High school Reunion: 20 years on

Earlier this year a group invitation popped up on my socials for a "Canterbury Boys' High School class of 2000 reunion". I remember being overseas for the previous 10 year student reunion and it looked that 10 years later I would also be in the same situation. High school reunions fall into the "nice to attend bucket", not something you would explicitly travel for, but definitely something worth attending if accessible. As I scrolled through the list of invitees, names popped up that looked familiar. Others names, not familiar to me, forced me to pause and think "who's that?". The class of 2000 was small, if memory serves me right there were around 60-70 students who went all the way to year 12 and not remembering these names was really no excuse.

Fast forward to December of this year and a collection of photos starts to populate my feed. An afternoon event held at an ex-student's food truck. I scroll through the photos, so many familiar faces as well as some that I don't recognise. The photos are all smiles. I see faces from my group, and the odd handful of friends that I still keep in touch with. There are also students who started and left our school through the years. Our old grade teacher, Ms Player also attended which looked to be a nice touch.

It's an odd feeling looking at these photos. Passing of time, these are the people that I shared some of my formative yers with, shared growth, laughter, adventure and was so competitive with, now they're settled back into suburban life. These are the events that break the flow get me in a strange odd mood. Birthdays, new years, it's a reminder that we are mortal and that time waits for nobody. I imagine the conversations that were exchanged. The proverbial answer to "What have you been up to since I last saw you?", or the more extreme "What have you been doing since 2000?". Which I guess is the equivalent to small chat, what I would have loved to be apart of all the memories and stories shared from those years at Canterbury Boys. The characters and the incidents that graced the halls of Canterbury Boys' High School from 1995 to 2000.

Week off

I had grand plans for twenty-twenty travel. It was 90% planned out, Hawaii and India in the first quarter. Sydney for Easter, Singapore end of April, New Orleans and Texas for May, New York and Chicago in September, Seoul and Bali in October, Sydney for Christmas. The weekends were scheduled and the annual leave was approved. Then, somebody ate a bat and all plans for twenty twenty were dashed. 

When annual leave cannot be accrued, it changes the way you use it. I have taken the odd day off from work to recover from big nights, or to study for exams, but for as long as I can remember, blocks of annual leave have been reserved for overseas travel. I realise as I type this, this sounds like the ramblings of a privileged douche bag, however the point is not to talk about travel, but to describe the relationship I have with annual leave as an expat living abroad. Given the current circumstances, work has granted employees the ability to carry over 10 days of annual leave, which means all remaining leave must be used, so here I am taking an entire week off purely because it's a use it, or lose it policy. So here I am with one week of no work to spend in Hong Kong.

Initially my plan was to rest and recover from the ablation, that coupled with the fact I had a sprained ankle (this ankle sprain will come back and get me, see future post) and a shoulder impingement meant no real exercise. So I had decided to treat myself to alarm-clock-free mornings, catching up with friends and some home cooked meals. However, the reality of spending an entire week at home during Covid doing nothing dawned on me and I ended up trying to find things to keep myself productive. 

Here's where I eventually landed. 100 Hour Meditation and Pranayama Teacher's Training Course, twelve mornings, 9:30 am -12:30 pm, I have also signed up for two Coursera online courses: An Introduction to Psychology and Portfolio and Risk Management.

Care Package

 Well timed Christmas hamper from Oz!

Currently reading: "Born a Crime" - Trevor Noah

Adventist Hospital - Room 505B

Covid19 Test

• SARS-CoV-2 PCR - 1,200 

Doctor Charges

• Anaesthetist Fee - 35,000
• Surgeon Fee - 150,000
• Hospital inpatient care - 5,600
• Total: 190,600

Hospital Charges 

• ACT Machine - 390
• Anaesthetic Machine (additional 30 minutes) x2 - 2,652
• BIS Machine+Sensor - 1,950
• CC-Radiofrequency Abalation-RFA - 29,427
• CCIC GA Pack (for 2 hours) - 8,190
• CCIC IC Cannnulation pack - 520
• CCIC IV Pack - 910
• J&J CSR Consumables - 1,695
• DINAMAP - 248
• Echo(TEE, No report) - 1,300
• EP/RFA Consumer Pac - 4,550
• I-STAT - 468
• I STAT Cartiage - 143
• Infusion Pump/ Feeding Pump - 428
• IV/Syringe Pump x2 - 780
• Oximeter Reading per time x3 - 534
• Oxygen (3 LPM/HR) x3 - 174
• Oxygen Setup - 210
• Patient Meal / Breakfast - 306
• Patient Meal / Dinner - 48
• Pharmacy - 4,390
• Portable O2 Per time use - 300
• Prolonged Exam Time per 15 mins x2 - 2,596
• Room Charge / U500 - 2,000
• Sheath Terumo F5/6/7/8 x3 - 984
• Total: 198,993

All in: 381,561 HKD - (~49K USD) Is that fair value?

Here's a photo of the entrance point:

The anaesthetic wears off

11 pm. Beep beep. I hear the beeping of the blood pressure monitor and groggily snap out of the stupor. My mouth is so dry, it is possibly the driest place on Earth right now, my throat is barren, I try to swallow and feel my tongue scrapping against the roof of my mouth. So thirsty. I scan the dimly-lit room, there's no water nearby. Why am I so dehydrated? One of the requirements is not to drink or eat anything leading up to the ablation. Water is allowed, but it is encouraged to be kept to a minimum. That plus the fact they were pumping pressurised oxygen into my body while I was under General anaesthesia. So groggy, so thirsty.

I had been sleeping with my mask on. I remove the mask and fumble for the buzzer and call for the nurse. I have the IV still hanging out of my left hand, that's annoying. Wrapped around right arm is a blood pressure monitor. Beep beep. The crease of my right groin is bandaged, there's some tenderness. Slowly the senses come back to me, body feels so fragile, and then I notice the immense tightness around my heart and a distinct weight on my chest.  

The nurse comes in, "How are you feeling? Are you hungry?" I ask if it's possible to stop the beeping sound and if I can have some water. I'm told that I have to remain laying down for 8 hours, to make sure the wound heals. He shows me the bed pan in case I need to use the toilet then hands me some water and gives me some pain killers. Water. Finally, liquid salvation. Later he comes back with a sandwich, checks my blood pressure and turns off the machine. 

It's a little past midnight, I take a couple of bites of the cold vegetarian ham and cheese sandwich. I'm not usually somebody who is sensitive to loneliness but there's something about being in a dimly lit hospital ward, eating a cold sandwich on a Friday night that tugs are the heart strings. I pop a Panadol and manage to drift back into sleep. Intermittent sleep.

The next morning, the nurse comes in at 9 am, and advises that I am good to walk around. I order breakfast, which is the one thing I have been looking forward to the entire time at Adventist. Dr Fung visits the room at 10:30 am, he checks the wound and explains that the procedure was not a success. Turns out the source of the PVCs is located around the papillary muscle, which is apparently rare in itself. The procedure was done with x-ray and he was not able to accurately ablate the muscle. There is mention of needing specialised equipment and a slightly different procedure, this news is both disappointing and frustrating, and the information takes a while to process. I can't wait to get out of this hospital.

My first in-patient experience

All locations have a certain energy, or vibe. There's the energy of the family home back in Earlwood. There's the energy of my apartment in Hong Kong. There's the office energy, which differs on a Monday compared to a Friday. Hospitals also have an energy, for me it's an emptiness intertwined with expectation and anxiousness. 

It's 1:00 pm, I've just returned from Clearwater Bay, I have a long shower and pack my overnight bag. Unsure of what to bring I pack a warm change of clothes, my kindle, my laptop and the preauthorisation form provided by my insurance company. At 1:30 I leave my apartment and make my way over to Adventist Hospital. It's a bright, warm fall day, unusually warm for this time of the year as I bag some last minute Vitamin D while I wait for the 23. 

I get to Adventist Hospital at 2:00 pm and proceed with the in-patient check in. I'm shown the semi-private room (505B) in which I will be staying overnight, it's basic, it reminds me of a 3-star business hotel except with a decked-out bed and what looks to be fairly dated medical apparatus above the bedrest. I wonder if I'll be sharing the room with somebody. I'm greeted by a Customer Service officer, Kristy introduces herself, gives me a wrist band and runs me through the details of my stay. I'm currently scheduled to go in at 4:45 pm, but that's dependent on the procedure in the operating theatre before me.  It's like being at a resort, except there's no warm towel or lemon grass tea to welcome me. 

Over the next couple of hours, various people stop by room 505 to introduce themselves to me. 

My Anaesthesiologist, Dr Chu comes in and explains to me in broken English what he will be doing. "I'll be p-p-putting you under local anaesthetic for the G-G-GPS mapping, and then will bring you under general for the actual procedure. You won't feel a thing, but you might feel t-t-tired the next day. Do you have any questions?". Straight forward enough. 

Nurse Wing comes in, she's Australian and after some small chat tells me that because the incision point will be on the right fermoral artery next to my groin she'll need to groom the area. ie. Shave my balls. Not known for my wild body hair, this seems to be more of a precautionary step as they'll be applying a compression bandage post-procedure and don't want any hair to be caught up when they eventually tear the bandage off. I've never had a Brazilian and this won't be my first. 

At 4:50 pm a nurse comes in, I'm told to lie on the bed as I'm shuttled off into the theatre. It's a little weird, as I could easily walk down, but they insist I lie on the bed as the push me through the hospital corridors. Along the way various medical staff check my identity: "What's your name and date of birth?" and ask me to explain the procedure that I will be undergoing (I can see why it's important to check these key points).

At 5:00 pm I'm pushed into the theatre room, shifted to the operating bed as an IV is inserted into left hand. The assisting staff all look so young, like graduates, they attach EKGs and various nodes to my body as the large displays bursts to life with realtime information. I can see my heart rate, my blood pressure as well as other bodily readings. Dr Fung, the Cardiologist and Dr Chu, the Anaesthesiologist both come in and run over the procedure once last time: Electrophysiology study, 3D Mapping and RFA to address symptomatic premature ventricular complexes. 

My glasses are removed, a barrier is erected to block my view from the surgeon as they proceed to slowly inject me full of painkillers, a wave of tiredness hits me. I touch my right and left forefinger against my thumb. "Derek, we're starting the GPS mapping". I can feel them wiping topical anaesthetic around my right groin, I feel a pinch and then I feel tubing being inserted. Around 45 minutes later, drifting in and out of sleep, Dr Fung tells me that they have identified the area of the PVCs and will be putting me under general and that I can go to sleep. I close my eyes and darkness comes.

At 7:40pm , I hear "Derek, how are you feeling? We're all done", I briefly open my eyes, bright theatre lights, my body is jostled about (most likely being shifted back onto the trolley) before I fall back into darkness.

Currently reading: "The Art of Living"

Degree collection

Personal time off from work. I love midweek days off, there's a sense of freedom and individualism, almost akin to being awake late in the evening knowing that you are not apart of the majority. My day starts with morning yoga, followed by one last visit to the HKUST campus to fetch my degree.

I hand them my HKID, they hand back an envelope with my degree and my transcript. There's no handshake, no congratulations, no break in stride in administrative workflow. So comes an end to my post graduate adventure. I spent the last final moments strolling around campus before making my way back to Hong Kong Island to address the other thing that I started in August 2017, my heart.