I recalled Miss 1wRong mention about a shuttle bus and bless her- I saw the arrow pointing to a bus stop and joined the snaking queue for the little orange coach.
I was a little excited because it’s my first visit to the national hospital all by myself and I don’t know what to expect. Would it have buildings that look totally fit for ghostly residence with moss and peeling paint? Or barracks of sickness ala Malaysia hospitals where patients in wrinkled pyjamas hobble aimlessly along the slate-grey corridors?
I must say, it’s more like a campus resort with little orange coaches crawling in circles among the greenery and pastel-colored concrete.
I was worried about the facilities in the subsidised wards where my dad is staying when the lift doors opened. The still air is feebly cooled by an aircon hidden somewhere, probably from the lift. As I walked along the corridor to the ward, the air temperature is no cooler than the scorching temperature outside. And my dad always sleeps with aircon at home.
Instead of an old man lying on the bed with heavy lidded eyes, I found a gorrila sitting cross-legged on the bed. He looks like he’s on a holiday! (*n*)
I finally knew why he’s fine with the subsidised wards after I saw fig-colored,acne-sized bruises dotting his abdomen and arms. Those are the scars from real fucked-up medical services in Malaysia. Although he was put into a single ward in the private Malaysian hospital, those imbeciles got trainees to extract his blood and poke him with needles, as much as 5 times a day!
Dad’s happy with the food, not complaining about anything except that the ceiling fans are bloody useless. The only thing to be concerned of is the surgical probe and the results of it which will determine whether he has to do a heart bypass or a stent op. Hope he gets the latter one.