SGH Oncology Ward

16 Feb 08 - After lunch, I was moved to Room 22, bed 2, ward 48 which is the oncology ward.

Room 22 is split into 2 rooms actually, the one I was in had numbers 1 - 6 and I presumed the other one is 7 - 12. The onco ward is different from ward 53 in that this had floor to ceiling walls seperating the rooms, with only a 1 foot high by 2 feet wide opening near the ceiling between the rooms. I had asked for class C but probably due to non-availability of beds, I was upgraded to class B2.

The oncology ward is practically the only ward where you witnessed at least 1 death a day.

The layout of the room is such that from the doorway, on the right side is beds 1, 2 and 3 (nearest the window), and I think it continued with 4, 5, and 6 on the left side of the door. Directly above each bed is a small circulating ceiling fan.

When I arrived, the patient in bed 3, an Indian woman in her late 30s, was the most critical. She was on oxygen and couldn't eat. Usually during the day, she seemed better, but by nighttime, she would be throwing up. On the night of 18 Feb, her condition took a turn for the worst. She couldn't breathe. They brought in a stand fan, but I could still hear her gasping for breath. Her husband, who happened to be with her that night, was at wits end. Her relatives came to pray for her and kept advising her to 'let go'. She struggled and hung on through the night. The curtain was drawn and I couldn't see, but I felt for her to hear her struggling so. By morning, her family and relatives were all there, and her breathing had gone weaker but she was still hanging on. Then I heard one of her male visitors telling another, that 'she's a fighter, but now, we don't want her to fight anymore.' A few minutes after this comment was made, she was gone.

I had spoken to one of her relatives and found out that she had had relapses and the cancer had spread all over her body. They couldn't bear to see her suffering and wanted her to let go.

The nurses were called in and the machine (sorry, I don't know what this is called) registered a straight line. That's it. Didn't see any doctor coming in to certify the death. No resuscitation attempt. Nothing. The family was allowed time to grief. After that, two nurses would come and clean the body and change the clothes. Then, two men would appear with a box for the body. They would close all the curtains and by the time the curtains were drawn aside, the body, box and men had all disappeared.

Next, comes the cleaners who cleaned the furniture, surrounding area, changed the bedsheet and pillow case, changed the curtains and the bed is ready for the next patient.

I had found out from a relative of the patient in bed 5, that before I was transferred to bed 2 in the afternoon, they had cleared out a body from bed 2 that very morning. They hadn't told me earlier as they didn't want to frighten me. Should I be afraid? Well, after witnessing the first death, and after being told that death is like an everyday affair in the onco ward, I pretty much concluded that an onco patient had not much of a choice. Just accept the fact that even the bedsheets and pyjamas had used by a patient who died, then sent for washing, dried and circulated.

In my 11-day stay there, I witnessed a total of 4 deaths in my room. One was an old lady who choked to death. She'd been trying to throw up in the past few days, but the doc only ordered an x-ray later. On the day she died, the doc and nurses were there trying to clear the choke, when the light started flashing. That was the only time, we saw nurses rushing into the room. It was all in vain. They removed a bottle that contained a black round stuff the size of a fishball.

The other 2 deaths were just waiting for time, i.e., brought in at night with family members sniffing away, and then passed on the next morning. Over time, you sort of would be able to tell which ones are just sick and which ones are waiting for time.

Oh, this reminds me. I want to tell my family members that if I ever reach this stage, I don't want to be sent to the onco ward to wait for my time. I want to be brought home and they can start on the preparations without disturbing the other patients.

Fortunately, most of the deaths in my room happened in the earlier part of the day and not in the evenings when people were most likely to visit. I know at least one of my friends would freak out if she were to encounter this and I didn't want her to visit me.

There was once a patient in the next room died. The remaining patients and whatever furniture that could be moved were moved to the corridor. We found that the the room had to be dis-infected. I happened to be coming back from the toilet, when I saw a curtain sailed over through the opening in the wall. I went to a nurse who happened to be near our door and told her about it. She marched straight over and the offending curtain disappeared from view.

For most of the patients in the onco ward, our immunities are low and we are more likely to catch viruses and germs from others.

Once, a patient was transferred to our room and her family members followed, all dressed in protective garbs and masks. Stuff like this is enough to make you want to run away from the ward. Fortunately, a short while later, she was moved to an isolation ward. Apparently there were complaints from patients and family members in the ward that she was transferred from.

I kept my mind occupied by meditating. Sometimes, my mind idled and I started wondering who's next. The more serious ones were on oxygen and I was on oxygen too. When that happened, I would force myself to change my train of thoughts and turned to meditation.

Somehow, we normally didn't discussed the deaths in front of newcomers. Only when they had witnessed and if they were ready to talk, then we asked if they were affected.

Sounds depressing, but that's life in the onco ward.