Friday, December 20, 2013
The Silver Lining
It has been six months since my medical emergency. I am once again at a crossroads, soon-to-be unemployed, and I am borderline-depressed. Yet, I have a tiny, quiet feeling that.. this time something is different.
Irony and injustice make brute companions especially as the festive season is drawing near. I expected a lot more from myself even though it was clear when I fell ill that it was not to be.
Whereas I once thought, young as I once used to be, that life is too short to be spent chasing money, status and power, I now wonder if I had made the right choices. It is as though I am taking a hiatus from being the adult-me, but yet I am not a staunch enough believer of escapism to be able to let this fuel me on to chase my wildest dreams.
All I know for now is that I need to come to a place of healing before I can embark on future journeys and projects. The same quiet feeling inside. Perhaps I am only too human, not being able to spring forth unending faith continuously. Yet I know that there is a God. There simply has to be, after everything I've ever gone through and yet managed to survive. I know experience is of no consequence here, but I cannot stop myself for feeling that I have had more than my rightful share of loss, grief, hurt and betrayal in my short life.
I know this because a good number of my friends often cannot relate. They don't have words to offer me, and their understanding of the issues are often pale.
Since I was a child, many have tried to try to tell me about spiritual sculpting. That God is meticulously chipping away at a diamond in the raw, when I honestly feel more similar to cut glass.
I try not to overly colour my mind with condemning thoughts or concerns, but it is very trying. To be in a state of suspension, not knowing where to find the next foothold on the cliff-face of my life.
I don't really know what will come from this pause in my life. Sometimes not knowing troubles me, and at other times, not knowing comforts me.
- 20 December 2013 1:21pm -
Irony and injustice make brute companions especially as the festive season is drawing near. I expected a lot more from myself even though it was clear when I fell ill that it was not to be.
Whereas I once thought, young as I once used to be, that life is too short to be spent chasing money, status and power, I now wonder if I had made the right choices. It is as though I am taking a hiatus from being the adult-me, but yet I am not a staunch enough believer of escapism to be able to let this fuel me on to chase my wildest dreams.
All I know for now is that I need to come to a place of healing before I can embark on future journeys and projects. The same quiet feeling inside. Perhaps I am only too human, not being able to spring forth unending faith continuously. Yet I know that there is a God. There simply has to be, after everything I've ever gone through and yet managed to survive. I know experience is of no consequence here, but I cannot stop myself for feeling that I have had more than my rightful share of loss, grief, hurt and betrayal in my short life.
I know this because a good number of my friends often cannot relate. They don't have words to offer me, and their understanding of the issues are often pale.
Since I was a child, many have tried to try to tell me about spiritual sculpting. That God is meticulously chipping away at a diamond in the raw, when I honestly feel more similar to cut glass.
I try not to overly colour my mind with condemning thoughts or concerns, but it is very trying. To be in a state of suspension, not knowing where to find the next foothold on the cliff-face of my life.
I don't really know what will come from this pause in my life. Sometimes not knowing troubles me, and at other times, not knowing comforts me.
- 20 December 2013 1:21pm -
Monday, August 05, 2013
Dysfunctionality.. and a kitten named Dyllis
It has been a very rocky two months to the date.
On 5 June 2013, I cut short a training session I was attending as I was bleeding suddenly and profusely despite having just finished a 'normal' period.
I speedily bled thru all my clothes and all over the floor. I was so embarrassed (never met anyone there at the training session in my life) and cleaned whatever I could. I was very nauseated and on the verge of fainting.
Out of the classroom, I called my stepmom and my dad but couldn't get both. Then I tried Rz but he didn't answer either. I tried walking along the road but I couldn't get a cab. I just happened to be at a very quiet location, and it was lunchtime.
I was feeling delirious already. I thought I was going to faint but a cab came at the very last moment. I was all the way across the island from home in the Western part of Singapore, and I should have asked to go direct to an emergency room at the nearest hospital - but I couldn't think straight so instinct kicked in and I asked to go home (East).
On the cab I realised that I wasn't carrying much cash with me. I had all of $14 and an unknown amount of small change and I was asking God to help me think of a way. I then resolved that I'd probably ask the cabbie to wait when I arrive near my home as there was an ATM nearby I could dash to and back. Even though that was not something I felt I ought to do as I'd probably leave a bloody trail behind.
To my complete astonishment, when I arrived, the fare was $14.20 !! Cross-island jaunts in a taxi have cost me $30 and upwards before.
Somehow I must have made it upstairs to shower and change. I don't quite remember how I got out of the cab and upstairs.
My stockings were soaked completely through. My dress was stained down the front. It was gory and bloody just trying to shower, and I couldn't help but notice many clots in the blood I had lost. It was when I found myself trying to scrub down the toilet the second or third time, that I realised something really wasn't right with me.
I tried to call Eunice my gynae but her clinic was very rude in telling me I should have either made an appointment or called in the morning etc. I had asked if there was any other doctor and was told "each of the doctors have their own clinics and their own clients... you cannot expect them to tend to you even if you come down now"... then she suggested that I should go to their outpatient emergency room and if there was 'truly' an emergency, they would page for Eunice. I told her it WAS an emergency and told her how ridiculous she was being and hung up.
My stepmom picked me and dropped me off at Parkway East accident & emergency. She had to go, so I was alone to face the next few hours.
I was told that they would page for a gynae. All the gynaes (the consultant called 8 clinics) were away for the day!!! (Talk about rotten timing.) So they called in a panel consultant whose practice was a few blocks away. Thankfully they found Dr Umesh Doshi, for he is a very assuring and good-natured doctor and put me at ease immediately.
Under Dr Doshi's instructions they administered a range of tests. Blood, urine, ultrasound and intra-vaginal. I was prodded and poked for 4 hours, bleeding constantly.
I was later told that they suspected a miscarriage, but were proven otherwise. I was relieved, as it would have been my third miscarriage and I simply do not think I can cope emotionally if I had to go through the grieving process of yet another one.
Then I was warded. Results from the tests came back that night. Other than a negative for pregnancy ie. no miscarriage, everything else was inconclusive. Dr Doshi said there was a lot of tissue in my uterus.
I was still bleeding incessantly and very drowsy. Dr Doshi scheduled surgery (medically similar to an abortion procedure) for Thursday morning to remove the tissue so that it may be sent to a medical laboratory for further testing.
I must have lost a huge amount of blood before and during the surgery because I was completely knocked out by the local anesthesia and only came to in the afternoon.
Dr Doshi said that they would only attempt to diagnose the problem after the test results got back. It seems that the fibriods my previous gynae had detected last year had also multiplied and grown. There was now not two but at least four, and one of them was 9cm in volume. Despite this development, Dr Doshi was quite sure it is not the cause of the haemorrhage.
I was then given, after the surgery, medication to cease the bleeding. After 4 rounds, the bleeding finally ceased. I do wonder at how much blood I'd lost, and that I didn't require a transfusion. To me it was quite a miracle.
I was then discharged on 8 June 2013.
Subsequently at the follow up with Dr Doshi, I was informed that my fibriods had advanced aggressively and his opinion was that I was suffering from severe hormonal imbalance. It was also his opinion that the imbalance implied that there were more than four fibriods in existence, despite the fact that we could only see four on the screens.
This part about the hormonal imbalance is definitely true - I had been gaining weight constantly for at least 1.5years without any change to my diet or lifestyle. I also had been suffering from bouts of mild depression and my energy level had taken a huge hit.
Yet when he said that I had to go through another surgical procedure to remove the fibriods I was really stunned. He said that I was at risk of losing the entire uterus.
I was really worried about finances.
Having just paid about $5k for the first hospital stay, the expenses were still mounting as I still had weekly clinic appointments.
We were told to expect a $15k bill for the second hospital stay. I panicked when the nurse briefed us. (I had just left my previous job, last July, forgoing a year's worth of generous financial bonuses for a change in lifestyle. I had hoped that in an environment with less stress, I'd be better able to conceive.) I left the clinic completely distraught. So much bad news in under a week.
I tried to approach my father for financial assistance, hoping he would agree to help.
My dad is a CEO-level employee at a Christian organisation, earning a five figure salary with property and other investments. Money is not something he lacks.
Instead of helping, he took issue with everything he could - he picked on the choice of hospital (he blamed my stepmom).. picked on what he saw as my choice of surgeon.. picked on my insurer (employer's).. picked on my salary. etc. Talking to him felt like going nowhere.
Each time he saw me again, all he would talk about was money. He never once asked me how I was nor offered to pray for me. In his mind, he thought I was going through some menstrual issues, and I had blown up the issue out of proportion.
I was so depressed. All I did for days was cry. At night I just kept on having nightmares of the day of the bleeding incident. The clinic put me on anti-depressants and trauma meds.
It was truly a horrible time.
Naturally, despite the question with finances, Rz and I opted to schedule the operation ASAP. We just couldn't live with the risk of being definitely childless.
The second operation was scheduled on 27 June. This was a more complex operation, medically similar to a C-section.
It wasn't until the day after the second surgery when the photos of the fibriods were released to us, that my father acknowledged that there was indeed a real medical issue with me.
Although he acknowledged it, he still did not ask me how I was nor did he come forward to offer any help.
I was in so much pain the first two weeks that I felt like I was losing the war, in my head. I was unable to sleep without sedatives and I kept questioning what I had ever done to my father to cause him to behave so coldly to me.
Growing up in a household where the adults don't talk. Looking after my mother when dad was away. Living with him after my mother died. Looking after him when he was sick. Putting up with his ridiculous ex-girlfriend and his own equally ridiculous ways.
My mind wandered down the halls of my past countless times until I felt like I'd just lose my grip on sanity.
I just refuse to continue the cycle of emotional disruption and rejection that I had to go through whenever I try to get closer to him. Each time I try to forgive my dad and wave the olive branch, I end up hoping that he has changed for the better. This hope is always dashed by my dad's reluctance to draw closer. I am always ignored, brushed off.. cast aside.
I refuse to try again. I refuse to be the stupid one. Each time I fall, I just fall deeper and I always have to pick myself up again. After so many years of rinsing and repeating, I feel like a complete idiot.
I simply refuse to allow him to ruin the rest of my life.
I did tell my stepmom very specifically, before my second operation, that I cannot emotionally cope with my dad or his rejection anymore, and right now, my perogative is to focus on Rz, myself, my walk with God and recovery.
Despite this, my stepmom has been arduously trying to get me to talk to my dad over the past weeks. So much so, she has resorted to telling blatant white lies. I am being told that my father loves me very much.. is very proud of me.. and thinks of me often. Or that my father is so concerned that he and my mother-in-law had a heart to heart talk. (Neither of them will approach strangers, let alone to engage in a "heart to heart".)
I am not a three year old who might be manipulated in such a way and I simply will not yield this time.
I am grateful for all my stepmom has done for this family in the short years they have been married, and I do love and accept her. But I feel that there is no respect here for me as a live person with emotional needs and feelings, nor as a post-trauma patient.
I cannot be the only hand clapping. It has been proven to be psychologically unhealthy. My refusal to 'work on' the relationship with dad will stand until I can be sure he is no longer able to harm me or when I am finally free of such emotional vulnerability, or both.
I am physically healed to the point I no longer require medication for pain or hormones, but I am working on sleeping without aid. I refuse to build reliance on the anti-depressants and strive to be as mobile as I used to be.
I am still civil with my stepmom as I am sure dad must be a handful even for her, and it will not be fair for me to take it out on her. When she tries to lure me into meeting dad or into conversation about him, I deliberately go silent because I feel she is not respecting the boundaries I have clearly put up and signposted.
It has been such a rocky two months to the date.. I am glad it is over and my eyes have been opened to my father's true nature.
Tomorrow I hope that the doctor will give the all-clear, so that I may finally return to work on Monday, 12 August 2013.
--
Sometime in May, during a prolonged bout of mild depression, I decided to get a kitten. Rz agreed, I am not sure why - maybe he sensed that I was slipping too.
She is a very cheeky girl and is going through the stage where everything is a toy. She is learning to respect her humans and to play gently.
She is generally mild, but there are days when she has sudden bouts of aggression. We think that it is because she missed out on some socialisation as a young kitten at the breeder's.
When we first saw her, she had allowed us, a group of 5 human strangers to carry her for 3-4 hours at a go, without so much as a struggle.
We bought her in the end, without asking questions despite seeing a patch of newly regrown fur - we think she was mauled as a kitten, and kept in a carrier during the recovery period. It could be the reason why she is very attached to humans. She sometimes has nightmares too, and will come to me asking for love and affection.
Dyllis now lives in the kitchen and our utility room. She does not get to go beyond these areas, as we have put up an infant gate and the bedrooms are shut off. Our hamsters have never met Dyllis and she doesn't even know they exist as the hamstery room is shut off too.
- 5 August 2013 2:37pm -
On 5 June 2013, I cut short a training session I was attending as I was bleeding suddenly and profusely despite having just finished a 'normal' period.
I speedily bled thru all my clothes and all over the floor. I was so embarrassed (never met anyone there at the training session in my life) and cleaned whatever I could. I was very nauseated and on the verge of fainting.
Out of the classroom, I called my stepmom and my dad but couldn't get both. Then I tried Rz but he didn't answer either. I tried walking along the road but I couldn't get a cab. I just happened to be at a very quiet location, and it was lunchtime.
I was feeling delirious already. I thought I was going to faint but a cab came at the very last moment. I was all the way across the island from home in the Western part of Singapore, and I should have asked to go direct to an emergency room at the nearest hospital - but I couldn't think straight so instinct kicked in and I asked to go home (East).
On the cab I realised that I wasn't carrying much cash with me. I had all of $14 and an unknown amount of small change and I was asking God to help me think of a way. I then resolved that I'd probably ask the cabbie to wait when I arrive near my home as there was an ATM nearby I could dash to and back. Even though that was not something I felt I ought to do as I'd probably leave a bloody trail behind.
To my complete astonishment, when I arrived, the fare was $14.20 !! Cross-island jaunts in a taxi have cost me $30 and upwards before.
Somehow I must have made it upstairs to shower and change. I don't quite remember how I got out of the cab and upstairs.
My stockings were soaked completely through. My dress was stained down the front. It was gory and bloody just trying to shower, and I couldn't help but notice many clots in the blood I had lost. It was when I found myself trying to scrub down the toilet the second or third time, that I realised something really wasn't right with me.
I tried to call Eunice my gynae but her clinic was very rude in telling me I should have either made an appointment or called in the morning etc. I had asked if there was any other doctor and was told "each of the doctors have their own clinics and their own clients... you cannot expect them to tend to you even if you come down now"... then she suggested that I should go to their outpatient emergency room and if there was 'truly' an emergency, they would page for Eunice. I told her it WAS an emergency and told her how ridiculous she was being and hung up.
My stepmom picked me and dropped me off at Parkway East accident & emergency. She had to go, so I was alone to face the next few hours.
I was told that they would page for a gynae. All the gynaes (the consultant called 8 clinics) were away for the day!!! (Talk about rotten timing.) So they called in a panel consultant whose practice was a few blocks away. Thankfully they found Dr Umesh Doshi, for he is a very assuring and good-natured doctor and put me at ease immediately.
Under Dr Doshi's instructions they administered a range of tests. Blood, urine, ultrasound and intra-vaginal. I was prodded and poked for 4 hours, bleeding constantly.
I was later told that they suspected a miscarriage, but were proven otherwise. I was relieved, as it would have been my third miscarriage and I simply do not think I can cope emotionally if I had to go through the grieving process of yet another one.
Then I was warded. Results from the tests came back that night. Other than a negative for pregnancy ie. no miscarriage, everything else was inconclusive. Dr Doshi said there was a lot of tissue in my uterus.
I was still bleeding incessantly and very drowsy. Dr Doshi scheduled surgery (medically similar to an abortion procedure) for Thursday morning to remove the tissue so that it may be sent to a medical laboratory for further testing.
I must have lost a huge amount of blood before and during the surgery because I was completely knocked out by the local anesthesia and only came to in the afternoon.
Dr Doshi said that they would only attempt to diagnose the problem after the test results got back. It seems that the fibriods my previous gynae had detected last year had also multiplied and grown. There was now not two but at least four, and one of them was 9cm in volume. Despite this development, Dr Doshi was quite sure it is not the cause of the haemorrhage.
I was then given, after the surgery, medication to cease the bleeding. After 4 rounds, the bleeding finally ceased. I do wonder at how much blood I'd lost, and that I didn't require a transfusion. To me it was quite a miracle.
I was then discharged on 8 June 2013.
Subsequently at the follow up with Dr Doshi, I was informed that my fibriods had advanced aggressively and his opinion was that I was suffering from severe hormonal imbalance. It was also his opinion that the imbalance implied that there were more than four fibriods in existence, despite the fact that we could only see four on the screens.
This part about the hormonal imbalance is definitely true - I had been gaining weight constantly for at least 1.5years without any change to my diet or lifestyle. I also had been suffering from bouts of mild depression and my energy level had taken a huge hit.
Yet when he said that I had to go through another surgical procedure to remove the fibriods I was really stunned. He said that I was at risk of losing the entire uterus.
I was really worried about finances.
Having just paid about $5k for the first hospital stay, the expenses were still mounting as I still had weekly clinic appointments.
We were told to expect a $15k bill for the second hospital stay. I panicked when the nurse briefed us. (I had just left my previous job, last July, forgoing a year's worth of generous financial bonuses for a change in lifestyle. I had hoped that in an environment with less stress, I'd be better able to conceive.) I left the clinic completely distraught. So much bad news in under a week.
I tried to approach my father for financial assistance, hoping he would agree to help.
My dad is a CEO-level employee at a Christian organisation, earning a five figure salary with property and other investments. Money is not something he lacks.
Instead of helping, he took issue with everything he could - he picked on the choice of hospital (he blamed my stepmom).. picked on what he saw as my choice of surgeon.. picked on my insurer (employer's).. picked on my salary. etc. Talking to him felt like going nowhere.
Each time he saw me again, all he would talk about was money. He never once asked me how I was nor offered to pray for me. In his mind, he thought I was going through some menstrual issues, and I had blown up the issue out of proportion.
I was so depressed. All I did for days was cry. At night I just kept on having nightmares of the day of the bleeding incident. The clinic put me on anti-depressants and trauma meds.
It was truly a horrible time.
Naturally, despite the question with finances, Rz and I opted to schedule the operation ASAP. We just couldn't live with the risk of being definitely childless.
The second operation was scheduled on 27 June. This was a more complex operation, medically similar to a C-section.
It wasn't until the day after the second surgery when the photos of the fibriods were released to us, that my father acknowledged that there was indeed a real medical issue with me.
Although he acknowledged it, he still did not ask me how I was nor did he come forward to offer any help.
I was in so much pain the first two weeks that I felt like I was losing the war, in my head. I was unable to sleep without sedatives and I kept questioning what I had ever done to my father to cause him to behave so coldly to me.
Growing up in a household where the adults don't talk. Looking after my mother when dad was away. Living with him after my mother died. Looking after him when he was sick. Putting up with his ridiculous ex-girlfriend and his own equally ridiculous ways.
My mind wandered down the halls of my past countless times until I felt like I'd just lose my grip on sanity.
I just refuse to continue the cycle of emotional disruption and rejection that I had to go through whenever I try to get closer to him. Each time I try to forgive my dad and wave the olive branch, I end up hoping that he has changed for the better. This hope is always dashed by my dad's reluctance to draw closer. I am always ignored, brushed off.. cast aside.
I refuse to try again. I refuse to be the stupid one. Each time I fall, I just fall deeper and I always have to pick myself up again. After so many years of rinsing and repeating, I feel like a complete idiot.
I simply refuse to allow him to ruin the rest of my life.
I did tell my stepmom very specifically, before my second operation, that I cannot emotionally cope with my dad or his rejection anymore, and right now, my perogative is to focus on Rz, myself, my walk with God and recovery.
Despite this, my stepmom has been arduously trying to get me to talk to my dad over the past weeks. So much so, she has resorted to telling blatant white lies. I am being told that my father loves me very much.. is very proud of me.. and thinks of me often. Or that my father is so concerned that he and my mother-in-law had a heart to heart talk. (Neither of them will approach strangers, let alone to engage in a "heart to heart".)
I am not a three year old who might be manipulated in such a way and I simply will not yield this time.
I am grateful for all my stepmom has done for this family in the short years they have been married, and I do love and accept her. But I feel that there is no respect here for me as a live person with emotional needs and feelings, nor as a post-trauma patient.
I cannot be the only hand clapping. It has been proven to be psychologically unhealthy. My refusal to 'work on' the relationship with dad will stand until I can be sure he is no longer able to harm me or when I am finally free of such emotional vulnerability, or both.
I am physically healed to the point I no longer require medication for pain or hormones, but I am working on sleeping without aid. I refuse to build reliance on the anti-depressants and strive to be as mobile as I used to be.
I am still civil with my stepmom as I am sure dad must be a handful even for her, and it will not be fair for me to take it out on her. When she tries to lure me into meeting dad or into conversation about him, I deliberately go silent because I feel she is not respecting the boundaries I have clearly put up and signposted.
It has been such a rocky two months to the date.. I am glad it is over and my eyes have been opened to my father's true nature.
Tomorrow I hope that the doctor will give the all-clear, so that I may finally return to work on Monday, 12 August 2013.
--
Sometime in May, during a prolonged bout of mild depression, I decided to get a kitten. Rz agreed, I am not sure why - maybe he sensed that I was slipping too.
She is a very cheeky girl and is going through the stage where everything is a toy. She is learning to respect her humans and to play gently.
She is generally mild, but there are days when she has sudden bouts of aggression. We think that it is because she missed out on some socialisation as a young kitten at the breeder's.
When we first saw her, she had allowed us, a group of 5 human strangers to carry her for 3-4 hours at a go, without so much as a struggle.
We bought her in the end, without asking questions despite seeing a patch of newly regrown fur - we think she was mauled as a kitten, and kept in a carrier during the recovery period. It could be the reason why she is very attached to humans. She sometimes has nightmares too, and will come to me asking for love and affection.
Dyllis now lives in the kitchen and our utility room. She does not get to go beyond these areas, as we have put up an infant gate and the bedrooms are shut off. Our hamsters have never met Dyllis and she doesn't even know they exist as the hamstery room is shut off too.
- 5 August 2013 2:37pm -
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