Knuckles whiten...pale crescents appear as my fist forms a death grip. I trudge away from room 7 , towards the rest area behind velvet curtains...away from the world , not wanting to put my signs of anguish on display. I sit in effort to expiate but the spasm in my butt continues to twist and contort ,showing no mercy to its owner.
Before this , life was pretty much centered around the salon , I had dreams of being a hairdresser in Asia's most expensive salon , spending most of my after work hours hustling, practicing on my friends and heading home to play guitar (double hunch anyone?!?). Dinners were always late and food was a no-brainer , often settling for the most economical choice - Cai fan or a plate full of inflammatory goodness from Lucky Plaza.
As you most likely guessed , it all added up...and the levee was broken.
I got anxious not understanding the drama that was taking stage in my body , was it the hours of standing or my inclination to sit cross legged with the guitar , for now , it didn't matter, I needed medical attention and for that reason , my manager was notified and I got my best friend and trainee doctor at that time Nicodemus to meet me at SGH.
After what seemed like hours of waiting, the nurse administered a relaxant to my left cheek( butt cheek that is ). Trouser change was a joke when one half of the party refuses to corporate in sedation . The next day an MRI was done , and results revealed disc degeneration in my cervical area and some spurs. Queer , but I took comfort knowing maybe it was this condition that was causing such a riot in my thoracic muscles and neck.
By the 7th day , it was time for home. I remember vividly telling my mum to wait while I visited the loo. Not only were my stools tarry but I felt queasy in the gut. Brushing it aside , I was more than happy to leave the hospital and cared less.
Omeprazole - designed to protect the stomach before an NSAID is consumed did not work for me , the daily ingestion of Ibuprofen had corroded my stomach and those core muscles were now reduced to nothing . The next morning I took a taxi down to the hospital ward . They apologized and explained they could not help me , suggesting instead to take a queue number by the A&E , no way was I going back there again. Yup , more pain and anxiety generously served on the platter . Not only was I nauseous and retching , I could not eat , or hold my body upright . so I slept the pain away , sometimes up to 18 hours a day , body now stiff as a coffin , so stiff in the joints I could not descend the stairway.
It was clear to me...It was not what I did that got me here but the things I did not NOT do .
Something that the boys in the salon were up to seemed like the magic pill to all my problems,
,what was it ? did it work?