The Art of Pain (True Story)

2. More Pain Ahead

[Singapore General Hospital - Ward 42, March 2014]

The ward was a sleep deprivation chamber. Patients' call bells alarmed throughout the day, while blood pressure checks continued throughout the night. I had to make up for lost sleep with intermittent naps.

My daytime was constantly filled with patients' chatter. I was the only patient lost in my world of despair, lying in bed or crying silently. 

"Girl, don't cry," the Malay elderly lady beside me tried to console me. "I've been on dialysis for seven years. If I can handle it, you can too."

I looked at the Malay lady for the first time. Her wrinkled face beamed with a warm smile,  despite her own battle with kidney failure and recurring urinary tract infection.

"The catheter in my right chest is so painful." The Chinese elderly lady from the opposite bed shared her struggles with kidney failure and surgery complications. 

As I listened to these women open up about their vulnerabilities, I felt a sense of solidarity and connection, realising I wasn't the only one in this battle. 

However, the harsh reality of kidney failure hit me hard. The only cure was to receive a live or cadaveric kidney transplant, but it had an expiration date of up to twenty years. Singapore allows organ retrieval from deceased citizens, with an average waiting time of ten years. 

Dialysis treatment came with its own set of risks, like cardiovascular abnormalities and even death. Can I survive for ten years until I get my kidney transplant?

The uncertainty was daunting, but the daily encouragement from my fellow patients made me slightly hopeful. 

-

One afternoon, I received a surprise visit from my design lecturers - Hueihoon, David and Munying.

They brought a thoughtful gift - a wooden basket of daisies, hydrangeas, oranges, pears, a yellow care bear, and a handwritten card that read "especially for you". It was a heartwarming gesture, given my history of being the forgotten student in school.

I told them I wasn't able to retrieve my final year project in school personally, but they said not to worry. They emphasised that "health is more important than anything else".

Then the biggest surprise came two days later. 

My clique - Queenie, Sheena and Ivy - showed up at my ward, bringing along a "get well wishes" balloon. News of my kidney failure had circulated to all my course mates, unfortunately. 

"This is for you." Queenie approached my bedside carefully, handing me the balloon. "Are you feeling better?" 

"Yes," I forced a nod, hiding my pain behind a lie because I feared them mocking at my vulnerability. Queenie's presence stirred up the painful memory of her tweet attacking Christians.

Then the three girls excitedly shared their upcoming Taiwan trip itinerary: a seven-day adventure packed with night markets, museums, and flower fields.

I had suspected it after noticing our usual chat group, "nonsense and wat not," had gone silent for a week. I figured they had created a new group, leaving me out of the loop. 

"We were hoping you could join us on our graduation trip," Sheena said, not realising that travelling was off-limits for me due to dialysis. 

"Or we could all fly to UK together once you've recovered!" Ivy added, unaware that there was no complete recovery from kidney failure.  

The girls left the room shortly after. I felt a pang of jealousy, watching them live their best lives at twenty-one years old while I had kidney failure. Life is unfair.