Pain means I'm alive...if you can call this living

 

I shot for the sky
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try, I know I'm gonna to fall down
I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?

- Jason Walker, "Down"

 

Several months ago, Kasha and I took our cats to the vet to deal with their flea infestation. The condition was so bad that nothing we did was working, and the whole family suffered from flea bites. Arwen had it the worst, probably because she's the shortest.

We don't have carriers for the cats as we much prefer to carry them in our arms. Neither of them like being in a moving car, because they know it always entails a trip to the vet. They'll hide under the seats and we have to force them out of the car, and when we carry them to the vet, they'll ball up in our arms, head hidden, body shivering uncontrollably. That last trip was no different.

As usual, Keeno glared at the vet and growled her objections to the indignity of being treated. She didn't struggle or lash out, but she was cursing non-stop in cat language. Chiqa, though much bigger and bulkier, simply froze. Literally. She sat on the table unmoving, eyes wide and unblinking, and before long, she began salivating. Right then, she embodied the term 'frozen with fear'.

I found it amusing then. I wondered what it was like for someone to be so terrified that he becomes petrified, unable to fight back, even if it's just to growl and complain. I even toyed with the idea for a possible story.

Little did I know it would end up as the story of my life.

I had a car. It wasn't the fanciest car on the streets, or even the fastest one, but it was mine. Mama helped a lot with the deposit, but the car was the first (and only) asset with my name on its deed. I loved my Latio, even though I should have taken care of it better. Driving gave me pure and simple pleasure, even when I was stuck in traffic. The drive was always smooth, the insulation from outside noise and heat a blessing, and I had total control over song selection thanks to my iPhone and its accessory, the Griffin Roadtrip. Whenever I returned from long trips, I would always stop by the driver's side before unlocking the car, smile, and say softly, "Hello, car." It was my ritual. It was my appreciation for what I had.

Then the accident happened on December 3rd. You know the details by now, and I'm reliving every painful moment of it on a daily basis, so I won't put it down in writing again (except maybe in a potential story. Someday. Maybe). What's important is that my Latio saved my life at the expense of its own. Sure, I'm still limping from my left hip fracture, and my fractured rib still moves when I lie on my side, but you should have seen my car. I almost vomited when I saw it the first time since the accident.

Right now I'm driving a rental. A rickety Kancil without air-conditioning, without a working radio, without character. I only drive it to and from work, and I derive no pleasure from driving. At RM900 a month, it's just something that I use to get me from point A to point B. Nothing more.

You know what? I'm rambling. I don't even know what I'm talking about. It's much easier than talking about the real issue. Deep breaths. I should just get it over with.

I have what you would call 'Survivor's Guilt'. It used to be a diagnosis on its own, but for the past thirty years or so, it has been absorbed under Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Have I seen a psychiatrist to arrive to this diagnosis? I'm a doctor, so I know enough to recognize the signs and symptoms. Should I see a counselor or a psychiatrist? I'm still contemplating on that, so for the time being, I'll just express myself here.

Here's something that I revealed only to Kasha: when my car stopped spinning and everything was silent, hot and painful, I did not have my whole life flashing before me. Instead, I was ready to die. I wanted to die. I wanted to just let go of everything. My only regret was that I would not be able to see Mama again, to be there for her. For Kasha and Faiz. But the breaths came, albeit painful. My heart kept beating.

More than anything, I was disappointed.

If I close my eyes now, I can hear the little girls screaming "Ayah, Ayah." I can see their mother's bloodied face and clothes as she lay beside me in the ambulance. I can see the attending doctor's face when he informed me that the driver had passed away. The children's father, the woman's husband. And yet, I'm still here. I'm back working. I'm in pain more than I let on, and I'm pretty sure quite soon I'll be a painkiller junkie, but I'm able to drive the stupid rickety car, and I'm facing an exam soon. Life goes on for me whether I want it to or not.

I've been advised to be prepared for legal actions and a heavy financial blow, and I'm still waiting word from the police. My future doesn't look so bright anymore, so I've lost all interest in the present, especially when it comes to planning for the future.

Every passing day, the idea of quitting my Master's Degree program becomes more enticing. After all, what's the use of studying for exams when there's a possibility of imprisonment and a debt so deep to cover for damages? I get a deep guilt whenever I feel good about something, because I know how bad things surely are for the other family. That's why my tweets lately are so bleak. I have to force myself to wake up in the morning, bear the throbbing pain on my hip as I down a tablet of Arcoxia and two tablets of Paracetamol, and wait an hour or so before the pain subsides enough to get by. I don't even know how I'll cope with being on-call, but I've burdened my colleagues enough these past two months.

I can't even write a story or study because the pain always distracts me. And that's just the physical pain. You have no idea how messed up my head is right now.

I have given up hope on passing this approaching trial exam. I'm trying to coax myself to at least prepare my five presentations for the intensive course. I'm failing even that.

Right now, I'm exactly like Chiqa. I'm frothing and frozen with fear. My whole body is in panic mode, and even though I'm surrounded by loving and supportive family and friends, my mind refuses to break free. My life used to be like my Latio. Not the best, but at least I loved living it (most of the time). Now it's the Kancil: almost a broken-down junk, barely functioning, enough to get by. I derive no pleasure from living my life right now.

But the Kancil is just a temporary means. I hope to get a new car soon, maybe something better than my old one. But just as I'll never drive my Latio again, life post-accident will never be the same. I'll never be that same Fadz. I'll always hear the echoes of the screams and tears.

I miss my Latio.

I miss my old self.

Comments

[Dayana]

:(

[Breanna]

Oh, dear friend. I wish I had something profound to say. All I can do is point out that you're not frozen--you're living with grace and courage and doing the most impossible thing in the world: moving ahead. Of course you'll never be the same. Would you want to be, after something like that?

Don't worry about tomorrow. It will worry about itself. All you have to handle is today, or if that gets too big, this hour.

And snuggle a cat once in a while.

[John Ling]

It's always a shock to be catapulted from a sheltered life into the harshest of realities. But I have been in the same place as you are now, and believe me, things do get better with time. It'll take a while, but things will get better. With the support of your family and friends, I know you'll pull through.

Hang in there and don't stop writing.

[leena]

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