I'm Not Asleep, My Eyes Are Just Closed

The setting : Busy day in the Infertility clinic The characters : One clueless doctor, one nearly thirty nulliparous lady Doctor : So, Mrs. X.... (rustles some paperwork). The treatment we have been giving you has worked, your hormone levels are now normal. (beams proudly at patient). It's now up to you and your husband to get pregnant. Mrs X : Oh.... Doctor : Yes. Uh, how often do you and husband have sexual intercourse? Mrs. X : About 10 times a month. Doctor : That's about 2 - 3 times a week. Not too bad. Just keep on doing, what you are doing then. Mrs. X : But doctor, I have no desire anymore! What do I do? Doctor : (Although has always considered herself fairly open about sexual matters and can make sex jokes in front of her parents, suddenly finds herself flustered.) Well, uh, you do what you normally do... what you did when you first got married...uh, we don't have any female Viagra. At that moment of time, Doctor could not think of any decent ways to suggest to pat...

I had forgotten The Winchesters for a bit (well, they left me first!), what with other obsessions taking root and then me moving town and starting a new job and clocking up to 100 working hours a week. Thankfully, the hours have eased a little and I haven't passed out in a coma everytime I come home so I get to spend a little more time with my favourite brotherly duo. The first epsisode of Season 3 was a disappointment to me, honestly, when I watched it a few months ago, and it made me run back to my new television hero, Dexter Morgan from the equally terific TV show Dexter (why is it terrific? Because the hero is a crime scene investigator for the Miami Police by day and a serial killer who chops people up at night. Woo!) But on this recent vacation I've had the chance to get reacquainted with the Supernatural guys and forgive me for losing the faith the first time around because aren't they just the most adorable couple of wise-cracking, world-saving hunks you ever set ...

I was on a plane home and was making small talk with the lady who sat in the same row as me. I'm not one for chit-chatting but you know it's one of those things when you are on a plane: it would be rude and perak not to say a few words to your immediate neighbour. Especially since I had just climbed over the her lap to get the window seat. Neighbour: So, where do you live in KL? Moi: I live in Subang actually. I'm on leave from work, so I'm going home to see my parents. Neighbour: Oh, so you work in a factory here? Moi: (trying to keep a straight face) Uh, no. At this point, some would say that I should have puffed out my chest, turn up my nose and say in my haughtiest voice, "Hey, saya doktor tau!" Truthfully, it would be more embarrassing for me than her if I did say that. Not that there's anything wrong in being a factory worker, and I'm not so full of myself that I'd get offended if people don't lick my arse and say, "Ya Tuan Doktor...

Being in the operating theatre is like being in an oasis of calm. It's a blessed escape from the bustle of the wards where people shout from one end of the ward to the other. There are no visiting hours in theatre. It's infathomable to me why many people think that going to the hispital to visit sick loved ones is a good oppurunity for a fun day out with the family. God, I hate screaming kids. I can hate them but I hate the parents more for neglecting to teach their kids how to behave. Rolling around in a tantrum on the ward floor and playing with your grandma's cathether bag is NOT acceptable behaviour! If Scotland has made laws banning parents from smacking their kids, can there be a law allowing us to smack the parents instead? The other good thing about being in theatre is that you can pretend to be doing IMPORTANT things when you are actually swinging your feet having a cup of coffee waiting for the next patient to roll in. Ah, yes, everything is clean and orderly in t...

This week I celebrated my 28th birthday. This week I was accidentally stabbed with a needle contaminated with the blood of a patient with Hepatitis B. It was all going so well, I thought. The patient had already been screened for HIV and venereal disease and she was in the clear. What are the chances that she would be positive for Hepatitis B? Well, 100% as it turned out. I wasn't terribly upset at first. It was a small nick that didn't bleed much, though it surprised me enough that I yelled in the operating theatre. Everybody froze when they realised what had happened. My colleague felt bad for accidentally stabbing me with the suture needle. As I pointed out, it was an accident. I was double-gloved and we were all following the correct procedures, so it was unfortunate that I got a needlestick injury. What pissed me off was the attitude of the staff when I was trying to get all the various forms filled out and sent off to the correct persons. Their primary concern seemed to b...

1. The limited pressing new Delays EP ‘Love Made Visible’. Only 2000 copies available, aacccckkk! 2. A new set of headphones – my long-serving and long-suffering JVCs are falling apart. 3. All the episodes of Dexter that I haven’t seen. The longer I go without any new Dexter the higher the chances I will go to Television Without Pity and ‘spoiler’ myself. 4. World peace. Nah, just kidding.

5058 It’s mocking me. It has been 5058 for a good half an hour now. Surely somebody must be working behind there. I see people moving about but no change in the queue number. I am number 5079. Welcome to the Immigration Department. 5059 I’m bored out of my skull. I’ve read through three different newspapers, including the classifieds, the ingredients on the gum wrapper and all the notices on the information board. (My gum contains sodium stearate which I have never come across in chewing gum before. This is also an indication of how bored I am that I actually bought gum to chew.) 5060 I’m out in the lift lobby calling the hospital to say I’ll be at least another hour an a half. That is actually wishful thinking on my part but I hope to get my papers sorted today. A dozen men in chains march past accompanied by two immigration officers. Both of them are carrying batons. Somehow, they all squeeze into the men’s toilet. I wonder if they get their chains taken off. That reminds me. I need ...