Friday, 18 May 2012

A Peek Into Life's O.R.

:-) I'm back!!!! Been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy of late. Maybe in my next life, I will become a surgeon. Happy reflecting, y'all!

Everyday is a surgery. Every surgery is a gamble. Between life and death, hurting and healing.  It starts with an incision. An opening of the body to hurt. Towards the greater good of healing. And to heal, we must hurt.  For we must taste the knife to live the life.

Every time we challenge ourselves. We create an incision. And a surgical process begins. We have opened ourselves up to be, to learn, to accomplish, to hurt. And we ferociously attack the tumours called obstacles. Even when they threaten to bleed out our blood, we dare them. And when they throw our hearts into v-fib, we jump-start it with a higher power defib. And when all’s tried and done, we bear the scars of success.

Or we immediately close up the incisions and vow to attack the tumours another day. With better knowledge. With more sophisticated equipment. With a renewed zeal. After more comprehensive tests have been carried out. With more, With better, With newer... And when all’s been spoken and promised, we bear the scars of disappointment resulting from untried ventures. Never having known. For the lucky ones. Others are doomed and consumed by the tumour.

Everytime we choose to love. And open our hearts to tender feelings. We create an incision. And a surgical process begins. We have opened ourselves to experience happiness, friendship, companionship, hurt, betrayal, hatred. And we ferociously fight for our bodies to absorb and retain this feeling. And so when we are punctured, we heal fast. When we don’t possess the right instruments, we improvise. When we are totally uprooted, nerve ending and all, we regenerate. And when all compromises have been made, upheld with numerous plasters, surgical pins and casts, we heave a sigh of relief. For at last, we have fought for a steady and sure supply of the feeling.

Or after various rejections and complications the surgery presents, we slowly wean our bodies off the feeling. Or we try to try again but remember the pain of complications and we dismiss the thought. Or we forcefully implant it at all cost but our bodies violently reject it and shut down completely. Or we never even try at all; after all the success rate is below 40%. And when all’s been tried and tested, we either smile with the thought of knowing we tried, live with the pains from the complications, or are dead from the disastrous rejection.

Everytime we wake. And open our eyes to a brand new day. We create an incision. And a surgical process begins. We have opened ourselves to living or being. A battle for self actualization. And so, we promise ourselves to rise up to our fullest potential. To pack moments of bliss into every single hour. To fight for our sustenance and perhaps live something over for the kids. And even when the maze of veins and arteries do not seem to make sense, we forge on. Hoping and detangling as we go along. And when the day dusks to an end. We proudly bear the scars because through it all, we made it to the end.

Or after various pushes and shoves, we move from OR to ICU. And even when discharged we land back in OR because we breathed the frigid, unkind air outside which hurt our lungs. And our scars become abscesses. And as the mornings turn to noons, we are still being tended to. And as the noons turn to dusks, we panic, as we still are being helped along. And as the dusks introduce the moons, our abscesses become festering sores. Surgeries to be continued. Further consultation needed. Our scars become gaping wide holes. Longing to be filled with some sort of meaning.  

Everyday is a surgery. Every surgery, a gamble. We are the surgeons. Processes undertaken during the surgery, a determinant of the outcome. Some outcomes delayed, with complications that present themselves over time. Some others, great windows of opportunity for the diagnosis of hitherto hidden ailments. As with all surgeries, a better quality of life is the aim. 

Heart dead, brain dead, full recovery mode. You decide. 

Pic: Getty Images 16th May 2012 00:27am