In order for it NOT to hurt, I have to think about OTHER things.
Other things that doesn’t concern me.
That was what I told my doctor before going out to take my medication.
The two pharmacists are very young.
Might even be younger than me.
They are Chinese descent ladies.
The one attending to me spoke to me in Mandarin.
I politely replied.
Then she enquired something from the other in English.
The answer was about me having to be sure of the medication.
I understood.
But the attendee translated it for me.
I politely nodded.
‘I must look uneducated’, I thought.
******************
The psychologist gave me two pieces of paper and asked me to fill them.
She spoke to me in broken English.
In order not to be rude and yet wish to let her know that I’m also comfortable in Malay, I answered the first half of the sentence in English, and ended with Malay.
I thought I could make a comfortable transition to Malay.
But in the entire conversation she seems to be insistent about her broken English.
‘Oh no, my doctor must have warned her about my outburst 2 years ago’, I thought.
2 years ago, I was really out of my mind.
When I was in the doctor’s office, I scolded my doctor about her not being able to help me. I think my sentence was, “You call yourself a doctor, and you can’t even speak proper English. I wonder how you passed your papers! Surely all the medical terms were English right?”
I am very ashamed of that outburst.
I embarrassed her.
If only I could have directed the embarrassment to other deserving people .
I glanced and noticed that she has a file which has the local university label.
“If you can’t understand the questions, please ask k?”
I nodded.
I looked at the paper and concluded that this paper must have been prepared by her.
After filling the usual information, the next query left me in doubt.
Current condition:
Errr, should I put depressed, or severely depressed, or severe anxiety depression, or bipolar, or the latest one, agoraphobia.
Afterall, these terms all appear in my medical card.
Cause:
I opened my lips slightly in disbelief.
One line. I was supposed to answer that in 15cm.
After that, I just put yes/no/nil for the answers.
With such questionnaire, she can’t be serious right?
But the cutest attempt has to be about my childhood upbringing.
Was it traumatic? Yes.
How? My 15cm line lost 1.2cm to the word How.
Result of the trauma:
I chuckled in the inside.
Err, duh! My current condition.
Nah, don’t want to be cheeky to this lady who’s trying to help.
So, she asked the usual stuff.
But when she asked about the usual hurting stuff.
I told her politely that I can’t go on, my head hurts.
Then I smiled and ask, “Can I go now?”
She nodded and gave me her number telling me that she is available for me should I need anyone to talk to.
Thank her and left.
On my way out I saw this kid in a patient’s clothing.
‘Oh God, he can’t be more than 10’, I thought.
He was walking around restlessly.
Trying hard to control his tears.
I won’t dare to claim that I know how he feels but I can claim that I know why he’s reacting that way.
A lot of people think that we feel that we are ignorant about other people’s sorrow and struggle.
That we are too preoccupied with our own pain.
You are TOO wrong.
We are more perceptive of pain than any other.
I remember back when I was in the ward,
There was this lady who was really out of her mind.
Her words were incoherent.
But when she saw another lady crying helplessly, she hugged her.
“Please don’t cry. Don’t cry”, rubbing her back.
Soon after, she joined in the torrents of tears.
That whole memory is still vivid in my head.
Ordinary people who passed by would just past them as emotionally disturbed.
But I’d say, they bonded when words were incoherent but the pain was real.
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