That dreaded day, when I was supposed to undergo an operation to remove my ingrown toe nail. I had to endure like a sizzling five hours, not including the mental torture that those enclosed walls provided so happily. My operation was slated for 10 a.m. but being the “selfish” person that I am, decided to go early in hopes that the other three patients would be still sleeping. After all, the orthopedic guy asked me to head there earlier if I wanted an early op. Luck wasn’t favorable that day, so the three of us was told that there were a few emergency cases that required immediate attention. So we had to sit and wait.

Looks can be deceiving, so if you’ll think that GH is dark and dreary, corridors splattered with paint with the imminence of sloppy, that’s like the past because it wasn’t at all that bad. Counting a few glitches like mopping the floor when people are moving about at lightning speed can cause severe heart failure. Don’t mind the exaggeration, we all throw a fit capable of tearing mountains apart when that happens. It’s bad man, no shit. I felt really bad when I had to walk through that particular corridor and silently I prayed that the janitor wasn’t “jampi’ng” me in any way. I did mumble sorry but I guess that it was kind of inaudible to human ears. The concoction they blend together with their cleaning liquid pervades our nostrils with a deadly, pungent stench that made me really nauseated.

En route to the operation theatre, I was given a set of clothes that reminded me of my dearly beloved night pants and shirt. Hey, I didn’t look good in that outfit. I felt like I was wearing an elephant suit atop of my skinny frame. What’s worse, the waist line of the pants was like double of mine. I practically strangled my waist trying to find the most wanted tying point. “I feel like a monkey in a monkey suit.” quoted from “Hot Pursuit” by Christina Skye. Touché, don’t you’ll agree?

Armageddon was at hand. As I entered I was again, not so politely to wait again while the nurses and a few doctors chatted in some foreign language, which to my limited comprehension delivered an answer. Some type of medicinal jargon. 15 minutes into, Dr Sidek approached me and started talking to me in a very rough, hushed, menacing tone. He was staring flat at my toe while muttering those words and being the blur guy, I nodded my head in understanding, laced with a few grunts and moans. Suddenly, he looked up and apologetically explained his alien tone. “A sore throat.” Making matters worse, his English sounded like some Arabic guy speaking unsalvageable French. No offence, but I was rather thankful he picked my cue and continued in Malay. Everything was smooth sailing after that right up to the OT. (Operation Theatre)

As I lay down facing the blinding lights, the whole team converged in a corner, as if in a trance proceeded to mutter again some distinct jargon. Then the curtains were brought up and the doctor briefed me on the slight pain that would ensue; at least five injections were compulsory. What the hell right, bring it on! Two would be at the left and right side of my toe and the remaining three would be spread out among the nail. Each would be pierced at an appropriate junction that would somewhat numb the nerves of my toe. Now, the injections were nothing than less than I expected it to be. The first two were normal but the remaining three were like hell man. When he pierced me, it felt like he was actually sucking out all the blood in there. My whole toe felt like it was being crushed under tremendous pressure. Had to stifle the pain as the remaining two more were more or less that level.

20 minutes in and I’m done. So I walked out a proud man for having braved the surgery, which was really nothing. Feeling victorious, I received bad news from my brain that my sandals were having troubles fitting my newly crowned big toe which resembles something of a mummified head. All in all, I’m happy now that I’m able to walk properly knowing that my toe is no longer a freak on a leash.