We may think we write our own stories, but every stroke we set our pen to merely fills in the template of a wondrous and incomprehensible destiny.
~ Ruminations in the quiet place
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. " - God
There are so just so many thoughts I need to pen down, so many feelings bottled up - anger, bewilderment, frustration, fear, and underlying everything, an eclectic mix of peace and happiness
So before I forget everything that led up to this day, I'm going to record as much as I can down in words.
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I won't say I'm a workaholic, but I think those who have done projects with me know that when I commit to doing something, I give my all. My inability to let go, and let God - I believe - played a crucial part in bringing me to this point in life.
CS Lewis once mentioned in his book "Mere Christianity" that he perceives Pride as the most heinous and insidious of all the deadly sins. And I'm inclined to believe that it is true. What did I stand to gain from being the best in everything? What did I stand to gain in putting my heart and soul into my work and projects? Was it truly for God? Or was it to inflate some misplaced sense of self-worth, to justify something that wasn't there in the first place?
In the game of life, the tangibles are not as straightforward as we perceive.
I think the clue I missed out was: who will stand by your side when the entire world crumbles around you?
30th May 2018
I've been having fits of hollow coughing, shivering and sweating at night, and a mild fever for quite a number of months now. It was becoming the norm. I mean, what was I going to do? Take MC again? Once every two months was cutting it quite close to the ethical limit I allowed myself.
So I pushed myself to work - with coughing fits and a fever of 38.2.
It came to a point during the day when I decided enough is enough, I was running hot and cold, barely able to concentrate on the flickering screen or call customers. I told my colleagues I'm grabbing a two hours off and rushed to see a doctor.
38.7 degrees, 5pm. And you know what was my greatest fear while waiting for the doctor? - That the doctor would think that I "chao keng". Yeah, I know.. wtfbrain. But I had a reason for thinking that. My bedside cabinet was filled with medicine because I have been going to see the doctor on Saturdays to ask for more and more medicine that didn't seem to work at all. The cough was getting worse; the fever, well - a combination of Dhasedyl, Dexcophan and Actifed would easily knock any discomforts out of you - along with you.
Mr. Doctor gave me some more cough syrup and paracetamol and sent me home to rest with a ONE DAY MC. I mean, in my opinion, a one day MC basically means that the doctor thinks that you are wasting his time.
So yeah! I had about 30 hours to recover. - Decided to do something about it, and went home to knock myself out, hoping to recover with "much bed rest", as the old folks like to prescribe.
39.1 degrees, 10pm. Woke up shivering more than ever. Mum was far far away in Cameron Highlands drinking BOH Tea, so I messaged a few close friends for advice. Of course, in the banking industry, we must have "maker-checker" (right?). Someone proposes, and another checks if it is the right selection.
Stupidity max, especially when it comes to life and death issues.
Anyway, my checker was, guess who? (or rather, guess what?)... surprise! Facebook!
Word of caution to those who post queries on Facebook. No matter how serious your situation is, take all the comments with a pinch of salt.
My next course of action was.... to get checked into A&E.
Because, yeah, it took me 1 hour to realize that 39.5 was a brain frying temperature. You can't blame me - the fats in my amygdala was gently being pan seared.
After being in triage for almost an hour, I finally got to see the doctor. Yay.
Mr. Hospital Doctor said that (just to be sure) he wanted me to do a chest x-ray to ensure that my previous spontaneous pneumothorax operation wasn't giving me any complications.
I have to say Mr. HD was quite an enlightened fellah.
But seriously, for the second time in my frigging life, (the first being the pneumothorax), I saw Mr. HD's eyes widen when he saw the x-ray scans. By this time, my spidey sense was attuned enough to know that something wasn't very right.
Mr. HD sent me to critical care and after drawing a copious amount of my blood in multiple vials, whisked me off to the ward.
Yay. Hospital. Bed. Again.
The scene was getting all to familiar.
Nurse asking what you want to eat;
IV drip injecting freezing cold saline into your blood;
Nurse trying to molest your biceps to get blood pressure (I'm kidding);
And for the strangest of reasons, a pee pot.
It was like they knew I was going to be incapacitated before hand and were preparing me for it.
That is absolutely terrible bedside manners.
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31st May 2018
Again, the huge crowd of medical students surrounding me.
Like what? It's just a normal fever right?
The best part is they ask you if you are okay to take questions, and the students expression are like... aww... okay. Wtfbrain.
The doctor in charge came shortly after to brief me on what they suspected:
- the X-Ray revealed a >10cm growth mass in my chest, large enough to cover the heart.
- the X-Ray contradicted a scan I did in December 25th 2017, where there was nothing.
- they concluded that the growth must have occurred within a few months.
- they are investigating some protein strands in my blood and need to do a Cardiothorexic Biopsy to determine what was that growth.
A close family friend who was an extremely high ranking and experienced surgeon also helped to review my case and suggested that it was one of two types of contraindications.
None of which were good.
