Post birthday…
… and yesterday was my birthday, not today. Like before, I used to post up some sort of memoir on my blog. I usually write about thoughts of time, hoping to be understood by you, my readers. But nobody is perfect, ain’t it? So, instead of a long essay, yapping away about why things don’t work the way it should or other silly stuff, I’d like to tell you a story of my life (which is not many) for the year 2008.
For the love of blood
Life’s a test, we can never understand why there’s even a test. In 2005, Safa, my baby sister, was admitted to the hospital for seizures that couldn’t stop & had a missing stop button.
“Macam mana nak stop ni????”.
Every 5-10 minutes, I, my brother & my parents in particularly, watched in horror as my sister goes into multiple epileptic shocks & seizures. And that scene is a memory that’s permanently carved in my brain. It’s not going away. With the help of modern medicine, her condition stabilized after the doctors put her into an induced coma. The coma was to stabilize her brain activities & stop the seizures from happening regularly, again. She was in coma during the fasting month for a few weeks & to my mother’s request, she was taken out from it on the last week of Ramadhan, just in time for Hari Raya.
And watching her eyes opened, saying hello on Raya morning was the best gift I’ve ever received. Syukur…
I started being more protective towards my sister. I pushed aside whatever comes in my way, be it socially & personally. Since my sister had to resit again for her SPM, I quit my job & tried to be more like a brother & give her the support & confidence she needs. But I didn’t like what I saw. She was on medication 24/7, and those medication made her stoned, 24/7. I mean really stoned. She was on Topamax, and I recently found out that doctors have a different name for this medicine, Dopamax. Or Dope-At-Maximum. And because of that, she wasn’t able to be her full self. I saw it in her eyes that she was in dreamland, or wherever she was. She just wasn’t herself. True enough, the effects of her dopey medication affected her SPM results.
But don’t worry Safa, I didn’t get good results either. Heck, I’m not even smarter than the average joe. And I still made it to where I am today. Work hard, just keep that in mind.
She then enrolled herself into UiTM, learning hotel hospitality & management. I was so proud of her as she is proud of herself. She was able to move on with her life. And I admire my parents for being really, really tough. There’s no jamu or tongkat ali involved, but they are as tough as nails. No matter how much you knocked on them, they’re still solid metal nails.
And we thought this was going to be the end of an episode…
I had then just returned from One Buck Short’s China tour & was recovering from their My Chemical Romance opening show. One of my dreams was to bring along my sister to these concerts, but my work ethics was just too strong. Inherited from my parents, personal needs & dreams was never in my prioritization list while I’m on the job.
I woke up in the next morning only to be greeted with a nightmare by my bedside knocking on my door.
My mother knocked like a mad(wo)man on my room door. It was about Safa.
And if there was a scene with black clouds forming & lightning thunder behind & above me, that would be my scene when I turned my head to look at where my mother was pointing.
Her seizures returned. This can’t be happening again.
And as history repeats itself, it was hell again. We were in hell again. As we go through the same procedures & steps required to diagnose Safa’s situation, I stood there, by her bedside, totally helpless, unable to save her. I couldn’t save her.
FuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuUuCK!
I only had rage this time. I wasn’t angry at anyone, I was just angry at the tragedy. I mean, what the fuck did my sister had done to deserve all this. I have done, throughout my lifetime, horrible, illegal & borderline crazy shit that has hurt & affected a lot of people. I risked my own life while doing it. I deserved to be punished more than her. But…
There’s a reason why you should look twice at the cover before you read a new book.
And talking about back to back tragedy, coincidently, my mother was just about to finish her chemotherapy treatment. I just couldn’t imagine the emotional tsunami that she has to go through, adding more to her suffering, was Safa’s returned sickness. Being physically sick is curable, but being emotionally sick always leads to death. I was afraid of this revelation.
Again, I locked out every single thing & anyone who was not important to me. There were only 2 things that matter: my family & my job. I need my job to help my family. And I need my family, ’cause I’m lonely (?).
On the subject of loneliness, during the 1st time, I had a little bit of encouragement & support from friends. Bala was coincidently working in the same hospital. If he hadn’t worked there, he probably wouldn’t have known. It’s my fault too, I tend to keep it to myself when it comes to my family, be it good or bad. I was looking for a different kind of attention & support, but I didn’t get it from the people I had hoped for. Being hopeless & feeling left out for the 1st time is ok, but for the 2nd time around, it’s unforgivable. Period.
Why am I being overly strict about it? It’s because I ended up crying alone by myself & trying hard to give myself encouragement & spirit to move on & continue with the fight. I don’t want to feel that again. I’ve lost all hope for my friends. There were friends who made the cut by being themselves & helped me the best way that they can & constantly be a listening ear to me, and there was only 1 person who was genuinely concerned about me. And they were people I didn’t expect to get help from. And I thank you, friend.
Back to the story, we decided for a different treatment this time. My parents & I decided to eliminate medical possibilities first, and then resort to traditional treatment, if there’s no medical explanation coming from the doctor. True enough. The doctor was contemplating to either diagnose my sister with a brain infection or for something else I couldn’t remember. Either way, it involves Dopamax. And we don’t want that. We know the doctor can go an extra mile, but somehow that extra mile wasn’t attainable to them. What a pity for Malaysian neuro doctors. I only recommend them if you really have no other choice. And to be honest, Universiti Hospital treats local Malaysians like 2nd class patients/citizens. This was my personal experience after spending months, day & night in the hospital & observing how our local doctors performed their work. Pratabhan, I hope you won’t be like them as you start your life as a doctor. A lot is expected from you as a doctor. You know you can reach gain that extra mile. You know what I’m talking about.
I was at the hospital guys, was it that hard to drop by and visit? Sigh… Again, the 2nd time around, it’s unforgivable.
Excuse me for that personal retribution. Let’s continue…
So we decided to take her out from the hospital. The doctor was against our request & since we said that we were going to treat her the unconventional way, the doctor stepped back. Even they realise that even they were not able to fix everything.
We took her to my granduncle’s place, who was a healer for Darul Syifa’. And true enough to the eyes of the unseen, there was something bothering her & it’s slowly killing her. My sister was going to die. Imagine having to face this hard, unacceptable, fact. My sister was going to die of a slow, painful death. And according to my granduncle, this was due to the nature of us Malays. Deep inside, we hate each other. We hate competing with each other. In fact, if possible, we’d prefer the “kill all, take all” approach. True enough. The underlying cause for my sister’s unnatural sickness was due to business competition. And worse off, it was a Malay & that person was a Muslim. What the fuck? My own kind was trying & attempting to kill my family. And this is not the first time. Numerous times my father, a former strict government servant, was also under constant threat from his own people, the Malays. We also have our own wars that we need to deal with. We don’t need to go for bigger wars if we’re not able to stop our smaller wars.
Now, only if that was the REAL truth behind all this. No, it’s now part of the bigger truth that I still seek answers for.
While Safa was receiving treatment from the healer, kind of like a long distance treatment with occasional visit to Darul Syifa, the revelation of “slow, painful death” started to come true. But it didn’t come true with screaming ghosts & what not. It came in the form of bedsores.
During At this time, my parents had moved back to our home in Bangi. I was living in Shah Alam, and I only have the chance to go back to visit my parents on weekends & sometimes after work, whenever I rasa tak sedap hati. And Safa was bedridden, with the occasional seizure attacks from time to time. Taking care of her had become our no.1family objective. I wanted to be able to joke & tease Safa again. And because she was stuck on the bed all the time, little did all of us realised that she was forming bedsores on her hips & buttocks.
My mother had been talking to me on the phone about a blue black bruise on Safa’s hips & buttocks the whole week. I went over & took a visual of what my mom was talking about. It was blue black. And it was big as my palm. I went back home & started reading about bedsores. Did you know Christopher Reeves died just because he sat down too much & developed bedsores? Generally, bedsores are like an internal infection injury when you sit down or lie down for a long period of time. When the bacteria from a bedsore starts to spread seep into your bloodstream, that’s when the real danger happens. Blood infection is hard to get out from. And Safa was slowly dying getting close to this because of this.
The next day, I rushed back to Bangi & persuaded my parents to either call a doctor over or send her back to the hospital. After hours & hours of convincing, finally my sister, Nina, went over to a local (but good) private hospital in Bangi & called over the Medical Officer to come & visit Safa. His name was Dr. Razman. He’s a good doctor. He reminds me a lot of my past employer. He came over & he instantly said that he has to surgically remove the dead flesh at Safa’s buttocks. And it was a lot of dead flesh. To those who know me, just imagine a crater of dead flesh at your hips with the diameter as wide as the size of my palm, and as deep as my penumbuk. Just imagine.
So, that was the silent killer that was going to kill my sister, I figured.
From that day onwards, Safa started her days recovering. We bathe her. We fed her healthy food & simple medication. I even washed her ass after she takes a shit. The things you have to go thru in order to be tough…
When my father called to tell me that Safa started talking, I was happy like a mother fucker! It was the best-est news ever! EVERRRRRR!!!! Syukur…
And now, Safa is healthy & we hope & pray for her future well being.
A few things I learned from this experience.
- Fuck friendship. “Friend” is a dictionary definition, not the real thing. I now define people I know & care about and people who care & know about me of who I am, on my terms, rather than being just a friend. A friend has a deeper bond & meaning to it. That bond doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. It is the rakyat’s wish to judge a person by his/her merit isn’t it? So, should I present a merit badge for my friends who abandoned me when I really, really needed them? Friend is now merely a conversational word for me.
- Why am I acting like this? First of all, I was lonely as a foolish mother fucker when I went thru this experience. I shed my tears alone in the dark all by myself. I stood alone, hoping that there are people behind my back. No hope. To the least & unexpected, there were people who supported me. People whom I never expected to be helping.
- As a Muslim, I was taught to believe in divine intervention. As a human, I also believe human intervention. We need both to survive in this world. A good, nutritional balance of both.
- Patience is virtue. Period.
- I realised how much I love my family.
There were also a few things that I’ve decided for the next period of my lifetime.
- I’d like to see Safa, happily married to a person she loved & finally free me of my responsibilities. I wish for that person to take care of her, understand her (as she can be a difficult person at times) & love her for the rest of her life. Alyssa, my former colleague, asked me yesterday what was my birthday wish. I guess I found my wish. I wish for Safa’s happiness.
- Let alone being hopelessly romantic, I decided to give personal relationships the boot. I realised that I wasn’t able to commit into any kind of relationship because I knew something was wrong & that needed my full attention. Most girls don’t understand & accept this kind of behaviour. They tend to label us as anak mak, mummy’s boy, daddy’s girl or whatever. And to make it worse, further down the relationship road, there will be heated arguments on who is more important & who is not. Well, fuck you & fuck that.
- Until my first wish comes true, I will decide the next course when the time comes.
- I define friendship on my own terms from now on. If anyone starts to argue about true meaning of friendship, I will cut your balls off.
- Family comes first. Period.
There was also a time where I had decide to commit suicide to take the pressure off. I just couldn’t handle the burden, the sadness, the fear, the pain by myself anymore. But that was then…
I admire my parents ability to cope with this tragedy. They are more than just super parents. They’re really out of this world. I love them, always :)
And as I go through everyday, I pray for you Safa. Just get well, be well & be a good person. That’s all I can ever hope for.
Although I didn’t take pictures or keep a daily journal of what was happening, today I found a link to a site belonging to a father, whose daughter is going through the same thing as Safa did. If you’d like know how it all happened, what is happening to Rob Bushway and his family is the almost the same as what I have gone through. Very much the same. Very much the same sickness. And to be honest, I think I’m prepared for the next round, if it ever happens again.
To Rob & family, be strong for Maggie. She needs that from you now & ever. I will pray for her.
Happy birthday to me, my brother Nazmi & my colleague William. I wish you all & myself a long, happy life. Amin.
