A Story

Actually I have written this a long time ago, when I didn't have the internet service and TELECOM'S tardy action actually gave me some time to write a short story. I didn't finish it, but I intend to finish it now. It sounds and looks lame, but I'm no professional, so please tolerate with the uninspiring and uninteresting story. It's full with banalities, but........here goes.

Story inspired by Derrick Tan (concussion), NLL (still hospitalised), CCS (broken arm) and LJX (broken ankle) and House MD. If you know me (actually not many people know) you should know I love medicine. That's why I love 'House MD' so much.

If you want me to write a story about you, just give me something about the incident and I'll try my best to write.

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1 January 2010

I wake up bright and early, photosensitived, and realised I'm in a room I'm not familiar with. I squint and saw somebody standing beside me. I pull myself up and realise two doctors are staring at me. They amble towards me, and throw me a series of questions that never seem to end. I'm still blurry, a bit queasy, and I've no idea where I am, what is the place or when was I brought there. Eventually I answer a few questions that I manage to answer, the rest came to me a surprise. I am told I was hurt but I can remember nothing but celebrating New Year last night. The clock points 6 sharp and I realise it is evening. Sunlight shines weakly and it begins to sink.

I try very hard to remember what happened, but I am told I have short term amnesia. I shake every thing off and subdue the pain. I grimace and ask for my parents, but the doctors say visitors are not allowed. Then one of them, Dr. Lee, says I need to rest and I'm given anesthesia to rest. I then feel listless and dropped off.

2 January 2010

I've been called by someone and the voice sounds vaguely familiar. Then it hit me it was my father, and I jump out like a kid just wake up after a night terror. I am so happy to see them and they are likewise. They tell me I got hurt when the firecrackers that were supposed to lit burst into flames, and that's how I got third-degree burn. When I fell, I banged my head on the door and hence I have this nasty headache and blocked memories.

We chat a little and the bell rings, telling visitors to leave. They look disappointed, but they have to leave. They promise they'll visit me again, and I say I'll be waiting, although deep down in my heart I wish they'll never leave me alone here, abandoned and terrified.

It is 2.00pm and everyone gets back to their respective bed. I'm in a ward. I can see eight beds from my view, including mine. I'm on bed number 10. The beds are arranged accordingly, and of course everybody is a guy. The patient next to me, an Indian, seems to have experienced a very nasty accident. Everything on him looks ominous, and I suddenly feel glad to have burns and concussion. Bed 11, 13, 15 and 16 are not occupied. The boy in bed 12 looks weak. Lassitude makes him sleep for almost all day. The guy in bed 13 looks surprisingly old for a 26-year-old man (I know his age through eavesdropping) and he is a volatile man. He vociferates and always goes ballistics when he's wish is not satisfied. He always asks for painkillers. I've no idea what he suffers from and I'm not a doctor, but I do know too much painkillers is deleterious.

The day just drags on, and a nurse later administers something into my system and tells me to rest more. Feeling weak, I dozed off.


3 January 2010

It has been only two days, but I have begun to be claustrophobic. I've been moved to another bed, where another boy of about my same age is my only companion. The other beds are not occupied, making him the only person I can talk to. He says he has been in the hospital for a month, and the doctor has not had a clue about what's wrong with him. His symptoms have the doctor stumped. At that time I'm feeling a little bit worried. What if what he has is infectious? If it is environmental and toxic I guess I can relax a little, but if it is infectious I'll be terrified.

But then, why would a doctor place a patient in a same ward with a patient with infectious disease? Surely they have ruled out infection. I kind of pity him. He has tubes all over his body, and he even wears a oxygen mask. He said his lungs collapsed, and even though it's fine now the doctors are still taking precautions just to make sure the history doesn't repeat itself.

I'm still bored and I take the book my mother brought to me. I plough through the book for a few hours. It's very difficult to read when the ward is silently noisy and my intermittent pain keeps kicking in. Then I heard beeping. I notice it comes from the another boy in the ward. The doctors rush in. The suddenly the doctor has his Eureka! moment and diagnoses him with something jargonic. If I'm not mistaken I think I heard him saying something calls Erythropoietic Protoporphyria. The crux is, the boy is allergic to light.

Another day just drags on. Another day has just gone.


4 January 2010

I dislike laying on the bed. It makes me look weak, although I know I look wan, but that doesn't mean I'm weak. It was 9.00am, I wandered my hands on the desk beside me and I manage to grab a magazine. The magazine is full with gossips that are highly appreciated by fans but vociferously despised by most stars. Gossips beget pressure to the stars, and if I'm one of the stars I'll shun paparazzi with every fibre of my being.

After I have taken an insipid lunch, I bring myself to a wheelchair and have a nurse push me around in the lawn outside. This place isn't fully planted with trees, but the colour of the grass is definitely pleasing to the eyes. There are many interesting people around. A 60-year-old man, possibly diagnosed with lung cancer, trying to abstain himself from smoking but his poor-spirited will is overwhelmed by the urge to smoke, and he begins to smoke, much to the doctors' dismay. His stained teeth and emaciated body show that he is a chain-smoker. Then I saw an old lady, possibly suffers from Alzheimer's, keeps wringling her hands and her daughter looks extremely tired. Taking care an Alzheimer's patient needs a tremendous patience and I couldn't imagine what happen if this trouble weighs on me later.

The air was cool - a little biting - since it has been raining recently. I'm still weak, but I feel invigorated to be around people. Some look sicker than me. I bumped into a boy around my age, and he has one of his legs amputated. I choked on my fear but I didn't let out a scream. Whatever he went through was much terrible than mine. So instead of feeling pity to myself, I realise I have to be strong, because they are hundreds of people out there suffering from a long-time illness that impact their lives in a way they wish they were never born.

5 January 2010

I have been to a new ward to be monitored. If I'm fine today I'll be sent home to recuperate. Every activites on my time table has been cancelled - much to my annoyance - for my own good. A boy is laid upon beside me. The doctor told me he had a cardiac arrest and a fractured arm. I have no doubt he plays basketball. I try to talk to him whenever he wakes up (he's still weak), and he appears to be too weak to talk. I let him rest, and decide to give myself a rest, until an annoyingly loud alarm sends me off guard. It appears that an emergency has happened and all doctors are required in the ER.

I don't know much, but I do know something very, very nasty has occured. As a practised eavesdropper I try to get something from the nurses. Turns out a bus has overturned, and all 28 passengers in the bus are badly mangled. Some died on the spot, some are maimed, some survives but not for long, some has their lives relied on the machines. Families are sobbing, friends are wailing, doctors are busy, nurse are overwhelmed with heavy work. I feel sad for them. Truly. Again, I feel like my life is much better than I had thought.

6 January 2010

The day I've been waiting for. My parents come early today and bring me out of the hospital. I pack my things eagerly, wave goodbye to the boy beside me although I ain't sure whether he sees me or not, and listen to the doctors kind-hearted advice. I thank the doctor profusely and on my way out I look at the ER. Parents are still flooding the room, nurses are still running around sending charts and picking up calls. It hurts me to watch, so with heavy steps, I try to run away from this place, which will forever be embedded in my mind.



End of story. The story sucks, but I just love to write.