.) I was very grumpy and very disagreeable about the whole situation.

But all of us got on the plane anyway. With me sulking ever so subtly because I wasn't a big enough pain in the ass to spoil everyone's flight. First stop: a few days in Madinah.

Unlike Shasha and Shakeel who were still small at the time (Fatin, of course, was still separate cells in my parents' gonads), I was old enough not to be under constant adult supervision. For the most part, I was allowed to wander on my own. I spent most of the time I had to myself in any quiet spot I could find in the Mosque of the Prophet. With each passing hour of each passing day, I felt calmer and more at peace. It was a peace so profound that it I could not help but cry. I admitted to Allah that this is pretty cool, I love it here, I feel safe here, I'm lucky to be here... BUT I'M NOT TELLING MY PARENTS.

It was time to perform our pilgrimage proper and we left Madinah for Makkah. My now nine-and-a-half-year-old memories are a little sketchy but I do remember that we stopped by to pray at the Masjid Al-Quba and the Masjid al-Qiblatain. We also stopped at another mosque that for the life of me I cannot remember the name of but whose image remains vivid in my mind - it was quite simply: beautiful. I had fallen asleep in the coach and woke up to find that we've stopped in the middle of what appears to be desert land whose landscape was interrupted by a single pure white, simple mosque. Like most but not all of the other passengers/ tourists/ pilgrims, I got off the coach and entered the mosque... to find myself in another world.

I wonder how many starry-eyed Med students know what they've gotten themselves into

2009-11-09T19:50:00.016+10:30

Ever since I got my placement last August, life has been pretty sweet. There are several perks to graduating from Medical School. Off the top of my head:

Ensured employment in a not too shabby job.
Being able to alert the air stewardess and say "Yes, how can I help?" when the Captain asks if there's any doctor on board the flight. And then hopefully be rewarded with seats on First Class.
Free pens, notepads, mints, meals and mugs from Pharmaceutical companies.
Immunity from the Parentals (not to be confused with Parental Immunity) - get into Med School and your parents will get off your back FOREVER! Works especially well if you're Asian.
Unlimited supply of Paracetamol and Ibuprofen for headaches and period pains.
Ample opportunity to hang out with the geriatric population. They have the coolest stories.

As you can imagine, the past 3 months have been spent in a state of euphoria and misplaced invincibility. I'm faithfully counting down the days, not to that of my graduation ceremony specifically, but to my last day at the hospital on Official Student Business which, by the way, isn't a lucrative business at all. The aforementioned day marks the start of a four-week holiday before I start work and is also the day my family arrives in Adelaide. I gots plans y'all... woo hoo!

About two weeks ago, however, Reality came round for a visit. While I may be too punch drunk to give any attention to Reality during the course of my four-week break, I'm sure it's generally here to stay. About a fortnight ago I decided to tackle the incessant "So. Do you know what you want to specialize in?" inquiries I was getting from well-meaning Registrars and Consultants head on. I began with embarking on The Ultimate Guide to Choosing a Medical Specialty. And then last week I attended a "Careers in Medicine" session at the hospital.

And now my brain's more muddled about the whole thing than it was originally. Granted, originally there wasn't much in there for muddling. What is it that people always say about ignorance being bliss?

So my mood began to yoyo between excitement about the upcoming holidays and graduation and starting work, and dread when the pendulum swings to the other side - the side where it sinks in how scary it actually is to be a doctor, where the big question looms overhead like a dark cloud: WHAT THE HELL COMES AFTER INTERN YEAR? Naturally, utter panic ensues.

We have a "mentor programme" in which each of us is buddied up with a Consultant who'll take us through the touchy feely bit of the 4-year journey through Medical school. Every single time I've met up with my mentor, he'll look at me squarely in eye and wisely say, The hardest part in this whole career is getting in to Medical School. Remember that. You've already gotten through the hardest part, my child! (I added the last "my child" bit myself for dramatic effect. Makes my mentor sound all Dumbledore-ish. But he's not. He's actually quite young.)

And then I get a mental image of myself post-call, pregnant, balancing a screaming toddler on my knee, on the phone with my mum promising I'll fly back to Singapore on my next leave, casserole burning in the oven and studying for my exams ALL AT THE SAME TIME and I think: Dude is pulling my leg, right? Also clearly, my mentor is not a Surgeon. NOT SAYING non-surgical specialties are a walk in the park. If anything, post-graduate medical training generally require much motivation, resilience and a little bit of Crazy. Just that a few specialties require more Crazy than others.

But an intelligent, sensitive, respected, successful, fashionable Head of Department once told me that the world of Medicine is for people who stick around long enough. Meaning, if you can't decide on or get into a specialty you have decided on, don't rush and don't despair. Just try and try and try again. Or, uhm, try something else.

Basically, all I wanted to say in this post is that I don't feel like I've reached "The End" anymore but rather, "The Beginning" of something that will manage to prove to be both amazingly rewarding and abysmally bleak. And just accepting that fact helps.

Available as breakfast treat or midnight snack

2009-11-08T00:08:00.006+10:30

Ever since Ridwan found this recipe for Martabak Manis, he and Shasha have been making it every single day. Folks, that's every single day since Wednesday. That's way more sugar and chocolate disguised as tiny little specks than is fit for consumption. There's always some batter in the fridge all ready to go whenever a Martabak Attack strikes either of them.

For the uninitiated, the thick(ish) pancake is generously spread with butter, sprinkled with chocolate sprinkles and crushed peanuts, drizzled with sweetened condensed milk and topped with a few shavings of cheese. By the time it is folded along the line formed by the crushed peanuts, all the ingredients would have melted into a sweet, gooey, chocolatey mess. Hello, Diabetes and Dental Caries!

Unlike the rissole, kroketten (croquette) and kaastengels, it is unclear if this saccharine snack reflects a Dutch influence on Indonesian cuisine. One thing for sure, Ridwan swears by the crucial ingredient, the Meises Ceres Hagelslag which, according to him is the original chocolate sprinkle brought to Indonesia by the Dutch. I have no idea if that's true.

You don't know me

2009-11-07T14:45:00.005+10:30

I want an mp3 of John Legend's rendition of this Ray Charles classic.

But. How?

Currently reading: De Botton's The Consolations of Philosophy. Honestly, I prefer his post-2000 works, but this one's an insightful, thought-provoking read nonetheless. Whenever I I turn the pages of his books, I can't help but hear his voice (accent included) reading out the words in my head. Anyway, what I SHOULD be reading: The Oxford Handbook of Emergency Medicine, for an ALS retest I've to do next week.

Goodbye little guy

2009-11-03T11:36:00.003+10:30

Fatin's pet Russian dwarf hamster, Lucky April -he's male, excuse the effeminate name- died on Sunday night.

One moment he was scurrying around the living room being all cute, looking so much like a rollypolly ball of fur with impossibly tiny legs and the next, he was lying on his side, convulsing, spewing blood out of his mouth onto the floor.

Ayah pick him up, cupped him in his hands, dabbed off the blood with some paper kitchen towels.

Fatin was traumatized. She couldn't bear to look.

Shakeel kept on insisting on A VET! WE NEED A VET! A VET!!!!

And when the little guy stopped breathing, Shakeel couldn't believe it. He brought one of my stethoscopes from the bedroom to the scene.

Lucky April was burried in a little coffin Fatin made with Mama. He was buried under the tree in front of the house.

Fatin cried the whole night - her first heartbreak. She had been an absolutely amazing pet owner. She loved Lucky to bits. She didn't want to go home after school on Monday. Instead she followed Mama & Ayah around for their appointments.

My dwarf hamster died the same way in 2000. Some kind of hamster heart attack and cardiorespiratory failure. But I wasn't home when it happened. Ayah, Shasha and Shakeel already buried her by the time I got home from school.

I am sad.

Why my grandma is more hip than me

2009-10-31T17:45:00.008+10:30

I called Singapore home earlier today but our domestic helper said that the whole family has left for Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia for the weekend to attend a wedding.

"Who's wedding?" Shasha asked me after I'd hung up and conveyed my recent findings to her.

"I don't know..." I could sense our collective brain power working together, going through a mental list of Family in Malaysia Possibly Hosting a Wedding This Weekend. And then, simultaneously, we exclaimed, "WAHEEDA!"

Mystery solved.

You see, our grandparents own a holiday bungalow in Malaysia and for the past two decades the next-door-neighbour has been the family of said Waheeda, a Malaysian singer/actress. My sister and I were both surprised that our grandparents (and therefore by proxy, also our parents, Shakeel, Fatin and, possibly, our grandaunt) are attending the wedding party today since GRANDMA HAS JUST HAD HER KNEE OPERATION AND STILL NEEDS A WALKING FRAME/ WHEELCHAIR TO MOBILIZE.

I suppose our grandparents must be (1) touched by the invitation and (2) excited to rub shoulders with the Who's Who in the Malaysian music and film industry. I can imagine my grandma and, possibly, her sister with their celebrity radars up and on high alert during the function. Oh, they'll be talking about this wedding for weeks.

Meanwhile I spend my days in dark, quiet rooms looking at radiographic images of the human body.

Click to embiggen Scutmonkey's 12 Medical Specialty Stereotypes

Actually I really shouldn't complain about my current work environment. As far as Australia's seasons go, it's summer, fall, winter, spring, summer, HELL, summer, fall, winter, et cetera. Right now, it appears that we are at the start of The Summer Before Hell. So my access to regular airconditioning and UV protection is a timely one.

I know I've been making fun of my Radiology term a lot in my tweets and on Facebook. But the absolute truth? With one week down and 5 more to go, it isn't all that bad.

It's like I'm having a reverse experience compared to my Anesthetics term. I was looking forward to that one so much and then it turned out to be a bit of a dud. Useful, learnt a lot of valuable skills, but a dud nonetheless. Meanwhile, I've been expecting Radiology to be a nondescript block of 6 weeks to end my medical school experience but holy barium enema! It's turning out to be quite interesting.

It's easy to zone out/ indulge in microsleeps/ plan what to cook for dinner/ start wondering if that lost sock is under the couch when sitting in a comfortable chair in a climate-controlled room where the lights have been dimmed. However, save a few little yawns (usually post-prandial), the Registrars and Consultants, along with the images and procedures they're responsible for, have managed to capture the attention of the geek in me. I never realized how cerebral Radiology is. It's like playing Where's Wally the entire day. And if you can't find Wally, SOMEONE MIGHT DIE. I enjoy ("enjoy"? Oh god, can I be a bigger geek?) interpreting the images simultaneously while the Radiologist is dictating the report. So far the learning curve has been satisfying.

I've been wondering the whole week if the following is appropriate to share on the internet and I can't find a single good enough reason why not: there is a Registrar in the department who is hearing impaired. I've been shadowing her these last two days. She's a great teacher - encourages me to tell her my interpretation of the images, answers all my questions even the silly ones, never makes me feel like I'm a bad student who knows zilch (which probably is the case). She's a responsible and caring doctor - puts the patients and other health care workers at ease with her gentle demeanour, doesn't hesitate to call the treating team if there's something even slightly concerning in the images despite the difficulty she encounters using the telephone because of her disability. She will be sitting for her Fellowship exams in two weeks. If she isn't a living embodiment of inspiration, I don't know what is.

In a sentimental mood. Well, kind of.

2009-10-24T19:57:00.005+10:30

For the first time ever, I'm all packed several hours before my departure. As opposed to stuffing everything in my bag in the hour leading up to leaving the house for a mad dash to the airport. Also for the first time ever, my mum isn't insisting that I bring a boxful of food items - various spices, frozen goods, homemade sambal tempeh, "instant" noodles/meals, etc. She was so blown away by my precocious, meticulous packing that she forgot to to worry about her kids and son-in-law STARVING. I'm just glad that I don't have to declare anything at the Australian customs and thus can get through it much quicker. Yay. We shall eat eucalyptus leaves like the koalas do.

It feels like I've been back for more than 6 weeks. I guess with a medical elective and Eid and a few weddings and my grandma's operation and traveling to Malaysia and Indonesia and everything else happening in between, a lot more has happened than what can usually be fit into a 6-week period...

MingTing's wedding was on the 27th of September, the night of which Ridwan arrived in Singapore. So instead of me fetching him at the airport, he (and the family minus Shasha) picked me up at the ShangriLa. Unfortunately, none of the amateur pictures I snapped does justice to how truly gorgeous and glowing Ting looked that evening. I ~~cried~~ teared so many times during the wedding service, slideshows and speeches - it was pretty embarrassing. Ha ha. Anyway, there were professional photographers going around taking photos of the guests and then we got to keep wallet sized prints of the shots - isn't that so thoughtful? Such a sweet momento of the event! We were allowed unlimited shots throughout the night but the three above are my favourites.

Picture above was taken at Ainie's wedding. I think it's a nice couple-y shot. Can't believe I've known Hanna and Suraya for close to 14 years now! Or for that matter, any of the girls below! <3

First, let me mention, this picture's not from my camera but I'm sure the owner doesn't mind :) There should actually be 15 of us in all - Hajar's little girl, Maisara, is not counted! But I'd say it was a good turn out that day at Hajar's place.

It really feels like we've grown up together and there'll be more milestones in the future for which we'll be there to support each other or simply to share in the joy or the sadness. One of us had an operation just earlier this week to remove a tumour and will soon begin chemotherapy. This episode and also all the catching up in the past 6 weeks have once again made me think about how much these ~~girls~~ women mean to me. To quote Shafaa, everyone's so different but so gorgeous in their own way. Elia sayaaaaang sekali tau! :)

La poésie des départs, des salles d'attente

2009-10-23T02:42:00.010+10:30

Guess where?

Ridwan and I met up with two of our favourite people for breakfast in a place that is two sovereignties in one.

TS Eliot descibed the work of French poet Baudelaire as "la poésie des départs, des salles d’attente". Baudelaire was fascinated and drawn to the transitory places of travel perhaps even more so than the journey or destination itself. Don't we too find our imagination sparked by ship docks and train stations and airports and even, as Alain De Botton suggests in his book (if I'm not mistaken), a diner by the motorway?

x x x x x

One of the little things in life I enjoy most is going for a drive with Ridwan. It doesn't matter where we are or which country we're in, we don't even need a destination. We can talk. Or we can sing along to the music. Or we can just be silent. I like the cruising and his presence and my hand in his.

If I had to pick one thing about Singapore that I love the most its the quiet old roads and the trees that line them. They're such a fresh shade of green! I don't know for sure but I imagine that this metropolis was once upon a time a really picturesque, idyllic, breezy little island, populated by fishing communities.

It began with six mosquito bites on my face

2009-10-22T23:22:00.003+10:30

Waking up after a fitful first night in Jakarta, I discovered ~~that I had been eaten alive by mosquitoes~~ numerous angry, red mosquito bites on my arms and legs. There were also six -SIX!- on my face alone. Ridwan, who was right next to me the entire night with even more skin exposed, was unscathed. Ah, but this, dear friends, is the story of my life. Just the other evening I got bitten on my forehead and hands during dinner while none of the other 7 people at the table was affected. Apparently this implies my sweat smells better - something you'd appreciate too if you were a mosquito. I'm not complaining. It's part and parcel of being in the tropics during the rainy season. Being preferentially bitten all the time teaches one to exist in a non-scratching Zen state of erythematous blotchiness.

I had fresh bites every single day of the week I was in Indonesia. And then I came back to Singapore anaemic. Ha ha. Damn it, why can't mosquitoes suck fat instead of blood?

Unlike our previous trips back, Ridwan and I didn't get to meet up with friends during this one. We didn't even get much couple time to ourselves. It was all spent with family. And quite a lot of it in the car, braving through one traffic jam or another. Living in a city where the traffic is perpetually congested also teaches one's mind to enter a Zen state in order to stay sane. So, I WAS VERY ZEN.

Our days were almost equally distributed between Jakarta, Bogor and Bandung. Even though Ridwan's parents' home is officially within the province of Bogor, it was actually my first time in "downtown" Bogor, the first time I set eyes on the (huge!) herd of spotted deer just chilling within the Presidential Palace grounds. Coz that's what you do if you're a grazer with no predator in sight: you chill and frolick around carefreely with your happy deer friends.

But Ridwan and I did do something different this time. We decided to rough it up to and around Bandung where Ridwan's 2nd sister, Ka Ana, lives and work. (For the non-Malay/Indonesian speakers, "Ka" or "Kak" refers to big sister in Malay. In Indonesian, it may also include big brother.) By roughing it up, I mean ditching the car and using the Indonesian public transport system. Seriously, click on the link before you proceed any further.

Mostly, we got around on the angkot - a rickety, four-wheeled thing the size of an MPV, with a constantly open door so passengers can hop on and off anywhere at any time. I swear, a few times I did a headcount and there were 18 people in the van. I love to covertly study the other passengers who were in the vehicle with us, to conjure up tales of what their lives could possibly be.

That was mainly the mode of transportation by which Ka Ana, Ridwan and I explored Bandung and traveled to Ciwidey and Kawah Putih (literally, "White Crater") a volcanic lake on Mt Patuha. Three angkot changes, followed by a bus ride, followed by another angkot and then finally an ojek to the lake side. It rained the moment we got off our motorbikes, blanketing the area in a fog.

The fog plus the hint of sulphur in the air plus the strangely contorted, leafless plants by the banks gave the lake an eerie, ethereal quality. But I suppose I was the only one who felt that way coz everyone else there was merrily snapping away on their cameras under the canopy of their colourful umbrellas. The rain subsided while we were exploring the area around the lake. But by the time we hopped on our bikes again, the rainfall had begun to escalate. And that was how we found ourselves helmetless, going downhill on a serpentine, narrow, potholed road with rain pelting sharply into our faces. It was the most liberating 30 minutes I've had for a while.

After getting off the ojeks, our journey back to Ka Ana's place in Bandung went in reverse: angkot, bus, angkot, angkot, angkot. Our two bus rides that day were also a lesson in sociology. The number of people in those busses would not be legal in Australia. But in Australia, public transport pretty much sucks once you're in rural areas. But there we were in a village in Indonesia, on a privately-owned bus, with rust on its ceiling, some of its windows missing and God knows how many thousands of kilometres on its odometer; where the fares were negotiable and tickets non-existent; where I was ordered, albeit politely, to sit in between a lady with a preschooler and a lady with two sacks of vegetables. I felt like I was living out my own Darjeeling Limited moment minus the Louis Vuitton luggage bags and it made me want to explore India more than ever.

Of course when I told Ridwan and Ka Ana about my wanderlust for India they told me of how Ridwan's dad who has had to travel extensively worldwide for his work on leprosy experienced traveler's diarrhoea when he was there. Ergo, moral of the story: even a well-traveled Indonesian's tummy isn't strong enough for India so I, Elia who grew up in sanitary Singapore, better not try to be too adventurous. And then of course I was all, I DON'T MIND, I WANT TO TRAVEL EVERYWHERE IN THE WORLD, I'M INVINCIBLE! And then of course I started puking and shitting.

Fortunately, I was fine all the way back. It was only after we had arrived at Ka Ana's at about 5-6pm that I started being sick. I deteriorated quickly... and terribly. Within a couple of hours, my already loose, watery stools took on a raspberry colour, causing me to suspect that I was having bloody diarrhoea. I threw up till I couldn't bring anything up anymore except for foam - I was past the pure saliva and bile stage by then. Each time I retched, my abdomen would contract so strongly and for so long I was desperate for breath. In between the frequent bowel actions and vomits, I could feel the hyperactive peristaltic movements. I was in pain and, to be honest, I wasn't completely with it.

I was miserable. I longed for sleep so I would be unaware of the pain, the nausea, the abdominal cramping but there was no end to the diarrhoea and vomiting, I had to drag myself to the bathroom every 10 minutes. Ka Ana gave me an IM injection of an anti-nausea drug because that's the home remedy in Indonesia. You can easily get syringes, needles, injectable drugs at the shops.

I'm joking! She's a doctor, her place is across the street from the hospital she works in and there's a Pharmacy round the corner too. Except they call it Apothecary ("Apotik"), which makes me think of the dude who sold Romeo the poison so he can lie with Juliet. I imagine him to be bald.

I doubt the drug had any effect on me since I was already too far down the track of throwing up, and judging from the NNT's of different anti-emetics and their additive effects I recently learnt during my Anaesthetic term, I wasn't really expecting it to work.

Nevertheless, the interval between vomits and/or defecations gradually went down to 30mins, then hourly, then I was finally able to sleep between 3 and 5 without interuption. I woke up at 5 with a bit of pain but without nausea, so in comparison to the whole ordeal (Perhaps too strong a word? It's not like it's CHILDBIRTH.) I'd just gone through, I felt fantastic, almost euphoric! I found Ridwan sleeping on the floor by the bed. He had been rubbing ointment into my back and tummy, and holding my hair away from my face when I puke, and coaxing me to take sips of Pocari Sweat all night. But it wasn't till then that I was lucid enough to feel a surge of appreciation and love for my husband for taking care of me like that. I don't know how long I was gazing at him before he stirred.

He made me a cup of tea. I could stomach less than half of it. He offered me some warm plain rice with a bit of omelette and vegetables. I managed about five mouthfuls. Then we slept from 6 to 8.

I still felt like a complete wreck that morning but we had to make our way back to Ridwan's parents' place in Bogor. My diarrhoea seemed to have taken a pause. I was still vomiting pathetic amounts of Pocari Sweat, tea and undigested rice so Ka Ana got me some anti-emetics to be taken orally, which I did to good effect. Good: I didn't need the bathroom during the whole journey. Bad: increasingly worse abdominal pain. By the time we arrived at our destination, even sitting up was painful. I only felt comfortable when recumbent, preferably in a fetal position - which also meant that I wasn't fit enough to fight off/ chase/ kill THE DAMN MOSQUITOES. Food didn't tempt me but I could swallow warm water and warm tea. Thankfully, the pain was gone when I woke up the following morning. The intermittent nausea remained right up till I was back in Singapore.

I still want to go to India.

I survived a helmetless ojek ride down a mountainous route in the rain to bring you this

2009-10-16T12:50:00.010+10:30

No, I'm not dead yet. Though it certainly felt like I was near death in Bandung - more on that later. There's just something about the pace of life here in Singapore and the sometimes mind-numbing interactions I've to go through (not at home with family of course, but Outside) that completely kills any speck of inspiration I have to blog/ write/ create/ ruminate. I also blame the humidity and bad coffee. And Fatin's habit of reading what's in my laptop screen OUT LOUD when she's in my vicinity. Which is pretty often.

Side story: The other day we were talking about animals and Fatin had a slip of the tongue in which she said "skankgaroo" instead of "kangaroo". I was all THAT'S TOTALLY THE PERFECT MONIKER FOR LADY GAGA. And then there was the day when my dad pronounced Beyoncé's name as "Bouyance!" (with the exclamation mark). Misarticulation articulated with full confidence runs in this family.

Another side story: Remember when I tweeted that Fatin woke up at midnight (to the minute, I swear) with hives? She was crying all sad and that, so I tried to elicit what it was that was bothering her. Was it the itch? Was she in pain? Did she want Mama? Did she want a glass of milk? Finally she exploded, "how can I go to school tomorrow WITH THIS FACE?" You'd think the eight-year-old had a horn sticking out of her forehead. Let's not tell her about pimples shall we? The hives, by the way, were gone by the time she got up in the morning. But no, she still didn't go to school, she came shopping with us at Ion. With no remorse.

Side thought: Maybe if I blog A Fatin Story A Day, I can be a regular blogger.

So, where were we?

Ah yes. Bad coffee. That and so many little things here and there add up to make me really, sincerely miss Australia. I miss our spacious yet cozy townhouse there, our lifestyle there, our friends there. The feeling is not unlike homesickness. Home used to be as simple as the place where I was born and raised. But now Home is more conceptual and dynamic than a single tangible abode.

The Malays have a proverb: Hujan emas di negeri orang, hujan batu di negeri sendiri, lebih baik di negeri sendiri. Loosely translated it means "Though it may rain gold in a foreign country and stones in your country of origin, being in the latter is still better." But is it?

Here, I'm occasionally flustered and turned off by anything from the weather, to the sense of being closed in in a small space, to the general crowdedness of most public places, to the kiasuism, materialism and competitiveness, to the political and social passivity...... (Yes, yes, of course not EVERYONE in Singapore's all of that.) But there are pockets of the island city that I honestly love; the accessibility, safety and cleanliness I've always appreciated; and most important of all the family and friends who are always hard to leave behind.

Yet, I find it hard to imagine working, living or raising children here. Please don't take that as arrogance. It's not as though I say that without sadness. Also, I think if either Ridwan's parents or mine directly request us to be back, we'd probably return. Return and make it work despite our hesitations if that's what makes them happy.

To be honest, having left at 19, my view of Singapore is probably quite naïve and incomplete. I don't actually truly know what it's like to be a twenty-something Malay/Muslim female making a living in Singapore. Though with the number of peers who've surprisingly come up to me and Ridwan in these recent weeks either imploring how to get out of the country and migrate to Australia, or exclaiming how "lucky" we are to be living overseas, I can only guess. I suppose part of the apparent good fortune is that Australia isn't as far away from Singapore as the US, the UK or Canada (as far as English speaking developed nations go) and is simply so livable. I've also witnessed for myself how everyone has a fair go in Australia as long as you're honest and hardworking.

That should be enough for today. More on visiting the in-laws, that bumpy ojek ride and puking my guts out in Bandung in my next post. Plus photos.

Don't mind doing it for the kids

2009-09-23T00:22:00.002+09:30

Credit for most of the photos goes to my sister.

The unglamourous, unedited eve of Eid shots that I love

2009-09-20T01:45:00.007+09:30

Grandpa sharpening knives before a day of slicing and chopping.

In the backyard: makeshift charcoal stoves.
Our domestic helper gives grandma a hand with the sambal goreng.

Grandpa checking to see if the ketupat are ready.

Five hours in boiling water & the ketupat are ready to be hung to cool & dry.
Fatin helps.

Fatin playing with sparklers in her pj's

G'day, how's it going?

2009-09-16T14:04:00.007+09:30

So it's been hot and humid. Every time I get back here I'm shocked by how I've forgotten the feeling of humidity on your skin when you're at the kitchen island, with the fan switched off because the stove is on because the wind makes the flames erratic, shaping pineapple tarts using a pair of Dough Forceps. Or just when you're waiting for the bus. Even at home with the airconditioning on, it feels like a mere, localized "absence of heat" (Panhwar, 2008)* rather than a truly cool environment. OK, dah menyampah? Baiklah, saya berhenti sekarang.

Ever since my first night back, Fatin has taken it upon herself to be my bedfellow. Of course, this brings with it issues we've already discussed on this blog. Currently, on Ridwan's sidetable she has 1 story book, 1 encylopedia on mammals, 1 note pad, a pen and a hairclip with two giant pink frangipanis. Meanwhile, pushing me to a small sliver of space on my side of the bed are her self, 2 soft toys (Lenny made a reappearance), 1 heart shaped cushion, 1 infant pillow she's had since, well, infanthood and THIS:

Exhibit A

I don't even know what that thing is supposed to be, but I do know it looks really happy for something at the end of a stick. The following exchange is my experience trying to elicit its function from Fatin.

Me (patting myself repeatedly on the back with Exhibit A):
This feels quite nice, like a massage. Is this what it's for?

Fatin (in all seriousness):
Yes. Can be for massage. Or you can use it to slap people.

I was confused. But since then, we've found other uses for the strangely shaped plush toy. Like fly genocide and hi-fives from an inconvenient distance.

In case you're wondering how my day job here, my Paediatric elective, is going, well I'm dead bored. So bored, in fact, that I'd rather link you to the blog of a friend who did the same elective in the same hospital last year than write about it because just the thought of writing about it is making me twitch a little. But as it turns out I can't find the post (Munirah, help!) so either I'm blind/illiterate or I imagined the whole thing to make me feel better about the boredom I'm going through now (and am anticipating for future weeks).

Some of the lighter moments I've had during my elective so far have absolutely nothing to do with being a medical student or in the presence of a patient. I've gotten really used to the Australian manner of friendly, easy greetings and conversation with strangers. By no means am I an extrovert. It's just a habit that took me with my shyness very long to pick up and now, hard to shake off. For instance, I was in the lift with two Chinese middle-aged women yesterday and every single line I uttered made them laugh - I didn't think I was THAT funny. (Or at all. I was being very matter of fact.) I also chatted up the lady at the reception desk and the hospital shuttle bus driver. I almost thanked the bus driver that took me all the way home because that's what's done in Australia - we thank the driver and give a little wave before we alight. I always have to fight the impulse to do it the first few days I'm back in Singapore, though I don't know why. Nothing's stopping me other than the thought of all the passengers, and perhaps the driver, thinking I'm loopy - but so what if they do?

*from a conversation between Somi and me while we were on our rural rotation last year, which, incidentally, was in Ramadan

Back to the Motherland

2009-09-13T11:06:00.004+09:30

The 2nd third of Ramadan started off ok but the week before my departure was pretty hectic. In my busy-ness chasing deadlines, getting this and that settled before flying off to Singapore, the spiritual component was missing in my fasting and prayer on a few of the days - I felt like I was just going through the motions. Nonetheless, alhamdulillah for all things, I handed in/ arranged everything that was required of me and now face the final week of Ramadan... in Singapore! Due to our different school and work commitments, my sister is arriving here the week after me and Ridwan the week after that. We're also flying back to Adelaide at different times.

It's been 6 or 7 years since I experienced Ramadan and Eid in this humid, tropical, colourful island city where I grew up. So of course I was looking forward to it all year. However, as I sat waiting by my boarding gate in Adelaide Airport, watching planes land and take off against a cloudless blue sky, I realized my feelings about homecoming were mixed. In fact, somewhere in there was the weight of apprehension.

I knew I was coming back to an atmosphere less akin to the sublime final week of Ramadan, and closer to the buzzing week leading up to Shawal as the Malay/ Muslim population of Singapore prepare for Eid. I was bracing myself for the deluge of Eid songs on the radio - the sweet, the cheesy and the annoying alike. They remind me of Christmas carols: holiday tunes for a holiday mood, hailing a month of dressing up, visiting and feasting. Yes, one month. Dear internet, in my conversations with friends from other lands, I have yet to come across any other culture which celebrates Eid Ul-Fitr with such unrestrained gusto, and for such an extended period at that. If this is a misconception on my part, please correct me.

Don't get me wrong, I love some of the older Eid tunes. They take me back to the happy Eid days of my childhood. Meanwhile, the visiting is a fantastic way to strengthen ties with friends and family. It is time for getting to know the new members of the family (babies, newlyweds...) (hopefully not in that order), for catching up with cousins, for asking one another for forgiveness. Besides, in as small an area as Singapore, what reason have we not to visit?

I suppose it's the preparation for Eid (baking, cooking, tailoring outfits, home improvement, etc.)way before any sign of Ramadan's end that makes me cringe a little sometimes. My grandparents can still recall having to wait for the appearance of Syawal's crescent before any suggestion of festivity. But times have changed. So too have my grandparents' sensibilities. In fact, I spent my whole Sunday helping my grandma make Eid cookies (because how can my mum, our helper, Fatin and I bear to let the familial matron do it all by herself?). THE WHOLE DAY. I'm not even exaggerating - thank god for toilet and prayer breaks because I was at a larger risk of a DVT than on my flight the day before.

We made the Malay version of mamoul, which we call makmur, meaning prosperous. Instead of dates or pistachios or walnuts, the caster sugar-coated cookies contain peanuts. And instead of shaping them using a mould (I don't know why my Malay ancestors who wanted to make this Arab cookie didnt think to use a mould! Hello?!), each decorative line on the Malay version is formed by delicately pinching the dough using what I can only call Dough Forceps. The finished product looks like a leaf. A fat leaf filled with crushed, sweetened peanuts. And covered with white sugar - snow?

We also made pineapple tarts ("kuih tat") (no, "kuih" is not pineapple; it can refer to cookie or pastry or cake), or as my Indonesian husband calls them: nastar, the "nas" representing "nanas" or "nenas", the Indonesian/ Malay word for pineapple, and "tar" because the "t" at the end is just too much effort when all you wanna do is gobble some up. Unfortunately, it is a family tradition to also fashion our tarts using said Dough Forceps. NOW DO YOU SEE WHY WE TOOK THE WHOLE DAY? I must say that my grandma's pineapple tarts have legendary status amongst the extended family - the buttery dough melts in your mouth, the delicious jam centre is a generous size.

This has been the least foodcentric Ramadan I've ever had, so while I was entertaining my apprehension at the departure lounge, my mind inadvertently wandered to the issue. It's probably a good thing that I've come back too late for the huge iftar parties. Under my parents' roof, food is abundant but I can't say it's excessive. Besides, my parents have never been into "Ramadan Bazaars", not even the big one at Geylang Serai. So none of us kids grew up feeling like it was necessary to go there to feel the Eid spirit.

One last thing: I'm so not looking forward to the awkwardness of being the 26-year-old unemployed cousin/aunt who can't afford to give Eid money yet to the younger ones. Basically, in Malaysia and Singapore, adults give kids/teens little packets of cash as Eid gifts. Till I come back for Eid next year, guess they'll just have to take a raincheck.

Extremely busy. Not able to blog. Please accept video of Big Egg as penance.

2009-09-10T11:21:00.004+09:30

1. My sister posted this on her Facebook Wall a while back.

2. My favourite part is definitely when the little kid goes WEEEEEEEEE-YERRD!

3. Let's not think about what happens when the egg(s) develop into chick(s).

4. Will hopefully blog a REAL POST before I fly off on Saturday.

5. Last night I dreamt I wore a miniskirt to the airport and couldn't understand why my mum was shocked.

Every time deadlines or exams are near I've thoughts I need to purge here because they block my thinking process. I'm consistent like that.

2009-09-07T09:56:00.005+09:30

So the other night.

I dreamt that I was a little older, heavily pregnant and working, SWAMPED by the usual doctorly duties in the wards and theatres. Suddenly, my water broke and I began having contractions. So I scooted down to the labour ward on the fourth floor and, well, laboured WHILE ANSWERING TO THE INCESSANT PAGES ON MY PAGER . Sadly, the baby came out stillborn.

But in the dream did I mourn? Was I even upset? Any signs of shock? NO!

I just sighed, "Oh well, guess I better head back upstairs. So much work to do..."

If that's not depressing I don't know what is.

And then last night, I dreamt that I was working in the Emergency Department. I wasn't aware that I was pregnant but I must've been because I needed to step aside from my duties to give birth to -wait for it.... wait for it....- SEPTUPLETS! I love how these nightmares make SO MUCH SENSE!

This time all the babies survived. So I started to express as much milk as possible into seven little bowls (don't ask) so I could get back to work.

I think I'm more stressed out at the moment than I realize. I probably wouldn't be this stressed out if I wasn't flying off this Saturday and therefore have to get everything done before I leave.

OK, everyone. As you were.

A small fraction of what I wanted to vent about yesterday

2009-09-05T06:46:00.004+09:30

The decision was made not to intubate Mrs O, not even to pop in a laryngeal mask airway. Not my decision.

And so that was how I found myself having to ventilate her by hand, which is fine except she didn't start to breathe spontaneously till almost 50 minutes later.

Even then, her initial breaths were erratic and I had to keep a really close eye on the bag and the capnograph for a further 20 minutes, giving the bag a squeeze once in a while and tweaking the APL valve to help her along.

Eventually she began to take regular breaths. "Good," I thought, "now she just needs the mask on to deliver oxygen and volatile agents." Oh, but I was mistaken. Her airway was floppy.

I popped a Guedel in her mouth. This usually handy equipment made absolutely no difference to Mrs O's apnea. Just my luck.

I had to hold the mask tightly to her face to form a seal, lift her chin up and thrust her jaw forward to support her airway... for another hour.

Some time within that hour, the Consultant Surgeon made eye contact with me, nodded her head towards my Consultant Anaesthetist and whispered, "No sympathy?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I smiled and shook my head.

The sympathy I got from everyone else in the theatre was of little help. The lady's breathing was my responsibility.

I don't know whether all this was just some tough love on the part of my Consultant, because those 2+ hours were quite a pain and almost physically painful.

But when the day was over and I had time to reflect, I realized that the experience was a valuable one after all. Because for all of that time when my concentration was on Mrs O's breathing and helping her do that simple act we take for granted, what I was really doing was keeping her alive.

My sister? She says the wrong things. In earnest.

2009-09-04T00:14:00.003+09:30

For example, the other day she sincerely but ditzily asked Ridwan if he was wearing his bag because he has a satchel with the same brown vertical stripes as the Javanese shirt he was wearing.

Anyway, my sister and I are both in the living room with laptops on our laps. Presumably she's doing some sort of schoolwork. Presumably. Meanwhile, I'm bloghopping because the inertia to overcome is too great. I want to go to bed but first, I've to find my mobile phone so I can set my alarm to wake up for sahur, but remaining on the couch surfing the net requires far less energy and willpower than looking around the house for a misplaced handphone, know what I mean?

Clicking on a friend's link, I chance upon a blog. I comment to my sister, "Hey Sha, there's this journalist girl living in the States and she has a nice blog but the format is totally like Dooce! It's like a a Muslimah, hijabi version of Dooce!"

My sister, deadpan: "What's it called? Mooce?"

You gotta hand it to the kid.

Blogging = pageantry?

2009-08-30T14:22:00.005+09:30

"Know that the life of this world is only play, and idle talk, and pageantry, and boasting among you, and rivalry in respect of wealth and children; as the likeness of vegetation after rain, whereof the growth is pleasing to the husbandman, but afterward it drieth up and thou seest it turning yellow then it becometh straw. And in the Hereafter there is grievous punishment, and (also) forgiveness from Allah and His good pleasure, whereas the life of the world is but matter of illusion." 57:20

Reading that line today struck a chord in my heart. I think it's because I've been seriously thinking, in the days leading up to Ramadan, if blogging is a manifestation of/ leads to riya' (showing off) and kibr/takabbur (pride, arrogance). Or even simply an unproductive activity which therefore should to be avoided.

Because if it is... then I should stop. In all honesty that's gonna be difficult because I enjoy the process a lot - the writing, the photo taking and editing, the making and keeping in touch with friends. But who's to say this 21st century construct, the blogosphere, isn't just another illusion?

"Race one with another for forgiveness from your Lord and a Garden whereof the breadth is as the breadth of the heavens and the earth, which is in store for those who believe in Allah and His messengers. Such is the bounty of Allah, which He bestoweth upon whom He will, and Allah is of infinite bounty." 57:21

First third

2009-08-30T14:12:00.007+09:30

In a Hadith reported by Salman Al-Farisi: "...The first third of the month of Ramadan is the time for mercy, the second third is for forgiveness, the third is for release from Hellfire…" (Ibn Khuzaymah)

Tomorrow is the tenth day of Ramadan. Wasn't that quick?

So far, alhamdulillah! But may all three of us pick up more momentum in the last 2 thirds...

To me, I felt Allah's mercy the most during the week when I was at the hospital doing my Anaesthesia thing. Before doing this rotation, I honestly thought that I might consider it as a career option. But four weeks in and I think I've had enough, thank you very much. Don't get me wrong: the rotation's going well, it's very hands on, the Consultants are nice but I really miss meaningful contact with patients who are actually awake. So if I ever go into Anesthesia in the future, it's because I'm forsaking job satisfaction for as good a lifestyle a senior doctor can get. Oh, wait, I haven't considered RADIOLOGY.

Anyway, the point is: my whole week in Anaesthesia during Ramadan became my best week of Anaesthesia so far. Subhanallah. Yes, the days feel long and tiring and by 4pm I'm slurring and giddy with dehydration but each day I've come home feeling good about myself and the specialty. (But no, not enough to make me want to do it my whole life.)

In other news, we've hosted two iftars and were guests of one. And in all of them, I felt that the kinship was more celebrated than the food. Alhamdulillah.

I got out of bed this morning and realized with an amused smile to myself how I miss weekend breakfasts and brunches. Not necessarily the eating but just the whole relaxed routine of having it at a favourite cafe, or in bed, or curled up on the couch with a warm mug. It's sweet how Ramadan makes us more aware and appreciative of even the little things such as these.

The crescent has been sighted

2009-08-21T22:27:00.010+09:30

We've been going to a few pre-Ramadan talks and such these past 2 weeks. I've also tried to tick as many things as possible off my to-do list but unfortunately, new items have piled on to it in just the last few days - subhanallah! (All the more to test my terrible time management skills?) I feel like the month ahead is a journey and here I am trying to "pack" as much as I possibly can for it. I want this Ramadan to be a good one. I desperately want this Ramadan to be a good one.

I feel like THIS IS MY CHANCE!

The Prophet (sallallahu 'alayhi wa sallam) said, "Take advantage of five conditions before five others: your youth before your old age, your health before your illness, your wealth before your poverty, your leisure before your preoccupation, and your life before your death." (Tirmidhi)

If I live to see next Ramadan, insya Allah, I don't know how busy work will keep me. In fact, this Ramadan, I'll be pondering about all the things about work that make me scared - sure, there's the whole fear of the sheer responsibility of the job but junior staff are well-supported where I'm going, alhamdulillah. However, there are two things that I'm truly afraid of with the end of my student life: preoccupation and wealth.

I hope I won't ever perceive myself busy or important enough to get my priorities all wrong. I've witnessed Muslim senior doctors who will stand for hours performing surgery in theatre but will not take 10 minutes for solat. Meanwhile, there are those who'll sacrifice a bad rep walking in late into a meeting for the sake of prayer. Have I missed prayers in the past because I'm so (self)absorbed in what I'm doing? Yes. But the more preoccupied I'm bound to get, the more I sense how crucial it is to really really hang on to What's Important, because if you don't, it's so much easier to find yourself drifting away...

I know the hadith says "wealth" before "poverty" but sometimes I think having can be more dangerous than not having. I'm still working on the resolutions I made 2 years ago, including the third one about working & earning. I hope money will never change me.

Another reason why I'm hanging on to this Ramadan is because I don't know when Ridwan and I'll have kids. Not planning for any in the next couple of years but who knows? As much as I cherish performing ibadah together with my husband, my imam, long gone are the days when I have the luxury of my own room and time to be alone with God. (Not that I utilized it to the fullest when I was younger! Ah, the follies of youth!) With kids, the pie of time and space gets cut into even more pieces, no?

Lastly, I'll be in Singapore for Eid this year, insya Allah. So it'll be good to make the celebration worthwhile because god knows, the celebration's BIG there no matter how Ramadan went.

So, folks, that's my take on this year's Ramadan!

Whatever your goals and du'as are this year, I wish you a most beautiful and blessed month ahead... Ramadan kareem.

Friends in high places

2009-08-19T21:16:00.002+09:30

Hendra and Vina took us flying in a propeller plane. Unfortunately, I stayed true to my unglam self and puked seconds before landing. But it didnt make the experience or view any less beautiful :)

Not pretty

2009-08-13T22:31:00.005+09:30

In theatre. Second case for the day. My consultant's grilling me on cardiovascular and respiratory physiology - I notice in this rotation, if it's not physiology I'm being quizzed on, it's pharmacology within the context of anaesthesiology. Except that one time when I was grilled on high school physics and organic chemistry: "So Elia, can you tell me about halogenated ethers and partial pressures?" "Well. I can if you asked me seven years ago."

So anyway, there I was being grilled while the surgical team was gossiping about the NHS over an umbilical hernia repair when an RMO with Purpose in His Steps entered the theatre. He got a plain abdominal Xray up on the theatre's computers and announced, "We have a guy in ED with a vibrator stuck up his rectum!" He pointed to the area in question on the greyscale image on the monitor. The object was quite high up, past the sacrum. Not pretty.

I desperately wanted to scream out "IS IT STILL VIBRATING?" but thankfully posess some semblance of maturity befitting an individual above the age of 12. And a functioning forebrain.

"How old is he?" someone asked. Much more relevant question. But nowhere near as funny.

"Fourteen," replied hero RMO.

Half a dozen heads in the room shaking simultaneously in disbelief. Though no one was completely shocked, really. You get people stuffing weird things in their A holes and then getting stuck all the time in ED. Oranges, Barbie, ketchup/ shampoo/ beer bottles, leg of a perfectly intact chair turned upside down, toy cars. The story, in all but the truly psychiatric cases, is consistently: "I tripped and fell over." And generally doctors are too kind to note out loud how truly unfortunate the patient must be to have fallen right when he had his pants off and so very precisely on a phallic object. Or smooth round fruits.

No exact plan was devised for Vibrator Boy, but the RMO with Purpose in His Steps was asked to admit the boy to the ward and keep him fasted for surgery just in case.

Of course it's not all Funny, Ha Ha with rectal foreign bodies. When I was on the Consultant Liaison Psychiatry team last year, I distinctively remember an old man (an old man!) who had to have a resection and a stoma due to recurrent anal abscesses. He had fallen prey to a group of boys who thought it was great fun to rupture his rectum repeatedly with a metal pole. The psych team had to keep an eye on him coz of the PTSD caused by the atrocity.

I can never get my head around individuals who are capable of (or can even come up with) that level of cruelty. Makes me feel better to think that there's a place in hell for these people.

The surgeons were closing up by the time the RMO came into the theatre again. "I've just been down to ED - it's not a vibrator, it's a dildo!"

Too bad: waste of a truly inappropriate vibrator joke. Though on the bright side, no danger of toxicity from batteries.

Finally, EMPLOYMENT!

2009-08-12T12:59:00.005+09:30

So I got my placement.

I got email notification of my placement anyway; the official letter hasn't arrived in the mail yet. So maybe that's why I'm happy but... a little guarded.

Then again, I guess that's just my personality. On the one hand, it's very easy to please me and make me laugh, but on the other, I've never been able to completely let myself go. Happiness for me always comes with thankfulness, a little disbelief as well as fear that it can just as easily be taken away as it has been granted. And when I go overboard with laughter, I get a little knot in the pit of my tummy...

When I was little, I remember my mum mentioning in passing (probably to keep me quiet because I was making a lot of noise) that if I laugh too much it means that something's gonna make me cry real bad soon. And that warning has kind of stuck with me ever since.

Who knows? Maybe I'm just more comfortable with silent contentment.

And contentment is what I'm feeling at the moment.

When online, the first thing I check is my (more than a-decade-old) Hotmail mailbox, followed by Twitter, then my uni email and after that, Facebook and blogs and other sites I like if time permits. But for some reason, last night, I didn't check my uni email till just before I switched my laptop off at 2am.

And there it was: an email titled "SA Internship".

I must've read and reread the email at least a dozen times because I honestly couldn't believe it. I got matched to my university hospital! To a certain extent, as I've mentioned before, this will most likely not sink in until I get it in a more tangible form: paper and ink in my mailbox. I shared the fantastic news with Ridwan. Then I logged out of my email account and logged in again to see that the email was still there to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

I'm not averse to change at all - I would have been thankful for any job in any of the other hospitals in the state. But I like my university hospital, it's a fine tertiary hospital with a good reputation. I like the environment and work ethic there. I feel I can make a real contribution because I'm already so familiar with the system. Most important of all, I think I can be a better, more responsible wife and sister next year if I don't have to spend hours commuting each day to get to work in a hospital north of the city. Or worse: if I had to relocate myself to the country.

So, alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah!

When I'm overworked and sleep-deprived and hungry and harassed next year, I know that I'm going to kick myself for saying this but, I'm really looking forward to 2010.

Ten trivial trifles

2009-08-11T22:18:00.006+09:30

I've a half-written post about my weekend, but it feels outdated to complete and post it now.

Nonetheless, I must mention (for my own benefit in order to trigger my memory during one of those days when I'm feeling nostalgic and looking through my Archives) that LAST WEEKEND WAS GREAT! Hilarious Indian entertainment magazines while waiting for our take-out to be prepared, Sisters' Study Circle at the mosque, shopping, dinner at Somi's beautiful apartment, Cranium WOW (laughed so much I went to bed with a sore throat), Ridwan's birthday, meeting up with Aamer and Kamar from Melbourne for brekky, Singapore National Day celebrations... It crossed my mind that if I'd gotten my placements during the week, the weekend would also have been a sort of celebration for that. But since there's still no news on that front, the wait continues.

In any case, let's get down to business shall we?

Ten Honest Things About Me

1. Just like how it was with the "25 Random Things About Me" meme I did on Facebook, the primary reason why this has taken me so long is because I find it pretty hard to come up with a list of stuff to tell people about myself. I really am not that interesting. Neither do I have things that I've been dying to get off my chest...

2. So let's start with I love Facebook, seeing that I just logged off a second ago. As corny as it sounds, FB helps me keep in touch and feel connected to much-loved family and friends all over the world. I'm too lazy to upload photos (my wedding photos are there as a gesture of thanks to the people who made it so special for us!) but I really appreciate the ones my friends put up, particularly wedding and baby photos, especially when I can't be there physically. I also like Twitter. It was a little lonely being the only one I personally know Twittering when I first joined in 2005. But now, it's nice to log in every day and just... be connected to friends! Ok, I admit, I do "follow" ONE celebrity: Lily Rose Allen. She's too cute for me to resist.

3. I must have mentioned this 2,6593 times in this blog alone: one of the things I'm really looking forward to being able to do when I start working (Insya Allah next year) is buy food that's been grown/ reared / cultivated/ harvested / traded in a sustainable, humane manner. It's annoying how things like free range eggs or fair trade coffee are quite a bit more expensive than the generic alternative here in Australia. When I was in London, it didn't burn a hole in your pocket to choose the option that was better for the environment/ your health/ the community that produced it.

4. I'm all for installing solar panels for my home, driving a Hybrid (if not just walking, cycling or bus-ing where feasable), reducing waste, bringing my own bag, being conscientious about recycling and composting, switching appliances off at the mains... but I draw the line at using washable sanitary napkins and diapers instead of the disposable kind. I'm too spoiled to do things the way my greatgrandma did. That said, I also tend to use paper towels or disposable washcloths rather than rags or tea towels and I admit to throwing out my dishwashing sponges and replacing them quite often. You see, I'm a little paranoid about culturing bugs in my cleaning implements.

5. I used to be neutral about smoking, in the sense that even though I don't smoke, I don't have a violent reaction against family and friends who do. But Med School's really changed my perspective on that. It's a sure way to wreck your body. And an expensive one too! Also can't stand how most smokers also litter their cigarette butts.

6. I've never littered in my life.

7. I can't come up with anymore so I'm looking at that old FB meme I mentioned. Here's one from that one: I dont know why people constantly whine about airline and hospital food. I like it! But maybe that's because I've never been hospitalized or been served shockingly bad food on flights. And it could be that it's the compartmentalization which I love. I think Bento Boxes rock.

8. Here's another on my anatomical anomalies while I'm at it: I have a defect on my left ear which makes it look like it's been clipped. I also have a patch of hair under the angle of my jaw on my left side. And an extra canine tooth, also on the left.

9. I didn't mention it in this post but that evening, once the shock had subsided, I wrote in my journal that I was thankful and at peace with what happened. That I found comfort in discovering that I could only find comfort in Him. Am I making sense?

10. There are things that I've said or done or even thought in the past, say, 5 to 10 years that I will now readily cringe at. (So please forgive me if I've annoyed or wronged you in any way!) But I feel like I'm in a good place right now. I'm generally contented with the present and hopeful about the future. I know I've many flaws but it also feels like I've a bit more insight now than when I was younger to try to be a better person and to accept advice.

The end! Thank you Shawna :)

With that I tag the following whom I hope will accommodate my request:

DramaMama - even though she made a list of ten things to be thankful for just a week ago

Zarawil - who recently celebrated her birthday so this might be a nice introspective exercise, ha ha

My sister - because she never updates her blog!

Blogging at the library because heading home at NINE THIRTY is just wrong

2009-08-06T09:33:00.006+09:30

After that whole blog post last night, here I am at the Medical Library at 9:30 in the morning because I've got some personal time. The theatres are full of long cases today - neurosurg, cardiothoracics, a Whipple procedure... Meaning: not much use for me nor much help I can give as a student in the first week of my anaesthetics rotation. I think it's better for me to attend these big babies towards the end of of my term when I've gained more insight and skills.

Of course, in order not to die of guilt, I should do some anesthesiology studying today or work a bit on my audit report. Underneath it all: nerd to the max.

So I guess, no headache this evening. No pounding household appliance.

Also, maybe I should camp out next to my mailbox in case news of my placement arrives.

Anyway, Richard the Indonesiaphile came over last night and joined us for dinner (or a really late lunch). Dude's finally finished editing the footage we took during my semester break into a 4-minute trailer. He's publicized me as El Director though all I did was help hold the camera while 2 Indonesians, a Malaysian and an Aussie try to make a spoof of the dozens of Indonesian horror movies revolving around the Pocong.

I had a lot of fun during the shooting. It was reminiscent of my younger days, of the many weird and wonderful projects and productions I did with friends during my school and undergrad years. Aah... good times.

The news will arrive via post, not email

2009-08-05T20:48:00.011+09:30

I've come back home exhausted and with a headache every day since Monday. My take on it is not so much that Anaesthetics is a particularly physically strenuous and cerebrally draining activity, but that after 6 weeks of doing anything I feel like doing according to my whims, anything that requires any amount of unadulterated concentration from 8am to 5pm feels like picking up a heavy (stainless steel) household appliance and hitting my head with said appliance. Repeated

But all is well, alhamdulillah. Worry not, Internet, if indeed you are so kind and thoughtful as to worry about me. I'm enjoying being back on A Schedule and Doing Meaningful, Useful Things. The only thing that's causing a bit of trepidation in my being is this waiting I have to endure with regards to my placement for next year. But even that, I might find out as early as tomorrow. Or as late as a couple of months. Du'as welcome!

Shawna tagged me recently to write Ten Honest Things About Myself. I could be sneaky and copy off this meme I posted on Facebook not too long back. Or I could do some introspection and come up with ten things. Maybe this weekend.

Three picks

2009-07-29T10:33:00.007+09:30

I read ten books over my semester break, I just counted them on my fingers a second ago. Doesnt feel like it. Wish I could say that I read as many articles for my essays or chapters in my textbooks but sadly, no. I have five more days to rectify that.

I tend to devour, rather than savour my books. Although I may pause to reread a paragraph or a page to soak in it's exquisite language or profound meaning.

I've never read romance, sci-fi or fantasy. To be honest, I never got round to reading a single book in the Harry Potter series, nor any by Tolkien. Nice movies, though :)

If, by the end of the first chapter of a book, I find the language/ plot too simplistic, I discard it. I've little patience for such works, they actually irritate me. Those that manage to capture my attention, I divide into two types: The first type is just entertainment, akin to reading the plot of a movie. A lot of them are bestsellers, but I sometimes feel that they lack depth. The second type, is simply a joy to read - beautiful and insightful in every way.

The following are 3 out of the 10 books that have kept me company and transported me to other lands these holidays. Not necessarily my favourite 3, but just 3 I want to comment on.

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

An oldie, but a goodie. This one is a lesson in understanding. I read it when I was 14 for a school assignment. I remember thinking it's a nice enough book; a good, funny, interesting book. I remember finding it rather verbose in its descriptions. And admittedly, there were bits of it that I just didn't get - at some parts I couldn't empathize with the characters, at others the significance and meaning Roy was trying to convey simply swooshed over my head.

Then recently, a friend mentioned the book to me, reminding me that this is definitely one of the books I've read in my adolescence that's worth rediscovering.

And what a beauty this novel is!

Roy invents her own language telling a seemingly simple story in layers, until the reader finally arrives at its fragile core. What I had mistaken for verbosity is intricate detail and astute observation. I laughed out loud at the wit in between the lines (many, many, many times) and shed tears for the characters' heartbreak. I marveled at how the author manages to convey the naïveté of the twins, how a profound tale can be effectively told from a child's perspective.

The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCullough

I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to rant about this one. I picked it up because I thought it's time I read something local. Mohamed Khadra's first and second books don't count. I've enjoyed writings by Jhumpa Lahiri and Minfong Ho, Naguib Mahfouz and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Ahdaf Soueif and Isabel Allende... Time to immerse myself in a good Aussie tale! This one said "Classic Bestseller" on the cover - what can go wrong, right? Wrong.

The novel started off okay, I immediately classified it as The Entertaining Type. It's an epic story, beginning in 1915 and ending in the late 60s - believe me, it felt just as long getting to the end of the novel. At one point, I was thinking maybe it's just me. Maybe I don't have the attention span for an epic tale such as this. And then I remembered how Wally Lamb managed to hold my attention right till the very end with I Know This Much Is True.

The Thorn Birds isn't entirely bad. It's a bit less melodramatic than a soap opera and has more substance than a Mills&Boon - my mum and her 3 sisters read those when they were young, the books now occupy a few shelves in my grandparents' holiday home in Malaysia.

However, in spite of itself, the book served its purpose for me. What I obtained from it was a satisfactory social history of Australia, from the outback to downtown Sydney, through wars, economic downturns and times of plenty. Also, it's increased my vocab for Aussie terms, names and cusses alike.

The Red Tent, Anita Diamant

I've heard so much about this book I wanted to know what the fuss was about. It didn't disappoint. On the contrary, I really like it.

It tells the story of Dinah, daughter of Jacob and sister of Joseph through her narration. A page turner right from the opening line, it has a strong feminine voice, celebrating both the strength and tenderness of women. Along with loyalty, love and forgiveness, motherhood is a recurring theme in this book, and with it, there are countless depictions of childbirth. Every labouring woman's experience is described in detail including how she is supported by her sisters. When I read Heather Armstrong's latest blog post, I was immediately reminded of the book.

The novel was successful in transporting me to another time and place. I was fascinated by the storytelling. And I was drawn to the environment my protagonist lived in - things are so vividly described I could taste the clay oven bread, smell the sheep in the pen, feel the cool night breeze, hear the sounds of the Canaanite marketplace.

Of course it's a work of fiction. But to say that it's well-researched and well-written is a gross understatement.

-------------------------------------

And now? Now I should get my head back into The Zone. I start Anaesthesiology on Monday. And it seems I'm falling sick.

SOS

2009-07-24T13:03:00.006+09:30

My mood's been yoyo-ing this week and I expect it'll continue to do so
till I finally get my placement for next year.
I know the chance of me staying at my university hospital is really low
considering how popular it is amongst the Aussie graduates,
so I won't be shocked if I don't get a spot there. Right now,
I just want to know
so I can stop mulling about it, which I can't seem to stop doing lately.
This is very unlike me, to be so worried and obsessed about the unknown
- maybe I'm just
growing old and losing my carefree and nonchalant attitude to life.

Boo.

Harry Potter and the Deadly Hairloss

2009-07-23T12:27:00.004+09:30

I'm really happy with my new haircut. I feel like a whole sack of potatoes has been lifted off my head. It was so heavy before with my thick hair down to my waist. And it was getting unhealthy: falling in alopecic proportions and developing split ends. Since before my rotation at Mt Gambier, I've been wanting to get a haircut at the hairdresser round the corner from our house but simply didn't manage to squeeze in an opportune time.

We live a fifteen-minute-walk away from (apparently) the biggest mall in Adelaide (which has at least half a dozen hairdressing salons) but there are a number of little rows of shops within a shorter walking distance to our place. One of these rows of shops has a large red café, a wedding cake shop and a shop selling baking paraphernalia. Another row has a small green café, a hairdresser and a shop which I think sells boxes or packaging material of some sort. The hairdressing place is called Lilli Su and for the life of me I imagined it to be run by a posse of Chinese or Vietnamese ladies, like the hairdressers my cousin took me to in Springvale when I was living in Melbourne.

The door leading into the salon is black, matching the words "Lilli Su" in black Arial font on the huge glass panel to the right of the door. But you can't see the inside of the shop when you're standing outside - perfect for a hijabi! The shop name is set against an intricate lilac and white pattern which allows enough light into the shop but obscures the vision of curious onlookers passing by outside.

Upon entering the shop, the first thing you notice is the minimalist set up. I came in on Monday to make myself an appointment for the following day. The appointments book looked full and well-used. I was surprised because it looked like a quaint little establishment.

There are only 3 hairdressing chairs in the shop, facing 3 full length white wooden framed mirrors. The leg rests are all wood, matching the laminated wood flooring. The walls are offwhite save for a feature wall of gorgeous grey baroque wallpapering. A few shelves nailed to the wall and two tall standing, narrow ones - all smooth, modern and white. The two washing sinks are black as is the black chandelier that hangs in the middle of the area of busy hairdressing activity. The waiting area has 2 red and white armchairs.

I havent had my hair cut for a while, the last one was in March '08 (TERRIBLE, I know) in London where I discovered the girl cutting my hair was from Melbourne. Her accent gave it away and her answer to my question confirmed it. I noticed, as I was sitting in one of the armchairs at Lilli Su's, that one of the hairdressers had a British accent. Do hairdressers not just stay in one place anymore? If I had known there was so much travelling with the job, I might have considered it.

I soon discovered that "Lilli Su" is a conglomeration of the owner's favourite flower and the first syllable of her name. So, no friendly Asians with high-pitched voices tsk-tsk-tsking at my split ends (I don't get a haircut till things get desperate) and trying to convince me to dye/perm my hair here! But I really really like this place. It's inspired me to get 3-monthly trims from now on.

There was a little old lady getting her hair permed and coloured when I was there - you know how those little old ladies have those short tight curls like in the Golden Girls? My grandma used to have that before she donned the hijab. She's from the generation that simply wasn't as religiously aware, close to no one wore it back in those days. I used to accompany her to her fortnightly hairdresser's appointments, sitting at the corner of the shop, fascinated. Meanwhile my grandpa caught a snooze in the car.

Anyway the huge salon hairdryer must have slowly slipped down on The Little Old Lady while she was under it coz suddenly she was flailing her arms wildly whilst politely articulating that she was feeling hot. The flailing and the composed words were quite incongruous with each other as you can imagine. She was rescued and comforted almost immediately. Both the hairdressers present were so sweet to her the entire time she was there - Brownie points from me, definitely.

I requested for my hair to be cut as short as possible as long as I can still tie it up in a pony tail - easier to keep it neat under the hijab, don't you think? Although previously, even though I was able to bun it up, the weight of it caused it to unravel and I've lost several under-hijab bands and caps because they've simply slipped off under my scarf! According to my request, my hair was cut up till just a little below my shoulders. My hairdresser thought I was 21 (I corrected her misconception, of course) and gave me the wispy, choppy hairstyle of the 18-year-old girls I see traipsing down Rundle Mall. She did an excellent job.

Like most sensible people, I'm thankful for my being - two arms, two legs, eyes that can see, ears that can hear, GOOD HEALTH... But like most normal people I also have bits of my body that I'm insecure about and bits that make me smile when I look in the mirror. I've always liked my hair - thick, silky and so easy to take care of, alhamdulillah. Credit goes to my mum for carrying the genes involved. It needs little more than shampoo every other day ever since I was a child and the older I get, the more I find myself forgetting to brush it, being the lazy ungirly girl that I am.

Anyway, the following video has nothing to do with hair. The Daily What has provided Ridwan and I with many laughs as well as "OH NOOO!" moments but I found myself giggling in the darkness thinking of this one as I was falling asleep last night so I'm sharing:

There are also videos of her interviewing Ron and Hermione :)

EDIT: As it turns out, there are copyright infringement issues. The videos can still be viewed here. Hope you enjoy them - this adorable Japanese fangirl really puts a smile on my face!

It ended with a chocolate tart

2009-07-20T16:16:00.004+09:30

Now that the series has come to an end, how can I not write another little tribute? I might have enjoyed a few episodes of TAR or Idol or SYTYCD here and there but MasterChef Australia is the 1st ever reality TV show to capture my imagination. I loved it. My favourite episode was definitely the one in which Poh got to choose both a theme and 2 core ingredients and she chose Malaysian (but the judges kept on using "Malaysian" and "Malay" interchangeably), Ling fish and coconut milk respectively.

I've adored Julie from the start, right from when she made lamb and mash during the auditions, but I did have a bit of a surprised, confused HUH? moment when she was given the spot in the finals with Poh instead of Chris. I thought Chris had a clearer, stronger vision of what he wanted to do with his food, and also that his calm, collected, neat, organized manner in the kitchen were strengths in a chef. (Although, I do admit he rubs me the wrong way with the gruffiness and competitiveness.) Meanwhile, eversince the judges brought Poh back into the competition on their "wildcards", I thought she's performed brilliantly in every single challenge. So focused, such a good palate and also so creative and artistically talented!

Nonetheless, the HUH? moment lasted only a couple of hours and then I got over it. I was excited about the finals, didn't really mind which one between the two was gonna win the title in the end- they're both really cool. I like them both a lot.

Julie gets her book deal and cash. Poh gets to spend time with Curtis Stone's team in LA for a while. All's good :)

The End.

Hypothetical parenting

2009-07-18T17:40:00.003+09:30

It was noon. But I didn't want lunch. I wanted breakfast. So we headed to ETC Cafe because

(1) its breakfast menu is served up till 3:45 in the afternoon,
(2) there are plenty of options that don't involve bacon and/or ham,
(3) in all the times I've been there, I've never once been disappointed with the food, beverage or service and
(4) bearing in mind I married The Pancake Monster, the cafe serves the best pancakes in Adelaide.

More than one of my girlfriends have commented that I'll be a cool mum, where "cool" is a euphemism for "completely flakey". I've been told that I'll feed them pancakes for dinner and talk to them about philosophy and let them run around barefoot on muddy grass (but not Mardi Gras! Ha ha). Well, unless Ridwan and I suddenly become all weird and uptight leading up to parenthood, I think we'll be pretty chill parents. I want my kids to be completely confident in pursuing whatever they want, being anything they wanna be, doing anything they wanna do as long as they're good Muslims. What time you have breakfast cereal during the day is secondary.

Which parents don't, subconsciously or otherwise, try to shape their children into an extension of themselves, but a smarter, cooler, kinder, more good looking, more successful version?

The last time I was back in Singapore for my holidays, I remember a day when everyone was out, leaving me at home with my then 7-year-old sister, Fatin. It was almost 10 in the morning, neither of us has had anything to eat, we were both hungry, and she was holding me responsible for both our breakfasts. Freeloader.

So I took out an unopened tub of Ben and Jerry's French Vanilla ice cream from the freezer and placed that on the dining table along with a loaf of white bread (as opposed to wholemeal, also available in the pantry) and a spoon.

She regarded me with eyes as round as saucers and a look which screamed in its silence: we're having THIS for breakfast? We can have THIS for breakfast? WE CAN???!

I spooned some of the ice cream onto a piece of bread, folded it in half and started munching on it. She followed suit. In the recesses of my brain, a tiny voice was berating me for being a 25-year-old who has the heart to feed ice cream to a 7-year-old for breakfast. Oh well, at least there's dairy. Also, like almost every cracker, biscuit, noodle, cereal and drink in Singapore, the white bread was fortified with close to 2 dozen vitamins and minerals. I used to wonder why my fellow countrymen weren't vitamin and mineral deficient in spite of their suboptimum diets; then I discovered every other thing was "fortified". I am, however, still wondering why no one's fat in spite of the nonstop eating.

"Let's not tell Mama we had ice cream for breakfast," Fatin said suddenly. The child has a conscience. Either that or the little voice in my head has decided to talk to her since my thoughts went off on a tangent on dairy, fortified foods and the surprising lack of obesity.

"OK, " I reassured her, though I really didn't mind either way.

The cat eventually came out of the bag several days later when my mum asked what happened to the tub of Vanilla ice cream - there were 3 tubs of different flavours in the fridge, Fatin and I finished the Vanilla one during that single breakfast sitting. Fatin, shifty eyed and taciturn at first, eventually (ie. about 3 minutes after the question was posed to us all) burst out, "We ate it! With bread! For breakfast! IT WAS *KAKAK'S IDEA!"

My mum looked at me.

"It's dairy," I said.

I don't think my mum minded all that much. Anyway, the next time I was responsible for her breakfast, I made oat porridge - she hated it. And then the time after that, I made her scrambled eggs and toast, which she liked.

Of course, when I'm actually a parent, I'll try my very best to feed my kids right - wholesome homecooked meals, organic & free range produce, Bento-like lunchboxes... the works. Nonetheless, I see no harm in the rare breakfast of Fairy Floss. There are worse things, no?

*the Malay word for elder sister

Coffee love

2009-07-14T12:00:00.003+09:30

I farted.

"Aaaahhh! How could you?! My hands were there!"

Late morning, we were both lying in bed. Almost spooning but not, which was why I dared fart. I didn't realize he was that close behind me, I was too engrossed on deleting the junk mail from my hotmail inbox. My laptop was switched on, next to and level with my head - a sure recipe for a bad neck and bad eyes but I never learn.

I sat up, still concentrating on my inbox. "You farted in my bath the other day. And I told you not to touch my butt."

"I wasn't touching it!" Indignation. "But my hands were near! The best among you are those who are kindest to your wives*... AND YOU GET FARTED ON!" He got out of bed, insulted.

"It got you out of bed, didn't it? Isn't that good?"

He walked out of the room mumbling something about how he can't even wipe the morning grit off his eyes because I've tainted his fingers.

I heard some clinging and clanging of things in the kitchen dowstairs. He sounded busy. Must be eating breakfast. But then I heard his footsteps climbing up the stairs. Our bedroom door burst open and he handed me a mug of chocolate hazelnut latte. I beamed and decided to blog about it to atone myself for farting on the hands that bring me coffee.

(Then he went down again and came up with a toasted tomato and omelet sandwich. I was careful not to leave crumbs on the bed.)

*Abu Hurairah (RA) reported: Messenger of Allah (SAW) said, "The believers who show the most perfect Faith are those who have the best behaviour, and the best of you are those who are the best to their wives". [At-Tirmidhi].

The garden grows... through no act of mine

2009-07-13T16:54:00.009+09:30

It's still Winter but in the shadiest corner of our front yard, one of my daffodils is already about to bloom. The only flower I love more than daffodils are tulips. Anyway, by the looks of it, this premature bloomer looks set to open its whirl of petals within the next few days. Which means that by the time its fellow daffodils - all shoots at this point - bloom, it'll be wilted & dead. I wanted all my daffodils to bloom simultaneously, like something out of a Disney cartoon. But I guess it's alright, I'm happy that they're showing signs of growth at all! I don't have a particularly green thumb you see. I'm pretty hopeless with plants and pets no matter how hard I try. No doubt my daffodils are growing thanks to the abundant Winter rain and Australian sunshine.

Most of the plants in our front yard were already there when we moved in. Like the succulent pictured above - there are two pots of them. I dont even know what they're called. But they're so low maintenance they're surviving my gardening non-attempts beautifully.

This afternoon, I took a look at them - they've still got drops of last night's rain clinging onto their... do I call them leaves or petals?

Even as a child, I was always predisposed to introspection (read: daydreaming). Now I still find myself entirely capable of curling up in a comfy spot and staring at the world outside: watching the clouds roll by, listening to the whisper of wind between leaves, getting amused by birds flitting from branch to branch, feeling the warmth of the sun through the window & studying how the angle at which it enters our home changes through the day. On cold days like these, as I yearn for the world outside while I'm physically inside,

"I recalled how, in the intense heat of the previous summer, I had stretched out on the ground and let my bare feet slip from my shoes to caress the grass and how this direct contact with the earth had brought with it a sense of freedom and expansiveness, summer breaking down the usual boundaries between indoors and out, and allowing me to feel as much at home in the world as in my own bedroom.

But now the park was foreign once more, the grass a forbidding arena in the incessant rain."

- Alain De Botton, The Art of Travel

Another thing I do as I sit in my living room is count and recount the five Valencia oranges ripening on our young orange tree. Seven, had I not mistaken the plant for a lime tree and plucked two last Summer. Even when I sliced the two unfortunate fetal oranges and found the peel thicker than the flesh, it didn't occur to me that they weren't limes. I had thought maybe we'd inheritted an "ornamental" lime tree. Because I had seen an "ornamental" chili plant at Bunnings earlier that week.

I dont think I'll be able to take many more pictures with my ancient camera. Its body is cracked, battered and bruised from its many falls. And on a good day, the battery lasts little more than 2 or 3 hours. A present from my parents for my 19th birthday, it has served me well. It has gone with me on many travels and trips, and immortalized numerous gatherings and get togethers. But it's really in the palliative stages now. I suspect its death will come in the next 6 to 9 months. As much as I'm looking forward to getting a new camera (it's about time!), the sentimental part of me is a little nostalgic about letting this one go.

I'm not going to delude myself into thinking that I'll do justice to a dSLR. I'm just on the lookout for a good point&shoot camera. Currently, my non-scientific, non-rigourous research has me partial to the Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3. Honestly though, I don't know... we'll see. Any advice?

I don't want to be another victim

2009-07-11T14:54:00.007+09:30

Ridwan and I were at the community library near where we live, each of us at a different section, looking for different books. I already had six under my left arm. At this rate, how will I ever finish my assignments? But I was looking for one more. A 910.4, A 910.4, A910.4 I was repeating the call number in my head as my finger stroked book spines on the shelf.

"What are you doing here? What do you think this is? A Muslim country? Didn't you know you're not supposed to wear THAT on your head?" a deep voice startled me.

I turned my face towards the voice and was met with a smirking one of pure hatred. The onslaught of religious and racial taunts continued like a well-rehearsed speech. From the corner of my eye I saw a middle aged woman in a neighbouring aisle, watching in disbelief through the spaces between the books, but doing nothing. Perhaps she was too shocked at the scene unfolding before her. Or perhaps she did not want to take part in a battle that was not hers.

"I'm not listening to you, I don't have to listen to your nonsense," I said about 3 or 4 times, as calmly as I could muster, and went back to looking for my book. The man continued his spiel filled with threats and humiliating remarks. I continued to ignore him, but couldn't bring myself to walk away. Fear? Shock? I don't know what it was that paralyzed my legs. With all my heart, I willed him to go. Just go, leave me alone! Go away! Leave me alone, please just leave me alone. And he did.

I breathed. I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath. By that point, it was already obvious that the book I was looking for was not on the shelf. However I pretended to still be looking for it anyway - why? To protect myself from any sudden movement or decision? I don't know. It felt too much to command my brain to do anything new. In my mind, I knew that once I had regained my composure, I would look for Ridwan, I could tell him what happened and we could leave. There would be some anger and disappointment for the rest of the evening, but millions around the world have to endure worse things for their beliefs or skin colour.

It wasn't the first time I've gotten flak for the simple piece of cloth on my head. The creativity of some of the haters out there boggles my mind. And then there are a few really succinct ones like "Bloody fucking Muslims!" followed by a loud slam of the car door and a dramatic drive off in case I didn't get that it was a derogatory remark, not a friendly salutation. But a man going on and on with his face barely 50cm from mine? First time.

In fact he came back. He had only walked away from me to get his handphone, which he now pointed in my face, taking photos as he continued to teach me the error of my ways: for existing in this land of his, breathing his air, taking up space in his building. If I wasn't going to give him any attention before, he figured that it was better for his ego to intimidate me into listening. And intimidate me he did. I felt threatened and humiliated.

I said nothing. I couldn't. I'm shy but I'm eloquent enough with friends, with senior doctors, with patients... But at that moment in time, I couldn't even defend myself. I was stunned. But I managed to pull myself away, walked briskly towards the library's front counter as I heard the sound of his phone camera taking another shot.

I can't even remember what exactly I reported to the library staff. But I remember my heart pounding in my ears. I was upset, not angry, but I remember thinking of the Prophet's saying: When one of you becomes angry while standing, he should sit down. If the anger leaves him, well and good; otherwise he should lie down. Suddenly I wanted to lie down but realized how silly it would look to do so in the middle of a public library. So I sat on the nearest available chair and held on to any pride I had left so I would not cry.

x x x x x

The library staff were most kind. The leader amongst them approached the man, who subsequently left the library in a huff of self-righteousness. I was given a glass of water, a box of tissues and someone brought Ridwan to me. They called the police. I was shaking. Finally letting my guard down, silent tears rolled down my cheeks against my will.

Then I felt as if I was in a bubble. A bubble in which I was shaking and crying. Crying and shaking. What was this emotion that I was feeling? I didn't understand it. It felt foreign. I didn't understand why I was crying, why I was that upset. It was just words wasn't it? Words and more words filled with hatred. I didn't even know the man - why was I so affected?

The staff spoke to Ridwan. Ridwan spoke to the staff. More words. I answered their questions in a voice outside my body. The staff said something about going to the police, one volunteering himself as a witness. The library had the man's personal particulars. They spoke of how no one should feel threatened in a public library, especially not one which was part of, ironically, a Cultural Centre. The police. They kept on talking about the police.

We got into the car. Ridwan said decisively, "We're going to the police."

I just wanted to go home, chop some potatoes and onions, make soup. Why are we going to the police? What was the man's crime? Did he touch me? No. Not even a tap on the shoulder. Did he threaten me directly? Tell me that he'll pull the scarf off my head? Injure my kin? Bulldoze my house? No. Not at all. Not that I can remember. Not that I want to remember. What was it he said exactly? I was already beginning to forget, my ignoring him had worked.

x x x x x

Funnily, at the police station, I began thinking of the last time I had to report something. It was in Malaysia and it went far from splendidly. However, this time in South Australia was a completely different experience. The policewoman who took down our complaint was very sympathetic. It was obvious that I was stunned, my head was a jumble. I was asked to recall what the man said the best I could.

"He said... he said if I wanted to wear a headscarf outside my house I should just go to the mosque. That I shouldn't go anywhere else. He said I shouldn't... be here. He said that... I didn't belong in a library..." and I choked. Because it hurt.

x x x x x

I spent the rest of the evening in a bit of a stupor. I was confused as to why I was so shaken. I did end up making a hearty soup: potato, broccoli and chives. Ridwan roasted chicken. We had dinner. On the news, we learnt that the Uighurs were banned from Friday prayers, that there was a racial riot in Greece, that predominantly black and Hispanic children from a summer camp in Northeast Philadelphia weren't allowed access to a swimming pool because it would change the "complexion" and "atmosphere" of the club. So what was I crying about? We watched an Indonesian comedy to lighten the mood. But the wave of intimidation and humiliation kept on coming back till I fell asleep.

I felt better when I woke up this morning. Mainly because there was a little bird at the window which woke me up with it's chirpy song. By the time I'd taken wudhu' and stood on the prayer mat, it had flown away as if to say its duty has been done. Allah knows how to lift my heart.

In case you're not already sick of me writing about food and... stuff

2009-07-04T23:28:00.004+09:30

OK, so if you know me you know I love tea in many different flavours and colours. With coffee, I could sniff it all day (how can you not love that rich, dark aroma?) but I think twice before consuming any because (1) I get palpitations, (2) it makes me really hungry soon after, (3) I don't like the aftertaste and bad breath that follows and (4) tea is always available as an option. I usually avoid (1) and (2) by drinking decaffeinated coffee. For years, I was able to drink tea, coffee, Coke or Red Bull and fall asleep IMMEDIATELY. Then suddenly, some time in my final year of undergrad my body suddenly decided hey, let's react to caffeine! And I've been terribly caffeine-sensitive ever since.

Which now brings me to The Point.

The Point is: Ridwan wanted to get coffee beans for our coffee machine and I was like, let's get decaf! and he said haha, how about this one? It's ORGANIC decaf! but I just ignored him coz it's not like I'm working and can justify spending a fortune on a small bag of coffee beans, then I saw a group of flavoured coffee beans (I'm sure hard core coffee connoiseurs who start their day on a triple shot of espresso would LAUGH at flavoured coffee beans) and picked up the French Vanilla one and sniffed it and squealed let's get THIS one! but Ridwan picked up the one next to it which was Chocolate Macadamia and we both smelled it and decided to get it, then we got home and Ridwan brewed us each a mug of it using the coffee machine, it was 5:30 and the coffee was REALLY NICE, except now it's past 11 and my brain's going at a mile a minute, so since Ridwan suggested why don't you blog? when I whined about how it's going to keep me awake all night, I hope my typing plus the light and whizzing noises from my laptop isn't going to wake him up (because it is kinda RIGHT NEXT TO HIS HEAD while I'm using it, sitting up in bed) but I doubt it coz he's already breathing that deep steady breaths of a person asleep.

Even with my teas, I try to only drink uncaffeinated teas like green tea or Rooibos after 5. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night. I feel so awake, I'm almost manic.

I suspect I'm not just high on caffeine but also on sweet, sugary sugar because Joy and Ibing brought donuts for dessert when they came over for dinner earlier. I decided to keep it simple with fajitas because if there's anyone we can have an interactive meal completely comfortably with, it's them! It was a complete spread: tortillas, corn chips, chicken grilled with bell peppers, homemade salsa, homemade guacamole, homemade pico de gallo, grated cheese, sourcream and lettuce. Yum-meh.

Ridwan just turned to face the other way. Maybe the laptop light is bothering him. Or maybe it's just time to turn the other way. Aannnd... I can hear the muffled sounds of our next door neighbour quarreling. Ah, a door slams.

But I digress.

I always enjoy the time Ridwan and I spend with Joy and Ibing. I feel relaxed. Sometimes, even with old friends, it takes a while for me to let my guard down. But is the measure of good friendship as simple as good chemistry? What makes a good friend?

I think there will forever be a handful of people with whom we have an immediate connection which neither time, nor distance can sever. However, there are also people with whom we are friends with in spite of our differences and who knows? Maybe it is these difficult relationships that have a greater impact on our lives.

How important is it for friends to be up-to-date with one another's... developments? Is it enough, with the constraints due to our busy daily lives, to wish nothing but good for our friends, to truly feel happiness for their successes and sadness for their losses, to help whenever we humanly, possibly can? Or do we need to try harder than that?

The kitchen - a woman's place?

2009-07-03T18:07:00.004+09:30

Underneath it all, like most of my closest friends, I'm a homebody not in need or pursuit of any heartstopping excitement in my day-to-day existence. It's my holiday (all 6 glorious weeks of it) and I've been spending most of my time curled up on the couch reading (which reminds me very much of my own mum), finishing a book every other day. If only I had the same attention span for my uni textbooks. But I don't and I certainly haven't touched my assignments since I got back from Mt Gambier. I bemoan my laziness and procrastination to Ridwan, whose response is to peck me on the forehead and say, "It's your holiday." And so the guilt and panic is never successfully instilled.

There is only so much cleaning to do in a household of two reasonably unmessy individuals. Laundry needs to be done about once a week. With the rainy winter weather, the garden takes care of itself. So the kitchen becomes my place of activity in the house! Mostly, it's my own experimentation (to Ridwan's joy and misfortune, both). But I also have a whole shelf of cookbooks, and a few more books and magazines from the local community library to stretch my imagination. I recently borrowed one called Farah's Persian Cuisine, which I'm really excited about because the mouthwatering recipes seem so achievable!

I'm contented and very, very relaxed. However I honestly miss being at the hospital. I miss working, I miss cracking my brain and using my hands, I miss the professional social interactions. I take my hats off to the millions of women around the world to whom destiny has bestowed a life of keeping house and rearing kids, because I don't think I have the purpose or patience to do what they do each day with such grace.

The sun'll come out, tomorrow

2009-06-30T23:37:00.003+09:30

Most kids grow up with a favourite show. At least one, that's watched over and over and over again till lines are memorized with perfect timing. I can't remember Shasha's because I was too young then. But Shakeel's was Toy Story. And one of Fatin's is Shrek. Ridwan's was The Princess Bride. (Which is why he's so gallant and chivalrous. Ha. Ha.) (But he is!)

Mine was Annie. Memorized all the songs; the end bits of each line anyway. Danced up and down the stairs at home when no one was looking. Secretly wished I was an orphan adopted by my parents. Loved my necklace and locket to bits, till it was stolen, ripped off my neck in a crowded wet market leaving a red mark for a few days like a false collar line.

I only realized when I watched it again today with Ridwan (who has never seen it before - the horror!) that Annie and Daddy Warbucks went to visit PRESIDENT Roosevelt. As a child I just thought he was a strange, rich businessman.

I never watched the 1999 remake of the movie version of the broadway musical. But judging from the video below and bits of several others on youtube, I think I prefer the 1982 version, which opens up a little pit of joy in my tummy, taking me back to a time when all dreams are possible. I was an incredibly happy kid. I hope my kids have that too.

And then I think of how kids nowadays have Hanna Montana. And I groan. I don't know - am I like, really behind the times?

Orang Melayu suka apa?

2009-06-27T20:48:00.012+09:30

So after Ridwan and I flipped through Stuff White People Like at Borders earlier today, our conversation in the car on the way home inevitably led to us bouncing Stuff Singaporean Malays Like off each other. Amongst them:

1. Karaoke
Every other Malay family owns a home karaoke set. Every other Malay wedding features an open karaoke session for its attendees to partake in. Fortunately, most of us can actually hold a tune. Our choice of song though... sometimes, not so good.

2. Bola
Soccer is The Game for any self-respecting Malay male. There's even an idiom to describe those with no soccer talent: "kaki bangku", literally translating to having the legs of a chair/ stool. And, word! If you can't play it, you'd better be watching it! My husband, though not entirely hopeless at soccer, has legs more akin to those of a stool than Pelé's (or Fandi Ahmad's, I should say). But he's excused - he's Indonesian. Nonetheless, if our son(s) decides to pick up cricket or Australian Rules footy, we will mourn.

3. Decorating cars with soccer paraphernalia
First, let me just say that I'm personally impressed with how the Average Singaporean Malay Man takes care of his car. It's always clean and the inside always smells good. But what is with the bumper stickers and scarves and rearview mirror mobiles bearing the crest and colours of soccer teams? And why is it ALWAYS EITHER LIVERPOOL OR MANCHESTER UNITED? Other teams exist in the World but with these two, the likelihood of becoming a fan has been scientifically shown to follow a Mendelian inheritance in the Singaporean Malay population.

4. Malaysia
Malaysia and Singapore have a love-hate relationship (as all good neighbours do). It's like Canada and the US, Oz and NZ, the UK and France... Singaporean Malays LOVE to go to Malaysia. We go there to get cheap grocery, we go there for petrol, for Malaysian newspapers and magazines and pirated DVD/CD's, to tailor our baju kurungs, for a seafood dinner. We drive up north every single school holiday and long weekend to entertain our unsatiable appetite for shopping and abundant halal food. But we're too quick to pick out and point at every single little flaw of our host. Also, mistake a Singaporean Malay for a Malaysian and wrath shall befall you.

5. Indonesian pop culture
From melodramatic soap operas to emo pop-rock bands to shallow movies, products of the Indonesian media are featured by Suria, Ria and Manja to be lapped up by the Singaporean Malay Mass. From a country which produces good talk shows, creative indie bands and movies worthy of international film festivals, why is it the lame stuff that's always imported?

6. East Coast Park
Even before the east coast of Singapore was a sizable beach park built on reclaimed land, our Malay forefathers lived the idyllic island life, munching on satay and sipping coconut juice whilst enjoying the sea breeze by the shore. But ever since the park was opened in the 70s, every single Malay family and clique of friends has had at least one birthday/ anniversary/ Mother's Day/ Father's Day/ farewell barbeque with the optional overnight stay at the chalet or a self-erected tent by the beach. Actually, make that at least one EACH YEAR.

7. Food Fads
So the Irish and Germans and Aussies may have their unquenchable love for beer. Meanwhile, Singaporean Malays get giddily drunk on FOOD! FOOD! haunts that open 24 hours a day. FOOD! blogs. Meeting up with old friends and new ones over lots and lots of FOOD! So much FOOD! at family gatherings that often, almost half end up in the bin. And amidst the culinary bounty, there's always that one item that is The Current Food Fad. The fad usually lasts a month or two. I remember when I went home in time for Eid several years back, almost every household we visited served "Sabsuka", a bastardized version of an Arabic dish tweaked for Malay tastebuds. Not saying it's not delicious!

8. Tarian, dikir barat, kugiran dan yang sewaktu dengannya...
If you're a Malay kid in Singapore going through the education system, you would have, at one point or other in your life, taken part in a Malay dance/ skit/ debate/ angklung performance of some sort. Although the standard of these performances, sometimes fuelled by prestigious awards at interschool competitions, can be very impressive, few go on to adopt it as their life's passion once they leave school. But there exist a number of active groups here and there that keep the Malay traditional Arts alive and well in Singapore... because the community absolutely loves it.

9. Hari Raya
Come Eid Ul-Fitr each year no one parties like the Singaporean Malay. Yes, yes, you may have your special dishes and fireworks and jubilant customs in other parts of the globe, but simply by virtue of living in an affluent 655-square-kilometre area, celebrations go on in Singapore for the whole month of Syawal. It's actually physically and geographically possible for one to visit every single fellow Muslim family member and friend! Every blog, Flickr and Facebook is filled with photos taken during Hari Raya visits and "open houses" (potentially another Stuff Singaporean Malays Like). Pros: the ties of kinship are preserved, mutual forgiveness is sought in the festive month, everyone's happily fed. Cons: a month of excesses from FOOD! to fashionable attire to the latest home beautification to gossip.

10. Bazaar Ramadhan
Actually the party begins even before Syawal arrives. You know Ramadhan is around the corner when tentage spring up like mushrooms in every neighbourhood. The ones at Geylang Serai are particularly huge. The structures are meant to shelter the annual bazaars that last the whole holy month of Ramadhan. 93% of the wares is FOOD!, designed to tempt the fasting stomache. The other 7% is the latest fashion or home decoration fad.

11. Being an Air Stewardess/Steward
Nope, it's not just another honest career. It's glamour and a sort of celebrity status like nothing else. You might not know the exact details of your own sister's job, but if your second cousin's husband's niece clinched a spot as a Singapore Girl, YOU WILL KNOW BY THAT EVENING. If the news failed to get to you, it will by Hari Raya. Flying with any other airline is big news too, but donning that sarong kebaya is the ultimate ambition. Air stewards and stewardesses within the Singaporean Malay community have succeeded in unlocking a chakra unaccessible to the rest of the population.

12. Working at Changi Airport
But not everyone has the beauty or wit to be plane-bound serving coffee and tea. So the rest of us have to be content with being as close to the fantasy as possible with our feet firmly planted on the ground... at Changi Airport. I admit, I don't get it. Tapi orang Melayu suuuuuuka kerja airport! (But Malays liiiike to work at the airport!) In logistics, catering, sales, anything! As long as it's within 2.5km of the control tower.

13. Black decor for weddings
No one really knows how or when it began. It crept up on the Singaporean Malay psyche subtly but surely. Suddenly, almost overnight (or was it?) every other wedding venue was decorated in black. Black table cloth, black backdrops, black chandeliers (featured in Stuff Singaporean Malays Like In Their Homes) black icing on the cake. The colour of goth had become the colour of matrimonial love and purity.

14. WEDDINGS
The only thing bigger than Hari Raya in a Singaporean Malay's social calendar is a wedding. Malay weddings are Big Business in Singapore. Any Malay aunty or uncle with a decent social circle will have a wedding to go to almost every weekend. Any Malay lad or lass will spend two years planning his or her wedding. And then talk about it for another two. Her blog banner will feature glamour shots from the wedding until she gives birth to her fourth child. Meanwhile, he wonders what the svelte young thing he married has morphed into. And every other weekend, they'll have another wedding to attend. Many Malay customs have been aborted, but the ones pertaining to wedding ceremonies have stood the test of time. Unfortunately, the symbolic significance behind them are forgotten and they serve only to demonstrate the latest wedding fad.

15. Ground floor HDB flats
HDB flats may be 4 or 34 storeys high but only a fraction feature units on the ground floor. Perhaps it's because it reminds the Singaporean Malay of the good old kampung days. Perhaps it's the ease at which you can monitor your child's wedding in the neighbouring void deck. In any case, these units are especially popular amongst Malays who often cultivate luscious potted plants around the entrance of their ground floor units. The only thing more appealing than snagging a ground floor HDB flat is snagging one in Tampines.

x x x x x

Fifteen is a good number to stop at so I will. Ah, my brethren! As much as your idiosyncrasies make me cringe sometimes, you know you have a soft spot in my heart. And typing out this list actually made me a little homesick. Any other suggestions to add to the list?

By the way, I thought the list of Stuff Malaysians Like this guy is amassing is pretty funny.

How I know I'm spending too much of my life in the virtual world

2009-06-26T02:21:00.002+09:30

While we were in the car, Ridwan told me about something that happened to him recently which I thought would be perfect for the MLIA website. I even phrased it for him:

Today the guy driving the car in front of me took a long time to react when the light turned green so the guy in the car behind me honked. The guy in front gave ME the finger. MLIA.

Also, last night I talked in my sleep about wanting to TWITTER about being placed in a PRIVATE HOSPITAL for my Internship where I have to spend THE WHOLE YEAR doing OPHTHALMOLOGY. Of course I was dreaming the entire thing about being assigned to a private hospital but I remember feeling really upset about it in the dream. Hence the need for cathartic Twittering.

Good to be home

2009-06-22T00:18:00.004+09:30

Ridwan and I had a little farewell dinner with 2 of the doctors I worked with in ED at a pretty impressive Asian restaurant called Wild Ginger on Thursday night. The following evening we checked out the Oatmill Cinema in town and watched The Proposal, which was light and entertaining though not my fave Ryan Reynold's romantic comedy - that honour goes to Just Friends. When I woke up on Saturday morning, I felt ready to say goodbye to Mt G.

We took the coastal route back to Adelaide, driving along The Coorong. Twenty-nine hours since we arrived - I've half-unpacked, drawn up a to-do ~~list~~ mindmap for the next 6 weeks, prepared 2 solid meals for 3 of us, spent an afternoon at Henley Beach, had waffles & horchata at my favourite chocolate café, watched today's episode of Masterchef and finished Dr Mohamed Khadra's second book. I feel a little lost not having a rotation to attend for the next 6 weeks, even though my mindmap is packed with errands and assignments and things to read. I miss the ED already, even the occasionally exhaustingly cerebral aspect of it. Like I mentioned before, it feels like I'm not burned out and worn down enough have a holiday yet... but I suppose that isn't necessarily a bad thing :)

An ode before I say goodbye

2009-06-17T17:21:00.004+09:30

Leaving Mt Gambier will be quite hard. If circumstances were different, I'd be ok with spending my Intern year here next year. (1) The town and its surrounds is peaceful and picturesque. (2) Interns here don't work nights, weekends or public holidays! And (3) I've had such an awesome experience these 5++ weeks. Also, there's a masochistic part of me that's gonna miss walking in the fog in 1 degree Celsius ambient temperature because the workaholic part of me can't bring myself to, in the morning, head to the hospital after the sun has come up and the temperature's risen or, in the evening, JUST HAND OVER THE CASE TO ANOTHER DOCTOR AND GO HOME.

The year, in general, has been great, alhamdulillah. I enjoyed all the rotations I've completed and am looking forward to the ones to come. But I've a feeling that this is going to emerge the favourite of 2009. When I arrived here, the biggest advice given to me by my supervisor was to "jump in" as much as possible and jumped in I did.

For the first time, I've patients I can truly call my own. I can make independent clinical decisions -something I don't take lightly at all!- and yet, have never felt unsupported throughout my time here. There's always someone to ask, someone to discuss with, someone to turn to for advice. In fact, usually more than just one person! All the doctors in the department are approachable and a few are particularly gifted teachers as well. Last year when I was doing my rural placement, one of the GP supervisors was so kind and dedicated in his teaching that I promised him that I'll always remember to help those that come after me. Because that's how Medicine is learned: through apprenticeship.

I know that the stillframes of memories of the patients I've encountered here will stay with me long after I've left Mt Gambier. Like the 6-year-old who stared at me with fascination, pointed at my hijab and exclaimed, "Wow! They use to wear that in the old days!" Well, at least he didnt call me Mary. On the subject of hijabs, one of the nurses fell for the old "Yeah I wear it in the shower" joke. But she's a gullible one, maybe I'm cruel to have pulled that one on her. And speaking of nurses, I know I Twittered about my Rule of Thirds, but frankly, they've all been gold to work with. A few of them I'm gonna really, really miss when I leave.

Being the newbie that I am, I often find myself lying awake at night wondering and worrying if I've missed a diagnosis or could have done better for a patient. But I know in myself that I try to be as thorough as humanly possible and that I call in a senior doctor to have a look even if I've an iota of doubt. Once, in reply to thank you's from the wife and daughter of a patient who was very ill (and eventually had to be admitted), I apologized and said I wish I could do more. I was cut off with a "No, don't worry about it. You're so warm and friendly, it makes a difference". I wanted to cry. I wasn't expecting appreciation, I was just doing my job. Of course I realize, at the end of the day, a "nice doctor" is not equal to a "good doctor". A friendly one doesnt save lives, a competent one does. I've got such a long road ahead of me.

I checked on that patient the following day in the Medical Ward... and therein lies the irony of my relationship with Emergency Medicine! I love love love the working up of a patient from scratch, the plastering and the suturing, the split second decisions to be made in the Resuscitation Room but I could never be an Emergency Doctor because I can't live with the lack of continuity of care.

Most of the doctors in the department enjoy admitting patients. And by "enjoy" I mean find a case for admission more interesting than a case for discharge. Maybe I'm silly but whenever I admit patients, I feel like following them into the wards -or into the operating theare if applicable!- to take part in their care right up till they walk out of the door. Maybe that's why I like treating the uncomplicated injuries and lacerations and broken bones.

I also don't mind the duds so much, the non-emergencies that come in. As much as there's a steady stream of chest pains or ?CVA's or motor vehicle accidents and such, the department isn't as over-subscribed as a tertiary hospital so there's time to see GP-type cases in between. And then I discovered that most of the General Practitioners in the area don't bulk bill anyway, so I started feeling sorry for these patients! Forking out $80 each time you see the doctor for 15 minutes is mighty expensive if you ask me, and not what some people can afford. So some of the work's not exactly ED material but it's ok, especially for a student like me to brush up on my basics. Besides, unlike what my experience would be in an urban hospital, I get to see some interesting pathology and injuries... like being stepped on by a cow.

My time in ED has definitely been pretty full on. I'm gonna miss my strolls back to the house at the end of every long shift, with my ears plugged in to music that seem to go so perfectly with the landscape and the day's events racing through my mind. It's in those moments, as I exhale slowly and smile at the horizon (if my view is not obscured by fog or rain), when I feel as though I'm celebrating my own little triumphs.

Today

2009-06-15T18:25:00.003+09:30

Today was a good day. A momentous day.

Today I presented the results of my audit at an open Journal Club Meeting. I was strangely, exceptionally calm so the presentation went very well. Immediate changes were made in the department and a memo circulated as a result of my audit. So I felt... useful. Which always makes me happy.

Today my supervisor and the team in the department formally evaluated my performance during the term. I've been having a good run but their feedback and the scores they gave me were better than I expected. So I felt... accomplished. And ready for what comes next.

I mean "what comes next" in the bigger sense. Because today I finally submitted my First Real Job Application. Ridwan and Shasha helped proofread my CV. I dont know where I'll be posted to next year and it might well not be what I've put as my 1st choice. But "It may be that you hate something when it is good for you and it may be that you love something when it is bad for you. God knows and you do not know. (Surat al-Baqara: 216)" so it's OK. I'll take what comes.

So now I've to head back to the house in the cold and in the dark and might miss MasterChef on TV. And I know tonight, as usual, I'll be worrying about the patients I saw today - Did I put on that backslab right? Should I have waited around for the Paediatrician who's coming in tonight so I can speak to him face to face about the baby I admitted to the ward? Did I miss signs of a possible PID in that young woman? Questions. Always the questions.

Yet, today was a good day. Heavy with promise of things to come. So I'm jotting it down. Lest I forget.

Damn it JD you brought a tear to my eye

2009-06-09T16:43:00.001+09:30

Kissing Kangaroos

2009-05-31T14:00:00.021+09:30

STAAAAAARRT PHOTO SHARING!

Can you spot Ridwan amongst the foliage?

How about in this one, near the mouth of a cave?

I told him not to move.

But was guilty of being fidgety myself.

Pretending to appear interested in the model of a cave diver.

Light from above ground.

We paid Valley Lake, Leg of Mutton Lake and Blue Lake a visit.

The Valley Lake.

I did tell him it's punch, the drink. But he wanted to pose this way.

Taking a break by the lake.

Taking a break... by the bench?

The boardwalk in the wildlife sanctuary. We love the sanctuary!

Spotted: a 'roo!

Kangaroo has a friend... oh no, wait...

Kangaroo has a family!

A family of kangaroos just chilling in the valley by the lake.

END PHOTO SHARING!

Sorry about the photo loaded post but slide-dot-com is not cooperating with me today. I'm not a fan of picture loaded posts. Plus, I haven't figured out how to tweak my blog html so that my pictures arent downsized.

Ridwan was here for a few days. I still went to the hospital of course, while he stayed in the house catching up on his writing.

But when I wasn't at work, we walked and ate out and lay on the grass watching clouds go by
and window shopped and watched DVDs and had ice cream and tea and hot chocolate. We laughed at cats and climbed into caves and went hiking for hours and caught sight of an old couple canoodling in their kitchen....

It doesnt matter where I go or what I do, it's always better when I'm with you.

This will only be interesting if you're interested in dream interpretation. Or turtles.

2009-05-28T16:16:00.004+09:30

Hi. The time has come for me to blog about a dream I just had the other night, in keeping with my tradition of sharing unusual dreams on this site, of which the ones on Paris Hilton and Chocolate Eclairs are just two examples. Because who knows what some psychoanalyst out there may make of my nighttime episodes of REM.

On Monday night, I dreamt of a turtle. In the dream, I was dressed in light, flowy cloth -kind of nymphish for the lack of a better analogy- with my hair untied, flowing down my back. It was very misty and I was sitting on a sort of jetty or overhanging rock peering into the water. Then a giant turtle appeared from under where I was sitting which made me quite gay (ie happy, but gay seems to go better with the whole nymph thing) and I sort of jump-floated down into the water to ride on the turtle's back. Now what kind psychedelic, narked out experience is that?

I'm never one to believe in the symbolism of dreams and all. Shirik! For the most part, I think dreams are the process of your brain organizing your thoughts and memories. But this turtle business is kind of interesting and so completely out of the ordinary! I told Ridwan about it while we were taking a walk around my Mt Gambier neighbourhood yesterday and his take on it was that it's all about my fer-TURTLE-lity. Ha. Ha. Did I not mention that his balls are bursting?

Anyway, this is what googling got me:

To see a turtle in your dream, symbolizes wisdom, faithfulness, longevity, and loyalty. It also suggests that you need to take things slow in some situation or relationship in your life. With time, you will make steady progress. Alternatively, it indicates that you are sheltering yourself from the realities of life. Or that you are putting forth a hard exterior and not letting others in.To dream that you are being chased by a turtle, indicates that you are hiding behind a facade instead of confronting the things that are bothering you.

Another take on it. I'm really not looking forward to any "odd incidences".

Turtles signify the odd and the unusual in your life and if you dream of seeing one you will have an odd incidence befall you and the good or the bad of it will have to be gleaned from the entire dream and the emotions expressed in it. Turtles are considered a good luck symbol as well as a symbol of long life and good health.

And then the one-liner with no ambiguity:

Opportunity for advancement is available to you. You have secret enemies around.

Lastly, the complete analysis:

Longevity, patience, persistence over time. Self-protection, hiding, withdrawing, fear of social interaction or showing one's true self. Dreaming of this animal can represent:
Having too much of one of these qualities, or that you could benefit by being less this way
Not having enough of one of these qualities, or that you could benefit by being more like this
Someone or something in your real life with whom you associate one of these qualities (an event, situation, threat, etc.)
For more clues, pay attention to what the animal was doing or any particular characteristic that stood out.

And after reading all that, I still don't know what the hell it means, if it means anything at all.

Rockin' at 73

2009-05-24T13:06:00.006+09:30

Do you like old people? Coz I do. Helps a lot in Medicine as they form a huge proportion of the clientele in developed nations. I think old folks are great fun. Most of them are funny and are especially compassionate to the awkwardness of students like me. Even the grumpy ones are hilarious.

The other day a 94-year-old was brought in to the Emergency Department by family friends because he had fallen silent in the back seat of the car and was apparently not arousable. The people who brought him in were clearly concerned that he had suffered from a cerebrovascular accident/ coronary/ heat stroke/ hypoglycaemic coma on the road trip. All we got from speaking with him was that he couldnt remember what had happened but had suddenly found himself being brought to ED, and that he's a robust 94-year-old who cycles every day. I ask: COULD IT HAVE BEEN AN INNOCENT SNOOZE?

And then there was the jolly 97-year-old who came in with gashes and lacerations after falling on the street apologizing profusely for all the trouble he's causing and I was all DUDE, YOUR SKIN IS HANGING OFF YOUR ARM. We offered to check out if he's got any other injury perhaps on his torso or leg but he politely declined with a "That's alright, thank you. It's just this cut. Otherwise I'm PERFECT!"

Aaaah... I love old people. Their wisdom gives them strength, but their vulnerability and the sense of humour with which they accept it makes them endearing.

I saw this on TV this morning while having brekky. Still smiling everytime it comes to mind.

Anyone else reckons some of his groovy moves are like Ellen Degeneres'?

EDIT:
Oh no! He's actually on a disability pension for a bad leg! Ah well. Still cute though.

Two sinkholes... and a sinking feeling

2009-05-24T11:29:00.007+09:30

I was promised a bright sunny day by the weatherman so I was a tad disappointed when I drew the curtains open on Saturday morning to overcast skies and the trees shaking violently to strong winds. So I poached an egg, had that with toast and tea, did the laundry, talked to my mum on the phone... before I checked again and saw that rays of sun had begun to shine through the clouds. Ridwan calls them Hallelujah Lights. I've made him promise to never teach or MENTION this to our children.

By the time I stepped out of the house, it was a little past 10am. It was still cloudy, but the strong wind was certainly blowing the clouds southwest, making way for the clear blue skies already making an appearance in the northeast horizon. I was on my way to the Umpherston Sinkhole at the edge of town. It was a limestone cave once, but its ceiling has collapsed leaving a depression in the ground otherwise known as a sinkhole. It was a pretty long walk, I didnt get there till almost noon but it was worth it, even though I expected it to be bigger, like maybe 1.5 times the size...

While I was sitting on one of the swings near the sinkhole, giving my legs a rest and munching on the dates I brought, three elderly couples came and went at different times. That only goes to prove how, like, so totally cool I am, like, by my choice of hangout. Like.

Anyway, the sinkhole was originally a small part of the property (named The Caves) owned by one James Umpherston. Back in the sinkhole's heyday in the late 1800s, its bottom third was filled with water with a boat and a "Robinson Crusoe type hut" erected on a small island in the lake. Charming, no? This Umpherston dude had some imagination. Very Secret Garden.

I decided to take a detour on the way back by going through the commercial centre of the town, that the locals refer to as The City... which I find cute and endearing. Because I think Tampines Mall and its surrounds is way more a city than Mt Gambier's downtown.

There's another sinkhole in the middle of The City creatively named The Cave Gardens. Smaller than Mr Umpherston's sunken garden, it's a pretty little thing.

By then the sky had cleared, the weather was perfect. I sat in a memorial garden snacking on an apple pie/loaf/pastry thing - soft and delicious, though a little on the sweet side. I'm not a huge sweet tooth. There's still half left, which I'm planning to have for tea this afternoon.

I was already back at the house when Ridwan called with bad news: our Ford Laser has been broken into. The last time it happened, it was our Holden Camira and I was in London. This time, Ridwan's Nokia 6500 Slide has been nicked from the glove compartment :( So sad.

I'd procreate just to have this kind of unconditional love

2009-05-22T17:05:00.003+09:30

I don't think I'll ever go into Paediatrics (For many reasons. Might list them in another post when I've nothing else to write about.) (Not.) but I do like my Kid Encounters in the ED. There must be something in the water here - they're all so bloody cute.

Anyhoo, an excerpt from the conversation between a little boy and a nurse today:

"My grandma's on the way here to see me."

"Oh wow! That's nice!"

"Yeah. I hope she gets here soon... I like her."

"Why do you like her? Does she give you lollies?"

"NoOOoo. I just LIKE her." Duh.

On a somewhat related note, Ridwan's biological clock has been ticking lately. No, wait, I'm not putting it into perspective: it's been ringing like a digital bedside alarm with the snooze button broken. Capucine, though not an instigator, certainly isn't helping the situation. He's completely infatuated! Our poor hypothetical child has to live up to her gorgeousness. However, at the risk of sounding like a 70's feminist, I feel as long as I'm the one swallowing the Pill everyday, the ball's in my court. Well, sort of. Unless I fall into the 1-3% statistic that falls pregnant on that thing.

At the (almost) two-week mark

2009-05-22T07:53:00.002+09:30

On Wednesday, I saw the sun set behind the hills as I was walking back from the hospital, tainting the sky a deep coral pink. Through my headphones, I listened to Dave Matthews singing of his grace being gone. The weather had begun to clear up - misty mornings and sunny afternoons again after almost a week of incessant rain. And just like that, I felt a sense of peace with the world and, also, a surge of confidence, self-assuredness and independence.

Last week was pretty bad. I hit a real low on Friday/Saturday. I've lived away and traveled and seeked adventure, am familiar with the expected but manageable bouts of homesickness and missing -even allowed myself some self-pity when I was struck by a god-awful flu when I first arrived in London- but I've never actually felt isolation, which I guess is what a rural landscape can make one feel: small and alone. Ironic because people here are as wonderfully friendly and approachable as country people can get. But I've grown up to feel comfortable when cushioned by many buildings, busy streets, a web of commuter trains, constant Internet access and thousands of people walking pass me on the streets but never acknowledging my existence.

In essence the isolation made me feel weak and helpless and vulnerable. All of the things I categorically hate to feel. And all of the things that made me confused and upset simply by virtue of experiencing these emotions.

While I was actually at work in the hospital throughout the week, it was enjoyable, exciting. But I suppose, last weekend brought with it the panic of not knowing what to do with myself, with no obligation to go to the ED coupled with the unruly weather that urged me to stay indoors. However, I'm sure this weekend, and the many weeks to come, will be much better. Insya Allah.

I now feel contented, adjusted to this place, this town whose beauty is not hard to appreciate... to my temporary home and 'hood. More significantly, I've settled in to my new department. I'm enjoying working with the team, and I'm getting more comfortable and confident with my skills. I love what I'm doing here... and what I'm here to do. It's struck me again how fortunate I am, because I don't know what else I'll make my vocation if not this. Probably a good state of mind to be in considering the job application opens... this weekend! Wish me luck, ok? :)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

2009-05-20T15:41:00.003+09:30

So. It appears that I've been bitten by the reality TV bug. With the exception of the evening I spent on the road on the way here, I haven't missed a single episode of MasterChef Australia. NOT A SINGLE ONE, hear?

The question I've posed to myself is: why?

It's not mean or bitchy. In fact, it's made up of contestants that I can easily imagine myself hanging out with. Even the judges are soooo niiiiiiccee. I remember watching an episode or two of MasterChef UK thinking, why the hell do they have to be so evil and condescending to the contestants?
I can live vicariously through the contestants and their culinary adventures. Especially since I'm living on my own and whenever I'm on my own, I dont really care what I eat. I love cooking for Ridwan and Shasha and guests but right now I'm having salted fried potatoes for dinner one night and cereal the next. And not fussed about it.
It's on every single day except Saturday, so it feels like a friend who pops by at 7pm every day to keep me company while I eat "dinner". See, it's even on at a good time - not too early, not too late.
Because it's on almost every day, it gives me a sense of the passing of time. Sad but true. Coz otherwise, between the crazy mix of things I encounter in the ED and my solitary existence in some house in country South Australia, I'm not getting very many environmental cues.
I feel like the contestants and I are metaphorically going through a journey together. (Read: Emotional investment made.) You know, I'm here doing my thing as a medical student in a country town working in the Emergency Department aiming for some personal and professional growth. Meanwhile the contestants are improving with each episode, working towards being a MasterChef. And I reckon the season ends right about when I'm supposed to head back to Adelaide too. Ain't that sweet?

Whenever Wherever Whatever

2009-05-15T16:53:00.004+09:30

Ridwan and I have had to be away from each other so many times that I no longer get the reflex anxiety separation brings. Sometimes I think that we met young so that we can spend as much time together as possible in our youth in anticipation of "lost time" in the future. Because looking at what each of us wants to pursue with regards to our careers and passions, we will have to be away from each other time and time again.

It certainly isn't the type of relationship modeling I've received from my parents. The only time they've ever been apart since their marriage was when my dad had chicken pox while my mum was pregnant with Shasha. Even then, she would stand with me at the park behind our old place in Jurong while my dad waved at us from the balcony. My six-year-old's eyes could hardly focus on him, but my mum's face lit up just to see him even from that distance.

If we had lots of money (and no aspirations), Ridwan and I would gladly spend our whole lives within five metres of each other. But I have a feeling, that's not how it's gonna be for us.

I miss him. A lot. I began missing him when I started packing. In the car on the way here, my heart felt heavy with sadness. He went to the supermarket early on Monday morning while I was getting ready for my first day, to get me juice, more food and a pair of bedroom slippers, leaving me wondering how I'll cope without him. And then when it was really time to say goodbye, the tears were pretty hard to hold back... but he pointed out a funny looking toadstool and saved the day, or rather, my eyes from becoming blotchy.

It's hard. It's always hard, but it's okay.

p/s Shasha, I miss you too hor...

First Impressions

2009-05-12T13:09:00.005+09:30

Dear Internet,

Where do I begin?

We stopped by Hahndorf for 15 minutes or so on the way to Mt Gambier, where I withdrew cash for my accommodation deposit and Ridwan got a giant takeaway cup of latte. But the real reason was to see Autumn.

But now that I'm in Mt Gambier, the pit stop seems silly and redundant coz Autumn's hitting me in the face here.

It really is beautiful, from what I can see when Ridwan and I went for a drive-around before he left for Adelaide. Mt Gambier's situated on the slopes of a dormant volcano so the fertile soil produces lush vegetation - so very green and, thanks to Autumn, also red, gold, yellow, orange and crispy brown. And since I dont have a car, I've to take a 30-minute walk to-and-from the hospital each day, past misty paddocks in the morning and in orange sunshine in the afternoons.

During my walk back form the hospital, I have to talk about the weather about 9 times to 9 different people I meet along the way. Everyone, especially the people in the hospital and clinical school, has been very friendly and very helpful.

I brought the TV we have in the kitchen along to put in my bedroom here coz I dont want to miss MasterChef. I know, THE EFFORT. But as it turns out, I am by myself, so I can have the place's TV to myself. Yes, I'm all alone in a typical circa 1970 Australian built 3-bedroom family house on the undulating slopes of a dormant volcano, 5 hours from either Melbourne or Adelaide.

If I choose to really, really think about how remote I am from all that I know and am familiar with, it gets pretty depressing, so I don't.

In the weeks leading up to my departure, colleages in the ward were asking if I've got any word re: who I'll be staying with in Mt Gambier. And I always answered a little too confidently that I'll just get there and be surprised. Oooh, yeah, I'm surprised alright. I hadnt counted on being alone. An annoying, untidy housemate even, but not alone.

But I've got no complaints. I've got the place to myself, including all its facilities meant for 3 students.

Glad I'm doing my clinical audit in this rotation - gives me something to occupy my time with. The audit process has been going smoothly so far, alhamdulillah.

The whole experience is just so reminiscent of my time in London - having the TV on just to have some background noise, eating lazy meals like milk and cereal or fruit and dates or chicken, carrots and rice cooked together in the rice cooker, walking to the hospital in the morning in chilly weather...

Except there'll be no weekend getaways. Though I'm counting on Shasha and Ridwan to visit one of these weekends so we can go to explore World Heritage listed caves and lakes and craters and hanging gardens and vineyards within an hour's drive from here.

It's my lunch break now, but I don't think I'll be going back to the Emergency Department. I've got a headache, it's killing me. I need Panadol and a dark room. I think I'm about to get my period - this always happens when that time of the month is a day or two away. Meh.

Till next time.

Elia
xoxox

Matters of the heart

2009-05-10T08:29:00.003+09:30

I pull it taut and the skin comes together like it was never cut open to harvest the long vein underneath. Dab, dab, dab. Spots of bright red blood on the sterile cloth in my hand. I push the C-shaped needle in again, feeling a little thrill of pleasure when it comes out again exactly where it should: just under the surface of the skin. When it's complete, there should just be one fine line from the inside of the man's thigh to his calf. All the stitches hidden beneath the surface. What an elegant way of closing up human skin! I wonder who came up with it.

"Elia," my Registrar's voice startles me from my wandering thoughts. "Looks like you've got it under control. Finish it up nicely. I'm going for coffee."

Before I can say anything, his strips off his gloves and gown. I'm by myself with regards to this man's leg. How do these surgeons sleep at night? Every morning on ward rounds, I linger a little longer around the patients I'd "helped" close up, studying their wounds, just in case there's a haematoma there that no one else has noticed.

At the thorax end, another Registrar has just finished harvesting the left inferior mammary artery. The Consultant, God of Theatre 8, scrubs in and takes his place next to me to guide the Registrar through the rest of the operation. My knees are shaking in my scrub pants, my heart pounding in my chest. I'm expecting the Consultant to titter at my inexperienced stitching any moment now.

"Would a shorter pair of forceps be better?" asks the scrub nurse.

"I wouldn't know... I'll try." I did. Much better. The bigger one I was using to grip the skin are more suited to my Registrar's large hand. I smile at the nurse under my mask, making sure it shows in my eyes, "Thanks! These are perfect!"

In, out, pull. In, out, pull. Dab. In, out, pull... I go through the motions over and over again. Down to about five more stitches now. In my mind, I'm already going through the steps of how to secure the subcuticular suture with buried knots when I reach the end. When I finish, the scrub nurse covers the leg with a sterile sheet. Good. So I won't obsess about it, standing there with my handiwork under my nose.

I look over to where the man's chest has been opened, breast bone sawed and retracted apart to reveal his heart - the organ that has brought us all to Theatre 8 today. I've lost count of how many cardiothoracic procedures I've been at since my rotation began, but seeing a heart sitting pretty in the middle of a person's chest, beating, beating, beating still fascinates me. But the man's heart is not beating now; it lies flaccid in its niche. His blood is being cycled by the bypass machine. I'm leaning against the operating table, at the level of the man's abdomen.

Suddenly, in what seems feigned exasperation with a hint of a smile the Consultant, God of Theatre 8, barks at me, "For goodness' sake! You can stand closer! I don't bite!"

x x x x x

I started off my rotation with the Cardiothoracic surgical team/ward missing my Oncology team/ward terribly. The Oncology ward had been an oasis of calm compared to the chaos in this new ward I've found myself in, where people talk over one another, there's a collision of nurses' and doctors' opinions and the admin lady absolutely reminds me of Kangaroo. Three days in and I was convinced -CONVINCED!- I would hate it. The student who was here before me had warned me of what a chauvanistic, hierarchical environment it can be. I was especially cautioned about the Consultants: "Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

Her instructions weren't hard to follow at all. Having grown up in Singapore, I'd always been, at the very least, polite to my elders and superiors. It's the culture of over-familiarity here that requires me to put in a little more effort.

The weeks passed and I began to see a structure in the seeming chaos. Began to excuse the abrasiveness of some of the nurses as a need to be efficient in an acute ward. The little things I picked up while on Oncology -ward duties, patient management, who to call, where to go- helped me help my new Intern. The Intern and RMOs and Registrars were all approachable. The Registrars in particular were a bunch of overaged boys, constantly outwitting one another. If their career fails (highly unlikely), they can always count on stand up comedy to pay the bills. At talks and meetings I continued to smile politely at the Consultants if I caught their eyes - don't speak unless you're spoken to.

Still, it took me by surprise to find how hard it was to say goodbye and walk away on Friday. This was my final surgical rotation for the year - I've got Emergency Med, Anaesthesia, Paediatrics and Radiology lined up next. Oh, Surgery, how I will miss you so!

Sweet Home

2009-05-07T13:15:00.017+09:30

Hana, the architecture student, tagged me. And so I oblige :)

I'm supposed to imagine that the (imaginary) Architect/ Designer I've (hypothetically) hired has asked me these 10 questions to help them further understand me, the client.

What does it look like?
By the time we're ready, who knows what my taste will be? But The Bookshelf has been a constant.

Homes and Gardens

What does it feel like?
Soft towels and crisp sheets.

Sheridan

What does it sound like?
Pitter patter of little feet.

starrynight11

How does it smell?
Like bread and cookies cooling on a tray.

lilkoda16

How does it taste?
Fresh colourful food all year round.

predrag

Location?
A tree-lined street.

*PinkdreamPhotography

Favourite room?
Outdoor space to read, write and sip tea.

theres-no-end

Key design feature(s)?
Lots of windows. Lots of light.

mnphotobug

What do you hate?
Smog and heavy traffic.

irockyoursocks

What don't you mind about either way?
A kitten or no kitten. Ridwan might have stronger feelings regarding this.

Paranoia-0504

I'd love to tag you but, my friends, will you do it?

Nasi Lemak

2009-05-03T17:44:00.002+09:30

They say homesickness is little more than

a longing for the taste and aromas of food

from the place of your birth and childhood.

If that be true,

what I prepared for our dinner tonight

is aiming straight for our ~~hearts~~

coronaries.

Social network site down. Does not know what to do with self.

2009-05-01T17:27:00.006+09:30

1. I'm blogging to kill time. It's raining heavily so I'm kind of stuck at the hospital without an umbrella waiting for Ridwan to come pick me up once he's done. He's at his friend's place.

2. Yes, Singapore, a tropical island near the equator, has torrential rainfalls. But it still stays somewhat balmy, and cool rather than cold. When I have to take the bus to the hospital early in the morning while the stars are still out (because it's Autumn and hours of daylight are getting shorter), I almost feel sorry for myself. Rain here comes with unruly winds that upturn umbrellas. To combat this, I usually hold my umbrella losely at the wrist to as to have it pointed towards the wind at all times, kind of like a sailing. (~80% success rate) The early morning walk to the bus stop is made more miserable because I have to walk to the bus interchange 20mins away - it's the first bus for the day so it doesnt pick up passengers at the bus stop near my place.

3. I rained a lot when I was in London, so I always had to walk to the hospital in the rain. But it was a misty, soft kind of drizzle that makes my cheeks freeze in the icy winter air, but hardly wets my clothes. Here, only my head and shoulders stay dry. (See paragraph on crazy wind.) So I get to the ward with drenched shoes and pants, and a heavily mottled jacket. Not a very professional look.

4. Yesterday, one of my registrars asked me what I wanted to specialize in in the future. I said, "Well, I do like [Specialty 1] and [Specialty 2]..." I had barely finished my sentence when he remarked, half-smirking, "[Specialty 2]?! Do you actually know any woman doing that?" I shrugged it off, but later that evening it hit me: "WHAT IS THIS? 1950?"

x x x x x

5. It is now the day after ie May the 2nd. Ridwan arrived after I finished typing up No. 4. We picked Shasha up at the community library near our place and then went straight to Good Life Pizza for an early dinner. Then we caught X-Men Origins, during which my brain cells died.

6. Today I made apple pies. 16 of them.

7. When my Intern asked me, "So are you getting up to anything interesting this weekend?" I told her that I'll be studying. I need to study because I'm starting my ED rotation in a week and I REMEMBER NOTHING. It's Saturday evening and I still haven't opened my books. (Refer to apple pie production.)

8. Mount Gambier, where I'm going, is a biggish country town meaning it's more like a large fully-equipped (remote) suburb than a quaint little place. Good: busy hospital, loads of shops, wider demographics. Bad: I may not be able to get everywhere I need to get to on foot.

9. I'm not really in the mood to blog right now. But I can't log on to Facebook. Which is the last thing I want to check before taking a shower and going to bed. Gah!

10. This morning I opened my eyes, found myself face-to-face with Ridwan who was ~~looking~~ gazing at me and I............ SCREAMED! Heaven knows why I was shocked to see him but I was. Ah well. We had a good laugh about it. While we're on the subject, he does generally move around the house with unintentional stealth, so occasionally, when I unsuspectingly turn around/ look up/ open my eyes, I get a huge shock. Such a creeper this one. Almost a decade later and he still makes my heart stop.

Currently reading: Making the Cut

2009-04-28T21:23:00.003+09:30

I cringe every time I come across a blog that's completely obsessed with Medicine, especially if it belongs to a student. So I used to be very careful about keeping this site as "medically-free" as possible. I still cringe at the over-enthusiasm, but I guess I'm more accepting of what will be increasingly part of my identity. If I weren't doing what I'm doing now, I probably wouldn't have given this book a 2nd glance, much less pick it up to read it. It's only because I, like so many of my peers, am constantly searching out the wisdom of those who've gone before us, through this journey of both wonder and woe. But the more I read this novel/ memoir, the more I realize that it does not speak exclusively to us. It is literature that everyone can easily appreciate, for it is a story not of the Science but that of Humanity.

It is also very un-putdownable.

Looking for Elia

2009-04-26T22:07:00.002+09:30

Early Saturday morning, while I was still in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness, a scene from Laskar Pelangi which I watched the evening before came to mind -the scene in which Miss Muslimah was swarmed and hugged by her students- and I began tearing. I wiped the tears away, shook my head at the power of the film to touch me many hours after the credits have rolled and got out of bed to start my day.

I'm sure there isn't a shortage of excellent reviews of Riri Reza's adaptation of Andrea Hirata's novel on the web. Indonesia's biggest box office hit to date really is as good as all that it's hyped up to be. Perhaps even better. At the heart of it, it's an honest and subtle piece of work contrasting the have's and the have-not's, showcasing both childhood innocence and resilience.

Why do we lose our idealism as we get older? Why must growing up wear us down?

x x x x x

I was one ambitious kid. In fact, I'm still optimistic about my future, which is now a shared future with Ridwan. If my life was a long drive, I've only just manouvered my automobile out of a tricky parking lot and am now waiting in line to get through the exit beam gate. I'm still wishing for and working towards more or less the same things I did in my early teens, except I sometimes wonder if my former childishly altruistic intentions have been replaced by selfish ones. Previously, I wrote about how scared I am about starting work with respect to the nature of the job: that a careless mistake may be fatal. But there is also the greatest irony of all. While I can't wait to earn, I'm also afraid of it. After all, isn't money the root of all evil?

My parents have always told my siblings and I that their life's aim is to equip us for Life, for Success in that life. I feel like they've taken me as far as they can and what comes next will be the true test of my character. Will I give what I am fortunate enough to have to others? Or will I be weighed down by cynicism and greed for the world?

Already, my list of frivolous wants is growing. Take for example our current rented home: a sturdy two-storey townhouse filled with Ikea furniture and a mish mash of quirky items Ridwan and I have individually accrued living abroad over the years. My sister calls our decorating style eclectic. I tell her the interior of this place evolved organically through no conscious planning on our part, but instead according to budget and availability. Don't get me wrong, I adore my Adelaide home, a sweet and restful haven for all three of us. But shouldnt your living space be an extension of your (projected) personality and prowess? So I want suede sofas, mahogany shelves, a landscaped garden and the most modern stainless steel kitchen fittings. As if seeing my reflection on my stove would make me feel better about myself.

Even my reasons for holding off having kids is, at the crux of it, selfish. I want to build my career first. What? Finally manage to get one foot in the door only to put it on hold to stay at home and look after a baby? And while I'm at it, forget the benevolent career path that I dreamt of as a mere child, I should be going towards where the money is in this industry! Oh, and don't forget travel! Everyone knows how having kids changes traveling forever! It's all about me.

Sometimes I can barely recognize myself. Astaghfirullah. Where is that child who dared to dream, who believed in the good of the world around her, who didn't care if she was ever going to *drive the latest BMW? As the years go by, I find myself having to work harder and harder at holding on to what is eternally true and real.

*I can keep the last bit of innocence yet, not having obtained a full driver's license. Yes, it's been illegal driving all this while.

On things that keep me awake at night. Apart from our neighbour who's always screaming at her kids.

2009-04-19T10:48:00.003+09:30

The truth is I'm scared shitless about starting work -if all things go accordingly to plan, insya Allah- January next year. (I used "shitless" and "Insya Allah" in the same line, is that socially acceptable?) However, in spite of my fears of incompetence, I also cant wait to start working, because, look! I'm turning 26 and I'm not making any financial contributions to my family or household! My dad's paying my fees and putting a li'l cash in my bank account once in a while. And Ridwan: he gets me food and clothes, and pays the rent and bills, and drives me to and picks me up from the hospital... and in return I just gotta give the man the occasional booty! (Joke. Joke! JOKE! One can never be too careful about The Internet not having a sense of humour or, worse, being too quick to pass judgement.) I don't really have to repay him with booty, I just make pancakes.

But it's not starting work that's keeping me awake at night, it's getting work. The year has been really really chill so far. No exams ahead. No scary tutor or supervisor shooting difficult questions at me in front of nurses ready to titter at my downfall. Just 2 essay assignments which I'm kinda looking forward to doing. (Yes, I am A NERD. These essays are potentially exciting brain workouts!) (Also, yes, I might regret saying that closer to the deadlines when my blog posts will be filled with me whining about having to finish my assignments.) Two essays and a dozen or so online quizzes. Manageable right? Too easy!

Then right about mid-March, my contented lull of Fourth Year was interupted by the realization that OMG I'VE TO APPLY FOR A JOB! I'm sure each graduate in my entire cohort will get a job; it's just where the job will be. I believe my constant worry this year -I mean, if I had to pick a worry to worry about, because I'm not much of a worrier, I'm more of an "I'll cross the bridge when I get to it" kind of person, otherwise the bridge does not exist- will be where I'll get thrown to for my Intern year. My fantasy will be to stay at Flinders. Yes, FANTASY. Because being posted anywhere else would be a complete nightmare. Without a car of my own, I wouldnt even know how to get to the other hospitals!

(I just realized this post has a lot of exclamation marks!!!)

So yeah, that's my big worry for the year. Which, isnt much, I know. Other people have bigger issues to deal with. Besides, I currently have something else to occupy the Things to Be Anxious About segment of my brain: I'll be away for my rural rotation for 6 weeks come May.

Again, it's a travel and transport issue. I'm not all that fussed about having to live away from my usual comforts for a while, having to share a three-bedroom house with people I don't know, having to wow the doctors at the country hospital with my lack of brilliance. I'm just a little apprehensive about not having a car while I'm in the country. C'est tout. Otherwise I'm expecting it to be a great clinical and social experience. (See 2008 and 2007.)

I dont worry about much else other than that. Well, there's also the ongoing war we're having with the MILLIONS of aphids on the next-door-neighbour's gargantuan hibiscus bush that keeps on falling into our plot, infesting some of our plants but hey! Small matter. We just chop whole branches off the hibiscus bush! The branches that reach over to our side of the fence anyway.

Speaking of plants, Ridwan and I found an almond grove near our place during one of our evening walks this week. Are raw almonds edible?

Flakey Four-Day Weekend

2009-04-15T18:55:00.006+09:30

My sister, like all schoolchildren and her uni-going peers in Australia, currently has a mid-semester break. I dont know if it's officially called a mid-semester break, but it's a break and it isnt at the end of the semester. So.

Chocolate croissants which turned out skinny like
lobster pincers but were delish anyway.

Meanwhile, I just had four days off over the Easter weekend and that's it. Not that I'm complaining. I love sipping tea on my sofa at 8 in the morning (body no longer able to sleep in - thank you, Medicine) looking out at our front yard instead of changing into scrubs for theatre at that hour. But four days of tea-sipping felt a little decadent. In fact, the entire long weekend was decadent.

Apple & nectarine turnovers - a little soggy on the underside,
but divine with vanilla ice cream.

We didnt get out of town, having just been to Melbourne two weekends prior. We read and gardened and baked (see pictures) and shopped and strolled and ate out and played cards and watched -wait for it- TWELVE DVDs!

Tuna, onion and corn pies which turned out... exactly as they should.

You gotta hand it to us: averaging 3 DVDs a day for 4 days straight is fairly impressive in a sad, unambitious way. A few of our picks were classics from the 90s - best decade of the century if you ask me. (Bias entirely probable, having been a teenager in the 90s.) Great bands, hilarious sitcoms, good books, understated fashion and a world that is pre-September 11... what's not to like?

Maryam

2009-04-07T16:40:00.005+09:30

The old Italian man is in his 70s. Tomorrow he will have open heart surgery. His warm smile does not hide his worry.

I finish taking four vials of blood from the vein in his right arm.

"You're beautiful," he says in his melodious Italian accent.

"Oh! Thank you!" I automatically reply, amused but not flattered. These nice old patients so sweet they'll call me beautiful even if I walk into the ward in my pyjamas crusty-eyed and smelling of stale saliva.

He grips my hand in both of his. "You're very beautiful. You are a beautiful girl."

I smile and pause in my clearing up of all the venopuncture instruments I've brought to the bedside. I wonder where this is going.

"You look like Madonna. Like Mary... You pray for me? Pray for me? Please?"

I squeeze his hands tight. "You'll be alright. I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

I hope he believes me. I want to believe me.

I heart Melbourne

2009-04-03T06:47:00.012+10:30

I promised photos so here's my favourite ten from last weekend.

I've visited and lived in places which have captured my heart and imagination, but nothing holds a grip on me quite like sweet, sweet Melbourne. And what better excuse to escape to the charming city for a weekend than... Shumaila's wedding!

And trust me, she was even more beautiful in the flesh that day. Wish I've more photos, but Shasha and Ridwan didnt take very many in which Shumaila wasn't, like, the size of a peanut.

Jawed was the official videographer while I had the honour of being the official photographer using her uncle's very cool DSLR. Guarded that (heavy) thing with my life. My neck, arms and back ached by the end of the evening but it was sooooooo worth it!

Goofing around on the job. But turned around just in time to capture the ring swapping and cake-cutting!

Our trip was undoubtedly too short, too rushed, too quick. Didnt get to spend much time with our cousins, Shahirah and Aizad, at whose home we stayed. Didnt get to call friends to catch up over a meal or coffee.

But we did manage to fit in a few little things like pig out on HALAL!!! KFC, get Krispy Kreme donuts, show Shasha Sydney Road & Bridge Road for future reference, walk down South Bank...

Dropped off Tiara's heels which she left in Singapore. I had intended to surprise her but she was out playing futsal! So my brilliant plan backfired on me. Gah.

I love Melbourne for its lovely beachside suburbs like Sorrento and Frankston, for the concerts and plays and summer programmes in the parks, for its wonderful cultural mix. But to me, the city itself is all about the little cafes and specialty shops.

We had breakfast at my favourite "hole in the wall" in Fitzroy. I love it so much I keep on coming back.

Shasha had a wholesome bowl of apple-cinnamon oat porridge. Ridwan had fresh avocado on toast with a sprinkling of sea salt and coarse black pepper.

Not to be outdone, I had french toast drenched in mixed berry sauce, topped with cinnamon mascarpone and icing sugar. I had a pot of Earl Grey (what else?). He had latte. She had a lovely berry tea.

Before driving back to Adelaide, we met up with Sidqi and Indri separately over their lunch breaks.

Indri took us to a place called Little Cupcakes which serves cupcakes big and small.

Ridwan finds this photo amusing - as if we're each a Little Cupcake.

We got a box of five tiny ones: cookies 'n cream, latte, vanilla, Belgian chocolate and... I can't remember what the pink one is.

As we stood up tucking in our chairs and, shortly after, began our long journey back, I thought my heart would break at the thought of leaving Melbourne so soon. I thought it would be heavy with longing.

But... I was ok. I am ok. With Ridwan by my side, in our comfortable townhouse we share with our dear sister, in this quiet city we always lovingly make fun of (read: bogans, The Advertiser, Cunno adverts on TV, shortage of Halal restaurants...), I am content. In the years to come, wherever we'll be, wherever we'll roam, it is here where our lives have already begun.

Because I now start an hour earlier than before I...

2009-04-01T06:49:00.003+10:30

don't have the heart to wake Ridwan up to drop me off at the hospital
therefore get ready by creeping around the room in half darkness and almost total silence
notice that there are still stars in the sky as I latch our front gate behind me
take a bus that arrives at the hospital way too early (coz the next one will be too late)
walk into the building to the smell of scrambled eggs as breakfast is being prepared for the patients

OK. Better go empty my bladder now before ward rounds begin.

Two down, six to go

2009-03-27T13:46:00.006+10:30

My workshop (on "Patient Safety") (yes, with the quotation marks) this morning finished at noon. I had three hours to kill (because I dont feel like volunteering myself in the ward today) before a departmental meeting which I am planning to go to if only to say goodbye and thank you to the Oncology Team which have rocked my socks the past 6 weeks. I've already successfully managed to let two out of those 3 hours pass by without much effort - it's amazing how quickly time flies when you squander it on the web.

I start on the Cardiothoracic Surgical Unit next week. First I was wary about it. Then my stint in Singapore at the start of the year reminded me how much I love surgery! Love being in theatre all day! Love instant results! ~~Love working on patients that have been put to sleep!~~ And I thought: hell yeah I'm looking forward to this rotation. But after talking to a friend who's with the unit at the moment, fears of it being a Boys' Club have come back to haunt me. I'm a little scared. Of disappointment more than anything else. Of not being given the chance to be an involved and active member in the team.

Other than that, it feels like 4th Year has so far been and, for the most part, for the rest of the year, will be as good as I imagined it. I hope I didnt just jinx my 2009 by saying that to the Internet.

In other news, last weekend was as perfect as quiet weekends spent in the sedate excitements of domesticity go. My sister baked scones. I finished two novels (thus neglecting my textbooks and notes printed from UpToDate) (again). I replanted the Panola seedlings into 4 pots and they're growing beautifully. A daffodil bulb or two have begun to spring up from the soil. The abundant rain of the past few weeks have made roses pop out everywhere, in every other front yard (not ours, we dont have rose bushes) and in public areas. I'm not even a huge fan of roses but they look so fine.

I haven't been taking pictures... Next post will have some, I promise ;)