When Tragedy Strikes

When tragedy strikes, it knocks you off your feet and sometimes paralyses you so that you will never rise again. It leaves you out of breath, numb and so scared that you can’t even remember how you got where it flung you. And as if you never happened it whirls by in search of its next victim.
You are left in a daze, in the middle of nowhere turning in a gyre of agony and confusion. You say to yourself that you are not someone who gets knocked down, whose life is turned upside down, who is lost in the middle of nowhere with no compass or light to find your way to yourself. It’s supposed to happen to someone else, someone without a face or name. Someone other than you. It has happened, that’s the truth.
When I was hit by a truck that took my leg and damaged my pelvis, it took me a while to accept the truth. That I was the same person who left home that morning, the same person who had made so many plans the previous day, or the month before.
Sometimes, it still feels like a dream or another lifetime, that I would just get up and walk without grabbing my walker, or crutches or buckle my leg on before walking. But it’s true, it’s not a dream and I’m not dead. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy because it’s not. Or that you will get over it, I haven’t.
You just have to do what I always do, grab those crutches or walker, fasten your leg and keep moving. I always do that to remind myself, that as long as I’m still here, as long as I can move, I can get wherever I want. I can be me because I’m still me, just one leg short. Whenever I am down, I’d move. I get up, walk and breathe in some fresh air.
Keep moving…..one step at a time.

Never Was

The more I ran
The bigger they get
Little persons in tutu
Feathers and tall caps
None taller than my waist
All white save their faces
Arms and legs
Brandishing knives and forks
Spoons and spades same
Size as a preschool ruler
I slipped and landed on my back
Down the slope I rolled
Into the deep white swirl
I turned
Face to face with their queen
She leaned ever forward
And sweetly whispered
“Wake up baby”, the surgery is over

August 4, 2012

I’m home, for some days now. And it’s far from what I had anticipated. Everything is so…different, weird. I have yearned for home for so long. To be in a familiar place, sleep in my own bed and in some other clothes. I longed to be free from the overwhelming and nauseating stench of the antiseptic and mixture of sickness and lesions that constantly envelope you in the surgical ward, but they found a home underneath my skin, exhaling through the pores . No matter how many deodorant, body spray or talcum powder I use. I am still there lying on my back on the eleventh bed in the South West 1.
I am now like a stranger in my home. I’m an alien to my bed and a new baby for my family. I think it’s the beginning of a new life for me, only I can’t remember how it started.

June 20, 2012 – Moment(A Diary)

Dear Diary,
I’m not so happy today. It happened again. I tried so hard to hold it but I couldn’t. Visitors are not allowed and the nurses are busy with God-knows-what. I hate it when that happens, it’s as if my body is no longer mine. Every parts of my body now have a mind of their own. They don’t mind me anymore….):

I have another surgery tomorrow and I am so scared. And yes I know I shouldn’t, it’s not as if it’s the first time or second or……ugh! I wish this would be the last; I know it won’t but a girl can at least wish…

Dear Diary, I wish I could write about everything that goes on in here. Every tears, every fears, every pains, every wishes…every one of them. but the discomfort won’t permit me. When I can, I can’t reach you; when I can reach you, I can’t write.
The Anaesthetist will soon be here to prep me.
Maybe I’ll take a short break till I’m much better. Or not, cos I can sense a lot of bad days ahead.
Wish me luck.

June 18, 2012- in Moment (A Diary)

I have just finished another episode of the dreadful physiotherapy. Lifting my good leg up and down, folding and unfolding it, pushing the cute guy’s hand backwards. They seem to be nothing at all; they are quite easy. Things you can do without meaning to. But they brought tears to my eyes. By the time the fifteen minutes was over my heart was almost out of its chamber.
He said I did a great job and gaining strength. I don’t feel so……or his departure because I can feel something different; something or someone that was not there before. And then I saw her, all wrapped in bloodied or iodine stained white bandages. She couldn’t be more than ten. She was staring at me. The only parts of her body uncovered are her face, right hand and foot. Even her face is partially burnt.
She smiled and waved. I wiped my tears and waved back. Tears and screams are not strange or shameful here. They are major info on the membership card. She mouthed sorry and I smiled back. I asked her name and she whispered it. I didn’t get it until the lady beside me repeated it. She occupies the third bed to my left. She promised to come play with me afterwards. I asked if she could move around she said yes.
I know  she wouldn’t be able to keep her promise because thirty minutes later, one of the nurses came to dress her wounds.
Dear Diary, I can still hear her screams and pleadings in my head. I can’t stop wondering what happened to her and when she got here.
One thing I don’t need to wonder is, I can’t bear her screams because I was still sobbing long after she has stopped crying. What a painful world.

June 16, 2012 – Moment (A Diary)

Dear Diary,
I couldn’t write yesterday. It was my dressing day. The pain was really bad and stung for very long. The pain killer couldn’t kill it. I’m a bit relieved today, tomorrow is another day.
Today is my sister’s birthday and I’m happy. Though I can’t see her, I’m glad to be alive. Happy birthday to you, sis. May you have many more and may I witness many more 🙂
I sat for over ten minutes today. The doctor said I need to stay longer to avoid another episode of heartburn.
I am determined to and I will. I’m going to walk out of here and do everything I was too afraid to do.

June 14, 2012

Dear Diary,
It’s really been a while. Should I say I missed you? I don’t know. I know I have not written anything in a while. Not just you, I could barely hold this pen. It keeps slipping off my fingers. Neither have I kept you since…..I can’t remember. So many things have happened since then.
Dear Diary, I am sitting up! Though not by myself but on my bum, for the first time in sixty five days. Can you believe that? I know it feels more like ply wood and flat like frying pan. But it feels so good and exhilarating, though painful and uncomfortable….to see something else apart from the white ceiling and cob webs, put faces to the voices of my neighbors for the past two months. That long? Yeah.
And they are happy to see mine too. I see their faces and injuries for the first time. It’s always being the screams and sympathies .
I sat for a whole of five minutes. The light of joy on my mother and sister’s face is enough motivation to want to try again in the evening or tomorrow. She looks so happy, when the doctor told her I could sit for a while. Oh how I have missed my mother’s blinding  dashing smile. She has aged over a decade in two months.
I have so many things to say to you, but I can’t now. Writing on my back is not so easy, maybe tomorrow.
Until then.