The Perils of Surviving

It's a miracle that I'm still alive today, and I'm absolutely thankful for that. Nobody would want to die after months of struggling with chemotherapy and radiotherapy and surgery. I've had so much general anaesthetic I couldn't remember my hubby's phone number anymore. There's some truth to the claim that GA makes you forgetful. I've had it 3 times, the last one lasted at least 14 hours. My immediate superior at work must be wondering why do I suddenly become careless and a bit useless. Datelines are more like deathlines to me. I can't seem to remember when to submit what! Thank god for friends.



I teach, and this lousy memory is a huge problem. Sometimes, my students handed in work I didn't remember giving. Just last Friday...

"Since I helped you with the computer lab and all, will you excuse me from submitting my magazine advert today?" asked a loudmouthed saint of 13.

Then it dawned on me that I had asked a class of 13-year-olds to produce a magazine advertisement, which they had to hand in on the third period.

"Let me think about it", I calmly answered, as if I absolutely know that it was due that day.

Then I went back to Google Maps and tried to zoom in on a RM229, 000 condominium that I'm in the process of buying. Nothing but barren land could be seen.



10 minutes passed...

"So teacher, do I have to submit my advert today?"

"Hah? Oh, that advert. I'm still thinking about it".

I typed in Countable & Uncountable Nouns on mywebsearch and was engrossed in work, with the now and then visits to youtube, when the same student, persistent to the point of irritation, asked the same question again. Pissed of, I told him he had to, regardless of the hours he spent helping me reformatting the dying harddrives of PentiumIII, moving CPUs, keybords, monitors and mice around.



On the third period, he appeared with a piece of A4 paper, promoting a condominium worth RM9999999999...countless nines that I didn't bother to count. That amazing condominium had everything but a kitchen, but that was expected of a boy. And what did I say?

"What's this?"

"Teacher, that's my homework!" he exclaimed overdramatically.



Of course, after 7 years in the profession I know exactly how to cover up my mistakes.

"I know it's your homework, but that advert fails to entice me. See, it doesn't have kitchen..., and it's much to expensive..." blah...blah...blah...



And that's just one of the many things that I forget.



Two weekends ago my brother who had just finished the compulsory course on marriage, told me a story told to him by one of the speakers. It's about a woman who called JAWI to complain about her husband who had forgotten their wedding anniversary, and when asked how old the husband was, she replied that he was in his 60s. Well, I'm in my early 30s and I'm not sure if I got married in August or September!



Surviving cancer is miraculous, but to be what you once were...that calls for another miracle.