Scars.

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Stitches off! It’s been an uphill battle since a month ago and glad to say that the scary part is over and my knee has been repaired (though I’m still wearing the brace for precaution.)
Yet when I look at my leg now and even when I close my eyes and feel the operated areas there is that bump that remains, that thin line, that scar.
So many times people get hurt, not just physically like this but more so, emotionally. The pain suffered may not necessarily be expressed on the outermost layer but what is common to a physical injury is that that pain leaves a scar, a scar that can be repaired but never cleaned off.
This line here will be here forever, 10 years, 20 years down the road and when I look at it I’ll no doubt remember the horrific incident that took place then. Before I reach the death bed I have to find the reason for that happening and someday I can finally understand all that I have gone through, but the sad reality of that occurring will never be lost.
Similarly, have you ever fought so hard in love that you got wounded so bad that the scar is ever so deep? The idea of moving on is so difficult but is the only way out? It takes a while but that’s not the worst part. The worst comes when you thought you have done so but in the end you still can’t do it.
To see that special someone after a long time and trying to treat her as a normal friend is a tough job trust me, but it can be done, in fact this part is pretty easy. You just don’t try to start any conversations, keep it cool if she comes to you and try to minimize any interaction and you’ll be fine.
But gosh how superficial and silly to assume that doing so will keep your feelings at bay. If you truly like her, that love is scar deep and by that, it takes more than a lack of communication to relinquish all feelings you have.
Often, we dream of waking up to someone we so dearly want to wrap our hands around, smiling when we see this person rousing from the warm blanket sheets and frowning at her disrupted sleep but we just want to plant a kiss on her forehead for how cute she gets when she’s grumpy.
Ever loved someone’s invigorating scent so much you just hope to nestle in her embrace and accompany her through the night?
Truth is, our physical bodies may try to prevent us from getting even more hurt from a failed relationship, but our mental self, the portion that has got scarred through the process may not back down as it invites such thoughts of happiness we could get with that special someone we desire.
The pain and longing is still due to that scar that has never gotten removed and if we don’t find ways to remove it, no one is going to be even more hurt but ourself.

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Reborn. Realise. Recover.

The stomach growled as Mum wheeled me into the hospital. It was a sight which attracted many stares, with many wondering what is this young lad doing here?
Calmly we sat around and waited the clock to strike 3. Then, several nurses brought in a blue gown for me to put on- which I did so, wrongly. In the end, I had to get the nurse to do it for me, a moment that was both embarrassing and a tad uncomfortable. Everything happened in quick succession, no sooner when I worn the gown was I pushed to the operating theatre reception area. You could hear babies crying as the nurses do their very best to calm them down. Patients got pushed in and out of the theatres, some partially unconscious and looked as though as they had gone through a tumultuous battle.
I stayed cool while waiting for the doc to arrive. Checks after checks they ensured I know what I will be going through minutes after. The wait was long and agonizing- I just wanted to get it over and done with.
It was almost half past four when he arrived and without further delay they pushed me in as Mum grabbed my hand tightly. She teared and forced a smile as I went and. The last words she heard from the doctor was: “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back to OCS.”
Those words were melody to my ears, I confidently knew I was in good hands and let go of mum’s hand comfortably, reassuring her everything will be fine. That feeling took a swing when I became alone. I couldn’t see where I was headed to and that unknown brought me to a new level of fear. What did the theatre look like? How will they make me sleep? Countless questions I should have asked but didn’t.
Enter, a cold sterile room capable of storing your family’s meat supply for a good one week. The heavy metallic tang was so strong, you feel the instant need to throw up, but the deep breath you took in to prevent oneself from going crazy, immediately forces everything back into your gut. Then, without much notice they shift you from your warm nestle of blankets onto a table that was piercingly chilly that left you shivering. As the anesthatist spoke to you, he’s already doing what he needs to do- send you into dreamland. For this brief moment your body cools, you start to smile and feel good as though it’s the best feeling on Earth. You smile and before you know it you’re ready to be cut open. The next 2 over hours was unknown to me but upon being pushed back into the reception area I felt my teeth chatter, my hands throbbing uncontrollably and words many couldn’t quite comprehend began spewing from my mouth. It was the morphine. It had to be. But I liked the feeling of having it, it was great.
It took a while for me to settle down but I only remembered seeing Mum by my side and it was the most comforting moment after being under the knife. It was a moment to cherish, a moment where you know, no matter how big you are, how strong you may be, how independent you usually are, you’ll still long to have your Mum by your side in critical situations just like this.
It was a op well done and no one but me could have been happier to have finally gotten the worst out of the way. (Especially when the op was an impromptu one where I only had a day’s notice to mentally prepare myself.)
Hospitals are horrible places to be, as much as you hope, you never need to visit one, unless you are expecting a child, of course that will be a spectacle to behold. But more oftenly you encounter many painful interactions here. When old age catches up with you, sickness is inevitable and with that comes suffering. The old man beside me was suffering from severe pneumonia. He was struggling to live properly as a normal human being. Every moment of his life, lying on the bed was torture.
The happiness of being reborn with a repaired leg was hampered when right in front of your eyes you witnessed scenes of how fragile life can really be. We only got one life and it’s a huge responsibility to take care of it to avoid more complications in the future.
The road to recovery has reached a new milestone today and indeed I get more and more excited each day as it’s a day nearer to leading a normal life again.
Next week is going to be an exciting one with so many things planned and I just can’t wait. Opportunities present themselves to me and with only one life, one precious life, what could I possibly be waiting for? 🙂

Doctors.

Mum cried. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, just one I didn’t like. She bemoaned having to see her son suffer such an injury after we started discussing how to make our way down to the floating platform for it will be truly a great hassle and felt worried of how I would feel seeing my friends throw their jockey caps into the blue sky.
However, that was the one month ago Darren.
Seeing another doctor today, it was going to be difficult to recount the whole story again and bringing another party through that horrific accident but I was unusually cool. We discussed and understood the course of action better and turns out, the situation wasn’t as bad as how I feared it to be.
Yet it evolved into a light hearted session, learning from the doc of how he treated a similar case where this cadet was about to finish his ocs course and was dealt such a blow. What shocked me further was how he believed in me, believed that I can recover well enough and promised if really possible, to help me eventually to go through bmt again. Everyone that I have spoken too either passed of insensitive remarks of how I have a more relaxed life now or felt that I shouldn’t have any idea of wanting to return.
For that last two weeks I have sort of given up partially at the thought of making a comeback, cause even the doctors before, crushed every bit of hope in me. But not this new guy.
There were parts of the conversations which I will remember as sentences that gave me new hope, but I shall spare you the details.
Have got to thank such wonderful parents who go all out just to find the best solutions to such problems. Without them this new hope wouldn’t have surfaced.
Yet what is the main drive of this entry is to show the big difference doctors can be in one’s lives. If any of you are reading this are current doctors in practise or doctors to be, be doctors who are heroes. Don’t be doctors who just eye the monetary remuneration, cause there are doctors who are really like that and it irks me. Your words affects patients a great deal so speak wisely. Can’t emphasise how important is it to have a doctor with good ethics.
It was a bumpy month and not to get my hopes up too high but today is the first day since that fateful day where I feel hopeful, optimistic and ready for battle. Mum don’t feel sad cause, to those who have written me off to not being able to do those stuff again, I’m ready to re start this journey and it will begin right after the op with rehabilitation and physio.
Today’s a breakthrough.

Signs.

Invitation, indifferent.
Capsized, helpless.
Mysteries, non-existant.
Games, belittled.
Island, expressionless.
Pact, I failed.
A month, I longed.
You never came, never waited.
Enough signs. Make them stop.

It’s no longer my knee.

With each appointment the diagnosis gets clearer. Each time I enter the doctor’s room I’m always keeping my hopes high, anticipating for something good or in my case at least some improvements here and there. Yet the stark contrast is experienced and as the explanations grow in detail, what initially began as thoughts of a simple injury has morphed into a matter of huge gravity.

What started out as: 3 torn ligaments, 1 surgery needed, able to heal on its own and 9 months to recovery.
Became: 4 torn ligaments, 2 surgeries needed (potentially), might require an allograft (will talk about more later) and 1 year to full recovery.

Damage done. It can’t get any worse than this can it? You take away the ability to run and even walk from a young man who keeps such an active lifestyle is no different from asking for his life. The trauma of the accident still lingers as I recalled the incident to the doc today and deep down this pressure point of not being able to do normal ns will remain. Yes it will subside over time, but a valley it shall remain etched within me. The road to recovery is an arduous one and taking my first few steps with my right leg today was horrifying. As I raised my leg, and place it gingerly on the ground the image of the ball of my knee jutting out flashed across my face. Not just subtly but vividly. And that hindered me to want to add any weight on the leg fearing of the worst case scenario of seeing that repulsive sight of a dislocated knee again.

I couldn’t do it, I simply couldn’t.

Recovery is now a mental game. A mental test in fact.

That’s not the only mental thought that has been driving me crazy since this afternoon’s visit.
Allograft. Commonly used but still so worrying. The idea of having someone else’s ligament in you is freaky. Despite the supposed checks done to ensure it’s safe, how can anyone be fully sure? Airplanes are generally safe but yet we still have a missing plane that still can’t be found. Out of thousands of ligaments used that ain’t yours one may pass the check and be undetected for some infectious disease that it may carry. Who’s going to be responsible when that happens then. You can criticise me for my lack of confidence in our advance medical labs but mind you, any probability is a probability. Still undecided of what should be used in this scenario. Definitely did not expect my knee to require multiple reconstructions and the need to incorporate someone else’s body part. My knee is no longer truly my knee now and due to the severe damage, it can never return to be as good as my left one (unlike situations that involve a pure acl tear.)

Ultimately the same question remains: what’s my purpose for going through this nightmare, Why me?