Valley of Despondency

Here I am again! On familiar ground.

Like last year, after the op, I find myself in the Valley of Despondency again!

In the past few days, I found myself, once again, tumbling helplessly down into that dreaded valley. I don't wish to talk to anyone. I don't want to see anybody. I just want to sleep. I just want to crawl into my cave and hibernate. I don't feel very sociable. I don't seem to have the energy to do anything, nor do I seem to be interested in anything else besides sleeping. I've been down this way before. I know this place! And I think I know how I got here...

Just like last year, upon discharge from hospital, I found myself struggling and floundering in my attempt to cope at home. Even though my care-giver is doing an excellent job at caring for me, as well as in taking care of all other matters, I still find myself stretched to the limits in trying to deal with all that I have to personally undergo each day.

For a start, settling back home upon my discharge from hospital was quite an unsettling experience. Ergonomically speaking, hospital furniture and equipment had made my life, while at the hospital, quite comfortable and had all my needs met efficiently.

Whilst at hospital, brushing my teeth, going to the toilet, bathing and even dressing independently was quite effortless. Having come home, every single task, even something simple like brushing my teeth after a meal, becomes a bid deal. It really takes so much effort to get by daily. It all adds up and by the end of each day, I feel sapped of all energy!

By the end of a week or so, my nerves are frayed and I feel myself sliding down, lower and lower, slipping fast and furiously into that despondent valley yet once again.

Now at home, confined to my bed, and not being able to move about freely, my body has to acclimatize to an even more sedentary pace than my usual 'already-very-laid-back-and-unruffled' pace. In my present state, I think even the Sloth has a definite edge over me. Confined to the bed and my bedroom, I can't do very much - at least not as much as I would be inclined to.

Mentally and emotionally, this can be torturous! For example, the other night, while the rest of the family was watching cable tv in the living room, I wanted so much to be with them and to have a share in the fun and laughter, but I simply couldn't.

Well, they did offer to give the tv programme a miss and to stay with me in the bedroom to keep me company, but I turned down their offer because I felt bad about it. It would not be fair to them if they had to, on my account, give the programme a miss simply because I was lonely for their company. It would be too selfish of me to agree to that.

Why couldn't I join them in the living room? Well, it's for the simple fact that I can't remain seated upright for too long before my leg starts to hurt. After every 20 minutes or so of sitting upright, I need to stretch out my leg on the bed and to lie down again.

I miss the freedom, the spontaneity and the ability to instantaneoulsy translate my thoughts into action. The likes of the following scenario have been played out daily in painfully torturous regularity : "Ah! I would like to write a 'thank you' card to So-and-So...but ARGH....the cards, envelopes and stamps are in the study room!" or "Oh! It's starting to rain...I've got to shut the windows...ARGH....I can't get out of bed! Even if I do manage to hop there with the help of my walking frame, I can't keep my balance long and well enough on one leg to lean out to grasp the handle and pull the casement window inwards. I can't risk a fall! OH! Let it rain! Let it flood! I can't do anything except wait till my care-giver returns from the market."

You may ask, "Why didn't you think of having the windows shut before letting your care-giver leave the house to do the grocery-shopping?"

Well, you think about it yourself. If you were me, would you not rather take a risk and have them left open to let in some fresh air and sunlight since the bedroom will the only place you would find yourself stuck in the whole day long? Who's to know that the bright sunshiny day would turn grey so suddenly and so unpredictably soon?

Like last year, my body has to, once again, get used to the fact that it has only one good leg to get me moving from bed to the bathroom and back. My mind has to be alert at all times : Keep that left foot off the floor! Any lapse in memory is promptly punished with a sharp excruciating pain that shoots up from the foot to the hip! How I dread those unavoidable trips to the bathroom!

Bathing has also become a major project! I need 5 minutes to wrap my leg in a plastic bag, 3 minutes or more to hop to the bathroom, 2 minutes or so to get undressed, another 2 minutes or so to manoeuvre and hop carefully into the shower area and another 2 to have myself seated safely and comfortably on a stool under the shower head. After the shower, I take an even longer time to get dry, dressed and out of the bathroom, having to be even more careful since the floor has become wet and slippery in the shower area.

It's really no joke to have to hoist myself up and over that curb between the bathroom and the bedroom, taking care not to hit the left leg against the curb, the floor or the doorframe, and being mindful that I must not flex that knee beyond 30 degrees.

For someone like me who has not been particulary muscular or whose muscles are not exactly in the prime of their fitness level, having to heave myself from bed to wheelchair and back makes hard work.

The muscles in my shoulders, my arms and my upper torso have been screaming their protest from having to lift me off the floor with every hop that I make, using that U-shaped walking frame. My good leg is starting to join in the protest. It is starting to complain about being over-taxed!

After last year's experience, I had actually planned to commit to an exercise programme to strengthen those arm and shoulder muscles before I was faced with this year's operation. However, somehow those wise plans were foolishly shelved. Now, I really feel like kicking myself -if I could- for not having followed through with my plans!


All these, so far listed, are still quite bearable! There are yet other "crosses" to bear!

The hardest of all is bearing the pain that strikes every night. Yes, it comes without fail and it is punctual almost to the dot, despite my having taken the pain-killer submissively and faithfully.

Each night, at around 3.00am, excruciating pain strikes!

Like last year, that same kind of pain attacked at around the same time. But unlike last year, the pain this time would not go away at 5.00 or 6.00 am, but would linger on till around 7.00am.

Last year, when I was in pain and could not sleep because of it, I was driven to much frustration, depression and even envy. This time around, I tell myself not to get agitated. I keep reminding myself, "You don't have to go to work tomorrow. You can always catch up on your sleep then. So, don't get all worked up now! Just relax as best as you can, and shift your thoughts away from the pain. Focus on some other thoughts!" And I pray. I pray for myself, for family and loved ones, for friends and for people whom I've read about in the newspapers daily. This way, I find myself coping slightly better in the night than I did last year.

The difficult part comes in the day time.

When I am sleep deprived, I am easily agitated, highly irritable and can become quite dense and zombie-like in my thinking. I find myself becoming inpatient with and easily angered by the antics of my (hyper)active house-bound little boy who is having his school holidays.

I don't like myself when I am sleep-deprived.

I try to catch up on my sleep, but I find it a futile task -catching up on sleep.

When the pain eases off at around 7.00am, I drift off to sleep only to be awakened at around 8.30am by my son and by Glass, my dog, who both want my company and attention. If I were to ignore them and continue to snooze, others would soon join forces with them to drive me out of Snooze Land! If it's not one member of the family coming into my room to get something, it would be another; or it might be some jarring environmental sound that somehow manages to invade and rob me of my peaceful sleep. The worst is when the phone starts ringing.

The phone. That dastardly thing!

Every other morning, my father-in-law would ring me from the coffee shop or from the market at around 8.45am or at around 9.30am. He would ask me the same questions, "What would you like me to buy from the market? Would you like some apples, or kiwi fruit, or pineapples? Would you like me to buy some carrots, corn or some Chye Sim? They're really cheap today. Too cheap to give it a miss and not buy some!"

SIGH! Then I'll have to tell him for the hundredth time, "We still have lots of apples, kiwi fruit and pineapple AND bananas AND oranges AND carrots AND corn AND Chye Sim AND cabbage AND lettuce AND tomatoes...we DON'T need anything from the market. Thank you, anyway."

And in my heart, I'll be pleading with him, "Oh! PLEASE, THERE IS one thing I need : SLEEP! Can you please let me sleep?"

Now, Dad and Mum, don't get me wrong. I am not being ungrateful. I really do appreciate you. I know that offering to buy the groceries for me and my family is your way of demonstrating your love, concern and support but your kind and thoughtful act of love does not meet my need.

I need sleep more than anything else.

If only you would leave me alone and let me sleep, that would be a far more desirable way to demonstrate your love and concern. You see, when I am well-rested and cheerful, I will in turn be a more pleasant, patient, affectionate wife to your son, and mother to your grandchildren!

Then there is also the steady flood of phone calls from friends which I have to deal with.

The phone rings incessantly and it is simply impossible to sleep or stay asleep.

I know my friends are concerned. I know they mean well. I am thankful for having such kind, caring, thoughtful and supportive friends. I cherish them and I am grateful for them.

However, as much as they need to express their love and concern, I need my rest and to catch up on my sleep. And how am I supposed to sleep if I have to keep answering phone calls and repeat myself over and over again dishing out the same information to different callers because individually and at different hours of each day, each of them call me to ask about my hospital experience and about how I am coping at home.

In my desire to remain a good friend, to be civil and polite, and in my anxiety to let them know that I do deeply appreciate their love and concern, I find it hard to reject their calls or refuse to entertain them when they want to visit. But to take all the calls and to receive visitors every other day or so, it robs me of my energy which is already quite depleted by my sleeplessness.

I need SLEEP!

All you friends out there: Thanks for being such a chum and I know you love me! The best way you can love me is to let me sleep. Give me time, give me the personal space, give me the privacy and leave me alone. Boleh?

I know I sound ungrateful, but I'm not.
I may be selfish, I'll have to admit. I'm sorry about that. I truly am.

I acknowledge your dire need to express your concern and your deep desire to give me support in my hour of need, but if I were to give in to worrying about meeting your need, I would become less able to address my own.

I find myself having to be mindful about not hurting your feelings or making you feel rejected by refusing your calls or to have you over to visit. This is making me very stressed out!

I find myself having to dodge your phone calls because I don't know how to say, "I'm sorry, I need to rest and I can't talk. In fact, I don't even feel like talking to anyone. I am in pain and I am only anxious to catch up on my sleep. I don't feel like doing anything else, let alone chit chat on the phone or to play host to visitors." I can't tell you all this. So, each time the phone rings, I feel frustrated and upset. It's really stressing me out!

I wish I had the courage to tell you directly. I know that if only you knew, you would let me off and give me the time, the privacy and personal space. But, I just don't know how to convey my true inner feelings, without running the risk of hurting your feelings and our friendship.

So, hear me, please. Listen with your heart. Hear the words that I find hard to tell you.

I NEED SLEEP. LET ME SLEEP.

One or two of you have been coming at me ever so strongly, telling me vehemently that, in your opinion, I am sleeping too much! That I should not focus on the pain and that I should just snap out of it. "Mind over Matter!" you tell me. "Find something to do," you say, "the day is not made for sleeping, but the night!"you chide.

To you who have been able to sleep at night, you may think I am sleeping too much. You may think it's unhealthy for me to sleep so much in the day. You may think you are doing me a favour by keeping me occupied in the day so that I won't sleep so much. You may imagine that you're doing me a world of good by trying to make me see that, besides sleeping, I need to do something else to keep my mind occupied.

You just don't understand!
If I DON'T sleep in the DAY, and I CAN'T sleep in the NIGHT, I just won't be able to get any sleep at all. And if I don't get enough rest, I don't see how it could do me any good at all!

While you are sleeping at night, I am WIDE AWAKE. I do not count sheep while I am awake. I deal with the pain....EXCRUCIATING PAIN.....something which you may not know unless you have had a similar operation and unless you were me, "in my shoes", so to speak.


So, don't tell me that I am sleeping too much just because I sleep in the day!


Don't tell me anything. Just let me be. Leave me alone. Let me sleep!

Thank you.


Actually, now that I have learned much from personal experience, if and when I next relate to other newly-discharged-patient-friends, I would demonstrate my love and concern by granting them personal space, privacy and time for rest and for healing to take place.

I know I would feel a need to express my concern and support, but I would translate that feeling into actions that are appropriate and which would meet my friend's need in a more pragmatic way - I would stay home, send my sincere get-well-soon wishes via a card or via sms, and give daily support by commiting myself to uphold my needy friend in consistent earnest prayer. Instead of calling to ask if he/she has any prayer request, I'd let the Holy Spirit lead and prompt me.

I thank God for giving me this experience. Having helped me through this, He has given me greater insight and He has enabled me to better understand the needs of someone who might be going through similar situations.


Dear God, my dearest Heavenly Father, my loving Abba Father, you are wise and gracious in giving us your holy spirit to help us and to teach us to pray. You who are omniscient, in your infinite wisdom, you are able to, and you certainly do, lead us in our prayers...and those moments spent in prayer, talking to you, those are indeed some of the sweetest moments of my time spent on earth! How I thank you for granting me the privilege of coming to you in prayer!


I'm thankful that you are not some distant god sitting high and mighty and aloof out there in outer space, watching impassively as we struggle here on earth. No. On the contrary, you are very much involved in our daily affairs, lovingly helping us through and saving us from ourselves and from sin and destruction.

Thank you, Father. You are so much a part of my life. You ARE my very life.

Without you, I perish!

Please grant me patience and strength as you continue to journey with me through this period of time. Grant me healing and full recovery. Help me to be loving, gentle and considerate in the way I relate to all my friends and loved ones. Help me to be patient with myself. Help me to ever trust in you and to obey your leading each and every step of the way.

Lord, keep my good leg healthy, fit and strong so that it will continue to support me well as I hop around on it. Thank you, Father.

The Final Cut

Thank God each human being has only two legs....at least, I'm thankful that I've got only two legs and so, at most, I could only have two legs that needed fixing, thankfully nothing more!


June 7 : Admitted to NUH to prepare myself for the next day's operation.

Couldn't sleep that night. Why? Mm...same reason as why I could never sleep in hotel rooms when I travel...new, unfamiliar environment, strange bed with no familiar scent, and even stranger environmental sounds.

In this case, the sounds came from the BANG BANG BANG and the occasional shout or whistle that the wind carries over from the nearby construction site (I think it's from where they're building that MRT- Circle Line). Then, there are the sounds from motorised hospital beds that go creaking up to a sitting-up position, bathroom doors that go bumping to a close and trolleys that go "cringe, crang, criche, crick, criche, crick, criche" down the corridor from the nursing station to rooms, and then from room to room.

Judging from the noise generated, one would think that I was in a room full of patients, right?
Wrong.

This time around, I found myself in the Kent Ridge Wing and with a whole room all to myself. I decided that I've had enough of room-sharing! Once bitten, twice shy! But in my case, it was Twice bitten, thrice sure to cry!" I didn't want to end up in tears over this hospital stay. And so, I opted to have a room all to myself.

However, despite enjoying great privacy and the luxury of tranquil solitude and of golden silence from not having anyone else in the room besides myself, I still can't help but feel that there's no place like home!


Down Memory Lane...

I'll never forget the experience of my previous stay at NUH, especially that of the time when I was placed in the Renal Ward. There, I had to share the nurses' attention with that suicidal neighbour who refused to have her dialysis done. Her constant ranting and raving made it impossible for me to rest. In fact, with my leg in a cast on those first two days immediately after the operation, I felt so insecure and unsafe. It's really no joke sleeping next to someone so violent, you just can't feel safe!

The whole night long, she would be screaming or moaning and groaning. Otherwise, she would be yelling at the nurses or would be banging at the metal bed-railing, demanding to be allowed to go home. I kept wondering to myself, "What if she got desperate in the middle of the night and came over to my bed to vent her frustration at me? With my leg in a cast, I wouldn't even be able to dodge her blows. I'll be at her mercy!"

The worst was when she threatened to jump. There I was, lying on the bed closest to the door, with my leg in a cast and unable to get up to help myself, or anybody else, and there she was, threatening to go out through that very door to the corridor to jump down to her death! Oh my goodness! I raised the alarm, of course! When the nurses got wind of her intentions, they locked the door and tied her to her bed. And THAT was IT! My nightmare started after that.

For the rest of my stay there, I could not sleep for anything longer than a few minutes at a time. Our Mdm "Nak Balek" would rattle the bed-railings, scream and shriek till all the other patients in the whole ward crowded around our door to see what was happening, and she would deliberately and repeatedly jam her foot in the bed-railing and would scream "Sakit"!

The harried nurses would then rush in to free her leg and the moment their backs were turned, she would squeeze her leg through and have it jammed in the railings again. The whole circus-act would be repeated over and over again until they finally decided to have her sedated.It was only then that all of us could have some peace and quiet.

Was it any better after that? No! After having been sedated, Mdm Nak Balek aka Mdm Sakit settled down for a nice, peaceful sleep for about an hour, or so. When she woke from that bout of sleep, she started again, crying and whimpering, saying she wants to call home.

With her hands tied to the bed, she couldn't dial the phone. She begged me to help her dial home. But, how was I supposed to help her? I myself was immobile. My leg was still in a cast and I, myself, could hardly move about on my own bed. Finally, one of the visitors of the other patient in the room helped her to call home.

Two hours later, at lunch time, her children (working adults, I suppose?!) came to visit. They managed to soothe and calm her, and even managed to persuade her to go for dialysis. Henceforth, the patient stopped "harrassing" the nurses and other in-patients, but another kind of problem started.

Mdm Nak Balek had her name changed to "Awak Tak Boleh Balek aka Awak Nak Pulang". She simply would not allow her children to leave. Even if they wanted to go for dinner, she would make them promise that they would return in ten minutes, and she would insist that at least one of them would stay with her while the others went to eat. At all cost, she would have them, or at least, one of them, stay by her bedside 24 hours a day, or else....

And so, they stayed. Her children, I mean. Her sons and daughters came and "parked" themselves there by her bedside, armed with enough snacks and drinks to last them the whole of eternity!

From then on, noise of another kind kept us all (except Mdm Balek) awake...if it wasn't the "Creek Crack Creek"from their opening packets of potato chips, it was their "Munch, Munch, Chomp, Chomp", followed by "Burp, Belch, Burp" or their "Hee Hee Heh Heh GUFFAW HA HA HA!" from watching all those silly sitcoms on TV! In the dark of the night, the flickering lights on the ceiling from her TV screen was most irritating to someone who hadn't been able to rest and sleep for a LONG LONG time!


Sigh! For 5 days, I was sleepless in NUH! How to forget that episode in my life? Not easily, of course, especially for someone like me....someone for whom sleep is so important and so much treasured! I need my 8 hours! 10 if possibe! But here she was, this Mdm Sakit, robbing me of my much-needed sleep. She was a real Sakit!

I know I am being mean to harbour such unsympathetic and unforgiving thoughts towards her. I almost can't help myself! I know, I know! She was unwell. BUT SO WAS I! We both needed rest! Wasn't the hospital staff supposed to facilitate rest and recovery?

Hey! I had my own battles to fight! What, with all that pain from having my bones sawed and screwed down together, and all the bruises and swelling to bear with! I really didn't have much energy left to bear with any much more besides! And I had to have her to be my neighbour!

Then there was the other time when I stayed over at another ward in the Main Building when I had to share room with this EXTREMELY attention-seeking Mandarin-speaking Japanese old lady.

Every 5 minutes or so, our dear Madam would sound the call-bell to summon the nurses to her bedside. When they came in, she would tell them, "I want that jar of face cream on that trolley. Hand that to me!" or "Get me my comb. It's in my bag which is in the drawer there." Or it would be, "When will lunch be served?" or "I want to get onto the arm chair, I am tired of lying down on the bed". It's always one thing or another, always urgent (to her) but never life-threatening, but she would keep pressing that call-bell until someone comes to be with her and to talk to her. That would be the case all through the day AND NIGHT!

It was impossible to sleep with the BEEP BEEP BEEP going on incessantly! Not only were the nurses' patience tested, but even I (who am, ahem, quite "renowned" for my patience, ahem...blush blush) was driven to my limits! I found myself asking,"What now?! What DO you want? What could you possibly be asking for now?! Surely you've asked for everything that you could possibly have thought of asking for?!"

I really take my hats off to the nurses. How could they refrain from giving her a good shake and telling her to just STOP it! STOP PRESSING THAT BUZZER! GIVE US ALL A BREAK! Give me a break! I need my sleep!

And so, this time round, I made sure I had a room all to myself!

Nonetheless, there I was, all alone in the quiet of my own room, and yet, still sleepless. Why?

Humph! I guess everyone (or most people, at least) would probably be in the same boat, if they were, like me, awaiting the FINAL CUT which was to take place the following day!

All through that night, I lay half awake, thinking...

Oh..there we go again...the endless rounds of questions asked repeatedly by one nurse after another, "Do you have any dentures? Any braces? Any loose teeth? Any jewellery on you? When was the last time you had any food and drinks? Do you know what operation you're going in for? Has your op site been marked? Whose signature is this? Who signed this? Is this your signature?" Yada yada yada...

Then, there is the "prospect" of facing the next day's ordeal in the OT - I especially hate that part of the procedure when they try to locate my elusive veins in order to set up a drip for the op.

Then, there is the constant dread of having to deal with the after-effects of GA on June 8 and June 9! The nausea and the vomitting, the giddiness and the breathlessness, the discomfort and the awful feeling of bloatedness and the utter sense of helplessness...the weakness and the drowsiness. How I hate it all!

All these make me dread taking the next step in my journey towards healing and pain-free days, and yet, what choice do I have but to tread on? I can only find consolation in the fact that this is, probably, going to be the FINAL CUT! No more! I pray. No more operations on my legs after this. Please?! Let this be the last operation which I would have to bear with. Let this be the last GA which I would have to undergo. Amen!

I hope the surgeon's cut and the stitches afterwards would be nice, neat and clean, that the scar left behind this time would not be so long and attention-grabbing. Oh! God, please guide his hands to do a great job...help him as he work on my leg...help him to fix the problems so that I would not need to have anymore operations done to my legs, ever again. Please? Please make this operation a smooth and successful one!

I found myself praying through the night, in between moments of drifting off to a fitful sleep.


June 8. Woke up at 6.30am. The nurse came in at 6.50 to have my temperature and my blood-pressure reading taken. Another nurse came in at 7.30 to ask if I would like to have a shower. When I told her I would like wait because I would like to "catch" the doctor when he comes on his morning rounds, she left saying, "OK...I'll come back later. Call us if you need anything,yeah?"

8.20am. The ward doctor came. Checked on me, answered my questions and left. I was all set to face the day.

9.00 plus...the housekeeping team came in to have the bedsheets changed, a nurse came in to take my order for dinner, another came in to hand me the gown which I was to put on before going downstairs to the Operating Theatre. Another round of temperature and blood-pressure reading taken.

11.05am. A nurse came in to announce that the porter would be coming up shortly, in about 20 minutes or so, to take me down to the Operating Theatre.

A flurry of SMSes to husband and children to inform them that I was going off for surgery, and of messages from them to tell me they loved me and that I was to be calm and confident in the LORD, and so on.

11.10am or thereabout. Michelle from School called me on my mobile phone. It seems the VP instructed her to call to find out when I was to be hospitalised and when I was due to return to work. I told her that I was, in actual fact, getting ready to proceed downstairs for the operation. Shocked, she mumbled, "Oops! You mean you're already in hospital?"

"Yeah. In about 20 minutes' time, I shall be downstairs in the Operating Theatre. I shan't be able to tell you when I am due to return to work...at least, not until after the operation,"

I couldn't resist adding, impishly, "and if I should wake again after the GA, I would call the school to inform you of the possible date of my discharge from hospital...at this point of time, I shan't be able to tell you when or even if I would be able to return to work. "

With that, I went off to the bathroom to get into my OT gown.

11.20am. Having locked all my valuables in the safe, I hoisted myself onto the trolley bed and placed myself in the good hands of the OT attendants as they wheeled me downstairs to meet the team in the OT.

11.30am. The rounds of questioning started. One nurse after another. Same questions over and over again.

11.50am. Heard the sound of soft whimpering...it was as if someone was sobbing and crying quietly in a corner of the room. Couldn't contain my sense of curiosity. Got up to take a peek in the direction from which the cry came. Saw this little child who was crying in bed. Next to him/her was the mother who was trying her best to calm/soothe/console the poor frightened child.

I started to pray for that child. My own fear and dread for my own operation was put aside. My heart went out to that poor frightened child. I wanted to tell that child, "It's ok. Don't be afraid.It will come to pass. Look at me. I've been through this several times now, and I'm none the worse for it. In fact, when this is all over, you'll be stronger and in better shape. So, don't cry. Be brave!"

Then I found myself chiding myself, "You hypocrite! You would tell the child not to be frightened, and what about you? Five minutes ago, you yourself were fretting away in dread and fear of what you are about to undergo. Who are you to tell this child to be brave?" And so, I determined in my heart and my mind to be brave. To set a good example. I placed my confidence once more in the LORD, and I asked the LORD to help me be calm. I focussed on praying for that child and soon lost track of time.

12.30pm. I'm still there on that trolley bed, awaiting my turn to be pushed into the OT.

12.45pm. A man was wheeled into the room. They "parked" his trolley bed behind me. "When did you say you last ate and drank? This morning? I'll have to inform the doctor and await his further instructions. Please wait here." Silence. Sigh, the man heaved a long heavy sigh.

12.50pm. "Can you move this bed and let me put her here, next to this lady?" A nurse came in with another trolley-bed. Several moments of clinging and clanging later, a young lady was wheeled next to me. She looked troubled. I gave her a smile, hoping to lift her spirits and to cheer her up a little. Without even a glance at me, she turned away.

Wah! So cold! Aiyah...maybe she was really in pain, lah! Never mind, lah. Leave her alone.

"Do you know what operation you are going in for?" the nurse asked that young lady.
"Yes," she answered.
"What?" the nurse pressed further.
"Abortion" came her reply.

Ah...so! So that was why she didn't wish to make eye contact with me. No wonder she was deep in thought and she looked so troubled. She must have been having her own internal battles to fight. Of course she wouldn't even have noticed me trying to cheer her up. My heart went out to her, too.

I found myself now praying for the child, the man who ate breakfast and for this young lady who was about to have a piece of herself cut off from her life. Lord, would she end up feeling "haunted" like my mother does by the memory of her aborted child? Would the memory of this child continue to "haunt" her conscience for the rest of her life? Please, Lord, please help her to deal with it. Help her to come to know you as her Saviour and her Friend, so that she can deal with it in your strength and with your help.

1.10pm. A dashing looking Filipino man came to my bedside. In a deep, attractive voice, he announced that I will soon be wheeled in to the OT. Having asked me, once again, the whole series of questions ("Do you have dentures? Do you have any braces, crowns, or loose teeth? Do you know what operation you are going in for? Whose signature is this? etc etc etc"), he signalled someone standing behind me and together, they wheeled me into the freezing North Pole.

No more clock. Can't keep track of time anymore. Brrrh...it's freezing cold in there! My teeth were soon chattering, despite their having hoisted me onto this narrow bed with a thermal mat that was supposed to keep me warm.

Urgh. That same familiar smell and the same unbearable cold. The glare from the lights and from the reflection from off the metal parts of all the equipment overhead. The blue and green people walking all around me, with head all wrapped up in some sort of shower-cap-like headgear (all, except for one who was wearing a fabric shower-cap with little Winnie-the-Pooh motiffs - later, she was introduced as the Anaesthetist who was to ensure that I would be sleeping soundly throughout the whole "ordeal"). Their faces were all hidden behind masks and I had only their eyes with which I could recognise them by.

I did manage to discern a few familiar faces... well, at least, a little more familiar than the others. Then, the ordeal began. The young doctor next to me announced that he would proceed to set up the drip for me. He started to tap my arm and feel for the vein into which he hoped to insert the needle...the hide-and-seek "game" started.

My elusive veins simply would not cooperate. The young doc was losing his cool. The anasthetist told him, "Be patient. They will all appear, after a while. Just be patient."

Several more frantic minutes of searching for the elusive veins, and after two futile insertions, Miss Winnie-the-Pooh suddenly clamped this plastic mask over my face and announced, "Oxygen for you!"

Pah! Who do you take me for? Such high handedness! Who do you think you're fooling? This is no oxygen! It smells more like Pethidine...like that stuff they gave me when I was in labour during childbirth! Just tell me nicely that you needed to put me to sleep. Don't tell me it's oxygen. I felt insulted. Before I could think any further, however, I started feeling woozie and was starting to drift off...my eyelids became heavy and I couldn't fight to keep them open. Hey, I'm not done with what I am thinking halfway through.....hey....

The next moment, I found myself praying, "God, help me through this..."I just couldn't finish my sentence before I started drifting off to sleep again. Then, I felt I could hear them, what the OT crew was saying to one another, something about the equipment, or something like that. I could sense them. I could hear them. But I couldn't open my eyes, nor could I talk, nor move.

Oh God! Please, PLEASE don't let them cut me up now! Please let them know, somehow, let them know that I'm coming to, that I am going to wake at any moment now. Let them realise that I could hear them and could sense everything they're doing to me. Please, don't let them cut me up now.

Then, I felt I could talk. I hemmed and I hawed, I coughed and I said, "Erh...erh..."

"Yep! It's done now!" Miss Winnie-the-Pooh said.

"Done?" You mean it's all over?" I wondered to myself.

Miss Winnie-the-Pooh tapped me on my shoulder and said, "We've managed to set up the drip for you, finally!" In a few moments' time, we'll put you to sleep and then we're going to start work, yeah?"

"Phew! So, it's not even begun yet!" I struggled to open my eyes. Lifted my head a little and caught sight of my surgeon. "Hi!" He said, "Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine!" He patted me on my shoulder. Then he moved away.

Clumped, the "Oxygen" mask came back over my face without a warning. "We're giving you an injection now. This is going to help you to relax and to sleep." someone said. I didn't feel the syringe, nor did I have much time to feel anything else. Before I could find out who said that to me, I was drifting off to sleep again.

When I next awoke, I was already in the Recovery Room. The nurse there woke me and reminded me, "Mdm, breathe. Take deep breaths! We're going to wheel you back to the ward in about half an hour's time. Don't forget to take deep breaths!"

"What's the time?" I asked.

"Four Plus," came a reply.

After half an hour of nausea and some vomitting, I settled down to rest. Once or twice I drifted off to sleep and forgot to breathe. A beeping sound would then wake me, and the nurse would remind me to breathe, "Take a deep breath, that's right...don't forget to breathe,now. Come on, yes, take another deep breath!"

Eventually, they deemed I was ready to return to the ward. By 4.40 or so, I found myself back in the ward. There, I settled in my bed and drifted off to sleep some more.

That night, and the whole of the next morning, I was vomitting away and that nauseated feeling would not let me rest. Thankfully I was not feeling dizzy.

Well, at least, this time round, the after-effects of GA did not last that long!

Another bonus was that this time round, the cast on my leg was taken off considerably sooner than it was after last year's op on the other leg. That cast really hurts! With it on, one can hardly sleep or do anything at all!

With that cast removed by the second day after the op, I could put on the Ranger's Braces (that Robo-Cop-look-alike Thingy) and hop on my good leg, with the help of the Walking Frame, to the bathroom. Hence, even the discomfort and indignity of having to pee in bed using a bed-pan was banished! Hurray!

I celebrated and gave thanks!

Indeed, Dear Lord, thank you for granting me such a smooth and successful operation, for granting me such a smooth recovery process and for giving me such a speedy recovery from the operation.

Loving, Omniscient, Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Transcendent LORD God Most High,
thank you!
Thank you for watching over me, preserving me and seeing me through this whole episode.
Thank you for being with me all through the whole process, and for giving me strength, courage, peace, patience and all the help you have given me to deal with each moment that I had to undergo. You have walked this journey with me, so far. I know you will continue to journey with me. For that, I am so thankful!

You know what's in store for me in the future. If/Should I ever need to go under GA again, please see me through again. Should this be the final cut that I've to endure, I'm thankful. But, should there be more, I will continue to trust you to lead, strengthen, guide and help me to face it all calmly, confidently and with peace in my heart and mind. For with you there to see me through, I know I can be confident and calm. In your hands, I am safe...yes, even in death, I can rejoice and not fear, for I know where I'm going and who I'm going to be with when I cross over to the other side of eternity.

Thank you, Abba Father. Thank you, my God and my Lord!

Our Glass (not Hour Glass)

From tomorrow onwards, when I am at the hospital, besides missing my husband and my children, and besides thinking of my Domestic Helper who has become very much a family friend to me, I am going to miss Glass, too.

It's been more than a year since Glass joined our family and came home to live with us.

Glass is the third pet dog in our family.

We had Caesar when we lived in Hougang, but sadly, Caesar stayed with us for only less than a week.

Then, there was Dolly who joined us in Serangoon Gardens. Dolly was from the SPCA. She was a lively puppy. Our neighbour used to point at her and say, "Lassie!" because Dolly looked so much like the collie canine-star of the TV serial "Lassie". Dolly stayed with us for about half a year. In the end she had to leave because we simply could not handle her. We were inexperienced dog-owners then and she was SO lively!

In the short few months that Dolly was with us, she dug umpteen holes in our garden and destroyed our lawn. Daily, she jumped at the fence a thousand times a day, barking at neighbours' school-going children, ice-cream men, postmen, karung-guni men, road sweepers, the garbage truck, salesmen and at domestic-helpers who strolled by on their way to the market. She got the most out-of-hand and seemed to get into a frenzy especially when the post man came around each afternoon. She would race around the porch and in the garden, leaping at the fence and the gate, and knocking over several pots of plants. It was a daily affair and soon, I dreaded the approach of noon because that's when the postman usually came around on his scooter.

In a matter of months, she grew from a cute little puppy into a huge lively Bundle-of-Energy. We were inexperienced dog-owners then, and we were unable to cope. Soon, we realised that our garden was not spacious enough for Dolly to roam around in. We didn't have time to take her out for her daily walks. When she stood on her hind legs, she was so tall that we were afraid she would hurt our 5-year-old daughter. Our neighbours were also getting annoyed with her frequent barking. We had to admit that we were poor care-givers who didn't know how to give the best care to Dolly. Sadly and shame-facedly, we took her back to the SPCA.

For years after that, we felt so ashamed and guilt-ridden that we resolved never to ever have a pet dog again.

But, over the years, I've learned never to say 'Never'!

Last year, on Valentine's Day, after days and weeks of sleepless nights weighing the pros and cons, after much deliberation and after months of careful and prayerful consideration, we took the plunge once more. We made the commitment to have and to hold - for better or for worse till death do us part - in our lives a new love. We welcomed Glass into our family. This new family member was only a few months old.

This time around, we made sure that we did our homework : we read up all we could in order to learn all about caring for a pet dog (particularly this specific breed), we talked to and picked up tips from dog-owner friends and dog-breeder friends, we visited pet farms and pet shops to observe and learn all about dogs and their behaviour, and we sat every member of the family down to make a commitment that we would all love, care for and look after this new family member till the day she dies. It was only when we were sure that each and everyone was ready for such a long-term commitment that we dared to contact our dog-breeder friend.

At first, among us was a family member who was rather reluctant to welcome Glass into our home. Although he loved animals - particularly cats and dogs - he wasn't convinced that we could honor our commitment to care for Glass. Perhaps, after our failure with Dolly, he found it hard to have faith in us or in himself to be committed and responsible care-givers. Once bitten, twice shy! He kept reminding us that we mustn't abandon the dog "halfway"...that we must look after it till the day it dies; and that unless we were ready for that kind of commitment, we should never bring another dog home to live under our roof.

Within days of coming to live with us, Glass soon won our hearts and our love. Committing to care for her becomes the most natural thing to do. She is well-behaved, intelligent, loyal, sensitive, obedient and most teachable. She is friendly, warm, fun and lovable. She provides good company. She is a good friend. She has become very much a part of our lives and of our family.

Glass is especially close to my daughter and to me. When my daughter isn't home, Glass will seek out my company, following me around the house. She is hardly out of my sight, or rather, she will hardly let me out of her sight. When I sit, she'll sprawl out comfortably at my feet. When I move out of my chair, she gets up to go too.

Whenever she wants a game of "Tug" or "Fetch", she'll nudge me with her paw and lick my hand, or she'll offer me her favourite plush toy, her blue "Elephant" or her red "Raggedy". Then, when I reach for the toy, she'll playfully back off by a few steps as if to say, "Come and get it if you want it!" Another of her favourite game is "Tag", especially when I go after her in my wheelchair. When she's tired out from running away from me, she will dash to the middle of the kitchen and turn around to "taunt" me. It's almost as if she would say, "Hah! Come lah, come and get me...if you will!" She seems to know that with the curb between the kitchen and the dining room, I would not go after her in my wheelchair.

Nowadays, Glass has even learnt to take a cue from the pc...when she hears "Tada" or Microsoft Window's logging off/shutting down signature tune, she knows it's time to get up and go. No matter how sleepy she is, she would rouse herself from her sleep, yawn, stretch and get up from under my chair to walk to the exit of the study room where she would turn around, stop and wait for me at the door. When the pc has completely shut down and the whirring of the pc ceases, Glass will saunter out of the room and wait outside for me.

She's such a smart little lass! How can she not win my heart!

O how I shall miss her (and I believe she, me) when I am away at the hospital! She'd probably be very puzzled about my sudden disappearance... : (

Tomorrow going...you know?

Tomorrow...tomorrow...it's only a day away!

It will be another opportunity to watch the Lord at work in/through my life. To God be the glory!

What's up tomorrow?

Tomorrow will be the day I'll have myself admitted to hospital.

On Wednesday - 8th June (it coincides with my brother, Michael's, birthday and wedding anniversay) - I'll be undergoing the transplant.

After that, for weeks and months, my mobility will be greatly compromised. That is why I am so eager to accomplish all that I've set out to do. The past few days have gone by so quickly because I've been rushing around, trying to get everything done before tomorrow's admission to hospital.

I'm having that mixed feeling again.

On the one hand I'm excited and thrilled to be able to, once again, witness the Lord at work in my life.

I am confident that my God, who loves me with boundless unconditional love,will journey with me each step of the way.
I look to my Lord Jehovah Rophe for healing. He, Jehovah Shalom, is my peace. He will see me through the days, weeks and months ahead. He is my good Shepherd. He is the great I am! Whatever my needs may be, He is able to meet all my needs and do much much immensely more than I would/could ever imagine.

I place my confidence in my God who has never failed me. His unfailing love endures forever.

I am most thankful for His giving me yet another opportunity to learn of Him.



On the other hand, my human frailty and my human weaknesses scream : "I am weak! I need you, O Lord! Help me! Deal with my fears and anxieties!"

Hence, once more, as you have told me to do : I cast my fears and anxieties unto you!

All my fears I now cast unto you; they are yours to deal with, to destroy :

(1) my phobia of going under GA (and not waking up),

(2) my dread of the great discomfort that comes with/after GA - the breathlessness, the giddiness, the nausea and vomitting, the sore throat and coughing, the many "puncture" wounds and bruises I have to endure because of the uncooperative fine veins which constantly eludes the docs/nurses when they try to set up the drip in the OT,

(3) my anxiety about the pain that strikes when the effects of GA wears out,

(4) my anxiety about work piling up during my absence from the working place,

(5) my dread of all those boring,lonesome hours in hospital with no family members around me and with me missing them like crazy,

(6) the exasperation of having to cope with receiving visitors when I desperately need to catch up on sleep. (It's ironical how I am most deprived of rest and sleep when I am in hospital - the nurses keep waking you up in the middle of the night. One moment it is to take your temperature, then it is to take your blood pressure, and next it is to have you take your medicine or to have an injection. There was even that time when they woke me up, two nights consecutively, just so that they could give me a sponge bath at 3 am or thereabout! No, I WASN"T having a fever! They said they, and the nurses in the earlier shift, simply had too many other duties to accomplish and could not find the time to sponge me any earlier!)



Sigh! I confess that my faith is not strong enough. Lord, increase my faith, strengthen my faith! Help me to shift my focus away from my fears and anxiety. Turn my thoughts unto YOU! I know that when I fix my gaze on you, I will see that I am more than conquerors.

In the name of Jesus Christ my Lord, I claim the healing, the wholeness, the peace and the victory that you have given me! Thank you, Jesus, for giving me a share in your life and power! Thank you, my Heavenly Father, for making me your Son's joint-heir!

In Christ I am complete! Your grace is immeasurable and boundless!

When I ponder over how, in you I am made whole and with Christ I can have strength to face everything/anything that you have wisely planned for me and lovingly placed in my life, my heart is at peace again, and my spirit is cheered and uplifted once again!

Indeed, with Christ in the vessel I can smile at the storm as you and I go sailing home!

Heavenly Father, I am so thankful that this world is not my home, and that I'm just passing through. I look forward to meeting you face to face. I will follow your leading one step at a time.

If you were to call me home today, I would rejoice because I know that I shall be entering your holy, loving and gracious presence.

If you were to call me home today, I would entrust my loved ones into your wise, loving, gracious and unfailing care. Help them to cope and to overcome the grief and sadness of loss. Help them to grow in their faith and to, as a result, grow to know and love you more deeply.

Thank you, Lord!

MV Doulos

This month, I finally got round to doing something which I have been wanting to do for quite some time: meet up with at least one or two people from JMonDoulos whom I have communicated with via phone/sms/email.

First, I met up with San San. Then, last Wednesday night, Judith.

Mm...it was good to meet them face to face.

What a treat it was, too, when I got to meet Ray Peng the other night at Jia Min's place....what with the sumptuous meal personally cooked by dear sister Pang Luan, being surrounded by younger folks like Li Min, Zhi Yong, Rebecca, John, Daryl and Ray, being enlightened and edified by Ray's sharing about life and happenings on board Doulos, and just relaxing, having some time to myself -allowing myself to free my mind from worries about work, about the family's needs, about medical appointments and schedules, about things to get done before my mobility is compromised, about a hundred and one things...

Thank you, Lord, for granting me such a treat!

After listening to Ray and hearing him confirm all my thoughts and understanding about the harsh reality of what life would be like on board the ship, and hearing him recount Almighty God's work and divine intervention in the lives of the Duloids, the stirring in my heart for being a part of the ship's work has become even stronger.

I am, once again, reminded of the time when I first sensed that gentle stirring in my heart...that urge to become a part of God's work in and through this floating bookshop...



I was 11 when I first set foot on Logos. My brothers, a few other friends and I went on board the ship. It was my first visit. I was so excited, so delighted and amazed at the idea of being in a floating book shop.

During the tour on board Logos, while sister Beng Guat told us about the ship and about her daily life and work on board, I drank in the sight and thirsted for more of that wonderfully warm and vaguely-familiar feeling that I had felt on the ship's decks and in the cabins.

Memories of a previous voyage taken during my childhood - my cruiseliner experience while travelling home from Sabah with my parents in the 60's - came flooding back.

For a moment, it all came rushing back into my recollection...

me stretched out comfortably in my pj on the narrow bunk-bed with the crisp white sheets

being all at once curious, fascinated and a little frightened by the little round window above the bed in the cabin(when Dad lifted me to peer out of that window, I could smell, hear and see the sea!)

Oh! The challenge it was to try to play card games on the windy deck without letting the wind carry all the cards into the choppy water lapping hungrily at the sides of the ship,

the fun I had playing tag and hide-and-seek with those few children on the deck -if I didn't remember wrongly, there were two little Malay boys and a Chinese girl who were about the same age as myself,

then there was that "serious" dinner we had with the Captain of the ship and a few other elderly ladies and gentlemen. Mum and Dad were all dressed up while I was "forced" by Mum to put on that prickly-poky-uncomfortable-but-pretty purple dress which I would only suffer to wear on really special occasions.

Throughout that dinner, Mum kept reminding me to eat but not talk. I was to make sure that I did not clatter my fork and spoon against the huge - in a child's eyes and by a child's estimation- ceramic platter,

I still remember what a struggle it was for me to ensure that I did not let that heavy sparkling glass goblet slip from my hands when I sipped water from it. What a stressful meal that was for me!

I'll never forget the boredom I suffered sitting there all by myself at the big round table while the adults hit the dance floor to dance the night away.

Then, later, the fascination I felt while watching the live band play for the adults on the dance floor, especially with those three - that fat guy fiddling with the muffler on his trumpet, the trombone player who could swing and slide his trombone so skilfully in that confined space without hitting his neighbour who was holding and scratching this thing that looked like Mum's wooden laundry-board, and that man who looked as if he was smoking an oversized s-shaped pipe because the music instrument which he appeared to be sucking at was shaped like a pipe (I didn't know then that he was actually not sucking at the mouthpiece of his music instrument but was in fact, blowing away, playing jazz, swing and big-band music on his saxaphone).

And, most vividly clear in my memory was how I had pretended to be fast asleep while Dad carried me to the cabin, quietly sniffing and enjoying the scent of mum's perfume on Dad's shirt

All those memories raced through my mind as I stood there in sister Beng Guat's cabin which she shared with a few other girls from other countries.

Then something she said jolted me back to the "there-and-then" reality of the moment : "...it is not like we are sailing from country to country on a long holiday. No, we are no tourists when we stop over at the ports. In some countries, we do not feel very welcomed. It can be quite scary to look at a sea of not-too-friendly silent faces and find each one staring back at you with a cold look in their eyes! Some have never ever stood beside a Chinese and I can sense that they were, kind of like, studying me from head to toe. At first I felt very uneasy whenever that happens, but now I am slowly getting a little bit used to it."

At that time, I just could not understand why Beng Guat would resign from her secretarial job to join the ship as a volunteer. I kept asking her, "What are you going to do when you come back to Singapore?" All she said in reply was, "At this point of time, I don't know yet, but I will face it when I get back. To me, that is what faith is all about!"

Faith. At that time, the word 'faith' intrigued me. What did Beng Guat really mean when she talked about having faith? I wasn't sure I understood what she meant but I felt then that it must be quite tough to live and serve God and people on a ship, far far away from home and from friends and family, but if God were to, one day, impress upon my heart that He wanted me to do this, I would.

Till today, that stirring in my heart has only become increasingly stronger by the days, weeks, months and years.

One after another, friends of mine have gone on board Logos and Doulos : Beng Guat, Lily, Winnie, Bee Cheng. Sheila and now Jia Min. Each time I received news and updates from them about their lives and work on board the ships, my heart leapt at the excitement and thrill of their having the opportunity to be there, to do that! Over the years, the stirring in my heart to join the ship would not go away or quieten down, but had only become increasingly stronger.

I am ever mindful of the danger of being tempted to view life on board with rose-tinted lenses, and to be drawn only by the good in the opportunities to travel the world, to be exposed to and learn from diverse cultures and experience the different customs and traditions of various people groups, and to be given the opportunity to serve people all over the world by bringing hope, literature and learning, the good news, love and friendship to them. It sounds so noble, meaningful and good, but in reality, it is a tough life - physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually and socially demanding and challenging - living this life is not something which we could (nor should we), endeavour to make happen, no matter how much we might desire or wish it to become a reality.

It is not simply or solely a matter of personal choice.

Life is not about me and what I would like to do.

I only know that currently I am called to participate in this work in an indirect way...by supporting Jia Min who is directly and actively involved.

Lord, I am full of thanksgiving and praise for Beng Guat, Lily, Winnie, Sheila, Jonny, Jia Min, Ray, Elliane and Daniel, and for many others who have obeyed and responded by taking the leapt of faith. Bless them richly!

Thank you, Lord, for giving me a share...even though my participation is neither absolutely essential nor indispensible. Thank you for letting me join you at work. You are so gracious! Your grace is so boundless and immeasurably great that you would let me be a part of your work. To think...you have given me have a part...even me! What a privilege, Lord. Help me to be faithful and diligent.

I love you, Lord.
I am in this loving relationship with you only because you have first loved me.
Thank you, Lord!

Our Malacca Trip

Last Saturday, my husband drove me and our children up to Malacca and we spent almost the entire weekend there.

It was a most relaxing and enjoyable weekend getaway that I've had in years! (Despite my not being able to sleep the whole of Saturday night.) The trip was such a treat!

I enjoyed the drive to and fro, especially the drive home. I enjoyed the time spent with my husband and children.

Also with us were my parents, two of my brothers, one of my sisters-in-law, a nephew and a neice. I really treasure the time I spent with them...especially so with my ageing parents. I can really see their physical "decline". They've become so frail.

I feel especially sad for my dad - he used to be so spritely and was such a suave and dashing-looking, self-confident, articulate gentleman - who has now become so hesitant, almost disinterested and socially "disengaged" as compared to his former extrovert, gregarious, sociable self. The father I knew who used to waltze and tango with my mum around our living room is so different from the one I spent the weekend with in Malacca. He now walks about hesitantly with a walking stick, half afraid that he might miss his next step because of his poor eye sight and weakened sense of balance.

As for my mum...sigh...she who used to look so attractive in her signature cheongsam has become so frail and hagged-looking. She has shrunk and is now shorter, thinner and her clothes hang loosely at her armpits and at her hips. Her once body-hugging cheongsam now hang loose on her body. She has difficulty standing for anything longer than 5 minutes. She needs to get a seat or else her lower body starts to hurt. I can't reconcile that what I knew of my mum...she, who used to climb Huang Shan and all the other mountains in China, who trodded up and down the Great Wall of China with great ease, who used to practise taiji, and exercised with the sword every morning with such grace, speed and finesse.

The mum I knew used to do the cha cha, the waltze, and the tango. When we were in Sandakan, while she and my dad were running the Wing Onn Hotel, she used to singlehandedly wash all the towels, bedsheets and blankets from all the rooms in the hotel (and in those days, there were no washing machines!). Back at home in Singapore, she would think nothing of washing, ironing, cooking and taking care of the needs of more than half a dozen of children and taking Malay Language lessons nightly, week after week, month after month, year after year. When my dad had to drive up to Malaysia (he was a regional sales rep for a pharmaceutical firm, then), my mum had to be both 'dad' and 'mum' to us. She managed the home well and kept everything running smoothly.

Mmm...my parents who used to be so much a pair, going places together, doing things together - ballroom dancing, working together in Sandakan, going to the races together, playing mahjong with friends, clubbing with friends ( I had my first taste of rum with Coke when I tagged along with them to this nightclub in Sandakan) and having taiji classes together...now, they bicker with each other almost all the time. They just can't seem to see eye to eye anymore. They disagree over almost everything. Sigh...when I grow old, will I become as impatient with my spouse as my mum is with hers? I hope not. I will consciously not allow myself to become like that. Dear God, please help me, help us. Fill us with your love, and enable us to always be loving, caring, patient and gracious to one another, in sickness and in health, in old age, in good times and in bad.


During this trip, what was most significant to me was that I have finally managed to accompany my mother to pay a 'long-over-due' visit to an elderly relative in Malacca.

The one we visited is my maternal grandmother's younger sister. She is in her late eighties and has become quite senile and hard of hearing.

Mum has been visiting this dear old lady regularly - at least once a year - and each time, she would ask that I accompanied her on her visits, but I would never be able to go along because of work. Now, finally, I am able to make this visit and it gives me great pleasure to be able to do something which means a lot to my mum. It didn't matter to me that this lady could not register my presence, or that she had not the faintest idea who I was. What was significant to me was that my mum was very moved that I am finally able to make this visit with her.

My mum had always wanted me to meet this aunt of hers because, to my mum, the act itself would give her a sense of the continuity of life. I can't quite express this...it is like...she finds a sense of fulfilment in bringing together her offspring and the folks of her parents' era...it's like...she feels she has been instrumental in connecting the two generations - the generation before hers with the one after. It's one of those "circle of life" kind of thingy???

My mum's late stepmother had a few siblings. Two of them disappeared (literally so, because no one could trace their whereabouts) after World War II and she is survived only by this sister of hers in Malacca and a brother of hers in Singapore. They are both old and frail. Mum visits them at least once a year.

Some time ago, my mum had this dream that she could no longer locate this aunt of hers in Malacca no matter how she tried. When she awoke from that dream, she became determined to make a visit as soon as possible...just in case, the dream signifies that time is running out for the old lady. Hence, she has been nagging my brothers and me about making a visit soon. Now, finally, she has paid her aunt a visit, and with her son and daughter tagging along, she was more than delighted.

Needless to say, I do not feel any sense of closeness to this old lady. My head tells me we are related, but my heart does not feel any emotional tugs. My visit could only, at best, be likened to that which I make to old folks' homes in Singapore.

Don't get me wrong : I did not go there with a sense of reluctance. Not at all! In fact, I wanted very much to go meet her. I made that visit with my head and my heart! But, sadly, I was not able to feel any closer to her even after the visit. Not that I had expected to...

Mmm...I wasn't even very close to the old lady's elder sister, my grandmother. In fact, I have only vague memories of my late grandmother because she died when I was only 8 or so. The most vivid memory I have of my grandmother is that of a mental picture of a sickly, coughing old lady who is always resting in this chaise longue on the ground floor living room at Dai Moon Lao (Damen Lou at Ann Siang Hill).

Anyway, this trip to Malaccca was a good one!

Good company, good time shopping, good food, good break from the routine!

Wish my family could do this more often!