Murky Clarity

What Nurses Do Best

 

 

The internet is a beautiful thing, and, like all things, it is neither good nor bad. We make the internet good. We make the internet bad.

We, the people.

There is a post circulating in Facebook about a nurse in Hospital Kota Bharu who allegedly abused a newborn child. A picture is attached, showing a baby lying sideways toward one side of a cot, with blood splatters in an arch across the lower half of the cot. I shall not post the picture here, so you either have to search for the post yourself--shouldn't be hard, as the post is ALMOST viral--or you just have to visualize based on my scanty description. The description that comes with the picture alone is bad enough (toward the nurse). The comments, however, get worse with each share button. Not just nurses, but all public hospital staff are bad and dangerous.

There is a good reason why we forbid people from snapping pictures in the wards, you see. Not to hide what we do, but to prevent misunderstandings.

Of course I'd say this, you say. I'm a public hospital staff myself. Of course I want to defend myself and my work.

Not this time. If you're convinced I'm a jerk, there's no dissuading you. I can't be bothered, anyway. I do, however, want to protect the nurses. They are my colleagues, my friends, my family. And I'd do anything to protect my family.

First off, about the picture: I don't know the whole story myself, but judging from the baby's position and the pattern of the blood splatter, an intravenous line (branula) must have been dislodged due to movements and blood seeped out from the open wound. Happens to little children, happens to adults. Because, you see, this usually happens when the patients have no control over themselves. Precautions are taken, and sometimes they need restraining, but branulas get dislodged because we don't tie them onto the skin. We slide the branula in and then secure it with plasters that are gentle to the skin. Any alleged exchanges between the nurse and the person who took the picture...well, that's between them. That is their truth.

Let me tell you a different story (not fiction). This is my truth. Some years ago, some random visitor accidentally started a fire in our old elevator shaft. We didn't see any actual fire, but the smoke filled our half of the building. It was a weekend. I was oncall. I only realized there was a fire when smoke filled up my on-call room. I ran out to see the commotion, and my consultant, Dr Ramesh, was leading the nurses to evacuate the patients. Come to think of it, I don't recall any fire alarm. Huh.

Anyway. We couldn't find the source of the fire, but we opened up all the emergency exits and evacuated the patients. But you have to understand that we are the Neurosurgery department. Half of our patients were in no condition to even get out of the bed.

In the excitement, I belatedly realized that there were no screams. No one was panicking. The nurses carried the pediatric patients, supported the adult patients who could walk, and returned to their wards up to the second floor to repeat the process. No one was panicking.

But we also had a major problem: the patients in our ICU, HDW and the acute cubicle in the male ward were all ventilated. Some of them were in critical condition. They could not be moved. So the nurses taking care of them continued what they did best.

They took care of their patients.

Not one of them left their patients. Not a single person.

The nurses I work with often have to work double shifts because there aren't enough people. Some of them are well into their pregnancy, and they have to waddle. Not walk. Waddle. They expose their unborn child, they expose their loved ones at home, to airborne hospital superbugs, but still they take care of their patients. They bathe patients who cannot bathe themselves. They feed patients who cannot feed themselves. They comfort patients when their families are not around. They comfort families of patients who are dying and who have passed on.

They go home tired and trodden, yet still they make time for their family.

We sometimes forget this. In our anxiety having a family member in the hospital, we forget that nurses are also people, people who are overworked, overwhelmed, underpaid, and under-appreciated.

Despite everything, in spite of everything, they do what they do best: take care of patients.

I know I don't show my appreciation enough. I know that saying 'thank you' and 'great job' may not be anything more than a temporary high, but I will say it anyway.

Thank you.

Great job.

Keep up the excellent work.

 

Love always,
Fadz.

 

Neurosurgery Intensive Care Unit

 

N6B - Pediatric Ward

 

N6A - Female Ward

 

Neurosurgery High Dependency Ward

 

N4A - Male Ward

 

Neurosurgery Clinic

 

Neurosurgery Operating Theater

The Rise of the Army of Darkness

Darkness.

We have always been afraid of it. It holds too many secrets, too many monsters. Our ancestors learned to harness fire and huddled close to it, partly for warmth, but above all, for its light that kept darkness at bay. In time, we learned to banish the dark. It no longer held secrets, and monsters no longer lurked in the folds of shadows. There is, however, a kind of darkness that we defend jealously, a kind of darkness that we refuse to let come to light.

The darkness within ourselves.

I had started writing this with a different tone, a different approach. I almost published it, but when I had to stop for surgery, I realized that I do no good with it. In fact, I suspect that I would have been perceived as whiny and self-indulgent. Now I'm writing this anew. I'm writing this with the hope that I can spread light, even if just a sliver.

Call it providence, but the brilliant Nathan Bransford (ex-literary agent, published novelist) posted an article about Twitter warriors the day after my very own Twitter debacle. It all started when I responded to a tweet by a Filipino writer, who was disgusted at how Westerners fetishize Asians. I said, "In that case, we should stop ogling over Pan-Asian people, even though they are undeniably hot." It is true. MTV Asia and Channel V VJs are of mixed Western-Asian heritages. They are also sought after for dramas and movies in countries like Indonesia and Thailand. I also said, "Westerners find us exotic just as we find Westerners exotic." Our cultures, our communication skills, even our jokes are different. It's natural to be fascinated by the unknown.

Now, while the writer disagreed & disengaged, another Twitterer barged in and started calling me a White-lover. With a tweethandle @requireshate, and with an abrasive book-review blog that especially targets Caucasian writers, I was asking for trouble for even responding. You know me. I gravitate toward trouble.

To me, racism against Caucasians is still racism. To her, there is no such thing as racism against them as the Caucasians are a privileged race of the highest order. Also, there is no such thing as misandry and heterophobia because men are of the privileged gender, and straight people are of the privileged sexuality. Persecution against anyone is persecution, no exceptions.

That was when she started calling me names such as idiot, scum, White-ass-kisser, and other vitriol. This, coming from someone I never had any contact with. I wasn't even being offensive, but apparently my point of view was offensive enough. She started rallying other White-haters. That was when I retaliated. I did it the way I know best: psychological warfare.

I wanted to know why she was spiteful and offensive, with all her claws and fangs bared. Unprovoked, I might add. I asked her if she was not loved as a child, and if kids her age did not pick her because of her skin color. That much hatred must have come from somewhere.

Yes. I admit that I was being spiteful. I delivered a low blow. But I also admitted that my childhood wasn't all that peachy, and kids my age avoided me unless they wanted something from me. She didn't respond. She didn't need to.

All she needed was to click 'retweet'.

Then, hell was unleashed. Oh, how it was unleashed. People started defending her. They berated me for picking on her because she was an abuse victim. They berated me for being a serial abuser. They berated me for demeaning women. They accused me of being a horrible doctor, a horrible person. All these scathing remarks came from people I had no idea existed.

You see, @requireshate never even admitted or denied being an abuse survivor. I doubt anyone on the internet even knows the real person behind the online persona. And while I was doing my best defending myself--politely, I might add--she was having a blast collecting tweets to compose a storify piece, Fadzlishah Johanabas thinks abuse is hilarious. It's quite interesting, actually, how she arranged the tweets & omitted several so that she could paint me as an all-out jerk.

Before she published the storify, I was heeding my friends' advice to stop feeding the trolls. I was also getting sleepy after seven straight hours of tweet-exchange. I apologized to @requireshate for being abrasive, and I wished her well. Lo and behold, she even used that tweet to accuse me of being pressured by lots of Twitter warriors (I counted. Only 3 people persistently bugged me).

I won't create a storify, but if you read my Twitter timeline, you'll notice that these uninvited guests were more interested in bashing me than actually defending @requireshate. They refused to introduce themselves, claiming that they wanted to protect their identity against abusers like me. They called me names even though I maintained my politeness. They claimed that it was okay for @requireshate to be spiteful, but I was in the wrong for picking on abuse victims. At that point I was as equally amused as I was irritated. All of the sudden I was this privileged straight man who was also a serial abuser.

These people were out for blood, fighting a battle they never believed in. Such is the power of anonymity within cyberspace. To them, I was just a jerk that needed to be called out, that needed to be put into place. I was just a netizen who didnt exist. If a person doesn't exist, then there is no real problem, is there.

What they failed to realize was that they themselves had effectively become bullies. Courageous by the virtue of invincibility the internet provided. They were the army of Darkness, though they had no idea what they were fighting for. Pawns.

I woke up to a few more spiteful tweets. Someone hoped that I fell down and broke my neck. I also disovered that @requireshate blocked me, so I could no longer read her tweets. She--or one of her lackeys--must have linked the blog post I wrote about my disappointment with Maxis. My blog had 92 pageviews that day. The next day I had 60, then 35, and now traffic is back to normal--less than 10. Not one of them read enough to leave a comment.

Some people defend the darkness within so that others will never know of it. Some jump into the darkness headfirst, wanting to disappear in it. Some, however, revel in the darkness. They celebrate it. They use it to spread chaos and hatred.

I still believe @requireshate's spitefulness comes from somewhere deep. I don't want to use it against her; I don't even know her to care that much. But she is also a bully. She not only dismisses people who have opinions opposite hers, she slams her heels on their faces. I'm guessing that she had expected me to fall apart, to block her first so that she could tell everyone how she showed me my place.

She picked the wrong person to mess with.

You see, I embrace my darkness. I know it intimately. It is my friend. Sometimes it is my only company. It doesn't overwhelm me because we respect each other.

There was one writer who was not so fortunate. Someone wrote a horrible review about her book, and naturally, she defended it. The more she defended herself, the more vicious the people of Internet became. To them, she didn't really exist. Her pleas and cries for help were not real. In the end, she fell apart. Netizens then left her ashes scattered, eager to pick on someone else.

Whenever I think of this, I am reminded of the opening scene of Ken Follett's "Pillars of the Earth". In the prologue, village boys came to witness a hanging. It was a horrible thing, witnessing someone losing her life. It was terrifying, but at the same time, it was fascinating. They started throwing rocks and refuse. They believed they had power over the accused witch.

People are afraid of darkness. By bullying others, that darkness seems less terrifying. If you have power over others, you perceive yourself as strong, courageous. In this world of Internet, where everyone and no one exists at the same time, banishing one's demons this way becomes much easier.

Let me tell you this. People exist. Words hurt. Words break.

Let me tell you this. People exist. Words can also heal. Words can also mend.

Maybe it's time we reach out and make this world a better place.

Maybe it's time we embrace the darkness and come out lighter.

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