Room 21

“She’s as stubborn as an ox”, he informed me. Shaking his head emphatically, husband folded his arms across the chest. Today, the white polo t-shirt with Burberry's signature collar stretched tightly to accomodate his plumpness, his khakis gripped below the paunch. Wife wore a tailored floral dress that hung on her thin frame. Her indignation seemed to take over her entire being, making her pretty eyes bigger. They flashed with anger at her husband of two months. Her hands flew up, then went to the sides of the chair, and back to her lap.
“ What?! And you? you... you're a silly goose.” This was all she could muster. The passive-aggressives usually become tongue-tied when emotionally charged.

I felt my heart beat faster in the chilly room. It is usually too stuffy or too cold in Room 21. Today the central system was turned up. I looked down surreptitiously at my watch but the effort was not appreciated. The young couple hardly noticed my presence. This session was going no where, not with the intensely deaf head-butting and defensiveness. But just as that thought swept through my mind, a pleasant silence entered.
Finally some signs of exhaustion were beginning to show. They sighed simultaneously, nodded as though affirming to oneself that they had each put in enough evidence against the other, and turned to me.
I arranged my features to look ‘professionally questioning’. Tone: peace-loving and calm; ideas- nil.
“So. I think that it is all very encouraging that you both have taken time off to be here. We hope that this twenty minutes may be of help. Have we agreed on what we want to discuss here and now?”
“I still think that she should listen to me. And…”
“Thank you Robert. We start from here. Prissy, how do you feel about Robert’s thoughts on this?”
Wife beamed as though having gained the approval of the school master to speak.
“I think that not all he says is wrong, about managing household expenses and all that. But I think that he should also respect my opinions too. Afterall…”

This was my last case before the 1pm lunch hour. I locked up room 21, stifled a yawn in front of the waiting queue as I headed back to the office. Feeling grateful as I sunk into the workstation, this “office worker stuck in a routine” glamorized by film-makers and tv producers is making me a quite a star. But my mind goes back to the couple I just saw and a few others. For sure, theirs is not a romantic picture, even if divorce is given high profile in media. People just aren’t trying hard enough to keep it together, or are they? What can little me do in this crazy world? A flood of hopelessness sweeps over me and I hardly taste the tomato. But as quickly as the emotion came, it also trickled away. I quickly finished up the milk, ignored the apple and went to nap.

At 2pm, I walked back to Room 21. There he sat. The third time I see him this month, and each time with a new story of remorse and refreshed expectations of a miracle worker to pick up the pieces left behind by his gambling addiction. These people come with the hope of seeing some cash put squarely in their hands. They leave without getting what they had came for; not even money for a ride home, and a pocketful of nagging. Still, they return. Like this hunched, disheveled fellow here. In the wise words of my supervisor, “they only need for someone to scold them.” At least they know that they aren’t alone.
“Kent.” I addressed him.
He remained slumped, like me as a result of some protein digesting in my stomach.
“ Kent?” I said a bit louder and closer his ear.
Still no answer.
I gave his shoulder a tap and then shook him gently.
His head lolled to the side in an unusual manner. Which was then that I saw.
Red meandered from the nose to join with the white at the mouth, forming a thick pink foamy stream. I felt for pulse.
“Press the side button on the phone.” A voice sounded in my head. This is the button that promises help whenever we feel threat coming from a client. I had felt no threat from this client. Only a pervading coldness. And my own irritating quickened heartbeat. As if pressing the button might take away those feelings. But I did so anyway, and the nursing aides swarmed into the room. In a matter of minutes, they had put Kent onto the stretcher and out of room 21.
Aside from the report I had to write, my duty for this case was over. I was offered a counseling session, that I thought was ironic. Like a person with schizophrenia, the voice of my superior comes again in a haunting manner. “What sets the worker and client apart, is only that one is more fortunate than the other, at that point in time.” The tables have turned on me.

I didn’t think that it'd be the last time that I see Kent. I'm admittedly crazy about tv shows and movies, but I also saw how Kent’s overdose might not have been all that highly toxic and warranted dead by the director. For sure, it may have been an accidental lethal cocktail of what-have-you, but Kent was no substance user. The only drug he possibly knew and could get was panadol ultra. As he told me later on in the medical ward with the pristine counters, freezing air-con and automated sliding doors, popped 70 panadols after perusing a loanshark letter.
“And the nosebleed?” (because one just does not get nosebleed from paracetamols)
“ eh hehe.” His face cracked sheepishly
“Too much wolfberries from the herbal soup. I eat it by the dozen each bite because I love it too much,”

After my visit to him, I returned to room 21 to meet Harriet, a young girl with early onset bi-polar disorder.

The Muppets painted the ward Manila (III)- “I hear you.”

The Count was admitted today. According to him, he had lost his hearing abilities after a drinking party. He considers that seeing someone resembling his long-demised great- grand uncle a possible trigger.

“Help me please, I don’t hear the numbers in my head anymore.”

“How would you like us to help you?”

“Well, you can start by not shouting at me”


The doctors looked at each other. There was Dr Grouch, a psychiatrist in training, the psychologist and a clinical audiologist.


The Count stared back at them defensively. “You are confused.” but hastened before anyone else could insert a word,
“No! don’t speak or you will deafen me.”


The occupational therapist was called for. He wrote out neat instructions for The Count.


The next two weeks, The Count was set to the task of counting out pills for his fellow patients. Once in the morning and once in the evening. He also received typed out therapy sessions with the psychologist on coping strategies.


He was discharged soon after but with an outpatient appointment.

Prayer At My Workplace

My dearest heavenly Father and Lord,
I thank You for this morning at my work place. Just as it is a wet day outside, I thank You for the outpouring of Your love and mercy, and Your dew that sustains me, always fresh, always anew.

This morning I want to pray for my boss. Lord, I thank You that she is always willing to help me and others deal with difficult cases, as she is struggling with her own workload. Always there to suggest and advice, befriend and encourage, I thank You for the experiences that she herself has gone through. This has enabled her to be the person she is today. As she shares about her family, we know You will protect her husband and children, and bless them abundantly.

I thank You Lord for my colleagues. Lord, by divine appointment You have placed them each at their seat. With individual gifts and life stories to tell. I thank You that they have helped me settle in so quickly. I was new- but now I am acquainted. In this vocation where love is the key- let us not take for granted that the bigger lover himself is You. When we find that we cannot love anymore, let us come back to You. Lord I pray for good communication amongst all of us. In good times and in conflict, both.

Finally Father, I pray that You give me a good attitude, teachable, responsible, patient, kind- Lord, the fruit of the spirit remind me so; not because I have to be, but because You Jesus are living in me. When I find it hard to forgive, Lord help me remember You have died in my place and redeemed me. For that I can stand where I now am. Lord, when I remember You came for the sinners not the righteous, the poor not the rich; the weak and not the strong, it gives new meaning to where I am.

In Your son, Jesus’ precious name,
Amen.

The Muppets painted the ward manila
The 2nd extension-

“There’s another one of those fitbone patients. Isn’t he already tall enough? There should be a cardboard mannequin to indicate height requirements. If you are longer than the surgical table by a toenail, you don’t qualify.”

“Ah… but isn’t he a celebrity too… what’s his name? Many famous people are doing this these days.”

“And even celebrities need an extension??!! His family has asked for 3 more weeks! To get him a longer bed.”

“Has the doctor approved?”

“Here he comes now. You can ask him.”

“So doctor grouch, regarding Big Bird’s extension…”

“Ah nurse Marie, there’s no end to this nonsense, really. We took three hours to make him longer, and they need three weeks for his bed. And look at all these feathers of his… I say no- no more extension. He’ll just have to make do with his old bed.”

Erm doctor, I just received news from Sesame Street on the Chinese channel. It seems like they’ve just received a new import of quality bird’s nest.
-----

The Muppets painted the ward manila

“I say, look here, I’m sorry but there’s no room for further negotiation. Your father will have to be discharged tomorrow. He has exceeded his stay by a week and there’s no way we can allow for more extension.”

“No, but can’t you see Dr Grouch, he still can’t speak! Suppose we bring him home and we can’t manage his care?”

“There’s nothing further I can do about his trauma that’s causing his temporary speech loss. The hair balls in his stomach have been removed, including the surrounding stray ones along the oesophagus.” In a more reassuring tone “You don’t really have to do much anyway. Just make sure that he doesn’t go back to licking himself again. He should be fine after some counselling.”

(The children honk amongst themselves)
“ I guess he is right. We bring him home today.”
“So, today’s the day”
“yeah”

With a sigh, Jim the ventriloquist was hailed back from his holiday in sunny Batam.