Whenever I get upset, my immunization system seems to be weaken till I can’t resist any virus attack. This is why I tend to get sick often.
I had my worst diarrhoea last week, frequenting the toilet up to thirteen times in a day and thirty-eight times in four days. Giddiness and headache joined in the fun. I felt too sick to eat and finally strengthless to walk. I battled through my final tests and slept all the way in camp. I took than less half a bowl of food each meal. I skinned down more. My high fever subsided on the second night, and I survived with a filet-o-fish meal in my lost of appetite.
I struggled till book-out and my mum accompanied me to the hospital. The fear of needle refused me to be hospitalised for observation. The doctor was too nice and concerning than the Stagmont camp’s medical officer who simply didn’t show any interest in treating his patients. Then I had a shock when I was at the prescription counter, viewing through the other window where a fine charismatic girl stood beautifully. I’d never fantasize because dreams would never come true.
The torment was to chew on porridge with “cai xin” when my brothers were enjoying their roti prata. I hadn’t had enough rest before I book-in earlier for guard duty. I was medical certified but I didn’t want to ruin my friends’ days. There were too many nice people and I finally recovered, but still feeling weak with my sore throat.
I mustn’t feel sad anymore.