Shake it up.* * *
The highlight of this month, had to be landing myself in the hospital last Friday night.
Rebecca Black may have been "partying, partying, yeah" and Katy Perry may have "drank too many shots" but I was having the most fun of all, being rushed into the accident and emergency ward in a bed on wheels. Roller coaster! (Note t0 self: write a pop song about this.) By Sunday morning, I learned a lot of people have been thinking about and praying for me. Worrying, too. Thank you so much, dears. I am touched. :')
I have been sick for the first two weeks of October. I was greeted by a bout of flu and a bit of fever in the first week, but that wasn't so bad yet. I was still able to study, exercise and even visit the Big Bad Wolf Books Sale- just with less vitality. I wasn't getting any better though. On Sunday night, I threw up all the dinner and dessert that I had during my sister's cosy birthday party. (She turned 13 years old! Little girl's growing up.)
So, Mama brings me to the doctor on Monday. The GP seemed to be very delighted to see me, because it's been a year since he last saw me (and the last time I did see him, I came to him with a pretty funny looking arm.) "Sports injury" it said in my pink, medical record book. It sounds dignified without the details, but it isn't really. I basically tried to do this in the dojo, but with only one arm extended. I fell badly on that arm.
My swollen arm of 2010 aside, he was really concerned for me. This time, I came to him actually looking sick. By the end of our appointment, he tells my mother and me, "It must be food poisoning." and scribbles down all the medicine he was going to prescribe me. I walked out of the clinic with a little, white bag of pills in little, white sachets. I started my medications right after dinner that day. It all rolled downhill from there.
I was in so much pain and suffering in the second week. At first, we thought it was a healing crisis, which shouldn't last more than two days. When it hit Day 3, I was still heaving up nearly every single meal, even if all I had was a plate of bread and a glass of water. Mama took me to the doctor again the following morning, who then injected me. "I'll have to refer her to a hospital if she still doesn't get any better after today," he said.
I went home, feeling hopeful. Whenever I began to feel miserable, I'd sum up all my strength (actually, I don't even know what I was running on) to look for Mama. When I did, I'd always ask for two things: 1) a back rub, and 2) to be prayed for. I was acting like a big baby, but I didn't care. I will always be her baby anyway. By the next day, Friday, I told myself that I was well (repeat 10 times.). I even hit the books to prove it to myself.
Funny thing is, not only did I convince myself, but my mother too. She even let me follow her to Mid Valley later. It was there when I noticed that there was something wrong with me. My eyes kept looking up at the lights on their own. I thought I was just worrying over nothing. "It's all in my head," I tell myself, and focused on looking anywhere but up. "What's so fascinating about the lights?" I ask myself. "Stop it."
By the end of our evening, my eyes were still moving upward on their own. It was like I was losing control of them. On top of that, I could feel myself growing even more paranoid and depressed than I was before I left the house. (It was why I asked my mom whether I could go out, actually- to make myself feel better.) I honestly (read: honestly) thought I was losing my mind. I was so physically sick already, now mentally too?
On the way back home in the car, I threw up. That was when I knew that there was something wrong with me. My eyes had rolled back, and no matter how much I willed it to move, it wouldn't. I whimpered to my mother, and she decided to take me to the doctor again. When we arrived at the clinic, it was already closed. So she drops my sister back home, cleans me up, packs an overnight bag, and sends me straight to the hospital.
She was scared, but she never showed it. I wouldn't have known if she hadn't told me, after the whole thing. She just kept praying and praying, doing a Philippians 4:6. When we arrived in Sunway Medical Center, I was immediately put in a wheelchair by the medical staff, then transferred onto a hospital bed and hurried into the A&E ward. Mama was always with me, her hands over my eyes because I couldn't close them myself.
When a doctor finally came into the scene, she took one look at me and told my mother that I was having an oculogyric crisis. Basically, I was having an allergic reaction to the medicines that I've been taking. It was as simple as that. Mama was so relieved, she wrapped me in her arms and thanked the Lord, thanked the doctor, and thanked the Lord again. Before this, she was so, so worried that I was going blind- or worse.
They injected me with more prescribed drugs, drew blood out of my left hand, inserted an IV cannula into my vein, hooked me up to a heart monitor, and left me to rest under a white blanket. Within an hour's time, the strain on my eyes began to subside. I could move them again! But to be safe, I didn't dare look upwards for the rest of the night. With all my heart, I thanked God. I could feel my health coming back to me, after so long.
I was discharged from the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, feeling better than I've ever had the past month. (Thank God!) I was bathed and tucked back into my own bed. My last words before I slept were, "I love you, Mama." I woke up early in the morning, to see Stephen smiling warmly at me from the doorway of my bedroom. And in one, sleepy blink, I was scooped up into his arms. Ah, home sweet home indeed. :)
Rebecca Black may have been "partying, partying, yeah" and Katy Perry may have "drank too many shots" but I was having the most fun of all, being rushed into the accident and emergency ward in a bed on wheels. Roller coaster! (Note t0 self: write a pop song about this.) By Sunday morning, I learned a lot of people have been thinking about and praying for me. Worrying, too. Thank you so much, dears. I am touched. :')
. . .
I have been sick for the first two weeks of October. I was greeted by a bout of flu and a bit of fever in the first week, but that wasn't so bad yet. I was still able to study, exercise and even visit the Big Bad Wolf Books Sale- just with less vitality. I wasn't getting any better though. On Sunday night, I threw up all the dinner and dessert that I had during my sister's cosy birthday party. (She turned 13 years old! Little girl's growing up.)
So, Mama brings me to the doctor on Monday. The GP seemed to be very delighted to see me, because it's been a year since he last saw me (and the last time I did see him, I came to him with a pretty funny looking arm.) "Sports injury" it said in my pink, medical record book. It sounds dignified without the details, but it isn't really. I basically tried to do this in the dojo, but with only one arm extended. I fell badly on that arm.
My swollen arm of 2010 aside, he was really concerned for me. This time, I came to him actually looking sick. By the end of our appointment, he tells my mother and me, "It must be food poisoning." and scribbles down all the medicine he was going to prescribe me. I walked out of the clinic with a little, white bag of pills in little, white sachets. I started my medications right after dinner that day. It all rolled downhill from there.
I was in so much pain and suffering in the second week. At first, we thought it was a healing crisis, which shouldn't last more than two days. When it hit Day 3, I was still heaving up nearly every single meal, even if all I had was a plate of bread and a glass of water. Mama took me to the doctor again the following morning, who then injected me. "I'll have to refer her to a hospital if she still doesn't get any better after today," he said.
I went home, feeling hopeful. Whenever I began to feel miserable, I'd sum up all my strength (actually, I don't even know what I was running on) to look for Mama. When I did, I'd always ask for two things: 1) a back rub, and 2) to be prayed for. I was acting like a big baby, but I didn't care. I will always be her baby anyway. By the next day, Friday, I told myself that I was well (repeat 10 times.). I even hit the books to prove it to myself.
Funny thing is, not only did I convince myself, but my mother too. She even let me follow her to Mid Valley later. It was there when I noticed that there was something wrong with me. My eyes kept looking up at the lights on their own. I thought I was just worrying over nothing. "It's all in my head," I tell myself, and focused on looking anywhere but up. "What's so fascinating about the lights?" I ask myself. "Stop it."
By the end of our evening, my eyes were still moving upward on their own. It was like I was losing control of them. On top of that, I could feel myself growing even more paranoid and depressed than I was before I left the house. (It was why I asked my mom whether I could go out, actually- to make myself feel better.) I honestly (read: honestly) thought I was losing my mind. I was so physically sick already, now mentally too?
On the way back home in the car, I threw up. That was when I knew that there was something wrong with me. My eyes had rolled back, and no matter how much I willed it to move, it wouldn't. I whimpered to my mother, and she decided to take me to the doctor again. When we arrived at the clinic, it was already closed. So she drops my sister back home, cleans me up, packs an overnight bag, and sends me straight to the hospital.
She was scared, but she never showed it. I wouldn't have known if she hadn't told me, after the whole thing. She just kept praying and praying, doing a Philippians 4:6. When we arrived in Sunway Medical Center, I was immediately put in a wheelchair by the medical staff, then transferred onto a hospital bed and hurried into the A&E ward. Mama was always with me, her hands over my eyes because I couldn't close them myself.
When a doctor finally came into the scene, she took one look at me and told my mother that I was having an oculogyric crisis. Basically, I was having an allergic reaction to the medicines that I've been taking. It was as simple as that. Mama was so relieved, she wrapped me in her arms and thanked the Lord, thanked the doctor, and thanked the Lord again. Before this, she was so, so worried that I was going blind- or worse.
They injected me with more prescribed drugs, drew blood out of my left hand, inserted an IV cannula into my vein, hooked me up to a heart monitor, and left me to rest under a white blanket. Within an hour's time, the strain on my eyes began to subside. I could move them again! But to be safe, I didn't dare look upwards for the rest of the night. With all my heart, I thanked God. I could feel my health coming back to me, after so long.
I was discharged from the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, feeling better than I've ever had the past month. (Thank God!) I was bathed and tucked back into my own bed. My last words before I slept were, "I love you, Mama." I woke up early in the morning, to see Stephen smiling warmly at me from the doorway of my bedroom. And in one, sleepy blink, I was scooped up into his arms. Ah, home sweet home indeed. :)
. . .
It has been a week since that night, and I'm still alive and kicking! (More like alive and clicking here.) And you know what? I am a whole lot more appreciative of a lot of things and people now. I suppose it's times like these when you see what really does help you and who really does love you. And well, I thank God for my Mama most of all. She's the kind of mother I know I want to be when I'm all grown up. A heaven-sent.
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