I enter the clinic with a heavy heart. Not because I don’t want to see the doctor. But my heart is literally heavy. I have not slept since the day before and my heart is beating rapidly. The first thing I see is a group of Bangladeshi who came in with their agent to get urine test. All smiles with hope to get a better life here.
I watch them as they walk away. I can’t help examining them from top to toe. It seems that their wardrobe manager hasn’t changed. Dark colored shirt with khaki pants, and… um… same sandals. All three of them wearing the same sandals!
Wow. Best friends forever.
Every clinic has the same smell, I guess. Smell of sickness, some chemicals and, well, desperation; for those who come to get free MC of course. I still remember the clinic my mom always brought me to when I was a kid. It’s very small, but feels like home.
The reception at the front, attached to the doctor’s room, and the surgery room at the back. Then there was a door leading to the back of the clinic. I don’t remember what they had at the back, but I know there’s a toilet there, because I always needed to pee.
Back to present.
This insomnia is killing me. I just can’t wait to see the doctor and tell him my problem. But half of me thinks it’s ridiculous and that I should just say I’m having diarrhea. Typical doctors will just think that I am a typical MC junkie.
I mean, sleeping disorder? Will he buy it?
A little boy walks past me. What a cute little pair of feet. The sandals that he is wearing is exactly the same sandals I always wore when I was a kid. I am the first child. I always got what I want. Well, back then when I was the only child, of course. That sandals reminded me of something.
It was 1990, and I saw a pair that I really liked and begged my dad to buy it. Back then, my parents did not have much money. The shoes cost about RM 17. In 2012, RM 17 is not even half of a child’s weekly pocket-money. But back then it was quite expensive for a pair of little shoes for a kid who grows up really fast. It won’t even last a year, but my dad bought it anyway.
And guess what? When we reached home, I decided that I don’t really like it.
And all eyes were on me. Ugh. I quickly made my way to the doctor’s room. Oh. It’s a female doctor 🙂
“I’m not married,”
I whispered. The doctor laughed. “Okay-okay.”
I decided to tell her the truth about my sleeping disorder and she suggested that maybe it is because of stress. It is very rare for a young lady like me to have trouble sleeping, she said. We spoke a little while, heart to heart, and I feel that I have met the best doctor ever. She gave me some meds to help me sleep, though stressing over and over again that I might not need it if I can manage my stress better 🙂
I left the clinic feeling refreshed. At least I know there is someone out there who understands me. I took the medicine, though. I have not slept properly for more than 2 weeks. I needed it. I took it at 2PM, prayed, and passed out at about 3PM. I only woke up the next day at 8AM.
Shit this pill is evil…