A YEAR AGO TODAY ... I'M BIONIC ... well, not even close!

I postponed the surgery to the following week. “I have to make some arrangements at work,” I told the surgeon. I lied. I could just go through with it immediately but I wasn’t mentally prepared for the surgery.

His nurse penned down the date for surgery. She booked the room and cleared with the insurance company on the necessary payment. I was to be warded the day before for pre-surgical procedures.

After the appointment, I went to the office and then back to my own house. My staff thought I had done the surgery the way I was carrying myself. I told them the painkiller was my best friend.

Seriously, I have no problem being put under for the surgery. My problem is the pre-surgery procedure, especially having to draw blood for tests.

You see, I had a painful and traumatic experience when I was hospitalized for suspected dengue in 1974.  I was poked three times in each arm by an inexperienced nurse. She couldn’t locate the vein on my arm to draw blood. A doctor had to draw blood at the wrist instead and using a big needle, it was painful.

So, when the lab technician (that’s what she described herself) came by to draw blood, I told her she will not be able to find a vein on my arm. She has to poke my wrist instead. She told me only doctors are allowed to draw the blood from there.

So, she tried to find a vein on my hand instead. “Your veins are very thin,” she said. She went off after three failed attempts to get any blood out of me.

After that, a nurse came to do the same thing. Even before she could do it, the anaesthetist came by. “What are you doing?” he asked the nurse. “Nak ambil darah untuk lab,” she said.

“Let me do it. I may as well put in the IV line also,” the anaesthetist said.

Well, he didn’t put in the IV line. It took him a few minutes to finally get half a vial of blood. But my blood was splattered all over the bed when the nurse, who was applying pressure on my arm, did not release it after the anaesthetist took out the needle. It shot out like water from a hose.

I felt like crying. “Dahlah susah nak dapat darah saya … bila dah dapat, terbuang macam tu saja,” I said. The anaesthetist patched me up and left.

The next morning at 11.30am, I was wheeled into the operating theatre. I remembered how cold it was in there (I had surgery before to remove a torn meniscus tissue removed from my right knee in 1989).

“Let’s put in the IV line,” the same anaesthetist said. “Aren’t you supposed to put me under first before you put in the IV line?” I asked him. “We only do that with children,” he said.

It was really fast. “It’s in. You see how easy it is here under the bright lights,” he said.

A few minutes later, I was asleep. I was asked to start the zikir but didn’t even get to finish the first line.

The surgery took about one and a half hours.

I woke up choking.

• To be continued

A YEAR AGO TODAY ... I'M BIONIC ... well, not even close!

I fell at KLCC.

Wait, I know what you’re going to ask.

“Macam mana boleh jatuh?” I was asked that every time I relate this story. I don’t know really. The floor may have been wet (it happened in front of Garrett’s, the popular popcorn outlet) or I may have tripped after stepping on my long skirt. Or I may have simply misstepped.

I felt a sharp pain on my right shoulder. I knew immediately that something was not right. What I didn’t know then was that I had fractured the head of the humerus bone.

The KLCC guest relations officer, who happened to pass by, asked if they can take me to the clinic. I told her I needed a hospital instead.

When she told me that the medical centre had closed (it was after 6 pm when it happened), I decided to go to Pantai Hospital.

I took the Isetan escalator to the groundfloor and headed towards the taxi stand. It was peak hour. There was no taxi in the queue, except for one waiting for her ride to finish work.

The lady driver saw that I was in pain. I told her what happened and that I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. She called her ride, informed them of my situation, and she got the go ahead to take me.

It was the longest 45 minute ride to Pantai Hospital because of the traffic. Every time the cab rode over a speed bump, the pain intensified.

When I reached the hospital, I couldn’t get out of the cab unassisted. The hospital’s attendant helped me out of the cab, put me on a wheelchair and immediately wheeled me into emergency.

A doctor, who attended to me, put my right arm in a sling and sent me for X-Ray.

“Patah kan?” I asked the technician after it was done. He nodded.

The doctor gave me his initial assessment. “Mungkin kena operate ni,” he said, while showing me the X-Ray results. “Tapi kita tunggu pakar orthopedic. Dia dalam operating theatre sekarang ni. Kejap lagi dia turun,” he said.

His “kejap lagi” was two hours later. The surgeon showed me the fractured part on his phone. The X-Ray technician had sent the copy to him.

“We’ll see if you need surgery in a week’s time. In the meantime, you wear this arm sling. I’ll prescribe painkillers. Come back and see me in a week.”

I called a cab and went directly to my brother’s house in Putrajaya. I was on one week medical leave anyway.

Sleeping that night was a torture; I ended up sleeping in a sitting position, with a pillow propped against the bedrest. After a while, I could find a sleeping position that was comfortable.

A week later, I was at the surgeon’s office. I had to do a 3D CT scan first before I saw him. At his office, I was shown the result. “We have to graft the chipped part, insert a six-inch plate with some screws. It’s a simple procedure. Takes about two hours,” he explained.

I asked if surgery was absolutely necessary. He told me the chipped bone will not heal itself.

“So, when do you want to do it?” I asked. He looked at his appointment book. “Tomorrow is ok,” he said. I said no.

• To be continued

FIREWORKS!

I was in cab on the way home from terawih on the eve of Ramadan when I saw fireworks lighting up the sky near the apartments where I live. They do start early this year, I told my usual cab driver. “Tak lama lagi nanti kita baca berita ada yang accident main mercun ni,” Hasanudin said.

He was not far from wrong. Today, a day short of a week into the fasting month, I read that a four-year-old kid lost his fingers when the “A-Boom” fireworks he was playing with exploded in his left hand.

No one really knew what happened. Only the boy can tell. He may have thrown the lighted fireworks too late or he may have tampered with the fireworks and it blew up on him.

The irony is we only read about these mishaps during the fasting month and well into Syawal too. Yes, only during these times; hardly ever during Chinese New Year although fireworks are big during their celebrations.

I played with fireworks when I was growing up and I have had a few mishaps myself.

The first incident was when I was still a toddler. Mak said I was throwing the metal holder of the sparkler but it somehow bounced back and the still-hot portion of the sparkler burned through my clothes and “lekat” at my stomach.

When I was older, I graduated to fireworks. Once, the bottle I had used to hold up the fireworks had toppled and the fireworks pointed towards me. The sparkles from the fireworks burned holes in the light blue shirt I was wearing. It was my favourite.

Some years ago, I brought home fireworks that would light the sky like those during the Merdeka and New Year celebrations albeit on a much, much smaller scale.

The problem with lighting these fireworks was that the wick is long. Most often than not, it would fizzle out before it reached the explosive. Or so I thought. It blew up as I got closed to it to check if it needed to be relit. It didn’t fry my brain but I was very nearly close to being deaf in one ear.

And my mother (yes, my mother … not my father) tells me they never had any fireworks mishaps during her time. Mind you, theirs are not the factory-made fireworks that we now play. They played with homemade bamboo or steel pipe cannons, which I think are far more dangerous.

Mak tells us of those good old days of competing who has the loudest cannon among the nearby kampong. She relates how she and her friends would listen to the hissing sound coming out of the bamboo or steel pipe (when carbide and water mix) and then, KABOOOOOOM! “Tak ada pun yang putus jari … (tak ada pun) yang mati,” she said.

While there may be no mishaps, Mak said some of her friends got punished by their parents; one for playing truant (they should be at the mosque or surau for terawih) and two, that they could have lost their lives playing with the bamboo or steel pipe cannons.

Fireworks are not a Malay thing. Lighting the kerosene-filled pelita is but not fireworks. Even then, some houses prefer the electric lampu lip-lap instead.

But still, more and more Malay children – more boys than girls – spend their Ramadhan and/or Syawal in the hospital after getting themselves injured playing with fireworks.

Why is that?

Baju Kurung

I never had a “pret a porter” Baju Kurung Telok Belanga or Baju Kurung Chekak Musang. Most, if not all, my Baju Kurung, even those for school, were tailor made. The in-seams are hand-sewn. Only the hems are machined together. The sarong? I was taught by my mother to tie my own sarong, even the sarong I wore to school.

I can sew my own Baju Kurung but I would let my mother finished up the neckline. I hadn’t mastered the tulang belut technique. I tried learning from my grandmother and my mother but they gave up on me. They find it difficult to teach a left hander how to do the tulang belut.

As time evolves, so have the Baju Kurung Telok Belanga and Baju Kurung Chekak Musang.

Today, both baju styles come in a variety of interesting - and colourful - designs, including batik, and other materials. The baju on the rack in departmental stores and boutiques are mostly without the pesak (gusset or insert, as in the seam of a garment, for added strength) and kekek (godet, a triangular piece of fabric usually set into the hem of a garment to add fullness), making them a little close fitting.

And the Baju Kurung Chekak Musang has since become more modern, spotting a Mandarin collar and three buttons, instead of five.

The myriad of colours and patterns and different styling and cutting have in fact taken the elegance out of these traditional clothes.

Most Johoreans I know still go for the original Baju Kurung Teluk Belanga and Baju Kurung Cekak Musang designs, which date back to the 1800s. And yes, both originate from Johor.

The Baju Kurung Telok Belanga made its first appearance during the rule of Almarhum Sultan Abu Bakar in the 1860s.  It was called Baju Kurung Telok Belanga because the Sultan was then residing in Telok Belanga in Singapore. The Baju Kurung Chekak Musang was introduced during the administration of his son, Almarhum Sultan Ibrahim ibni Sultan Abu Bakar (1895-1959).

The main difference between the two styles is that the Baju Kurung Chekak Musang has a collar, while both have the unique features of the pesak  and kekek. As a result, both baju types are loose cut. 

And, the Baju Kurung Telok Belanga has only one button (a kancing) and the Baju Kurung Chekak Musang originally five (buttons).

In the old days, the former was long, ending slightly below the knee. Its neckline was round (still is), with a slit in the middle and sewn neatly using stitches called Jahitan Mata Kia or Tulang Peranggi. It had no pockets.

Later, during the administration of Almarhum Sultan Ibrahim, the then Johor Menteri Besar Datuk Jaafar Muhammad tweaked the design a little.

The Baju Kurung Telok Belanga's length became shorter, ending mid-way between the waist and the knee. He also introduced three pockets for the baju, one on the left side of the chest and two at the bottom.

And Johor Malays then did not have the wide choice of fabrics currently available, and they wore mainly Baju Kurung Telok Belanga of striped silk. The Baju Kurung and samping are paired with loose-cut Seluar Acheh or Seluar Panjut; trousers fastened with a belt.

Men from Johor would have their samping under their baju. This is called dagang dalam. In Johor of old, commoners wore the samping dagang dalam while the bangsawan (aristocrats) wore theirs on the outside, or dagang luar.

To complete the look, the wearer dons a songkok or tengkolok, especially if one is a bridegroom or a guest at an official function. Some people try to match the colour of the songkok and samping with that of the baju. Some do not even wear a songkok.

It pains me as a Johorean to see the changes these new designers make to the Baju Kurung Telok Belanga or Baju Kurung Chekak Musang. The Baju Kurung is a symbol of Malay cultural heritage. These fashion designers should just leave the traditional clothes well alone.

The traditional Baju Kurung Chekak Musang
vs
The Baju Melayu Hipster

Which would you choose?

RAMADHAN 1436

Esok, kita akan mula berpuasa. Saya ingin mengambil kesempatan ini untuk memohon keampunan di atas segala perbuatan dan percakapan saya samada di dalam keadaan sedar atau tidak. Jua, di halalkan segala makan dan minum.
Sesungguhnya, yang baik itu datangnya dari Allah SWT dan segala keburukan, kesalahan dan kesilapan itu datangnya dari diri saya sendiri. 
Semoga Allah SWT menerima amalan dan ibadah kita sepanjang bulan Ramadhan ini. Mohon kita semua perkukuhkan ikatan silaratul rahim yang sedia ada, insya’Allah.

KICKSTARTING THE READING HABIT

It was a missed opportunity. I should have taken out my phone, put the camera setting on and take her photograph. Oh, I would probably ask her permission first before I snap her photograph or maybe not because I would want a candid shot.

She was a rare specie in this day of modern technology.

She was reading a book while waiting for her order to arrive. Yes, you read it right the first time. She was reading a book when I saw her.

This was at Ben’s KLCC two weekends ago. Everyone around us was looking at the mobile phone screens.

You know some were scrolling because they were using the index finger in an upward or downward motion on the mobile phone screen.

I saw others furiously typing notes, SMSes or messages on Whatsapp, Telegram or whatever message applications they have on their mobile phones.

I didn’t see anyone actually talking on the mobile phone.

I am guilty of doing the same thing – checking my messages, checking Facebook or reading the links send to by my friends – but only if I’m on my own.

A book used to be my companion, now it is iPhone 6. And iPhone6 Plus. Yes, these two accompany me everywhere.

Yes, I read but I don’t read books on my mobile gadgets such as phones and iPads. I surf the blogs, newsportals and other alternative news sites.

I still like reading titles on paperbacks and hardcovers. But I haven’t been doing so lately. In fact, I haven’t been to Borders and Kinokuniya for a while now.

I dropped into Borders at Bangsar Village II last Sunday. That was because a friend arrived late for lunch. I noticed there were many new titles. I picked up a book from there, telling myself that I would start reading it that night and probably finish reading it before the end of the week.

I must tell you that I have failed to do so. It is going to be the weekend soon and I haven’t started turning the pages yet.

I probably need to get away to a place where there are no mobile signals and no WiFi to start the reading habit again.

But where?