Dear Kitty

I've always been keen to read this memoir for many years. I remember reading about it in the papers when I was still in school, and the name Anne Frank stuck in my mind. I never did find the book till recently and finally got the chance to immerse myself in it.

It's been awhile since I read a novel this thick. Admittedly, lately I rather read simpler stuff because I can't wait to reach the end. With rosters being quite tight, I thought I'd never get time to read. Luckily, I persevered :p

I had reservations when I got the book. Anne Frank was a teenage girl. Could I relate? Could she hold my interest? I know it's archaic to think like that despite the many commends she has received.

I smiled when I read her first entry though. The way she wrote, light-hearted and warm. It was harder to put down than I earlier perceived.

Her entries were honest. I got sucked into the innocent abandon she wrote with. There were also entries with so much details, it felt like the journalist she aspired to be. As I read through her pages, her words felt as though they were for me. It felt as if I was Kitty, as if I could receive letters from the past. As I read more, "yours truly Anne Frank" was a friend I knew growing up. The different phases she went through, the fear, frustrations, hopes, despairs, all of it as if she conveyed personally to me. How a person so young like her, in such circumstances as hers, was able to keep pulling through, I cannot imagine. Makes one rethink about perspectives of life, the wants, the needs, obsessions and inspirations.

Reading the final pages today, my heart sinks at the unhappy ending my friend has to face. If you knew her, many like her, you'd ask why do certain people even exist. And therein lies all the contradictions about life.

68 years on this very day that I read her final words, the Secret Annexe was raided. Reading the after words, I hear a heart thumping so fast in the distant. I wish I could save her.

"I want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people, even those I’ve never met. I want to go on living even after my death! And that’s why I’m so grateful to God for having given me this gift, which I can use to develop myself and to express all that’s inside me!"

- words from Anne Frank -

 

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Willy Bonkers

The blood turned out to be a side effect from the operation. A bloody mouth I had.

Retracing my words, I mentioned the nurses monitored my pressure and temperature every hour. Every time they came to check, they kept asking if I had gone to the loo.

Number 1: I felt like I was still on heavy anesthesia. I could barely reply them, much less take a leak.

Number 2: I had been fasting since 7.30am. I came out of the operating theater almost 5pm and didn't have anything to eat or drink, except for the drips. What was I suppose to dispose?

Finally at 5am the following day I had the urge to pee. I could almost hear a sigh of relief from the nurses. So after they took my temperature and pressure, I made my way to the toilet, trying my best not to make a sound so I won't wake the ReliableOne.

I stood. I tried. I panicked.

I needed to pee, yet nothing was flowing out. What the hell was happening to me? Is this why the nurses kept asking if I took a leak? Possible outcomes include a broken willy? Why wasn't I informed?!

How was I going to live with the urine bag? Could I still fly? What if turbulence broke the bag somehow? NOOOOOO...

I tried to rationalize the situation: doctor did a job upstairs, why would it affect downstairs? Come on, Sharman. Make some sense.

Yes biology and I don't go too well but I couldn't find the connection. I concluded I was merely freaking out for no good reason then calmed myself down. Closed my eyes and let it flowwww...

Peeing never felt this satisfying.

 

I later found out anesthesia could affect your bladder's mechanical work. Something like a temporary shutdown while it's in effect. See, I'm only filled with crap because of the anesthesia.

 

Deep Slumber

I never knew the anesthesia would last for so long. I was out for almost 14 hours. I wonder if my lack of sleep that day had any effect for my knock out.

I remember the nurses coming to check my blood pressure and temperature every hour. Each time they came, I would only be awake for about 5 seconds then I'd be back to slumber land.

I remember my throat feeling uncomfortable after the operation. Like I had phlegm stuck there. You know how annoying that is? It felt worse because it hurt when I tried to clear it, and the anesthesia made me feel woozy. The good thing was, the anesthesia made me feel woozy. So after a few attempts to get it cleared away, I decided to wave the white flag and go back to my deep slumber. Not hard to do at all.

But then I'd wake up every so often for a few seconds and I'd feel that uncomfortable phlegm stuck in my throat again. It's really really really annoying because I felt really helpless unable to do anything about it. I couldn't even whine!

So finally after many 5 seconds wake, I decided enough was enough and I could not take it any longer. I mustered all my energy I could find and tried to signal my bedside buddies for help.

I. Needed. To. Spit.

I turned. They brough me a cup. I closed my eyes. Held my breath. And cleared my throat. Ouch. Dammit.

Then spat that damned phlegm out of my mouth. I felt like a warrior that just owned a monster-that-wiped-out-an-entire-village.

In my semi-conscious state, I stared blankly. Baffled. What just came out of my mouth? That doesn't look green. Or yellow. Matter of fact, it's blood red. Fuck. Did the doctor tingle with my eyes instead? Have I gone colour blind?

Why is it red?!

Suddenly I felt like a boxing champ because I needed to spit out more blood. Round two.

Then panic loomed again. Why was I spitting blood? Is this normal? Should I be freaking out instead? I felt kinda cool because usually when people spit out blood, they're in pain but I didn't feel anything. I was doing it effortlessly. BUT WHY WAS I SPITTING OUT BLOOD? Was there some internal bleeding I should be worried about? Did I need to see the doctor again? Was I going to die? I did what I thought was the best idea then. If I was going to die then...

 

I'm going to sleep on it first. This anesthesia is doing me too good.

 

Balled Out Of My Mouth

I decided to get my tonsils removed a few days ago, and now I'm food deprieved. I can't wait to have my solid food again. But the frappes are a welcome!

I was initially looking forward to this operation, to the better quality of life it promised and because it was my first ever operation. You know, the excitement of doing something for the very first time? Yes I'm weird. Then as the days got nearer, I started to freak out a little. I started wondering the what if's. What if things go wrong? What if they find something they weren't suppose to? What if I wake up in the middle of the op? What if...

I have a side of me that has affinity for morbid thoughts.

Well the day came, and as I sat in the room with the ReliableOne counting down the minutes, I began to wonder.

Were they really going to wheel me down in my bed? I felt like I was taking advantage of these nice nurses. Perfectly healthy (except the tonsils) 25 year old over-stretched human being going for a free ride. That's not how my momma taught me. Or was I gonna walk down to the OT? Walking around in the gown made me feel obscene and that would be so undramatic of an entrance, no?

So in the end, I was wheeled down in my bed. There I lay, not sure where to look, what to think of, what to do. I tried to act natural and look at the ceiling, but not knowing where I was going was even more nerve-wrecking. In the cockpit, we always have one of the pilot's heads up. Usually that's me because I like to see what's coming. Hence, I felt a bit crippled and out of my place in that bed.

Let me just say, for my years of being infatuated with Grey's Anatomy, being a patient surely feels shitty. You're like a slab of meat being pushed around, nervous and cold. Then everyone around is prancing about doing something important, and you're just there humming to yourself. They lift you, slide you, poke you, and you realize the Operating Theater isn't that grand. Or much of a theater at all. So much for dreaming of a concert. It felt a little morgue-ish in fact.

The anesthetic doctor was a kind old man. He tried to entertain me, asking me what I did, where I studied. But I was plain nervous giving him simplest answers. Then I met my ENT for a whole 2 seconds, said hello and went missing. Then I was back to mr anesthetic and he was telling me what he was going to intoxicate me with. He said he was starting with the painkillers, and that's going to make me sleepy.

I was flying by the end of that shot.

Seriously, I felt why would I need anesthetic if I already felt mighty fine with just the painkillers alone? Then the anesthetic kicked in.

And I was knocked out cold.

For a surgery that was suppose to take half an hour, I decided to be a bloody patient. Took the doctors an hour and ten minutes instead ;p

 

Dear Dan Dan

'Da-Daaah!'


Sudden weight upon my back. Sticky fingers round my eyes. Cheerio breath in my face.


'Da-Daaah! Guess Who?'


You never had to guess with Daniel. Perched on the stairs above the landing. Same ambush every time.


I might step aside, let him crash into the wall. Or play along if I felt kind. Fight back more often, floor him. Times I really did forget. Not many.


'Da-Daaah! Guess What?'


'Did you see the hillycopters? Can you guess where I was hiding?'


Oh, Dan. I wish.

- "Hide & Seek" -