Green Hair

“Wah! What you drinking? Wanna turn into Indredible HULK arh??” cheeky FYDO asked.

Incredible Hulk was the topic of the week. The FYDOs code named him as Hulk because of his very green hair, but he is as skinny as a malnourished man.
I would like to share his story. Ah Siang aka Hulk (as per FYDOs) aka Si Rambut Hijau (as per the ward nurses). I honestly don’t know how to share it from my point of view. From all our conversations and interactions, I’ll try from his.

One Wednesday
Another session of waiting game. Here in Hospital Ipoh, they put me on another trolley and let me wait,  after waiting for hours in Hospital Manjung. How efficient can government hospitals be? I don’t care, really. My jaw hurts. My chest hurts. My arms and feet hurt.
They bashed me up in the temple. More than 10 of them. My bad, I tried to rob their sacred place. But hey God? God if you are there, maybe you can spare me some money. Again my luck. I got caught. They pounded my face and chest, burnt my hands and feet with joss sticks. The religious tattoo I had behind my back must have pissed them off so badly that the villagers took a HUGE bundle of joss sticks, lit them fiery red and charred them until the skin of my back peeled and bleeding raw.
Doctor after doctors came to check on me that night. Finally I was warded in 1A.

Thursday
My jaw is broken on both side. I guess that is why when my molars occlude, my front jaw still drops down. Pain? Yeah, but whatever. My shirt is always wet at my back, not from sweat, but from my raw flesh and skin. I don’t know which hurts more. The humiliation? The uncertainty and nothingness of life? Physical hurt seems the least of them all.
I fell asleep when my doctors tied up my broken jaw. I thought she told me it might be uncomfortable.
“You need surgery for your broken jaw…”
“No! I don’t want.” I am not giving myself that option. I have no money and I quickly signed the papers that they alarmingly shoved to my hands, stating that I refused treatment. Damn right, I refuse!

Friday

Staring at the ward ceiling day in day out is pretty boring. They are dressing my burnt skin, which is actually quite cooling and comfortable.
At 5pm, I always see a stampede of visitors in the ward when the gates flung open for Visiting Hours. I don’t expect any. Who… am… I anyways? If only I have a bottle of 100Plus.
“Hello, what is your name?” Oh, my doctor and a guy friend came by to see me.
“Ah Siang….”
The young man was very friendly and spoke very softly to me. He did most of the talking, as I listened intently. Because after some casual conversation, he began to share amazing things and profound truth I never heard before. He spoke with gentle authority. The young man asked if I have heard of the name Jesus before. No… And he told me that Jesus cares for me, regardless of my past, my present. He told me that Jesus is very interested in my life and would help me if I allow. And this man Jesus, He died for me? I understood what my visitor shared although they are way beyond my understanding. It was like Wow. Then he asked me “Would you like to accept Jesus today?”
And I said yes.

My new friend and my doctor friend led me into a prayer. When I repeated the words to Jesus, I can’t contain my feelings and they came as tears rolling down my cheeks. What is happening to me?

Saturday
My doctor friend came by to see me again today. Not as a friend, but as a working doctor. This time she brought a lady friend who quietly placed a bottle of 100Plus on my table and nonchalantly walked off.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday
These days flashed away and I have no recollection of what happened.
All I roughly figured beneath my subconscious is that I was transferred to different wards and even more doctors came by to treat me. There are more pills on my table. When my head cleared up, my hands and feet are bound, even my jaws. I can’t open my mouth to eat now. What is going on?

My regular doctor came. “Siang, do you remember what happened for the past 2 or 3 days?”
What? “You became unlike yourself…”
Why are my jaws tied up? My doctor began to explain that I needed surgery. Otherwise my mouth would still gag open even when my back teeth are closed. Only this time I paid more attention to her describing the need for the surgery. I know the operation is necessary… but… it’s all about money. When I am out of the hospital, I go straight into the arms of the policemen. And they, too, needed money for jamin. Where do I get the money when I even had to rob a temple? and unsuccessfully?
“Do you mind if I call your sister and speak to her?”

The Wednesday
I am grateful… My sister made the payment. We don’t come from a well-to-do family.
But at least… I have a family.

The following Monday
“Doctor, I am scared.” I told my doctor as the staff wheeled me to the Operating Theatre. And the very doctor who saw me the first day I came to Hospital some 10 days ago, encouraged me to pray. I look up at the big bright operating lights, closed my eyes and prayed.

Tuesday, Day 14
Today my sister came and took me home. Home or police, I am not sure. But I am glad to be out of the hospital. The doctors gave me an appointment card. I don’t really miss them. I have a feeling though, that they cared enough for me as a person.

Perhaps I would dye my hair black before I see them again.