Trust

 Sometimes

The time you dread the most is when you are alone with your thoughts 

When you remembered the people/pets that you lost 

Moments that you missed - perhaps weddings/ gatherings/ graduations 

Or just the people you missed dearly but couldn’t have 

Or they are just far far away that even phone calls/ video calls make you miss them more 

It is sad

And exhausting 

To tell yourself 

That the hurt shall pass

The longing will be paid off when you finally get to meet then 

Or the longing will be rewarded abundantly if you persevere through with beautiful patience

 Because husnuzon ain’t easy

And to trust Allah, and believe that His plan is the best - especially when you don’t understand what’s going on, is really really hard

Allah, grant me absolute trust in You

Unshakable faith in You

And only You Alone

P/s: don’t worry about the screenshot I uploaded. That was a joke, and I am glad the joke was taken in a humorous way (although darkly). Miahahaha. My boss is just that special. #ganjarkannyataufiqdanhidayah

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Insensitive

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I lost Kacak.

Throughout my career, breaking bad news has been an art. A skill you hone—delivering devastating words while maintaining composure, preserving empathy even as you do it again and again. Often, it never feels easier. You simply tell yourself it must be done, so you do it, and you get through it.

It is hardest when you thought you could have saved them. When the loss is followed by a chorus of haunting, evil ifs. Those few patients you carry with you throughout your career. Some, you remember their final moment. Some, the last words you shared. Some, the ashen look on a loved one's face as your words found their mark.

Some days, you had to confirm death.

I remember the routine: the checks, the documentation, informing the nurse-in-charge so the last offices could begin.

In those moments, I never felt fear. Perhaps sadness, or sorrow. But never fear. Never apprehension.

Yesterday, it was different.

I saw Kacak lying on the porch and thought he was sleeping—he loved sleeping in the sun.

He looked as if he were resting. I stood there, enjoying the sight of him... until I noticed he might not be breathing. As I walked towards him, seeing no movement of his breath (a truth already obvious, of course), I kept telling myself I was wrong.

Even standing beside him, I hesitated to touch him. I was terrified of confirming the loss. I did not want to feel that he was still, that he was motionless. I was still hoping he would wake up and come to me.

Reflecting on this moment, I realized how much I had insulated myself all this time.

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Scariest moment

 

I have been emotional recently.

 

And often when I am feeling low, I will remind myself of my lowest moment and thought 'I had been through that, so I will go through this too'.

Last night, I was reminded of my scariest moment. Not sure why but I kind of replayed the event one by one, still very clearly in my mind.

Why was it my scariest moment? Because I thought I might lose my mom, from a complication which arose from my own ignorance (or lack of attention - however you want to name it).

 

I still remember - it was on a weekend and I was oncall (ED call). I was resuscitating an UGIB patient in red zone when a call from my brother came in. He said: "Mek's BP was initially unrecordable, only on the third time I could get a reading and the HR was 130+".At that time, I felt my world stopped.

What an irony.

I was resuscitating patient at work and my most beloved person was collapsing at home? All I could muster was - bring her to ED (the nearest hospital to my home was not the hospital I was working at). I really feel like going home there and then, and yet I was still resuscitating my patient. Me being an overthinker thought: it was on a weekend - who would want to replace my call? Regardless, I sent a text in our group asking for kind souls to replace my call - and within minutes the MO captain called me and told me to attend to my mom, the other two colleagues could cover for my absence for the rest of the day (wherever both of you are - I wish you well and ease in your affairs). And as soon as my patient was stabilised, my colleagues took over from me.

 

So I went to the hospital my mom was at - and with the BP just now, it just made perfect sense for her to be in RZ right?I asked for permission to go in - and I saw her lying on the bed looking very lethargic but still putting up the sweetest smile for me, just like every strong mom would do.

Then I asked about her blood results; urea almost 30, creat 700++, K 7.6, ph 7.0 with single digit HCO3 (the numbers were so gory I could never forget them).

I saw there was inotrope running, looked at her empty urinary bag, and I suppose my face then was already asking the question because the moment I looked at the ED registrar- she told me: "3L went in, BP still not picking up, nil urine, we got to start her on norad". I did not have any further questions, and I knew my questions would not be helping them either so I took my leave. Before leaving, I kissed her forehead to excuse myself, and whilst doing that I tried smiling at my mom, but probably she could see the despair through it anyway- all moms have this superpower of reading you like a book.

The moment I went to the waiting area, I looked at my dad and my siblings - and I was very grateful my brother already briefed them on my mom's situation, I just couldn't muster any words. 

 

Alhamdulillah my mom survived the ordeal - thanks to the great effort by ED, ICU and surgical team of Hospital Selayang (2019). I couldn't imagine if otherwise had happened.

 

Boss (or a friend- as he claimed) always said: "God is kind" (although for a different context); but as I rerun these memories yesterday, I remembered his words.

Truly, God is kind. I would've lost myself if my mom didn't make it. Even with her surviving the event, it took me a long while to recollect myself and overcome the self-blame - how could a mother to a surgical trainee had multiorgan failure/ hypovolemic shock from high ileostomy output? Pathetic right?  

Even until now, the thought of losing my parent scares the hell out of me, and yup, I am clinging to every bit of hope that I will always have another day/ weekend to see them. And have I told you yet - that if I were to make them smile, I would be the proudest person on earth for being the reason behind their smiles. 

Mek and Ayah, I lnmusm (love and miss you so much). May Allah protect you both always and envelop you with love and joy. 

 

 

 

And here I am feeling scared and anxious of what comes ahead - is there any major decision need to be made soon? 

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