A pause and a write

The scarcity and paucity of my writings can sole be attributed to one single demon: work.

Not that I don’t like work. In fact that is an understatement. Actually I loved my job – the adrenaline rush, the calamitous din, the smile at the end of the day – but like the sloughy tar tasty food can leave on your blood vessel – work clogged up whatever impetus and sapped up whatever energy I had left at the end of the day  to write. Hence the silence of the pen.

I am writing something now because I am in the middle of my 10 day holiday break. In fact by looking at my blogging trend, you can safely bet that if I had written something, I am having the day off and you can ask me out for coffee. I am currently recharging my battery for a longer journey into the wilderness of Sarawak, while constantly battering and smouldering the urge to go out for another yumcha session.

Going out with friends is fast becoming an addiction. The laughter, the gossips, the coffee till the night is old fueled the craving for more . They are dangerous because like an addict who ran out of more meth, they amplify the silence when you have none. Being alone becomes a torture, staying at home becomes a punishment.   But what should we do then, about the saying “enjoy it while it lasts?” Another silly paradox of life.

Can fate be changed twice? But before that, the question asked should be, is the fate you think is you fate is really your fate? Not long ago I was getting ready to go to NZ for further studies, but a sudden afternoon heat and a telephone call later, I ended up in Australia. This time I had a premonition that I will be going to Daro before it became true, but a morning breeze and a brief chat later, I was switched to Mukah. I survived Australia and enjoyed it thoroughly, and would that be the same with Mukah? And of course I will have to live with the constant niggling thought, would I had enjoy NZ even further? Ditto Daro? Really, the path not taken all over again.

Yesterday, I turned a quarter of a century old. For those who have taken the pain to organise and turn out for my birthday dinner, I say a big ‘Thank You’. Thank you all also for rummaging through your whole wardrobe for that piece of pink to wear. Pink is really really a nice colour and you are all really really nice people. =)

Ah, the plain pleasure of seeing English flowing beautifully from pen to paper, figuratively speaking; or from keyboard to computer screen, literally speaking. If only English is a maiden, she will be the most beautiful lady I had even known in the whole wide world.

用华文谈心声

好久没用华文书写了。忙碌无休的工作使我早已忽略了的汉字的美妙，忘了笔画的拿捏。 不知为何今日心血来潮，拿起了钢笔，抄写了一篇描述文，从新找回那些埋藏在脑海已久的回忆。写完后甚至有种津津自喜的感觉。

想当年，我是多热爱华文，虽然它始终都以冷酷的肩膀回应我。我就是喜欢在它很艰难，很有挑战性，很不容易征服。那时那种意志力好久没再露出它的头额了。。。

我正寻找着下一个值得我付出这种奋斗不休精神的计划。有了那种热情，燃烧了那把火，我的生命才会精彩。

Whew, at last managed a decent three paragraph worth of Chinese characters. Not sure whether they make sense though. Nevertheless, am proud that I still can construct some sentences in Chinese. Happy. =)

FRP and off i go

Effective 16th April, I’m officially a Fully Registered Pharmacist (FRP) in Malaysia. Meaning that, well, instead of being ordered to do work, I can now order people to do work. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have much chance to do that.

In Malaysia, newly graduated FRP needs to do 3 years of “national service” for the country before you can go off and open your own shop or whatever. And this “national service” are more often or not in a place that is not your hometown.

Of course, if you are really unlucky (or lucky, depends on how you see it) you will get thrown into some obscure places like Daro.

It’s so rural that wikipedia only has a single paragraph description of it:

Daro is a district and small town in Mukah Division, Sarawak, east Malaysia. The nearest town to Daro is Matu. Daro is under the Majlis Daerah Matu-Daro (Matu-Daro District Council) which share the same council together with Matu. The population in Daro is estimated around 25,000, with Melanau making up the majority. There were ferries from Sibu to here, taking around two hours by using the channel of Rejang River.

and yeah, a boat is needed to get there. And there’s only one doctor in that whole place, there’s no 3G network (bye-bye iPhone) and I’ve never heard about the place in my entire life as a Sarawakian till now.

This will be a brand new exciting adventure. Perhaps fishing, farming and riding a bike will be my new hobbies soon.

Where is the heart…

The double door of the ward swings open. In comes the guy in the green overalls, pushing a 6 feet long cart in front of him. On top of the cart lies a scaffold that was shaped like a house, covered by a green canvas. In fact, it is a house for the dead.

The guy strides across the linoleum with brisk purposeful steps,  pairs of curious eyes followed his every move, necks craned to see where he will stop. Once he reaches his destination, he takes up a piece of white linen, swiftly and efficiently wraps the now lifeless body from head to toe, and transfers it into his cart. Then off he goes to where he came from. Just a chore he needs to do daily. The frequency may change, but the job is the same.

People die in the hospital wards all the time. When they do, the ones they left behind weep. Some wail. Some silent with shock. Some stand passively like a stone. People do react to death differently.

Death is a norm in a big hospital. It is normal to to find out that someone whom I had spoken to a few days ago were now a piece of lifeless flesh and bones. Someone who was happily telling me that he will  go home soon  really did go home,  just that it is in a coffin.

It is hard not to be affected by death; but then after so many deaths, somehow I became desensitised. When people die, no emotion flows through me. No tinge of sadness. No guilt of what could’ve I done better to save him. I feel nothing.

I am fast becoming like the man pushing the cart, viewing death as just a part of the job. I am scared I am fast losing my heart, fast becoming a cold and soulless person, but I can’t help it…

Sometimes life is just unfair

The impetus to write is just not there. Along the way, work and other perceived more important stuffs took central stage, devouring the time that should be spent writing, cooking and doing something I like.

Sometimes I wonder is work the central theme of my life?

Today I got some time to sit down and reflect. A virus had finally got to me, and for the 2nd time in the entire year, I was forced to take a leave.

This week will be the final week of my provisionally registered pharmacist year. Come Friday, I will have officially finished one whole year of tutelage and be primed and ready to face the challenge of being a fully fledged pharmacist, most likely in the district area.

Come what may, a few people had wondered why I was reluctant to appeal and try anything whatsoever to stay in Sarawak General Hospital, or somewhere else in Kuching. Wouldn’t it be easy and convenient?

It may sounds stupid and crazy, but I staunchly believed that it was people like me, sponsored by the tax-payer’s money who should be the first to raise a hand and say “I will go”. It should be a honour to go to the rural district, serving the people there who needs our help most.

People who where sponsored solely by their parents, especially those overseas who were forced by the rules to work in compulsory service for four years, are those whom I think should be given the choice of cities they want to serve in. Forcing them to serve the government is already an encroachment of their freedom, and further forcing them to serve in the district? Standing from their shoes, it is hard not to see how unfair the whole situation is. Their parents paid the most taxes, used up half a million ringgit to finance their education, and instead of being cash cows, they were forced to spend the prime of their lives in district hospitals. I felt sorry for them.

A lot of fellow provisionally registered pharmacists are also thinking of ways to go back to their hometown or at least be given a place in a hospital where there are easier flights to get home. Of course I agree that home is where the heart is. But well, we are in the health profession. We are supposed to be compassionate, to be self sacrifying, to reach out to those who needed us most. Well maybe we all have different motives...

Life is so unfair. And to make it worse, we have too many people who only thinks about their own benefits.

My two cents worth.

Throw of a dice

Been looking at the map of Sarawak recently. As you know, Sarawak is a very big state and there’s a lot of small towns that I know roughly where it is but not exactly where it is.

For example places like Simunjan, Betong and Long Lama exists in Sarawak. Heard about it before? Hell, its not even in the map above.

Why the sudden interest? Well in 3 months time I will be randomly assigned to any of the places on the map to work there for at least two years. We don’t have the luxury to choose, as this is what the govt termed as ‘Khidmat Negara’ or ‘Service to the Nation’ postings. My next 2 birthdays will probably be celebrated in some jungle or longhouse or next to a river.

In two months time someone high up will throw a dice..

 

and this will be how the Sarawak map look like for me.

 

Wonders how will lady luck treat me..

There’s just 10 more weeks to go before I finish my PRP training. Going to be fully registered and sent away soon. Starting my 4 week round in Nephro tomorrow. Damn time flies..

Cat cookies

Since it’s the year of the Tiger next year… I decided to do some cat cookies, since they are the Tiger’s nearest relative and are more pleasant to look at (Not to mention easier to draw).

Also did some rock cookies, which are actually chocolate oat cookies.

And here’s my kittens resting on the rock cookies.

Another pic of cats on rocks.

Hope they can last till the new year ^^.

Monday morning

It’s such a luxury to be able to turn off the alarm and go back to warmth of the bed. Especially on a Monday morning when its raining cats and dogs outside. And knowing the rest of your colleagues need to wake up and go to work. Pretty evil thought.

Woke up nine something with the sun still refusing to rise and the rain still drizzling down. At last having some contented sleep after working for 7 straight days! Been working over the weekend 730am – 430pm doling out pills for the sick.  Busy but contented and for the first time saw a pretty sick girl! Okay that sounds very wrong. Should be a pretty girl who is sick =p Hell, I started to think pretty girls don’t get sick.

Went all the way in the rain over to the Post Office in Pending to collect a parcel. Tada I have a Christmas present!

 

So anyway its the afternoon now and the day is still dark. What to do, monsoon season. Intends to spend the rest of the day deciding what cookies to make for CNY. All thanks to this book with all its deliciously beautiful pictures:

Should I do this for CNY?

Going out later to buy all the ingredients ^^. In the meantime I will enjoy the sights of the stunning Kim TaeHee in the Korean drama IRIS. Over a cup of steaming hot coffee. Okay now I start to feel guilty over all these lazing around. I will try to read about renal stuffs soon. Going to the nephro ward in Feb. And yes about writing out my new year resolution…

Late Christmas Post

Nice way to start a new year posting about something that happened last year.

Nothing much, just some photos on castles and igloos and Christmas trees

The igloos and ice castle is the Spring.

Santa’s little helper wishing everyone a joyful Christmas

First time Christmas with a decorated trees and real presents under the tree

My Christmas dish: Macaroni cheese bake with grilled lamb, aubergine, tomatoes and button mushroom.

Anyway have a happy new year! May it bring you lots of joy and laughter. Damn I haven’t even think about my new year resolutions…

2009: Year-ender

Its the time to write another year-ender, however,  this year I’m devoid of any interesting thing to write. 2009 just  pales in comparison to the thrill of last year. If last year was a da Vinci, then this year is a black and white abstract. 

The highlight of 2009 is work, work and more work. Not that I find work tedious - conversely, I found it fun – but nonetheless there’s this monotony to it. 2/3 of this year was spent working and hopefully it is not be like this the rest of my life.

So its nearly a year since I came back form Melbourne. Overseas education – what does it translate? Are we better off compared to the locals? Well not really. But perhaps we do have a different attitude when it comes to asking questions, following orders and ways looking at things. Knowledge wise, we are more or less the same.

The beginning of the year – what distant memories it is now, was filled with the joy of doing nothing. It was a blissful period of indulging in my favourite pastime of reading and writing, knowing full well that it was likely to be the last of long holidays in my younger years.  It was punctured by a short and sweet trip to Singapore – the only time I flew this year.

Then in mid-April work began and never stops. Throughout the year I had been to many places in the pharmacy department of SGH and meet all sorts of characters. It augurs well that I had the foresight to reread Dale Carnegie the week before work starts – the peculiarity and complexity of human behaviour proves to be the main trappings at work.

My main obsession this year was to deliver the perfect presentation. It had something to do with my perfectionist streak I fear, as well as a penchant for show-boating. Public speaking serves as a good output for both. I had also joined Toastmasters for good measure, hopefully to hasten my ambition in reaching the proverbial holy grail, whatever that might be. Still got a long way to go this one..

When it comes to girls… I still wonder what I look for in the perfect one. Choosy sounds a bit harsh but well, it may be spot on.

Hopes and resolutions for the new year? Am still figuring it out when I had the time. Time is a premium currently, and it had been a tight balance between work and play. But of course there was still time for a good book… and in case you are wondering why my English sounds so English, it probably rubbed off Jeffery Archer’s latest paperback. I had spent the last three days sinfully polishing off the 500+ odd pages…

Anyway, hope you all had a swell 2009 and may 2010 prove to be a better year. 

Mirage – Part 2

“Wouldn’t a trip here give them inspiration to work hard and earn enough spending money in the future? It can provide motivation to make their dreams come true,” I try to counter his words.

“Dreams? Bah! Dreams seldom come true. See that couple there?” He points to a couple whose backs are facing us. The woman had tilted her head to rest on the shoulder of her husband, while the guy had his hand encircling the waist of his wife. They are strolling towards the escalator that will bring them up to the first floor.

“They are probably here to live their dream. This is their dreamland. They are here dreaming about all the things they can’t have and the life that they can’t afford. He will go to the computer shop upstairs, caressing the sleek edges of the MacBook Air notebook he knows he can’t have. He will type a few sentences on the keyboard and wish he can do it forever. His wife will probably go to VINCCI, trying on a pair of Manolo high heels she saw on Sex and the City. She will feel that she is on the catwalk, sashaying about like a model. Then they will stand in front of a 42 inch plasma TV, marveling at the high definition images, trying to transpose it into their living room. Then the spell will be broken.”

His face is a little red now, as if all the blood had left his body to congregate there. I could detect wheezing undertones beneath his labored breathing. Probably early stage of emphysema due to chronic smoking, I diagnose. Pink puffers, they are called. He pauses momentarily to catch his breath.

“They will realise their living room is too small, and their car is also too small to put the TV into. Then they will be reminded that they haven’t finished paying their home as well as car loans. The ticket to realising their dreams rests solely on the shoulders of their son. They are now investing their money on him, sending him to tuitions, with the hope that he will find a good job and command a high salaried job one day. He is probably in one now. To kill time while waiting to pick him up, they are here to escape the harsh reality of their life. But looking at those things they can’t have…” he shakes his head sadly.

“Can’t even guarantee the son will give them the money.” he mutters.

The couple has disappeared from view. The old man’s words bring images of hamsters I used to have, running hard in the round exercise wheel but ended up getting nowhere, into my thoughts. A wave of pity washes through me. How long will they stay trapped in the rat race? But at least they have each other. That will alleviate the pain.

I follow his eyes which have wandered back to the four teenagers, who are ambling out from the ESPRIT store. They are walking towards the direction of the food court. It may be a fraction of my imagination, but they are more subdued compared to the time before they ventured in. The gaiety has been diluted from their face. Maybe, like the old man had said, they suddenly realise that they don’t belong.

“Poor kids, this venture into a rich men’s mansion will scar them for live. When they reach the food bazaar, they will be pawing into the deep reaches of their pockets, hoping to discover another crumpled ringgit inside to add to those few blue notes in their hands. They will travel from stall to stall, looking for food they can afford. Probably ended up sharing a plate of Nasi Lemak bought with a price where they can get two plates each at the village warung.”

The old man’s eyes dart around the mall again, like the searchlight from a light house, searching for a new target to harp on. Like a bald-head eagle finding his prey, he swoops down lithely on a young couple emerging from a corner of the mall. They are probably only around seventeen. They look sweet together, holding hands and sharing a single scoop ice-cream.

A throw of dice?

 

The two groups of children are roughly the same age: cute, big eyed, cherubic cheeks with just a hint of baby fat. Just like an unfinished masterpiece. They exude a sense of purity, of vulnerability that will melt the heart of whoever set sight on them.

Yet they couldn’t be more different.

For those on the left were an award-winning choir members flown in from KL; those on the right, children suffering from cancer.

Those on the left were resplendent in their Santa hats and smart red-and-black vests; standing upright rendering Christmas cheers in heavenly voices.  Those on the right were dressed in shapeless green smocks, their head shiny domes, listening passively.

Those on the left are here to give, those on the right, receive.

What makes them different? What makes them the anointed one to give; and conversely, one to receive, when in theory all children were born equal?

Surely not more than a throw of dice. Fate dealt a hand, and one find him/herself on one side, the other find him/herself on the other side of the divide.

And just by that, the rest of their lives are different.

Life is unfair. But surely, mentally and spiritually, both sides gained something from this visit, because even me as a bystander, learnt something new. 

Update by short sentences

Seems an eternity since I last updated my blog.

Been busy doing this and that. Caught up in things.

A little bit burnt out. Going here and there.

This weekend been nice. Been sleeping a lot. Readying myself for on-call next week.

Best feeling is when curled up in bed reading a novel. Peeking into the magical lives of others.

Clinical pharmacy is okay. But is every single life worth saving?

In the meantime, going to post up a short story to fill the impending void.

Mirage it was called. Wrote this in March 2009. Since then have ideas on how to improve it but lazy to do it. Oh well, just enjoy the original version.

Going to try making apple crumble cheesecake later. Anyone interested?

Mirage – Part 1

“Good weather today, isn’t it?”

It seems funny that the man should comment about the weather, as both of us are located deep in the labyrinth of the colossal shopping complex, where rain or shine, the temperature is kept at a cool 18 degrees, and the lights bathing the place are from artificial sources. But he looks friendly enough, offering a smile which exposes two missing front teeth, a feature that stands out amidst the surrounding salt and pepper stubble on his face.

“Yes it is,” I reply, out of respect for his seniority.

“Interesting place here huh? Never thought I will see a shopping complex this big in my life,” he continues.

I nod mechanically, not really interested to be mired in a conversation with this wizened old man. His sallow face is lined by wrinkles and he stands with a stoop. His fingernails are yellow and dirty, probably due to years of smoking. The outline of a pack of cigarette is jutting out of the front pocket of his blue T-shirt.

“My son said this shopping complex is smaller than those in Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. But what do I know? I never took a plane before in my whole life. For me, this is big enough. Maybe too big for this place…”

What do you know, old man, I want to smirk with disdain. You are like a frog living in a well. How can the country progress if all people think like you? But I keep quiet.

Just then, a group of four dark-skinned teenagers walk by, their loud chatter diverts our attention to them. Two gangly guys; one in a chequered shirt faded with too many washings and jeans torn at the knees, the other in a bright yellow T-shirt and gray slacks, which I suspect used to be white. Two skinny girls; one in short sleeved V-neck tee and shorts above the knees, the other in a flowery baju kurung. They are chatting in a language that sounds familiar yet foreign, a hodge-podge of Malay mixed with some other dialects. Bahasa Sarawak, I suddenly realise.

Oblivious to the newly wiped floor, they trudge across, leaving numerous grayish imprints of their sandals on the otherwise spotless marble slabs. The old man shakes his head disapprovingly.

“These kampong kids are probably wearing the best T-shirt and trousers in their limited collection. The lipsticks on the girls’ lips are probably their mum’s, stealthily removed from scant make-up boxes and applied, then stealthily put back. The boys talk loudly and walk with a swagger to hide their insecurities. They need to be macho, even though deep down they are afraid of this foreign place. This is probably their first trip here, via the old steel mass called a bus.” The old man’s voice is suddenly animated.

My eyes linger on them. They are standing in front of the ESPRIT store, their mouths agape upon seeing the huge poster of a European female model on the display window. The spacious brightly lit store beckons, yet they seem afraid to go in. Perhaps they are overawed by the futuristic space-age façade of the store, so accustomed they are to the congested, packed-to-the-brim kedai runcit in their kampong. Tentatively, one of the boys steps across the line into the store, and like goslings following their mum, the rest join him.

“Their eyes will widen, big as saucers when they see the price tag of the clothes. Probably a piece cost as much as their parents’ monthly combined salary. The shop girls will watch them like hawks, afraid that their dirty hands will smudge those expensive wears. If they are intelligent, they will see their own reflection off the mirrors or these marble floors and get out of there quick. It is not their place to be here.”

The venom in his voice surprises me. He seems such a genial man, a dotting grandfather.

Clinical Pharmacist

I always thought I wanted to be a clinical pharmacist. I don’t know why, perhaps I had the perception that being a clinical pharmacist is the epitome of being a pharmacist – walking in the midst of patients, sorting through their meds and data readings, solving their problems.  

Besides, being a clinical pharmacist is sort of the ‘glamour job’ in pharmacy here. There is this perception that only the best and brightest can be clinical pharmacist. There is this allure and veneration of white coated people strutting about confidently in wards. They are the one standing there thinking on their feet, standing toes to toes with doctors discussing about the care of patients. 

When I was interviewed back in February, the question asked was “Do you want to be a clinical pharmacist?”. When I  reported for duty in April, the same question was asked. What about in-patient supply? total parenteral nutrition? cytotoxic drug reconstitution? No one asked.

Well, I guess I would know whether I would really like being a clinical pharmacist or not tomorrow. I will be starting a four-week rotation in the cardio-thoracic ward. Armed with 4 years of knowledge and 7 months of experience, I am going to march right into the baptism of fire.

Anyway, some more pictures straight from Thirteen’s Cookbook. Enjoy!

 

Very healthy apple crumble made with oat crumbs!

Just eat it with ice cream. It tasted heavenly.

 

Self-made profiteroles filled with sinful cream and dusted with caster sugar.

Don’t you wish you are here?

 

And this was for dinner! 70% cooked Rib-eye steak with self-mashed potatoes and self-made creamy mushroom soup.

Damn I am getting fat.

Sunday Cookbook

Another page of my cooking adventure:

Take some sticky honeyed dates,

Add in the usual suspects in baking: butter, flour, eggs and sugar, and beat them up..

This don’t look very promising..

But hey, my sticky date pudding came out just nice! Warm and fluffy in the inside, caramel and sticky on the outside.

Blissfully sweet. But tasted quite sinful too, to think I did it after writing about diabetes and a sweet death.

But then, something are worth dying for.

Anyone want a try? ^^

Dying a sweet death

Today is World Diabetes Day.

15% of Malaysian aged 30 and above have diabetes.

Worse, 1/3 of them was unaware they have it.

You see, diabetes encroaches upon you silently.

Slowly and surely, it lets you drown in sweetness before you are even aware of it.

To put it simply, diabetes is a condition where there is too much  sugar in your blood vessels.

Too much of a sweet thing is not a good thing, as it slowly clogged up the blood vessel, impeding the transport of oxygen and nutrients to your body. All these leads to severe consequences with death as the end point.

Amongst the complications caused by diabetes include

As pharmacists, I believe we have a huge role to play in educating patients about diabetes.

Hence a few of us are embarking on a research project to educate and enlighten them about this disease.

We are going to make them aware of the disease, the consequences, and how to reduce the progression of the disease via a PowerPoint and video presentation. 

Hopefully, it will make a difference in their lives.

This is our call of duty. Who cares the idiotic government is mulling to cut down our allowance by RM650 per month. Even if  they have every intention to screw us and the patients, we still have a responsibility to make sure patients don’t suffer as a consequence .

Cut down your sugar. Order kurang manis.  Take care of your health. Exercise 150 minutes per week. Check your blood sugar level yearly. Diabetes is no sweet way to die.

i injected myself with an insulin pen

The pharmacist reached the anticipated end of him long-winded speech. Hands were already in the ready-to-clap position, eager to bring the curtains down on a long day.

But he still had one final twist to the tale on his sleeves, one final rabbit to be pulled out from his hat.

“Now I’m going to give each and everyone of you an insulin pen. You will then proceed to inject yourself to see how it feels for the patient.”

Commotion broke out. The hall was abuzz with nervous and incredulous chatter. What? Poking a needle (albeit a 5mm one) into ourselves?

Pens were passed around. In our little group we were fiddling with the pen nervously.

Since I was the most senior PRP in my group, I wasn’t surprised when the group facilitator pointed a finger at me and intoned “You go first.”

Putting a mask of nonchalant bravado, I put on the needle on the insulin pen and with one swift push poked the pen into my ample subcutaneous layer. All I felt was a tingling sensation not unlike a red ant’s sting.

“It’s not painful at all,” I declared with a smile. And to prove my point, I proceeded to poke myself a few more times. “See? It’s okay.”

Until I realised blood were tricking out of my tummy. “Eeek... blood.” 

I rolled up my eyes and fainted.

 

Injecting insulin. Been there, tried it. Really, it is not  painful.

That would be an appropriate and sensational ending. But alas, in a disappointing and normal end to the story, I just proceed to wipe out the blood and continue teaching the new PRPs how to use the pen.

Anyway that’s what we do as pharmacists. We don’t just give out medicines to you like mindless robots. Nor are we there to just pick out the careless mistakes of doctors. That will be demeaning to say the least. No, we are the crazy ones poking ourselves with insulin pen to experience how you feel poking yourselves everyday; munching through tablets to see how bitter it is, tasting the syrup to see how sweet it can be.

While we were dispensing, we think of ways to make it easier for you to remember taking the bagful of medicines,  coaxing you and praising you so that you feel taking the medicines are worthwhile, exaggerating our actions like clowns while demonstrating to you how to use your inhalers so that you will remember better.

Really, we do try our best to step into your shoes.

I understand this is how you see me if you have glaucoma.

We are here to make your live living with a disease better and more comfortable.  As long as you can get better, we will feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Exam

Taking an exam is just like playing the roulette. You spend as much as you can afford on as many numbers as possible and fervently hope upon your lucky stars that the silver ball rest upon a number you choose.

An element of luck is needed together with all the hard work you chipped into it, especially in assembling the money.

For those caught in the feverish exam mood, I wish you best of luck. May the exam gods smile on you, and you in turn, walks out of the exam hall with a foolish grin on your face and be promptly spanked.

If your luck is in the dumps, oh well, go find a four leaf clover to put under your bed and have a nice dream. You won’t fail. The Uni loves to boast having a 99.9% passing rate.

Anyway, just good luck and all the best!

Six months

October sixteenth was the day where I passed my sixth month mark of my year as a provisionally registered pharmacist (PRP).

Half of the road travelled and am I none the wiser?

Come to think of it, this half a year had been an enriching experience, in terms of pharmacy knowledge, human relationship, work politics and keeping a right frame of mind for the job.

I remembered starting my work in the Out-patient pharmacy (OPD) a picture of blur-ness, not helped by the marketplace like scene.  OPD was madness then, the baskets of prescriptions piling high, the pharmacy people having harassed look, patients, frowns of impatience. 

That’s what happens behind the scene in OPD the middle of the night…

Six months down the road, I found myself in OPD again, this time seeing mirror images of myself writing down notes  on things to learn tonight, flipping through books, asking questions. Ah new PRPs…they never cease to amaze. Me? well, I am a little bored now, feeling mechanical dispensing yet another paracetamol or benadryl. Just trying my best to keep the smile on my face going. Knowledge had improved leaps and bounds – its all about experience. But of course, it is still a process of continuous learning.

Office politics is all dirty, with half-baked rumours of back stabbing and two-faced people constantly flying in the air. Everything you did is tagged with an evil motive by green eyed monsters.  Being neutral is hard – genuine friend or spy from the other camp? Guess just need to survive as best as I can. Diseases of the human mind are more complicated than the sum of the diseases caused by all those little bacteria and viruses. Why can’t everyone just be friends…

Pills are now my best friends…

Me? Just going to work everyday in a cheery mood. I need to go work anyway, why choose to be in a bad mood? Amidst all this hocus-pocus I still find work fun. It feels great to be able to help people managing their medications and life better everyday. In the end, this is what pharmacists are trained to do – making a difference in the lives of the sick. Okay politically correctly, the medically deranged.   

So my views or wishes or outlook for the other half of the journey? Bring it on!