The Loss of Life, Perishing Values

I have never really been a great believer in the justice system, or politics for that matter. I do, however, believe that the only entity that is truly blind is death.

Yes, the Grim Reaper has no equal when it comes to equality. You can be rich or poor, young or old, good or evil, man or woman, black, yellow, brown or white, but if your times up, its curtains.

Take for example, a certain gentleman. Born Cheah Soon Leong, he was in his fourties. A quiet man, he was mild mannered and of good temperament. His was an examplary life, short on God given talent and average by todays exacting standards but long on the values that give it meaning. Nevertheless he made the most of his life. Never one to sulk or complain of life's injustices, he ploughed through the weariness of pulling long hours. He'd walk for miles each day, under the searing magma overhanging the backdrop of dust, dirt, bikes, cars and the rush of people crossing each other's path. His tolerance of suffering was stratospheric. Heck, the man was almost indefatigable.

Out of bed by 6am, in the little hours of daybreak, he would make his way through the city of Georgetown, bereft of the luxury of a motorised vehicle, powered by the quick shifts of his feet. Procuring kitchen groceries was the first order of the day. Never did he forget, on each excursion, the detour to the little coffee shop. Once there, he would fetch his mother a hearty meal to start the day. Whenever time permitted, he dedicated the sweat of his brow to sweeping temple floors clean, during what most of us would call leisure time. He was, above all, the most heplful person I have ever seen. If a fellow colleague was unable to do his or her shift, he would help them do it without hesitation. While most people would, at the very least, require some form of financial remuneration to even consider such a request, he declined any offer of payment as this was his brand of friendship. Help for helps sake. Friendship cannot be bought, he always thought. The fabric of comradeship, woven with sincerity, was always worn as the second skin upon his body; a permanent fixture. He was indeed a rare and vanishing breed.

First in, last out. He was the only person who needed no motivation to venture beyond the scope of his employment simply because he felt it ought to be done.
He would water the plants even on days when the premise was closed for business. Neatness is next to godliness. His crisp and orderly habits typified his persona. Before, during and after each shift, he would be the one clearing the trash, wiping the tables, mopping the floor and washing used forceps before they were sterilised.

And then it happened.

Without warning, a premature foreclosure, the life drained from his body in the little hours of May 14th 2008.

Alas, the life that breezed through each encumberance, was brought to a rude halt.

It started out on the morning of May 12th; a day, which, when it started, seemed like any other...or so he thought.

Just as he made his way across the road, a yellow bus, "Milan" emblazoned on its sides, charged recklessly into his path, crashing onto the right side of his body, the moment inertia generating a sickening crackle that toppled him, the thick tyres narrowly missing his face as he went under.

"Mum, I'm ok, don't worry. Everything is fine", he said, amid blaring sirens as the ambulance raced him to Penang General Hospital. Even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the pain and discomfort escalating. There was something amiss. Although oxygen was delivered to him at a generous rate of 10 litres per minute, he felt his limbs grow cold and each breath seemed more laboured than the one before it, almost as if all the oxygen in the world was not enough to saturate his blood with the elixir of life.

The attending doctor in casualty gazed intently at the O2 saturation monitor. 95%...92%....89%.. The freefall continued as the patient's heart galloped. 100beats per minute(bpm)....124bpm....133bpm... At this point, the alarm bells rang in the physician's head. With great haste, he drummed the middle finger of his right hand over his left as he traced his way downwards. "Shit!" he thought, as he stabbed a 16G cannula into Cheah Soon Leong's chest wall. Blood spewed into the syringe almost instantly. "Its a farkin hemothorax!"

Later in the evening, he was feeling much better. The chest tube, though occasionally painful and somewhat uncomfortable, had proved incisive in draining blood which was rapidly pooling around his right lung. He could speak comfortably now and his breathing eased as the day wore on. Night fell, and he found sleep at a premium, unaccustomed to new surroundings.

"Can't seem to pee", he muttered to himself. He felt queasy after breakfast but made nothing of it. His mother, now by his side, made it known to the nurses that her son was having trouble voiding his bladder and gently probed if a bladder catheter might help, to which, the nurse replied, " Mau kencing, berdiri dan buat sajalah. Apa susah-susah?". The fist sign was missed.

As the cool of evening wafted through the dense humidity, his mother noticed that her son looked pale and his lips looked dry. Worried, she duly informed the nurse.
In return, she got nothing more than a cursory glance over the shoulder.
The second sign was missed.

At 2am, now looking a ghostly shade of pale, more reminiscent of the dead than the living, he drew each breath with greater effort. His heart raced, as he neared the point of no return. Yet, even in distress, he said, " Mum, I'm allright. Don't worry, I'm feeling better. I'm not breathless". His mother, though, felt non the better. Surely something was wrong. She alerted the nurse, who returned with a mask and tubing. Oxygen was promptly delivered via a built-in oxygen socket. The oxygen saturation improved, the blood pressure held firm, and yet the tachycardia failed to register anything more than a yelp in the nurse's mind. Soon, she left him to resume her duties, lulled into false relief by an improved oxygen saturation. This was the last chance to save him, or perhaps it may have already been too late. Even then, it was tragically missed.

An hour later, Cheah Soon Leong gazed to the heavens as he grew limp. His head fell backwards as he sighed his last. The subsequent rush of people to try and 'save' him was nothing more than token effort, background noice in a soundtrack of missed opportunities, and it cost him his life.

A post mortem subsequently revealed contusions to both lungs and a liver laceration that was missed. The alarm bells were ringing for almost an entire day and they resounded with alacrity for at least 3 times but were not heeded. Where have we gone wrong? Is one simple life less deserving of proper nursing care and attention than that of a Tan Sri? What of the compassion and sensitivity required for such a calling?

It seems we have lost the plot.

The worst is not over. The bus which was driven with gay abandon was driven by a friend of the enlisted, read employed driver. The man responsible drove without the necessary documents. Eyewitnesses recount how a burly man was seen driving the bus whereas the subsequent police report states that the driver was a rather lean man who was employed by the company. To top it off, no representatives from the company visited Cheah Soon Leong while he was warded and neither was any 'pek kim' offered upon his demise. The nonchalant flouting of the law and the nerve to lodge a false report may indeed be sickening but the total lack of respect for life or the humility to ask for forgiveness is tantamount to murder. I have no doubt that it is not only possible but also very likely for the culprits to walk away scot free, hence the burning desire to bring to light the loss of this life and the perishing values of the world we live in today.

Written for and dedicated to,
Cheah Soon Leong,
Friend and Colleague

Cheah, you will be deeply missed!
I tip my glass to your simple life which has inspired mine.

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
In secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
But carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
Thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
Risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way than this:
Where I does not exist, nor you,
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

Food for Thought

"Only when the last tree has been felled,
When the last river has been poisoned,
When the last fish has been caught,
Will we realise that we cannot eat money"