It Is To Drown With My Hands Bound In Vines

Operating theatres are cold. My blood  pressure had shot up to 170, and my anesthetist wanted my ECG taken to determine if surgery was still a go. As I lay down virtually chilling in the ward awaiting her verdict, my overseeing nurse came to check on my pressure. It was dwindling, now at 165. After three more periodic checks I was wheeled in with the ECG printout clamped to the clipboard at my footboard. Then came the anesthetist, marching briskly with her air of seniority and experience.

 

"Your ECG is fine, so I will proceed ya. I am Dr Ang, I am  your anesthetist." She paused for effect. I already knew anesthetists were real doctors but often were mistaken for common nurses and sometimes had baggage with that lack of recognition. So as not to waste her introduction of distinction, I cheerfully said, "Good morning doctor!!!"

 

With her satisfaction intact, then came the litany of questions, over my allergies, if I had been under surgery before, if I had asthma, diabetes, delivered a baby, et cetera et cetera, all to which I said, "No, doctor."

 

"I am going to put a needle into your hand," then she turned to the male nurse, where is that one with the yellow end? No, it's just that I like the one with the yellow end. Right. My anesthetist has a colour fetish in needles. Then back to me she said, " Through this, I will give you your anesthetics."

 

She did her work almost painlessly, which is a first ever for me because I hate needles and most medical practitioners find it difficult to harness onto any of my veins, even for a blood test. I was then left to my devices till Dr Ravi came in, dressed in scrubs, and we greeted each other. He assured me not to worry as this procedure would leave very little post surgery pain. I wondered then, had my meek as a lamb to the slaughter face turned into my OMG I am gonna die bleeding face?

 

Then the moment came. I was wheeled into the operating theatre. I anticipated the theatrical countdown to my loss of consciousness, just as they were with George Clooney. Instead, a mask was put over me. I could hear the anesthetist and the nurses chattering. In hardly three seconds, it hit me. I said aloud, "Wow, this feels like taking down a litre of tequila in two seconds!!" And then, I was blissfully out.



I probably looked like this during the op. But less pretty. Pic courtesy of medical websites.

I knew I had come to when I was being wheeled back to the ward. My throat hurt like I had just finished my hundredth act in a circus as a sword swallower. I desperately wanted to ask for my phone, but the nurses ignored me altogether. The only companionship I had was the automated blood pressure device inflating flirtatiously around my arm every five minutes. I realised that I could hear the nurses' gossip. I had rejoined the living world, although everything had an mp3-like quality to it. 

 

As  soon as I was discharged, I predictably headed straight for food. Belly filled, I pondered the next two days to obtaining the verdict over the biopsy. It was first to drive back to Kerteh and do the necessary at the company admin, then drive down again on Thursday, one night prior my follow up.

 

Brenda suggested being early for my appointment.



 

When my name was called, we both went in. I tried scanning Dr Ravi's countenance for any tell, but he kept the poker face up till we were both seated. He began with, "The good news is.....". We remained politely quiet while he went through the diagnosis, heaving many sighs of internal relief that it was not naso-pharyngeal cancer. It was instead, enlarged adenoids caused by reflux or infection, and could be controlled by diet and medication. He showed me by way of scope, the grommets inserted into the eardrum incisions. Follow-up to examine the healing of my eardrums was set for 25th September. Yes, and with the compliments of the good doctor, I was gifted with a Medic-TV styled video recording of the surgery and biopsy. What else could I ask for? We have since watched that video, and it has the effect of making the girls' eyes tearful, in an "ouch" way.

That there, is what a grommet looks like, sitting in the eardrum

It was still early in the day and the worst of it was behind us. Rowena was with us all the while, and she was in on the facts of my surgery but not the biopsy. By the time we were done with the hospital, she knew what the biopsy could have meant. However, it was time to now let Ethan and Ellen know.

 

We went on a wild drive down to Nilai to get Ethan first, then to get Ellen before heading to Jaya One. Lunch was all the time Ellen could spare as she was in the middle of her exams, as was Ethan, save his test papers were better spaced out. We trudged to Brussels Café for an indulgent round of pasta, bratwurst in bacon, Hoegaarden and Magners, and family talk over the significant events of the week. There was some amount of indignation over not being informed, but the hindsight of being made to worry only of it came to having to worry was acknowledged. All in all it was good, on all fronts.

 

Yes, I am grateful that this episode did not turn out to be life-altering. I was stopped at the sooty gates and told to go back for another shot at living, likely because my personal lake of brimstone had not been remodeled to fit my calibre. I am glad nobody has to shoulder a yoke owing to my physical failings. I cannot yet fathom the forbearance and tenacity of those who have to live with cancer or the pained courage of those who love them and care for them, wrung from their guts day after living day.

 

I understand that in my absence from flight while awaiting my conversion to the new aircraft, friend and foe alike have been discussing my condition with surgically precise facts gleaned from goodness knows where over the operations area radio. As the news recirculates, there will be friends who will be overjoyed and relieved that not another one of their workmates and buddies yielded to the time bomb that the Big C is, especially those friends who have faced it. There will likewise, be those who feel that my sickness and the remedies I had to take were a matter of bad corporate timing. Inasmuch as I could not help the day and the manner in which this visited me, I suppose they cannot help their responses to my experience or the decisions I had to make. I alone am answerable as caretaker of my body, and other than for me, only Brenda faces the implications of suffering with the frailties of my ageing.

 

But having dodged the bullet, I will be greedy, and ask that He speed up the healing in my eardrums. I want to be up in the air as soon as He can allow it.

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

It was the feeling of being submerged, of looking at the world from behind the anechoic glass plate of an aquarium that was slowly driving me to fear and despair. In my ever fore fronted sarcasm, I would have thought being unable to hear would contribute to my peace of mind as a husband. Instead, the deepening sense of isolation from her and those who matter to me made me worry that I was no longer a part of their world.

 

It was a long week over the Aidil Fitri holidays. My stuffy nose did not want to relent to antihistamines, while all it normally took me to self medicate and cure was a few rounds of vitamin C. I must have contracted a belligerent strain of the influenza virus from that car salesman, and what possessed me to seek his guidance around a car the likes of the Veloster I cannot now adequately justify. My head soon filled with fluid, and flying became physically painful on the eardrums. I know about the rule concerning flying under the influenza, but for all the years I had in the Nuri, it was never a worry as I could Valsalva my way out of it. What was different this time was, the Valsalva was completely dysfunctional. Which perplexed me beyond the point of anxiety.

 

It was also just about this time that I had to report to the new company's headquarters for an induction session and documentary registration. The pre-employment process involved an aircrew medical check-up at Twin Towers, which meant that I would fall under the scrutiny of the rather meticulous Dr Dalbir. I was nervous about the audiometry, as that was his pet area of concern.

True enough, even I could tell that the audiogram would show worse results than those of my previous visits. The doctor tsk-tsked at me and told me that my hearing had become worse than ever. I was thinking yeah, of course, I've got glue ear, but I knew better than to start anything with an aviation doctor. I watched in curiosity as he scratched out a remark on the audiogram. He turned to me and then said, as sober as any judge, "See an ENT specialist. As soon as possible. There might be something in there that's causing problems."

It took me a few more days after settling in to look up the list of panel hospitals and make enquiries over which of those had an ENT specialist. I thought Sime Darby would be alright; decently located and surrounded by reputable restaurants. If I was diagnosed with anything scary, at least I would have a place for a last supper.

Sigh. I do so hate hospitals.

It was Monday, and I was already tense from enduring a traffic jam just 5km long but enough to have consumed 45 minutes. I was not late for my appointment, but I had not reckoned the jam would be so sticky. Like my Eustachian tubes, yeah.

Dr Ravi was what any teenage girl would want in a man. Professional, new-age-cutesy and with a good tableside manner. Bald and tall, he greeted me cordially and motioned for me to be seated. I tried to provide him as comprehensive a preamble as possible, but he gazed at me without so much as a nod. Before I could reach halfway into my bulleted narrative, he summoned me into what looked like a barber's chair facing a display which made the home theatre enthusiast in me perk up. Then he used the optic probe first in my right ear, then my left. It was evident that my middle ears were completely filled with fluid. He described the fluid level behind my eardrums, and I too could see what looked like a front-loader's water line amidst much cilia and a few specks of wax. Then in went the probe through my nostrils. I was surprised at how painless it was. The LCD display continued showing what looked like the tunnel chase scene in Initial D, except this was into my nose. Then the probe stopped moving. I could hear Dr Ravi thinking certain Greek words belonging to Archimedes' infamous nude outburst.

Then he spoke. I too, could see that there was something not quite congruent with the many cross-sections of the ear I had studied the preceding week. "There is a mass, something there, blocking your Eustachian tubes. That is why your Eustachian tubes are not draining when you swallow." With such words and an image coming together, I felt a chill creep into my chest. Oh, I thought. This is how I get told I have cancer.

The probe was put away and as Dr Ravi walked to his chair, I did to mine. I sat stoically while he spoke. "As far as your fluid behind the eardrum is concerned, it cannot drain. We have to do surgery. As you could see, the tubes are blocked by that mass of tissue. I will cut into the eardrum, and draw out the fluid. Then I will put in a grommet, but for a year no swimming! Then as far as that mass is concerned, it's a biopsy. Do you have Chinese blood?"

I nodded wordlessly. "Well, if you have Chinese blood chances are that you have naso-pharyngeal cancer. If you are Indian, there is no chance of it." I sat there thinking, do I get saved by pledging allegiance to one side of my genealogy?

"When do you want to do it?" The doctor's voice reeled me back from my Lizzy McGuire moment.

"Soonest". The doctor busied himself with his calendar and a few brief phone calls. He grinned, like all this meant business as usual to him.

"Tomorrow come in at 0930. No food or drink after midnight tonight. See you Mr Jeffrey."

The Lure Of Watches



The AVI-8

It is now three months since I bought my AVI-8 Hawker Harrier watch from Zalora, and I must confess that this timepiece has grown on me. Watches are a perennial obsession with me, although nothing will cut it like the prohibitive but utterly seductive Rolex GMTII. That, to me is the ultimate aviator's watch.

 

It is undeniable that watches are a must have accessory for a man to own and having the right one is very crucial. The wrong selection of watch as the finishing touch to your dress-up ensemble can definitely lacklustre both your outfit and character as it indirectly serves to impress those whom you encounter, whatever the purpose may be. Whether you are at work, formal occasions or even a casual day out during the weekends, men should always sport the right watch to provide the desired impression.

They are so darling aren't they?

 

There are three main considerations a man must weigh when making this significant purchase. The first is to determine whether it fits your lifestyle and this means can it be worn to work, formal events, sports activities and other specific functions. A man who is constantly beating deadlines, meeting clients and attending events should definitely buy a more sophisticated type of watch such as the stainless steel, gold or silver plated one. However, a guy who is active and has a job as a gym instructor or fitness consultant should opt for a sporty looking watch, for example, G-Shock watches, or the leather or resin based designs to reflect a hardier, more casual lifestyle. Alternatively, rather than have just one watch to rule them all, you could also purchase a few different designs and match it to the dictates of the situation and occasion.

 

The Ultimate--courtesy of ablogtowatch

The next thing you should factor in is whether the watch you are aiming to buy is water resistant. As some watches are tad expensive, it is very important to purchase watches which are water resistant while you’re forking out the dough. This is due to the reason that the environment you work and play in may involve exposure to the elements, or being occasionally submerged, or simply the act of washing your hands will bring your timepiece into contact with water. Of course, watches also incorporate varying degrees of water resistance, so perusing those specifications will help you decide on how much cash you want to part with for the marriage of lifestyle to waterproofing which in this day and age, is an imperative.

 

There are other considerations that can go into your trophy watch. The selection of models with sub-dials and snazzy coloured straps will help round off your formal edges, and present a more carefree side to you. While the universal appeal of the masculine steel or leather bracelet secures the completion of any suit or apparel line-up, there are times that you may not want to be so formidable. A date with your significant other or others, or a weekend with your inner circle of friends would be such a time (forgive the pun) when a more stylish watch will soften your approachability. My pet peeve though is,  be sure to know the functions of those sub-dials lest it appear that you are a wannabe with cash to toss.



A Handsome Englishman--James McAbe's website

Swing by Zalora then and browse their extensive website. There may be a watch or a few watches that may call out your name. However, pay attention to the remaining stock of the objects of your desire. I have seen my favorite AVI-8 dwindle to just one model remaining, which says that sales are brisk and time.....waits for no man.