Irregular heartbeat...
Emergency referral to  see cardiologist

X Ray and scans

After over six hours of waiting, I was finally led to a room where they drew some blood samples. Six hours after entering emergency, they still could not and did not tell me what was wrong with me.

After another bout of waiting, i was told to follow some signs that led to the X Ray and scan area. I waited a bit more and finally the door slid open, and a lady beckoned me in.

I paused a bit when I stepped into the room. It looked so familiar. The equipment. The layout. The feel. The sight. The smell (even though there was none, except a slight sterile scent...).

The technician told me to stand and wait for further instructions. I stood and eyed the room. I felt this surge of emotions and tears overwhelm me.

I saw mum lying there on the bed... I saw tubes connected to her nose and to her thin, frail arms.... I saw her sunken cheeks, her bulging eyes, her weak smile. I saw mum lie there and try to brave a smile. I saw myself hold her hand and nod to her in a way to tell her that everything will be ok.

  I cried. The tears just burst out.

I turned around so the techncian , who was busy adjusting the equipment behind a big glass window, could not see me.

How familiar this all felt. How painfully familiar! How many times did mum go on her own to be probed and scanned? How many times did dad do it without me knowing? And here I am, all alone, Standing before this massive machine waiting to scan me, terrified and pain stricken, overwhelmed by memories and images. I was reminded of what happened several hours earlier when the check in nurse asked me who my emergency contact was. The first name and face that came to my mind was that of my ex. I hesitated, I thought more as the nurse looked at me perhaps wondering why it took me so long to answer a simple question. Finally, I gave another name. This is partly why I dread hospitals. They will ask you questions you do not wish to answer, you do not feel comfortable answering. They will confront you with the facts and realities that you cannot change... The fact that you are ill, the fact that you are in need of assistance, and the fact that you really are alone in the world and have no one you can turn to (except the kindness of strangers and compassion and professionalism doctors and nurses)  if you fall ill or die. 

There was no one else in the xray room but me. But my mind filled the room with moments that have long passed, filled it with people who too have long passed. 

the xray machine whirred and on a dsipay I  saw my name and date of birth. I saw the machine inch closer and then the technician bellowed and told me to stand in a certain position and not to move.

I breathed deep, even though it was exactly by doing that that hurt me the most, and held my breathe. The machine beeped and moved behind me. I closed my eyes and felt the tears drying.

"Deep breathe now.... Deep breathe....". I told myself. There is nothing and nobody else in the room but me. Deep breathe now. Deep breathe.

Be brave now. Be brave.

Return to hospital

Return to hospital

My colleague, the same one who told me to stay home and rest last week, urged me to go, but I have been very resistant. I just dread, dread hospitals.

But there comes a time when you must face what you dread most. I just didn't think that twice in two months, I'd have to return somewhere where I've had nightmares about, and occassionally still have dreams about even till this day, almost two years after mum died. 

My colleague got out a sheet of paper with information about the walk in clinique associated with the Montreal Jewish Hospital. I'm no stranger to the hospital... Back in the day when I was volunteering i would i'd once a week. My bereavement group sessions took place there. I'd just not think I'd one day have to go there myself...

At my colleague's urging I decided to bit the pain and pride and call the hospital. I was told I could go straight away. I hung up the phone and inadvertently felt tears in my eyes. I was crying. 

Why? Is it fear? Is it dread? Is it fear that something terrible will be discovered (and if so, isn't it better early then never)? Is it fear that I'd have to spend time at the hospital and not habe anyone come see me or take care of me if something is seriously wrong? 

It's not fear of dying that made me cry. It's the fear of facing demons and seeing the sick. It's fear of seeing and feeling overwhelmed by compassion, feeling overwhelmed by the possible question of "Could I have done more?" For mum? For dad? For my friends Carmen and Tehwei?

 

The chest pain is really unbearable. I feel it when I move, I feel it when I just try to get up from lying down... I feel it just when I breathe a little bit harder, or talk a little bit louder. I felt it badly as I walked up the hill trying to get to the office. I was so out of breath, panting so heavily and aching badly...

I have to go in now. I have to no matter what.  

Return to hospital

Return to hospital

My colleague, the same one who told me to stay home and rest last week, urged me to go, but I have been very resistant. I just dread, dread hospitals.

But there comes a time when you must face what you dread most. I just didn't think that twice in two months, I'd have to return somewhere where I've had nightmares about, and occassionally still have dreams about even till this day, almost two years after mum died. 

My colleague got out a sheet of paper with information about the walk in clinique associated with the Montreal Jewish Hospital. I'm no stranger to the hospital... Back in the day when I was volunteering i would i'd once a week. My bereavement group sessions took place there. I'd just not think I'd one day have to go there myself...

At my colleague's urging I decided to bit the pain and pride and call the hospital. I was told I could go straight away. I hung up the phone and inadvertently felt tears in my eyes. I was crying. 

Why? Is it fear? Is it dread? Is it fear that something terrible will be discovered (and if so, isn't it better early then never)? Is it fear that I'd have to spend time at the hospital and not habe anyone come see me or take care of me if something is seriously wrong? 

It's not fear of dying that made me cry. It's the fear of facing demons and seeing the sick. It's fear of seeing and feeling overwhelmed by compassion, feeling overwhelmed by the possible question of "Could I have done more?" For mum? For dad? For my friends Carmen and Tehwei?

 

The chest pain is really unbearable. I feel it when I move, I feel it when I just try to get up from lying down... I feel it just when I breathe a little bit harder, or talk a little bit louder. I felt it badly as I walked up the hill trying to get to the office. I was so out of breath, panting so heavily and aching badly...

I have to go in now. I have to no matter what.  

Day six of the illness

6 Feb 2014

060214.2144

Day six of my illness. Woke up to more coughing, body aches and my head that continues to spin and an inability to stand steadily. Two days ago (was it two? Days and time seem to have so little meaning and are so blurred...), I called my older cousin to come get me and bring me to the emergency room. Actually my auntie called on my behalf. I could barely muster the energy to get up on my feet, let alone speak. Originally, my auntie wanted to take me to the hospital by motorcycle, but I I cannot.... I cannot hold on to the handle and was afraid I'd lose my balance and fall off. I was that weak...

The "cold" did not subside, not with the cocktail of over-the-counter pills that a pharmacist had prescribed me. To think of it, I had no clue what the pills were. He just asked me for my symptoms, and there and then put something together and asked me to pay nt$150 (approx $5). It was dodgy, but I thought little of it except to get better. But I did not get better.

For two days I languished. Sores, heavy coughing and difficulty breathing. The discomfort was unbearable, and every morning I'd wake up with much phlegm that was thick, toxic and dark. Then, the morning I decided I needed to check myself into the hospita, I really felt I was dying. I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I had trouble thinking straight. I tried to do simple sums in my head, but could not. I tried to answer simple questions, like what is my name and where I am, but could not. My body was sweating profusely, my clothes and the bedsheets were soaked with my sweat. I needed medical intervention, as much as I resisted and despised going to a hospital (especially after losing both my parents in one....) 

I staggered downstairs and lay on the sofa. My friends were chatting away and preparing to leave. I was in a foul mood and could barely speak. I felt terrible unable to join them for the rest of their trip, for they were leaving the next day. But I knew if I were to accompany them and head to the north, no body would be able to take care of me if I got worse. I needed to stay in the south, in Chiayi where at least I have a network of relatives who can care for me and help me if something terrible happened. 

I lay there and felt my head and body burning as I waited for my older cousin to come by with the car. My auntie gave me some broth with vegetables and clams to restore some energy, and I asked her to warm up some tomato juice. Luckily I did not throw up, because the night before I did, and all I had for dinner came pouring out. When around midnight I felt really hungry  and tried to have a slice of cake, I took one bite and barely had the time to swallow when i felt the nauseating feeling of my stomach rising up to my throat. I had to spit the piece of cake I bit on and stop eating. I had not eaten since then.

I asked my auntie for some pen and paper. I scribbled a note to my friends. I felt apologetic that I could not be with them, and thanked them for coming all this way to visit me and be with me. At the end, I wrote down two things: "everything" and an arrow pointing to the name my nephew, after that "20yrs, 30yrs, 40yrs"; and the name of my cat and an arrow pointing to the name of my ex, and the word "love" after his name. 

It may seem so silly and so ridiculous. But at moments, I really felt I was not going to make it. Those two simple lines lay out my will and final wishes. Everything i have to my nephew, whom I love and cherish, and who is perhaps the closest I will ever have to a future family (at this point...), to be given in three installments, so that there's no risk of evrything being wasted away when he gets too much all at once. And the cat, my loyal feline companion and love, to the greatest love I've ever known, regardless of what we are now to one another, regardless of the fact he has already moved on and made clear we are just friends now, and because of the fact (as I have been told by so many...) I am still so naive and so loyal and unable to move on... On the brink of death (or at least what you imagine or feel it to be...), all is forgotten, all can be forgiven.

We drove to the Chiayi Christian Hospital, ironically right opposite the Nice (that is the name....) Hotel where mum and I stayed one of the last times we were both down here. I have memories of me waiting for her at the train station for her to arrive, and how happy I was to see her step off the train and to know she arrived safely... I have memories of us having a lovely breskfast together in the lobby, a healthy buffet of congee and an assortment of traditional dishes and drinks and plentiful fruits... It felt like ages ago, but I still can remember the joy I felt when i could see mum eat healthily without vomiting and the joy I felt to see her wake up in the morning after a good night of comfortable and relaxing sleep... 

It took less than ten minutes for me to register and be seen by someone at the emergency room. The efficiency of the medical system here never ceases to amaze me. A nurse first asked me of my symptoms and details of my travels and contacts with people, and then I was seen by a doctor who determined it most likely is (as I suspected and so dreaded...) the H1N1 influenza. A bed was assigned to me and I was told to keep my mask on (which I've been doing more or less since I started to cough four days earlier). They planned to give me some IV drips to replenish lost nutrients and fluids, and I need to undergo a rapid screening to see whether I indeed have the potentially deadly virus. 

The nurse stuck a need into my left arm. I cringed, and was reminded of the many times I saw mum (and to a lesser extent, dad) having needles stuck in their arms. She prepared the needle for the drip and connected me to a flask containing clear liquid that hung on a hanger. The tube dyed red as my blood flowed back through it due to the sudden pressure changes. A good backflow is a a sign that the connection was done well, this much I knew from the dozens of times I've seen it done on mum and dozens of times I've had to monitor whether the IV drip is working properly. 

I felt my arm go numb then prick with pins and needles. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, and let the noise and hustle of the ER ward wash over me. Doctors and nurses shouting commands and orders, patients moaning, relatives and friends chattering and some asking questions in attempts to understand the full extent of the pain and suffering of their loved one. The hospital is a place filled with human suffering, blighted by the (for the most part...) human experience of illness and struggle against death. But  it is also a place where human compassion and love can bloom and manifest. I watched the "white angels" scurry around the ward trying to keep abrest of each patient's vitals while constantly maintaining an air of cool and patience. I saw the dark, thin and twisted bodies of patients lie on several beds, all hoping for a cure or at least some kind relieve from the mental and physical pains this constantly aging and vulnerable sack of skin and bone is bringing them. At the hospital, regardless of wealth or origin, regardless of background or upbringing, we are all brought together by illness and death, by hope of betterment and prolonging our lives. 

Is it not in brushes with illness and death that we experience higher states of understanding? It is bizarre, for I could barely think straight from the fever, profuse sweating and another cocktail of medication the nurse asked me to ingest. But in that haze and fuzziness of my mind, there seemed to be this clarity of thought, a clarity best summed by the words: 

"It is only so much. 

It is only so much. 

Life is only so much..."

I had similar realisations as I watched my parents slowly lose their signs of life in my arms. In the end, nothing, not the anger you harbour, not the fears you dread, not the unknowns you fear matter. In the end, a clear conscience and the knowledge that you have done your best and lived your live to the fullest with no regrets matter.

I closed my eyes, felt the sweat soak my clothes, roll down my cheeks and dampen my hair. A dull, dull pain seemed to vibrate through my body and affect every body and muscle. I watched my breath, as short and laboured as it was, and tried to br aware of each moment. What else can you do when you are under tremendous physical and mental duress and pain but try to calm the mind and be one with the moment and remind yourself nothing will last foreever, even this pain and this moment?

The nurse came back with a thin white tube that had some sort of brush on the end. "I'm going to do a nasal examination to determine what type of influenza virus you have. It's going to hurt a bit but do not sneeze under any circumstance!"

She stuck it into one nostril first, and I felt this sharp discomfort, this prickling sensation in my nostril as she slid the tube in deeper and twisted it around inside. She then removed it and repeated the proceedure in the other nostril. All the while I closed my eyes and let her probe, swallowing hard and holding in the tears until she removed the tube. There was yellowish mucus on the brushy end of the long thin plastic tube. She said it would take around 40 minutes to an hour for the results to come out. 

My cousin sat next to me.  Even in great physical discomfort, I felt bad taking up her time, as she has two young children at home and it's right in the middle of her vacation. But she reassured me family don't think or say such things as "being a burden" or "causing trouble". She told me to just rest.

But rest I could not. I closed my eyes, but could feel the transparent tube feeding into my vein and body. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and my vision became blurred. I remember the nurse coming to check on me a few times, and seeing my cousin there next to me every time I opened my eyes. I remember hearing a middle aged man shout loudly at someone, presumably his wife, lying in the bed in front of me who was unsconscious and was unable to respond. I remember my cough causing tremendous pain that spread around my body.... I remember staring up at the ceiling and the white fluroscent lighting. I remember the last few words I wrote, and wondered if they were enough to express what I wanted if I were to no wake up again... I thought about my loved ones, about those dearest to my heart, and how I had kept news of the severity of my illness and the fact that I've been taken to Emergency quiet. Even to my own brother, who by then had boarded a plane and left on holiday, I did not tell, for I did not want him to cancel a trip that he and his wife have been looking forward to for a long time. And I told my cousin not to tell her mum (my aunt, dad's older sister), so as not to worry her. She's already undergoing some kind of medical treatment, and is herself very weak, so I didn't wish to alarm her.  Besides. if I were to go, I want to go quietly...

I don't know how much time passed when I suddenly heard my name. My cousin told me the news. I have indeed contracted the a potentially deadly influenza virus, a strain of the H1N1 mutation that is simply called "Influenza A". Dozens have died from it already this flu season, and a strain of it killed thousands back in 2009. Yet another strain of it killed over two hundred million back in the early twentieth century. Commonly known as "swine flu" or " avian flu", H1N1, or so variation of it, is cobstsnlty evolving and adapting and spreading in the human population, even though it's origins may have come from swine and birds. Left untreated, the patient's immune system will continually weaken from the constant fever, causing delirium, extreme exhaustion, muscle pains and sores as well as severe coughing. Other symptoms may be diarrhea, vomiting and stomach upset (and strangely, possible constipation....). Children and the elderly are especially susceptible. But it appears people like me are not immune...

The nurse came by again and handed me several pills. One was a capsule, yellow and grey in colour, and there were three other round pills, one of which was bright pink, one of which white and one of which was orange. She gave me some water and told me to take the pills and assured me I will be alright and can be discharged the very same day, pending my fever subsiding. The pills and IV drips, and the fact that I was constantly breaking out in sweat, are supposed to help cool my body down. 

More time passed in the din and bustle of the emergency ward. The nurse appeared again and handed me a pamphlet, and said I could go home. She told me to stay home and avoid public places, and that I need to keep a constant watch on my body temperature. Any more signs of fever and I need to return to the hospital for further treatment. 

I thanked her and was relieved. I had I needed to be quarantined or something. Indeed, on board all flights into Taiwan, the government makes the airline play this health awareness video which warns all inbound travelers to report to the authorities should they fall ill within a week of arriving in Taiwan and have symptoms of fever, coughing and body aches. I have all the symptoms, and should have perhaps gone for a check up much much sooner instead of languishing in bed for almost three days... Better late than never, but the longer I didn't seek proper treatment, the more damage the virus was wreaking on my body.

Still weak and sweating profusely, even though the fever was gone, or at least under control. 

Little did I know, the following few days would be a physically tormenting experience. Most of the time, I lay in bed, getting up only to eat and to drink and to use the washroom, drifting in and out of sleep, coughing profusely especially at night and feeling the discomfort of large quantities of phlegm stuck in my lungs and throat. Memories of mum and dad drifted in and out of my mind, and there would be moments when I would cry from the physical discomfort and the regrets of having fallen so ill and uncertain what would happen to me. In several dreams I had during this period I would see my parents.  A part of me wanted to Join them, to leave this world, because frankly I don't see much meaning or purpose with my life. All the things and people  I care about seem to have settled down and are fine without me. My family, my nephew, the ex... No more worries about their happiness or well-being, no more "missions" to fulfill, like unused to have, In which I would try yo bring a smile or add some colours into the life of someone I care about deeply.  Besides, a rough  will has been drafted, along with a letter of appreciation for all I am grateful for in life. What else is there left to say...?

 

The illness just compounded the pain and made me realise if I were to leave, I would leave now quietly and without much attachment or noise, without much fuss or fury. It's how I would want to go. I could go so quietly, and nobody would really miss me, nobody would really ache or hurt. And that is a good thing. Nothing is more painful than being too attached and the hurt of someone who is left behind. Nothing. 

Go quietly, as quietly as I came into this world, without regrets or pain or concerns. Solitude and being alone too long can have such a terrible effect on a person's soul and mind. Solitude and being on the brink of life and death (or so it feels like...). 

4 March

Over a week since my return to Montreal. No great big fanfare for my birthday (in fact, my brother only realised it was my birthday when I spoke to him this past weekend), no special welcome or anything in particular. It's back to life as usual, as if I've not been away at all.

It does feel like I've not been away. Besides the experience of being so ill, the three weeks went by so quickly and I don't remember doing much worth mentioning. The only thing I "took" from my trip is the ordeal of the illness. Memories of the  fever and burrning sensations and pain all over still makes my skin crawl. Even to this day, I still feel pain in my chest and have trouble breathing when I lie down.

 I know, I know, I know I should go see a doctor, but I just hate going to doctors and clinics. I just bear the waiting, and having my health checked. I'm in fact shaken just thinking about it. I've seen too many doctors, waited too long at hospitals, been too often to appointments and heard so much disappointing and heart breaking news I just avoid it all like the plague...

So I've been staying home most of the time, and I have very little desire to see or talk to people. Its turning out to be a very solitary start to my 30s. I've been watching a lot of series online, my suitcase is still unpacked, a big project I need to work on still un-started.  I just feel so weak, and so tired, and the coughing and chest pains make me tired even more. 

The cold is really unbearable, and it's already early March. I thought being away for a while I'd escape the full brunt of winter, but it seems this winter is here to stay. At least the days are getting longer, so there is more light and it's less depressing.

So theres not much to report really. Very solitary life, keeping a low profile, keeping to myself and staying out of harm's way...