Aida Zabidi
It’s strange how the things you take for granted, the things you do on a daily basis seem different when it happens to those who are close to you. 

Bear was admitted for appendicitis – one of the more straightforward operative procedures that happens within surgery. Asides from the drama that had actually led up to his diagnosis and admission, I was surprised at how worried I actually was with the actual process of his surgery. 

I remember the text he sent. "Appendicitis, in ED. Going to HKL, ambulance."

He was working the night shift that night, and my first impression was that he would be sending a patient to HKL. How my heart stopped for a second when I realized that we didn't send patients to HKL for appendicitis, that he was the patient.

I didn’t want him to be alone when he went in, and I didn’t want him to be alone when he came out of the operating theatre. I didn’t expect to find myself keeping vigil by his bedside for several nights. I didn't expect my reaction seeing him so sick and lethargic, sleeping continuously to keep the pain at bay.

It’s funny how your practicality and everything that you know changes when a loved one is actually going under the knife. As a doctor, I often counsel patient’s families regarding operative procedures, and I am often in a position where I reassure family members regarding operation outcomes. It was also ironic that Bear, a doctor himself, hated surgery – and was forced to undergo it himself. 

God had placed us in a place so we could further understand the things that our patients went through, and I am thankful for that. 

I am thankful that Bear is now discharged and recovering well. 

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