Sleeping like a baby.

I woke up with a start. My phone was vibrating incessantly on the bedside table. I had put it on vibrate-only mode before going to sleep in hopes of getting a good night's rest, but my plan backfired. In my half-drowsy state, i scrambled to pick up the phone before it went silent.

"5 missed calls from Private Number."

Private. Great. No chance of me returning the call then.

I've always wondered why anyone would want their numbers private when the person they're calling would know who it is the moment they pick up. Such an obviously blatant paradox. As I cursed technology and all its unnecessary paradoxes, my phone started to vibrate again.

'Private Number' flashed on the screen.

I waited a few deliberate seconds before answering. The caller owed me at least that much for not sharing his/her number.

"Yes?" I finally picked up. I wanted to sound nonchalant and uninterested, but i guess I sounded more sleepy than anything else.

"Hi, did i wake you?" That voice - I instantly knew who it was.

"Yeah. But that's okay."

"I tried calling you a few times but i couldn't get through. And then I tried again and someone answered - a guy. He said he'll go get you and then I waited 10 minutes but you never got back to me."

"I'm at home. There's no guy here." I tell him.

"I'm not kidding. Some guy answered your phone. And there was this newscaster's voice like on TV and someone talking in the background and i think i heard a dog as well." He sounded a little too excited, which kinda bugged me a little.

"You probably dialed the wrong number."

"No, I'm absolutely positive it's your number. And this isn't the first time. Remember how I told you about the same thing a couple of weeks ago?"

At this point, i was more scared than annoyed. Why was he telling me stories about weird people answering my phone when i've already told him that I'm at home, alone! In the middle of the night! Besides, he knows i don't own a TV, what's the deal with newscasters and such?! Is he trying to give me nightmares or something?

I'm sure he could sense my discomfort because he swiftly and skillfully changed the topic.

"So anyway, i just called to ask how your speech went," he said cheerfully. Only problem was, my speech had gone horribly wrong, and that was the last thing i wanted to talk about.

"Hmmmm...." I was dropping a long one-syllable hint so that he'd know to steer clear away from such a sensitive subject matter.

"What happened?" He sounded genuinely concern. But for some reason, it only made me more annoyed.

"Nothing. i don't wanna talk about it" I tell him.

"Did something happen?"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it!" I snapped without actually meaning to.

"Oh okay. Sorry........" he sounded hurt.

"Hmmmm....." i pretended not to notice.

This was followed by a few seconds of silence (which in telephone-time felt more like a few hours).

"Well, you're probably tired. I'll call you again later, okay." he said finally.

"Hmmmm......" I answered with a tone that was almost too sarcastic this time, and I hung up before he could say anything else.

I hung up because I was a little bit angry and a little bit sad. I was angry because he kept saying the wrong things. I was sad because i didn't want him to say goodbye just yet. I wanted him to lend a sympathetic ear. I wanted him to stay on the line a bit longer and hear me tell him about my day; about how a friend had hurt my feelings today; about how a colleague had stood me up. I was going to tell him about my disastrous speech; my disastrous life. And then, I wanted him to tell me that everything was going to be alright.

Instead, I got angry and let all my pent-up frustrations spill on the one person who actually cared enough to ask me how i was doing. I would blame my volatile personality, but that's like saying I have a psychiatric disorder - which I'm sure i don't.

So instead, I'm blaming my own stupidity...

... and the unstable nature of my hormonally-dependent mood swings.

I'm sorry.

I'm going back to sleep.

Scrubs.

Going on-call for 24hrs in the labour ward was anything but fun. A whole lot of pointless waiting and endless groaning. It was only at the strike of 12 (am, not pm) did big pregnant mamas started coming in by the truck-load, all ready to pop babies out. Perfect timing. Like Cinderella. I mean really, if you're gonna have babies, why not do it when the normal population are fast asleep, huh? (i hope you can hear the sarcasm in that).

And that's not the end of my problems. Oh, dear me, No! There was this one night-shift midwife who kept picking on me for no good reason. She was constantly "Izzy this, Izzy that, Izzy do this, Izzy hold that..." - with a tone that was very suggestively confrontational. (I should have never told her my name, she abused it way too much).

I had been on my feet for more than 12hrs when this particular midwife started her shift. I was dead-tired, sleepy, my legs no longer felt like they were attached to the rest of my body and my back was killing me, so I didn't really appreciate the attitude. I understood the fact that the labor ward was their small, little territory and i was nothing more but a trespasser - tolerated, but not liked. And I knew no matter how horrible I felt, I had to put up a fake smile and an apologetic face every time she scolded, glared or ridiculed me. But honestly, it wouldn't have hurt for her to be a little nicer, would it? Tsk.

The only upside to my day in the labor ward was Dr. McVey Rory (We're not really on first name basis... yet. But hey, a girl can dream, right?). He's a bit mean and abrasive in a way (but what girl doesn't like a bad boy?) and he may be a bit stingy with his smiles, altho once he flashes you a glimpse of his pearly whites, you're hooked for life (drools~~).

Ehem... anyway, my main point is that with Rory around, I could finally get my hands dirty. He lets me assist in an episiotomy repair; he pushed me into delivering my first baby; and he asked me to scrub in for a C-section, even tho all i really had to do was cut off the ends of his suturing thread (What's more romantic than assisting a man in his time of need? ^^)

By the end of my shift, I managed to observe 5 normal deliveries, delivered 2 babies, and assisted in 1 C-section. And I only slept 45 minutes of the 24 hours.

Not too bad for a first-timer, huh?

p/s: I think i should mention this because it gives me immense pride. And since there's no easy way to put it, I'm just gonna go ahead and brazenly decleare that: I look good in blue scrubs. Oh yeah baby~~

Golden butterflies, and fragile hearts.

If you know me well enough, you'd know how much i detest people entering my room. I get this terrible feeling like my privacy is violated and my personal space intruded whenever that happens. It's weird but that's how it is.

Today tho, I'm feeling generous. Today i feel like sharing. So come and take a peek into my room. May this little trip into my world abate your insatiable curiosity, my friend. =)

My wall of fame.

(or lame, depending on how you see it)

Meet Shika, Komeko and Yuko

a.k.a the 3 stooges.

I don't know why i love this heart-shaped potpourri.

Bought in Belgium back in April.

Some of the presents i got for my 23rd birthday.

I especially love that red-shirted teddy i got all the way from Australia. =)

I don't know when it started but i've always hung my clothes colour-coded.

My obsession with bracelets hyper-defined.

(Most of these are gifts from parents, siblings and friends)

My book collection.

I like sci-fi and fantasy novels.

My current favorites are 'Ender's game' (sci-fi) and

'The name of the wind' (fantasy)

This picture has nothing to do with my room.

I just thought i'd share an interesting story:

One day, a friend of mine saw the 2 little heart-shaped stickers on my handphone.

"That's so girlish," she commented.

"Well, I am a girl, why shouldn't I be girlish?" I try to remind her.

"It doesn't suit you."

She said it with so much conviction, i knew there was no point arguing.

This same girl has never been into my room. If she did, and saw all the flowery bed linen, the butterflies and hearts-shaped deco, she'd probably puke blood~~ (which is another good reason why my room is off-limits to the general public)

(^___^)

Drama Queen

This has been a horrible week for me, and I suspect it will get even worse before the week ends. Barely half way through and already I feel drained emotionally and physically of all my energy reserves. (Sigh~)

On one hand is a troublesome man-child who should really learn to grow up. On the other, is a situation i just don't have the heart to deal with right now. And then, there's the old friend who's not quite a "friend" suddenly re-appearing and digging up secret feelings I've buried six feet under (are you trying to make me fall for you again?). Add in the usual mixture of academic obligations and never-ending assignments. and what you get is a chocolate fruit cocktail cake with hints of mocha and everything unpleasant~~

And to put icing to the cake, i think i'm coming down with the flu - sore throat, stuffy nose, headache and a somewhat rotten mood.

(oh happy days~~).

p/s: I'm probably blowing things out of proportion again, but hey, that's what i do best (*wink)

Cauda equina syndrome

It was like any other cold September day at the immigration office. Busy people with busy lives taking time off to renew their visas and permits, cursing the long waiting line. And I was one of those people.

My fourth time over, I think I've gotten a little wiser. I knew it was going to be a long wait, so I brought with me a copy of the most recent medical magazine i could find. To be honest, i don't usually read academic publications, unless i'm absolutely forced to. But i needed something to soothe my guilt of wasting precious time in a busy office when i should be in theater, scrubbing in for an emergency C-section or a hysterectomy (Note: I'm currently on my Obs and Gynae rotation).

So as i waited, i flipped through the pages trying to look self-important when in fact I was bored to death and not really absorbing any useful info. It was only natural then, that when my turn came, I was still clinching my copy of "Scope: Consultant's Edition - Cauda Equina Syndrome." Besides the obvious reason of it already being in my hand, i thought the magazine, with its big bold statement of a front page, gave me a somewhat intellectual and sophisticated look.

Gardai Jimmy Mc Elroy (oh yes, i know his name) took one long look at the magazine i was holding and asked "What's cauda equina syndrome?"

Darn it, he wasn't supposed to ask me that! But to tell him I haven't a clue would be a huge insult to my pride, so i decided to winged it.

"Cauda equina is the name of the splaying of nerve roots located at your lower back" (thank you Mr Fabio, my anatomy lecturer!).

"Cauda equina syndrome then - in simple terms - would suggest a condition where there is impingement or trauma in this so-called structure (I didn't think I sounded too bad, huh?) causing symptoms such as numbness, tinglings, and in severe cases could turn you quadriplegic." (quadriplegic?? I only realized after saying that how absolutely ludicrous i would have sounded to someone who actually knows a thing or two about medicine, which i prayed he didn't).

"What causes it?" he asked innocently enough. Only this felt more like an oral exam than a fairly innocent conversation in a packed immigration office.

Think Izzy, think!!! I was encouraging my lazy brain to work a little.

"A slipped disc." I answered matter-of-factly, trying to act all clever when in truth my palms were sweating cold sweats of panic.

"....or a bulging disc." he added.

Oh sh*t. He reads medicine? I'm dead meat.

"Yes...." I wanted to sound sure and confident, but what came out was a croak of dread and fear at almost being caught out.

"I had that condition a couple of years back, " he continued. "The pain, goodness, was excruciating. Had to have 2 surgeries before i got better."

"Oh, really? I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeap. Thank God I didn't become quadriplegic" He winked.

He then turned his attention back to my application without another word, while i sat there dumbstruck and feeling pretty stupid.

Lesson learned!

p/s: i wish i could let you hear the song of shame playing in my head.

Infatuation.

I started keeping a journal because of him. In it, i wrote about every encounter, every single word he ever said to me. I wrote about my feelings, about things i'm too embarrass to talk about with friends, or family. It was orange - that journal - because the warm orange-y color reminded me of how i felt about him.

But that same color has started fading.

For the last few months, i haven't heard from him at all. No hello in the morning. No new little gossips about his day. No nothing. It wasn't that he fell off the face of the earth. Far from it. He was always there, among shadows. He was there any time i wanted to talk to him. But me being me, i couldn't bring myself to initiate a decent hi.

Shy, mostly. Pride, partly.

I spent a whole week before his birthday thinking of wishing him a friendly birthday wish, and then another week regretting that i didn't. Eid Mubarak came and went and nothing happened. You could say, at this point in time I've almost given up on ever talking to him again.

But suddenly, he came knocking on my door. Out of the blue. Totally unannounced.

And it was all i could do to hide my excitement. I was smitten. Everything he said was like a drop of cold water in a scorching desert. He could have asked me to jump off a cliff for him and i'd agree in an heartbeat. Because it's him, i'm not quite myself. I walk on clouds. My voice has a singing quality.The world becomes awash in a hue of colorful rainbows.

Of course, this is exaggeration. But you get what i mean.

Sometimes i wonder why i do the things i do. And most times i'm lft still wondering. This is just one of those mysteries that has kept me wondering for years -"Why do i like him so much?"

The answer still eludes me.