I've Been Hugged!

I am a physical person. Beyond the contact required for a proper and thorough physical examination, I like to put my hand on my patient's shoulder, or hold another's hand - to reassure, to console, to convince. But a hug? A patient of mine took me completely by surprise one day. She was a frail elderly Indian lady who spoke little Malay. As I helped her sit up on her bed, she put her hands behind my head and hoisted herself up, then brought her head to mine, held it there, forehead to forehead for all of 5 seconds while making gleeful sounds! When she finally let go of my head I just stood there and gave my house officer a stunned look. Her daughter then added that it was her way of saying that she liked me! How cute. Once, when I was a house officer, I treated a lady for hypoglycemia. When she regained full consciousness she sat up in bed and hugged me, expressing her gratitude with a dramatic "thank you doctor, you saved my life!". Maybe she was still delirious from the effect of hypoglycemia. In a more sombre situation, a young man, full of grief, just lunged forward and hugged me after I broke the news that his mother would not survive despite all that we had done. Moments like these serve to remind us that above and beyond our ability to wield a scalpel or accurately diagnose and treat an illness, there is something else that is powerfully therapeutic - for patient and doctor alike. Like a hug!

The Most Difficult Thing

What is the most difficult thing you have ever done? In my world, I am not required to be a genius; yet one skill had eluded me for most of my adult life. In that aspect I should be considered a moron, for this was a task a former boss of mine used to describe as something "even attendants and cleaners in the hospital can do" but which I could not (I mean no disrespect - I appreciate what the hospital support staff do). I have been a Mensa member since my teens; I perform medical procedures; I am a Bejeweled hi-scorer but I COULD NOT DRIVE A CAR! I had in my possession a valid driving licence which was practically useless. I did not think I could reverse a car out of the driveway even if there was an emergency. So what went wrong? I passed my driving test (though it took 2 attempts), zipping through PJ at lunch hour in a Proton Iswara. After obtaining my licence my dad would take me driving around the neighbourhood, outings that sent him into panic mode and which forever cemented the belief that I could not drive a car. Truth be told, driving terrified me. I did not feel in control - I could not shift the gear while looking at the road, and if I looked at the stick shift during shift change the car veered off its path. It was just so difficult for me! Somehow, somewhere there must be neurotransmission dysfunction. Psychomotor dissociation. Uncoupling of intention and execution. After that I never wanted to try again. It did not help that I always had someone to drive me around; first my father, then my husband. Dream car? Never had one. Petrol price up again? Not affected directly. Beneath this blissful ignorance was a sense of failure. My wings were clipped; I was pathetically dependant. Today I am driving again; I have been driving for the last 5 months. Let just say circumstances dictated that I drive or crawl to work. So I got myself a new car - my first car! I will always still be a psychomotor retard, but haven't you people heard of the wonderful invention called automatic transmission? I took intensive refresher lessons (my "instructor" was none other than my husband who was as hysterical as my father; fortunately our marriage survived my driving) and on the 1st of June 2006 I made my solo trip to work...intact! Pure relief spilled from every pore in my body and I called my husband at work just to announce that I had made it (something in the spirit of look-ma-I-am-walking)! I know this is trivial to many of you but this is a BIG deal to me. It is no more the act of operating a vehicle than it is one of overcoming your doubts and fear. Today I am driving, secure in the knowledge that in an emergency I am able to send someone to the hospital. Today I am driving; who knows what I can do tomorrow? This is how powerful it is, this lesson that things are difficult only if you believe them to be. My sister also took up driving again this year, many years after obtaining her licence. She put it succinctly - emancipating. 2006 is a good year indeed for the women in my family.

The Best Place To Call Home

According to the Malaysian Urban Indicators Network, which measures the sustainability of development in towns and cities, North and South Kuching emerged as the second and third best city to live in respectively (NST, November 5, 2006). Hooray! My excitement isn't without reason, although I am not from Sarawak. I have lived 4 significant years of my life in Kuching. I loved the city and its people, and the lack of traffic congestion and garbage littering the roads. I appreciated its simplicity and unhurried pace, and the fact that I felt safe on the street. All right, I must admit that I did find the cat statues in town somewhat kitschy. Check out this picture.


My husband and I had to move back to the Klang Valley about a year ago for his postgraduate training. Someday I will return...or maybe relocate to Malacca, which by the way, came out tops in the evaluation. Chicken rice balls washed down with cendol ais? I can live with that!