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when you have less tomorrows than yesterdays.

In the last couple of weeks, I went to the hospital twice; one was to visit the grandfather of a youth leader, and the other was to visit my paternal grandmother, who had a bad fall a few weeks ago and needed to be warded. She is my only remaining grandmother.

We used to be a lot closer when I stayed with her through my primary school days. However, our recent conversations barely scratch the surface. I remember praying for her in Chinese many years back (also at the hospital) and evangelising to her in Shanghai. She was physically weak and emotionally frail then and was surprisingly receptive to the Gospel. But right now, she’s in better health and I think she may have closed the doors again. I just returned home from visiting her with HY and I felt so distant from her.

This got me thinking about the things that go through an old person’s mind. After all, one thing about growing old is that you have all the time in the world to think about all the things you have done in your life, as well as the things that you will never get to do. There are memories that you’d inevitably revisit for the umpteenth time and with it comes the repeated lashing of hurts and pains; each time my grandmother recalls my grandfather, tears well up in her eyes. Honestly, there are times I wonder if she misses him as a husband or misses him as a father for a family that has fallen apart. I’ve experienced for myself firsthand the impact of an absent father; my grandfather’s passing in 1991 seemed to be the turning point of my extended family’s journey into dismay. But I digress.

I reckon that the typical aged person tends to remember the sadder moments about his life instead of the happier ones – I hope that’s not too quick an assumption, but why is that so? Why does he become gradually pessimistic as he ages? I certainly do not wish to age that way. I want to live my life in such a way that I will not look back in regret but to look back and feel great about all the things I’ve done and all the people I’ve impacted.

That night at the hospital, I saw sadness in my grandmother’s eyes. This is a morbid statement but I believe she knows that her time is limited and the day to bid this world goodbye is approaching. I couldn’t help but to think that she was thought about the things she wished she could have done better, the people she wished she could have treated better, and the words she wished she didn’t say. I saw remorse – but I may be wrong.

Please do not misunderstand me – I think highly of my grandmother and I need not prove her credentials through words. It’s just that watching her count her days made me ponder about how I’d be counting mine eventually. Is aging scarier than death itself? Sometimes I can’t help but think so, as I watch the old folks around me get older. And for geriatrics who have little activity to pass time with, they seem to spend the entire day staring into space – maybe they’re wondering if that’s how they are going to spend the remainder of their life. How would I deal with such a devastating thought?

I think it’s miserable and I think there’s so much more to life, even at an old age. I remember this quote (apparently a traditional Indian saying) about living and dying which I quite appreciated when I was growing up.

“When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a way that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.”

I’m pretty confident that, as with any death, the world would cry if I were to pass away at this instance, but the question that lingers is, would I rejoice? I guess I’ll have the rest of my life to figure out the answer. I don’t want to meet God in heaven and have Him put His arm around me and tell me, “You know, Joe, what I actually wanted you to do in this life was…” That would be an epic sadness which I’d want to avoid with my whole life.

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recovery reflections.

I don’t really write about events because I’ve set out this blog to capture more thoughts and reflections than moments, but I think I should remember my thoughts and feelings about this particular piece of memory in my operation recovery.

Many of you would know that on Tuesday I underwent surgery to deal with Dercum’s Disease; the team of surgeons removed all 25 lumps (L arm-2, R arm-5, L leg-2, R leg-2, F torso-9, B torso-5) which I had identified on my body. There are many things which I am thankful for throughout the entire process:

  • The excellent SGH team – be it nurses, assistants, anesthetists or administrators. There’s a lot that could be learnt from their care-giving; I left that evening with better idea of what it meant to show hospitality, from none other than a hospital team.
  • Normal bodily motion and function – with 25 dressings all over my body, my movement is restricted, uncomfortable and painful. I believe I would never take normality for granted again; the temporal inability of doing things normally heighten my appreciation.
  • Sudden and unexpected team of prayer warriors – be it from my DoYouLoveMe? cell, Shanghai MannaM@X cell, REAL2010, colleagues, family members and random friends. I must have had at least 25 people praying with and for me. God does His math properly – one for every lipoma.
  • Non-reaction to General Anesthetic – I’ve had neither allergic nor nauseating reactions to GA. Seems like everyone whom I’ve spoken to (who has undergone GA) either puked or felt really giddy. My doctor said I may also get sore throats and coughs. But praise God – I’ve had zero reactions. (By the way, I managed to stay awake for all of four seconds.)
  • Mummy’s unfailing storge (natural love and affection from parents) – 10th March marks her birthday and yet she spent the entire day making sure I was all right. The closest agape an unmarried man would experience would undoubtedly be from his mother. I could never be more thankful for the last 27 years of care-giving, self-sacrificing and out-loving from this remarkable woman.

I’m also especially thankful for HY. Three years ago, immediately after I left the SAF, I went for a minor operation to remove three lipomas on both arms. HY was there with me; back then, I was still courting her. Three years on, HY was also there with me, this time as my girlfriend and what a difference three years have made:

  • The comfort and assurance I felt when I was pushed back to my ward to recover, and to find a familiar face of love who had been waiting there for the last two hours. That is something I should never take for granted because she doesn’t owe it to me; she didn’t need to do it, she wanted to.
  • HY had a fear and natural dislike for hospitals and yet she overcame that to care for me. Of course there were boo-boo moments (for us to know, for others never to find out), but it made it all the more memorable.
  • She demonstrated patience for my impatience and a cool head for my hot head. This last statement actually does sum up how HY makes me a holier person by allowing me to overcome my weaknesses by learning from her strengths.
  • HY came to my place today to also celebrate Mummy’s birthday. She bought and brought along with her my recovery pack – two boxes of Post cereal and Magnolia milk for my breakfasts over the next week, Bee Cheng Hiang pork floss for my congee lunches and (my two favourite snacks of) Famous Amos cookies and Jollybean peanut pancakes in case I go hungry at night. It doesn’t get more thoughtful than that! HY never fails to demonstrate to me that love is indeed a verb.
  • Her presence during my absence from work this week have made and will continue to make a world of difference. She was there on Tuesday, Wednesday and she has offered to accompany me for Thursday. Every Naruto needs a Sakura in their lives for speedy healing, uh? (:

All right, I’ll be missing in action until next Monday (when I visit my doctor for the follow-up medical appointment). I doubt I’ll be mobile enough to make it to church services this weekend. I’m gonna try to work on the Newbies sermon series during this period of absence but I highly doubt my productivity. There’s little packing that I can do at home due to the awkwardness in moving around too. So… I think I’ll just be reading, playing FM (hehe), watching free movies on MioTV and couch-potato-ing a lot during the next few days. I welcome company.

There’s so much to praise God and to give Him glory for. He is good, in control and will bring it to pass. I serve a God who heals and a God who provides. And so I continue to covet your prayers. Please pray that:

  1. The root of the disease has been removed;
  2. There won’t be a recurrence – new lumps won’t grow, old lumps won’t return;
  3. Insurance will cover the bulk of the surgery cost – it wasn’t a cheap operation by any measure, and as it stands, I’m footing the entire bill;
  4. My body will heal well;
  5. Scars will be minimal;
  6. Wounds won’t be painful when I move around, sit or sleep, and
  7. There will be no infections or complications

And now I shall head off to watch Man Utd beat the living daylights out of AC Milan. (It’s 1-0 now but I may come back to edit this last sentence depending on the final score 90 minutes later…) [Edit: I’m a prophet. The final score: Man Utd 4 AC Milan 0.]

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