THE clanging of the food trolley indicated dinner was about to be served. The menu was predictable. After one month in the hospital, I almost knew what was going to be served. It was either fish or chicken, a portion of soggy vegetables and a choice of either rice or porridge. I won’t say the food was bland. They had taste but not one to whet even the hungriest of my appetites.
This was the time of the day I least looked forward to. The activities in the ward were winding down for the day. Soon, silence would replace the cacophony of footsteps, squeaky medical carts and the chatter of nurses amongst themselves and with patients. I hated the notion that the day was ending while I would be drifting between sleep and wakefulness thinking about my fate in the darkness with a stomach that was only half full.
I liked lunchtime better. At least I would have visitors occasionally bringing more palatable food from outside when they dropped by. My favourite was fish porridge from a stall 20 minutes by foot from the hospital. I only got to eat it when my father came visiting. It was not often because he had to travel all the way from Penang to Kuala Lumpur to see me each time.
Other than having a poor appetite, I was depressed. There was no inkling of when I could get better or when I could be discharged and go home. My condition had not improved since the day of the accident. I was still as paralysed as ever. Two scheduled surgeries had to be postponed because I suddenly burned up with fever on the appointed mornings.
The stay in the hospital was made less miserable by some of the nurses who were extremely nice to my mother and me. Nurse Azizah was one of them. She was a jovial person by nature. Her face was round and cherubic. She was never without a smile or some kind words. Her cheery disposition always managed to lift me out of my dark moods. All the other patients in the ward had only good things to say about her. Needless to say, she was our favourite nurse.
On most days, she would pop by my room several times to check on me and chat with my mother. If she saw half eaten food on my tray, she would jokingly reprimand me and then encourage me to eat more to keep my strength up. I would grin at her in return.
That particular evening was the first time in many weeks I was actually excited at the approaching sounds of the food trolley and looked forward to dinner. After clocking in for her shift earlier in the day, Azizah had walked into my room and handed a plastic bag with a packet of food to my mother.
“This is for you,” she said, looking at me. “I hope it’s not too spicy.”
When she saw me beaming, she smiled back.
“Terima kasih, misi,” my mother chimed in, “misi” being the colloquial for nurse.
My mother offered to pay her but she refused. She had gone out of the way to buy dinner for me before coming to work just to ensure that I had at least one good meal. Inside the bag was a packet of rice with a piece of fried chicken, pickled vegetables and some curry gravy. My mother set it aside for my dinner later.
That evening, I didn’t have to be coaxed to eat more. Food never tasted so good. I ate heartily. It was also the first time since my hospitalisation that I ate a full meal. Without the feeling of hunger, I slept soundly afterwards. My appetite improved over the next few days. Even though it was still the same hospital food most of the time, I ate more than the usual portion.
The third attempt at surgery on my spine was successful. I was placed in the intensive care unit for a few days to recuperate. I have scant recollections of my time there because I was mostly sedated to numb me from the intense pain of the surgery. When I was finally transferred back to the ward, Azizah was there to greet me with her infectious and cheerful demeanour. It was difficult not to feel happy in her presence even though I was still in great pain.
Her simple acts of kindness and caring time and again made a world of difference to those few months I was in the hospital. She was dedicated to her job and the wellbeing of her patients. I am sure I was not the exception. She treated the other patients equally well. I am glad I was blessed to be under the care of an angel at a time when I needed encouragement and cheering up the most.
I didn’t get to express my gratitude to her when I was discharged. I have never forgotten her till this day. I wonder where she is now. I would really love the chance to meet her again to thank her and treat her to a hearty meal. That is the least I can do to repay the kindness of my all-time favourite nurse.