A Walk In The Garden

During the months when I was poorly, my garden was neglected.  Most of my azaleas died. (Of the 16 pots I had, only 7 remained.) It was therefore encouraging to see this new bud emerging from one of the remaining pots. Life and Death surpasses each other in the unending drift of Fate.

Azalea

The Phalaenopsis below (white and purple) was bought last January. I was surprised to see it bloom this soon.

Phalaenopsis

Cattleya - almost always blooming

Phalaenopsis

Murraya Paniculata (below) (aka Kemuning in Malay) is commonly known as Orange Jessamine. The person who introduced me to this fragrant shrub was my mother-in-law who originated from a tulou in Guangdong. They had one of these fragrant shrubs growing in their central courtyard when she was a wee little kid. She told me how the fragrance from the plant's tiny blooms penetrated every nook and crevices of their extensive home.  For want of a better name, they called it Fragrance of a Thousand Li.

The seeds are a bright red and hugely favoured by the birds. I often found them perched on the shrub canopy pecking at the seeds. The birds leave their droppings behind and from these droppings new plants emerge. That is how they propagate naturally. It is rather difficult to propagate them from their cuttings or seeds.

Murraya Paniculata This (above) used to be part of the hedge on my fence. (Right) It was close to 6 feet tall at the time. We had it uprooted and forced into a rectangular pot. Some of the surface roots were damaged but it survived. Little mushrooms sprang from the dead surface root.

Orange Jessamine

Not sure if these are edible.

She slept on

The young lady (MORE HERE) is still unconscious. I heard that she had been transferred to another hospital. Her parents must be distraught by her condition. I don't know her name but I will pray for her in my crude simplistic manner.

I will pray that God blessed the hands of the doctors and nurses attending to her. And I will pray that she persevered. I hope that the Good Shepherd, busy as He is, will stop awhile to tend to this particular girl.

UPDATE HERE

Christmas Leftovers

Everything was wiped out except for the whipped potatoes and ham.  

On the morning after, I added anchovy to the whipped potatoes and shaped them into little patties which went into the grilling pan together with some sliced ham. Delicious.

If you don't know what to do with the whipped potato leftovers, here's another recipe I picked up from my late Aunt. (Ma's sister.)

DOUGH

Knead glutinous rice flour into the whipped potatoes. You know it's done when it looked like the dough consistency for Pan Mee.

FILLING

• Yam Bean (aka Sengkuas)
• French Beans
• Carrots
• Dried Shrimp (pounded on a mortar and pestle)
• garlic
• salt and pepper

METHOD

1. Shred the top three into thin strips. 
2. Brown the garlic in a little oil.
3. Add dried shrimp.
4. Add shredded veg.
5. Add salt and a generous sprinkle of pepper
6. Pinch a little of the potato dough, roll it out, fill it with the mixed veg above and seal it into egg-shaped packages.
7. Deep fry.

That's it. A simple quaint recipe. The original recipe required mashed sweet potatoes but whipped potatoes worked just as well.

Sleeping Beauty

The young lady in her late twenties (a friend's daughter) did not wake up. Her parents discovered her on Sunday morning still asleep in bed. They rushed her into the ICU of a private hospital.  She was put on the kidney dialysis machine. There is no change in the status quo today.

What could have happened?

I am reminded of an article I stumbled upon in months past while researching something unrelated. The article was submitted by a foreign university after research into this phenomenon called Sleep Paralysis.

Sleep paralysis is a phenomenon in which people, either when falling asleep or awakening, temporarily experience an inability to move.

It was suggested that Asians were particularly susceptible to this disease and succumbed to it although no statistics were provided. They died in their sleep never to wake up again.

I needed no statistics. The first time I had sleep paralysis was when I was a teenager. A dark shadowy figure fell upon me in my sleep and I could not move, breathe or awaken without struggling. By some miracle, I survived.  It was filed away as one of those unpleasant nightmares one experience in the business of growing up.

The years went by. I moved on from college life to become a working adult. At work, I met someone called Lydia who told me about the power of the word. Life is not a cul de sac. There is a way out of any situation. She taught me to put The Word to good use so I was ready the second time I had sleep paralysis.

It happened once again in my sleep before I was married. I yelled at the dark shadowy figure thrice. "In the name of Jesus, GO AWAY!" It did. Once again I woke up shaken by the experience.

Years later, when I was at the Merdeka Palace in Kuching, the sleep paralysis came a third time. I yelled the same words. Again it worked.

I wondered if the young lady in question is assailed by the same problem.

UPDATE HERE

Pass the salt, please!

Onion rings

Apple Pie for Dessert (Sister Lee's Speciality)

Merry Christmas! Hic! ~~~ And a Happy New Year! ~~~ BURP!!!

Grilled Cauliflower and White Sauce

Vegetables were never one of my favourites but for appearances, well, this one should do. The cauliflower was blanched. Grated cheese was spread over it. Fresh milk added before it was popped into the oven until the cheese melted.

Cauliflower with melted cheese

White Sauce is the sauce we're using with the whipped potatoes and pretty much everything else. Heat up two tablespoons of oil in a pan. Stir in two tablespoons of flour. Add fresh milk, salt, pepper and chicken stock.

Meanwhile the Ham's ready. Time to serve them up.

Whipped Potatoes for Dummies

I know some of you are looking for the perfect whipped potatoes recipe. Well, this one's for Dummies.  For the record, we're using Russet Potatoes.  Add salt to the cut potatoes and boil it till it's soft. Use a fork to test for softness.

Dish it out into a mixing bowl. Whisk it with a cake mixer. Add butter and fresh milk. Whisk till creamy.

Verdict: This one is good, really good, really, really, really good. I think its better than Kenny Rogger's and KFC's.

Grilled Vegetables Next.

Christmas Luncheon

Sister Lee joined us for Christmas Luncheon this year and showed us a thing or two about Christmas Luncheon (Texan style) minus the customary stuffed turkey with cranberry juice which nobody wanted. We started off with Grilled Cheese using Edam Cheese. Edam is a semi-hard cheese that originated in the Netherlands, and is named after the town of Edam in the province of North Holland. Edam is traditionally sold in spheres with a pale yellow interior and a coat of red paraffin wax What I particularly liked about this cheese is that it was chewy and not too saltish. Both sides of the bread was buttered before cheese slices were laid on the surface. The bread was laid on the grilling pan until the cheese melted. One word. Yummilicious! For meat, we're having pineapple ham roast. Nobody wanted stuffed turkey. Chicken is forbidden food. We had pork roast last year so roast ham seemed like the logical choice. We got one of these and popped it into the oven to heat it up. Whipped Potato is next.

Christmas Morning

Two distinguishable voices engaged in animated conversation at an unearthly hour wasn't exactly my regular wake-up call. I am a heavy sleeper.  However, when Xena joined in the conversation, it was impossible not to pay attention. 

I walked towards my bedroom window and peered outside into the darkness. As expected, there wasn't much to see. The streets outside were washed in dimmed neon lights and if anyone in the neighbourhood had had a Christmas Eve Party, it had to be long over.

It was impossible to follow the conversation once Xena is involved. She never respected the protocol of polite conversation where you wait for the speaker to pause before interjecting. Often, you find her bulldozing her barks into any casual neighbourly dialogues whether or not they were welcomed. In this respect, she is a lot different from Marcus.

Xena

Marcus

Marcus, the Silky Terrier. Died three years ago.

Marcus listened to the neighbourhood conversation, ears cocked and waited patiently for the intermission before interjecting a bark or two. A male of few barks, he often got his messages across and the frenzied exchange of barks soon died down, unlike with Xena where the barks seemed to escalate with a life of its own.

I called Xena my Haiku-Dog. That's because she's quite the 5-7-5 syllabic dog. In a typical neighbourhood dialogue, Xena's contribution usually goes: 

Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof!
Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof!
Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof-Woof!

Yes, I counted.

Venus, on the other hand can be pretty long-winded if she decided to partake in any deliberation. Her barks are usually disorganised and did not follow any syllabic rules.

Venus

Ginger rarely participate in the neighbourhood chats but when she did, she goes ballistic with rapid-fire barks which only she alone understood.

Ginger was thankfully silent this morning while the other two just let themselves go. It was eternity before the two men engaged in the loud conversation had the presence of mind to end it. Venus held her tongue. Xena followed her fine example. Silence claimed the darkness.

I looked at the wall clock. It was 2 am on Christmas morning.

A Sleepy Afternoon

It happened at about two in the afternoon. 

Two police vehicles chased a white car which stopped after the T-junction where I lived. The police parked their vehicles and walked carefully towards the two men in the white car. Suddenly, the car screeched into reverse gear, rammed into a car parked at the corner of the T-junction and sped off. The policemen were taken by surprise. One of them yelled. The other fumbled for his gun.  They piled into their respective vehicles and took off after the miscreants.

The darkening clouds continue to gather above. A mild wind rustled the nearby trees. The dogs stretched their legs as they stirred themselves awake.

Somewhere in the horizon, an aeroplane skirted the cloudy skies before landing.

Merry Christmas, Folks! And a Happy New Year.

If you're going to be away, be sure to fortify your abode.

5 Phase CT Scan

The last time I was here, they conducted the blasted fire drill. I remembered. I also remembered the she-trainee doctor who punctured me three times before successfully getting the IV needle in place. That was way back in August and if you have a thing for fire drills, you can read more about it HERE.

Why am I doing a second CT Scan?

Well, the first scan revealed a lesion in my liver.  They suspected liver hemangioma. (That's a cluster of blood vessels in the liver which is considered normal.) An Ultrasound was ordered. It ruled out hemangioma. What they needed next was a 5 Phase CT Scan which focused on the liver.

Once again, I was sent to see another young she-trainee doctor. She was nice but she had trouble inserting the IV needle into my veins. She went this way and that way. Miraculously, I did not suffer much pain. Prayer helps. Finally, when she thought she got the needle into the veins, she injected saline into it. It shouldn't hurt if the needle had been correctly inserted. She wasn't sure she got it right though. I was instructed to keep my hand straight and not to bend at the elbow. The needle might come out if I did so. What a frightful prospect!

Next, I was given a cup of water and told not to empty my bladder. They did not inject any contrast into the other end of me.  Also, no tampon this time.

When I was finally ushered into the machine room, I made a fuss about being instructed not to bend my hands. They laughed and told me to relax. The needle won't come out, its only plastic inside my veins, yada-yada-yada, the whole nine yards. Luckily, the she-trainee doctor came in to explain my position. They were a lot more accommodating after this.

Pretty much the same thing happened. I was asked to breathe in, hold my breath, and then breathe normally three times before they injected the contrast. I felt the rush of heat going down my body as the machine whirred above me.

The results will be out in a couple of days but I won't know until my next appointment with the Oncologist which is in about a month's time.

Meanwhile, please continue to support me in prayer.

Note: That spot where the she-trainee doctor inserted the IV needle? It's blue-black now.

CT Simulation

The man in white is short and over-weight. He gave the impression of one who had been on the same job for too long. The surly expression on his face is typical of most administrative staff at the hospital. He preferred cash payments. We told him we're using a credit card.

"We'll have to go outside to swipe the card," he said, emphasizing on the word outside so we understand the significance of his inconvenience. Reluctantly, he got to his feet and lumbered heavily towards the main cashier at the Oncology Ward. He was right. Outside was quite some distance from where he was rooted, all thirty feet of it.

On the other hand, the young Radiation Oncologists at Radiotherapy were motivated and friendly. I'm not sure if age had anything to do with their states of mind but it certainly looked like it did.

The Radiotherapy Section at the Oncology Ward was quiet that morning. Most of the patients were there for their radiotherapy sessions. I was there for the CT Simulation which typically precedes all treatment.  What this simulation does is this.  It scans your body to identify the parts or area to be marked for the ensuing radiotherapy.

I was led into a room dominated by a machine bigger in size than the one used for CT Scans. A cylindrical bar wrapped in rubber with a diameter of about 5 inches lay across the middle portion of the sliding bed. That's for your derrière. Further up is the pillow. Beyond the pillow are two arm-rests and bars for you to hold on to.  I was asked to lift up my arm and lay them on the arm-rest beyond my head. I could not see what they were doing but it felt like they were laying paper tapes to demarcate the perimeter for the scan. Then they started drawing lines on my chest with a blue marker pen. They were polite and professional in their conduct.

When all the markings were done, they left to station themselves outside the machine room where a row of computers await their keystrokes.

The machine whirred to life. The bed slided into the hollow ring. The metal plate on the inner ring started to spin. I shut my eyes.

It was over in a squeeze of a lime.

The young doctors returned to make more markings on my chest. One of them read out the measurements while the other recorded them on what looked like a score sheet. I was given a few alcoholic swabs to remove the markings.

The leading Radiation Oncologist, a middle-aged woman spoke to me next. Since my lump went into the deep margin, they have decided to give me what they called the 5X Boost at that particular area of my chest where the cancer cells are most likely to recur.

I'm not sure what this 5X Boost will do to me so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Clumsy Clod

My fingers and toes still hurts. The good news is that I can touch anything hot and not immediately feel the pain.  On the other hand, I can't grasp anything small because I don't know if I've grasped it. I can't grip the zip slider on my jeans, for instance. This, I first noticed when I couldn't maneuver the hook on my necklace.

As a result, I've been dropping plates of dishes, keys and stuff all over the floor. I can tell you though. It's no fun dropping plates of dishes on the floor.

Did I mention I've been dropping eggs on the floor as well?

Millennium Powder Beverage

This product is selling like hot cakes. I placed an order about a month ago but it was out-of-stock and will only be available by early next year. Can there really be that many people on this?

Today I heard about the Millennium Powder Beverage Gold Edition! Would you believe it? Gold Edition! It costs a lot more and included cordyceps in its ingredient.

The lady who stumbled on this must have made a fortune.

UPDATE: Read Supplements.

Ginger is Home!

The apple of my eye is home. She stepped into the house amidst much cheering and whisked herself into a little tornado. (She does that whenever she's excited.) Then she climbed onto our laps, each in turn, and looked up at us with those adorable doe eyes of hers. Grandpa was immensely pleased to see her and they spent the next couple of hours cosied up on the couch.

Her blood count report is filled with asterisks. She's low on glucose, protein, red blood cells and a host of other components I'm not sure I know the meaning of.  The chronic purging caused some damage to her intestine so she's on all sorts of medication and required a high protein diet. Other than that, she's mostly tired on account of the low glucose and right about now, she's dozing off to La-La-Land.

And to think, we almost lost her.

The Strange Book

Outside my bedroom at the shophouse where I lived decades ago was a wooden altar which housed the ancestral shrine. This altar was about 4 feet high and occupied by a myriad of austere idols, urns and religious paraphernalia. Two colossal drawers occupied the side of this structure while the front piece was a curved wood carving featuring two 5-clawed dragons converging on a central pearl.

On the walls perpendicular to this altar was a large mural of a dragon and phoenix. The artist was Aunt Z's eldest son, since deceased. (So we had some artistic talent in the family.)

It was at this altar, inside one of the colossal drawers, the one on the left, that I discovered way down at the bottom, The Strange Book.  It was a book unlike any I had seen. The covers were white and unadorned. It was about an inch and a half thick, probably measuring ten by eight.  Its pages were filled with large texts and colourful illustrated images of winged men, mystifying and kindly in expression.  I could not read at the time so I searched the pictures for a story but could not discern any.

It was bound to happen. My Ma walked in on me one fine day and caught me pouring rapturously over the pictures. The book was confiscated and never seen or heard of again.

Adults can be ignorant. They never discern that children have ears which hears. (That rhymes, did you notice?) They spoke amongst themselves in conspiratorial tones which were picked up just as conspiratorially. (i.e. from the next room ~~~  *coughs*) From their whispers, I came to know that the book was found floating upon the sea at the harbour. It was picked up by my uncle (Aunt Z's husband) who handed it over to my Ma. 

The forbidden fruit always taste the sweetest.

My curiosity was stirred. What could have been hidden in that book to make it perilous enough to be confiscated? It seemed singularly important to seek answers. I began with the book shelves at school and discovered a whole new world of books telling stories I've never heard of before. They stimulated my sense of imagination and made my life a little less lonely.

Twenty two years later, I walked into a book store to browse for children fairy tales. It was then that I made a pleasant discovery.  The book which so piqued my interest way back when, was a children's bible.

Je suis une femme

I'm learning French!

That'll keep my mind occupied and suitably distracted.  I wish to circumvent the Depths of Despair and not go anywhere near it. I'm using an Android Apps called Duolingo.

Meanwhile, my fingers and toes are still hurting but I'll get by. It'll take a couple of months for the pain to dissipate.

Those of you who messaged and called me, thanks for your concern. I'm feeling much better now.

Update on Ginger

Little Ginger was discharged last Saturday when she looked promising. She did. 

However, by late afternoon, she became frail and listless. Hyperglycaemia, it's called, caused by low sugar because she hadn't been eating. When evening came and she was still refusing all food, there was only one thing left to do. She was readmitted under Dr Wong's care. They put her back on the drip and force-fed her. On the following day, Dr Wong called me. Little Ginger is looking good but still refusing to eat. They had to continue force-feeding her. She will be discharged only after she starts eating on her own again.

The house looked empty without her.

When it rains, it pours.

Ginger is in trouble. It started three days ago. I dropped an egg while trying to grapple with it. Its content spilled onto the floor. I called for the Garbage Raider. I usually do under similar circumstances. She mopped up the stuff and I mop up the floor after her. We never had any issue with that.

This time though, she started purging. She purged for two days and by then she couldn't stand on her feet. Her stool turned black which indicates internal bleeding, according to Dr Wong. I had neglected her for I was too sick.

Her condition is described as "critical" and she had been warded and will be at the hospital for the next five days. The vet suspect salmonella (from the raw eggs) so Ginger's blood will be sent to the lab. Poor lass is on drip now and my heart ached to see her in pain. It is my fault. I shouldn't have made her mop up those eggs. If you are feeding your dogs raw eggs, stop at once.

Depths of despair

The depths of despair is a bottomless abyss, a cesspool of dread. How deep it can be depends on how low you wished to go. It has room for just one so you can hear your grievances echo off its unyielding walls effectively compounding your troubles.

At the height of the pity party, you lose grip of reality and longed for the ultimate solution. Yet this solution does not come at will and you realized that a higher order of being is in charge.  Knowing that filled you with anger and a sense of injustice.  Next your search for reasons began. It always does but it never accomplishes anything so you returned to the primary misery in time to start all over again, each bout compounded by the momentum of the preceding one.

And that was where I went in the last couple of days until a message came most unexpectedly from my cousin-in-law. All Things Happened For A Reason. A word, a phrase or something intangible from the message lifted me from the doldrums and I rose once again to the surface for some air.

A Time To Moan

My fingers hurt but the need to write surpasses this pain. I have to give form to the thoughts in my head before it vanishes into the void.  It will be days before this post see the light of day. I can only write a few lines each day and there is so much spelling and grammatical errors to correct.

It is at times like this that you appreciate your fingers and be thankful for them. Consider what cannot be done without fingers. You can't brush your teeth or scratch yourself. You can't pick up that pill or handle this zip or button. You can't cook or scrub yourself. Forget the laundry or household chores. Virtually everything is off limits.

The pain worsen once the steroids wore off. This time it's different. Water retention made my fingers swollen and contact with water aggravates the sensation. It hurts even as I tapped on the keyboard, some fingers more than the others. Disposable gloves didn't help. It still hurts and twice as much when I peeled off the gloves.

Then, there's the flat of my foot. It hurts when I walked. I'm wearing bedroom slippers which helped to some extend. I kept wondering why my floors were dirty. It wasn't. I found out when I closely examine the flat of my foot. Certain parts had skin peeling off. It was grainy all over, specks of white sporadically placed. It's grainy in between toes too. These had to be dead cells from the massacre. I'm sorry. I should have spared you this graphic detail but you wouldn't know what I went through if I had.

Constipation was the next issue. Probiotics and prune juice proved futile. I discovered suppositories and stool softeners. It helped. Eight days after the chemotherapy, I went to the other end of the spectrum. I started purging once again. The eighth day is the worst because that's the time when your WBC is at its lowest and you are most vulnerable to infection. I did have a modest flu despite my self-imposed "confinement." My oncologist told me to lay off fruits, vegetable and anything high fibred to tame the diarrhoea.

I did not have any body aches since I laid off the fresh coconuts. Considering this, there must be some link between them. To each his own.

Due to water retention, the walls of your mouth becomes vulnerable so it is important to watch your diet. In previous treatment, I hadn't been quite as careful. If you take anything fried, it aggravates the walls of your mouth which quickly triggered an infection. The WBC count being where it is after the chemo, a simple infection will quickly take you to a full blown ulcer situation. Biotene is a mouthwash which helped prevent this. It contained enzymes and protein for some reason. If the damage is done, there's Bonjela. Still, it took about a week for the ulcers to ease away.

General fatigue is inevitable. With the massacre going on inside you, your resources are being redirected to rebuild and reorganise. Plenty of rest is therefore crucial.

Then, there's the tongue.The Marie Antoinette Syndrome hit my tongue. It turned stark white.

Speaking of the Marie Antoinette Syndrome, it certainly did not look like my hair is going to turn black after the chemotherapy.  Let me explain myself. Myth substantiated or otherwise, many breast cancer survivors claimed that their white hair turned black once the chemotherapy treatment ended. One interesting report from a young lady will have us believe that her hair turned curly. I liked the idea of curly black hair so I looked forward to the end of the session. I'll keep you posted on this.

Shooting pains in my recent wound is something I could not explain. This happened after every treatment and raises questions I no longer answer.

Despite the thunderstorm and strong gusts of wind outside, I was on fire most of the time, feeling hot and stuffed up. The general malaise wore me down.

Gastric and heartburn, not to be outdone joined the unhappy foray. A steaming hot cup of Milo usually placates but not always.

With so many things going wrong, it was inevitable that I plunged into the depths of despair.

* WBC (White Blood Cells)