I’m taking an indefinite break from life. I would say “don’t miss me” cos that’s what people always say, but that would be a lie. Deep inside, I hope you will miss me, even if just a bit, and await my return, if it happens.

Thanks for reading, as always.

I fell sick on the last day of the mission. That was yesterday. Sore throat and blocked nose.

It wasn’t too bad, but I was afraid of being contagious, so I didn’t want to go sit with the patients. I was thinking it would be really inconvenient for them to get the flu while recovering from surgery.

But as I walked past the ward, the little girl patient at the nearest bed reached out and touched me lightly on the arm.

I smiled at her and said “hi”.

She said, “You’re pretty.”

Surprised, my eyes widened even as I thanked her and told her she’s pretty, too. She was the first patient I met who could speak English and who initiated a conversation.

Of course, I found out later that she can only say and understand a limited number of words and very short sentences but it’s still remarkable.

Ruijina is only 12 but she’s a very confident young lady who looks you in the eyes and speaks her heart.

I couldn’t bear to walk away because she kept looking at me with so much affection, so I sat with her and tried to chat with her but I think she didn’t understand me much. She just kept nodding and smiling without answering my questions. So I opened my notebook and drew pictures with her.

This is what she drew:

The flower at the bottom is the national flower of Bangladesh, the Shapla (Water Lily).

When she drew the heart, she said, “love”, then wrote my name inside the heart, copying it from my name tag.

How sweet was that? I sat with her till it was time for her discharge and she said, “I love you. I miss you.”

How could anyone not be totally charmed?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day (for me). There were only six surgeries, after which we packed up the hospital.

It’s been a really great experience. I can’t wait for the next mission, wherever it will be. We go home to Singapore today. Will do a few more posts about the mission to wrap up after I’m home.

Gotta rest and catch up on all the lost sleep, get rid of the flu bug first. Thanks for following my blogs on this mission and for supporting Operation Smile.

I met a brave and special young lady yesterday.

She was quietly sitting in the Child Life Room although she’s not a child. That’s the room where patients wait just before going into surgery.

She’s shy. It seems like all the patients we’ve gotten in Bangladesh are shy. Or maybe because I tend to be specifically drawn to the shy ones because they make me want to do something to make them happy and comfortable, so those are the only ones I’ve been interacting with.

Khadiza had travelled 30 km by bus to Dhaka to receive a cleft lip revision treatment by the Operation Smile team.

30 km is no walk in the park in Bangladesh. Sometimes it takes us an hour to travel 7 km between the hotel and the hospital by minivan.

And then the buses are another evil altogether. They are, in a word, terrifying.

For starters, they all look like they want fall apart at the slightest excuse. And if you see how people drive around here, you’d be afraid to get on the bus. There is only one traffic rule here and that is that there are no traffic rules. It’s a free-for-all buffet on the roads.

Secondly, the buses are all, and I do mean ALL, packed to the brim with passengers so that you will always see at least one person standing on the front steps hanging out the door.

The buses here have no doors.

Thirdly, men make up 95% to 100% of the population in buses.

Anyway.

21-year-old Khadiza, whose mother is a housewife and father a labourer, came to the hospital by bus with her sister. I forgot to ask her how her ride was but I’m sure it mustn’t have been pretty.

Khadiza was born with a cleft lip. When she was seven, her family took her to a dermatologist to get it fixed (it seems like quite many people do that here). At first, it seemed like her lips were fixed but, over the years, the cleft came back and started to widen gradually because the lips had simply been stitched together without joining the muscles inside.

When Operation Smile came to town, she sought us for help and was scheduled for a revision treatment. Because it’s a milder case than a full cleft, she was assigned to receive only local anesthesia for the surgery.

I accompanied her into the operating room and thought maybe I should stick around during the surgery to give her moral support, even if she couldn’t see me, because they cover the patient’s entire face and only cut a hole in the sheet to reveal the mouth.

I thought I would be able to handle watching another surgery easy peasy because I had survived one without fainting just two days ago.

But Khadiza’s surgery affected me really strongly.

For starters, the knowledge that she was awake (even though I knew she was sedated and anesthetised so wouldn’t have felt any pain, but she would have felt her lips being tugged around), already made me feel queasy.

I was worried for her, wondering if she was feeling frightened or lonely, since her eyes were covered.

I imagined lying there myself receiving the treatment and seeing what was being done to me. Not exactly the smartest thing in the world to imagine.

Khadiza’s surgery looked more intense to me than the first surgery I had witnessed. One whole piece of lip measuring about 1cm x 1cm x 2mm had to be cut away. I was told that’s the scar tissue and it had to be removed.

I had a lot of trouble watching the incisions. After that, there was like a cm square of raw flesh into which the surgeon had to poke around and under to isolate the muscles or whatever.

I forced myself to watch but the lightheadedness wouldn’t go away. Worse, I started feeling a bit nauseous. I would watch a few seconds, look away a few seconds, watch a few seconds, and back and forth. Did some writing in my notebook to distract myself.

After 10 minutes or so, I decided that I’d better go outside for a breather before I did something embarrassing like faint.

I walked into the break room.

Devin was in there, well, taking a break. Devin is the operation’s Patient Imaging Technician. He takes photos of the deformities for documentation.

Maybe he could see that I was looking a bit green around the edges because he asked me, “Are you okay?”

I kinda nodded and shook my head at once. I said, “Khadiza’s surgery is intense. I had to take a break.”

Devin has been to seven missions, including this one, so he knew what I was talking about. He told me it’s all for the better because they get well after this and they have new smiles, etc. I nodded silently in agreement.

And then, without warning, I started to cry. Even I didn’t see it coming.

Poor Devin, stuck in the break room with some crying girl. He got up to search around for some tissues, then came back and said comforting, encouraging words about how it’s all necessary and they don’t feel any pain during the surgery and they will heal nicely in time to come and they will have better lives.

Devin’s a nice guy. He drew the evil smiley face on my name sticker.

I managed to pull myself together by admonishing myself for being useless. Then I went back into the operating room, by which time the surgeon was done with the insides and was stitching Khadiza’s lip up.

It was all very nicely done. I saw how he had pulled two sides of the lip surface together to cover the raw flesh after he was done stitching up the muscles inside. By the time it was over, she had a perfectly shaped lip.

The surgery was completed in half an hour, after which Khadiza had to sit on a chair for a few minutes before they allowed me to walk her to the ward for recovery.

Because she only had local anesthesia, she was allowed to go home after two hours.

Anyway, her plaster came off and I took a photo. Her lips still look very swollen in the picture because of the anesthesia. And she has ointment on the wound. This is, like, maybe 30 or 45 minutes after surgery.

I suppose it was a good thing she was discharged so soon; I didn’t have enough time to grow too attached to her. I’d had enough to cry about for the day.

Today will be the last day of our mission in Dhaka. It will be a half day of surgeries, following which the rest of the day would be spent packing up all the stuff in the hospital in preparation of our going home.

The photos of me in the O.R. were taken by Justyn. Thanks!

It’s a hazard having him as my photographer, though. One of his hobbies is taking ugly photos of me for future blackmail purposes.

Other than that, he’s a nice person. He gives a lot of personal time to Operation Smile, starting up then overseeing the Student Chapter in Singapore.

Go say hi to him in the Student Chapter Facebook page and tell him to stop being a tyrant to me!

Okay, it’s getting a bit heartbreaking here, getting attached to the kids and then having them go home the very next day, wondering if they’ll remember you, knowing you will miss them.

When our mission team arrived at the hospital at 7:20 yesterday morning, Munna was already awake, sitting silently on his bed together with his mother.

He was still painfully shy, looking bashfully away when I greeted him good morning and asked after him. Of course, he didn’t understand what I said, but I’m sure that’s not why he didn’t respond.

So I tried to break the ice by getting him to pose for a photo with me.

Then I gave him my camera and taught him how to take photos. I had to show him and guide his hands several times before he learnt that he can’t move the camera away before seeing the photo feedback on the monitor, or the picture will shift.

He got it after a while and gamely helped me take a picture with his mother.

And one of me.

Aww.

But I knew he wanted nothing more than to play some Zombie Smash HD. After a while, he tired of taking photos and gave my camera back.

I went and took out my iPad. I could see his eyes light up when he saw the iPad, although his face remained impassive. I suppose it could be because it’s hard to make any facial expressions when you’ve got a big wound on your face.

After I started up the game for him, he eagerly took it and started playing.

His mum is really cute. She had very quickly picked up how the game worked when I showed it to Munna the day before, so she would occasionally help him pick up stars and power-ups when he got busy with the zombies.

She was full of joy the whole morning, smiling indulgently at Munna and gratefully at me. I know she was pleased that I was making an effort to befriend her son because she kept urging him to answer me or thank me or shake my hands or something.

I really wish I could speak their language.

Halfway through Munna’s game, a nurse came to remove his plaster and clean his wound.

How handsome he looks with his cleft gone!

I took a photo of him and showed it to him. He looked at it for two seconds, then went back to playing Zombie Smash. I guess video games are more important to boys than looks are.

Here’s the comparison!

Munna before surgery:

Munna a day after surgery:

The wound looks glossy because it’s got ointment on it and his lips are a bit puffy because of the swelling after a surgery. But I think he looks really good already. He will look even better in half a year or so.

All too soon, the time for discharging patients came.

There aren’t enough beds to keep them for more than a day, unless they’re really severe cases and need further monitoring. But patients are told to return to the hospital if they develop fever or something. I haven’t heard of that happening, though.

Crowded ward

Munna gave me back my iPad without any fuss. He’s such a good boy it’s killing me that he’s had to suffer a facial deformity for the first 10 years of his life.

As the boy and his mother were about to leave, I gave him a hug and told him to be good (not that he needs that advice, but it’s just something you say to a kid, right, even one who doesn’t understand what you’re saying?)

I wished I had something to give him, a small memento, but I didn’t have anything suitable. I hadn’t come prepared enough for this trip because I didn’t know what to expect. Certainly not developing any attachments to any of them.

It took me by surprise.

At the final moment, just as Munna was about to disappear from my life forever, he turned around, looked me in the eye awkwardly and gave me a wave.

He still had the impassive look. But it was the first time he had initiated any direct communication with me, and I was amazingly touched.

Gah. This mission is just breaking my heart.

Anyway, I would like to thank all of you who have “liked” the Operation Smile Singapore Student Chapter Facebook page or have donated to the cause.

Your support is deeply appreciated, not just by me and the student volunteers, but also by all the children that Operation Smile has helped and will continue to help.

The smallest gesture on your part goes a long way. A child’s life could be transformed forever. Just like Munna’s life has now been transformed.

I think about him going to school now, all the kids who previously shunned him possibly all wanting to be his friend, maybe because he looks good now, maybe because he would be cool and special in their eyes having undergone surgery, and I feel such a burst of happiness for him that tears form in my eyes and fall freely down my cheeks.

Thank you, to all who have supported this cause one way or another.

When I walked into the ward first thing yesterday morning, I spied a pretty baby and wondered why I didn’t notice her yesterday.

I went over to say hi and to take a few photos.

It wasn’t until after a few minutes that I realised this was Jannati, the baby I had watched in the operating room the day before.

I suppose she didn’t recognise me. She was veering between distressed and mellow, and didn’t want to play. Guess I wouldn’t be wanting to play right after I’ve had surgery, either.

Her physical transformation is quite amazing, is it not? She still has sutures on her lips but they don’t mar her prettiness. She’s going to be a real beauty once her skin heals and the scar fades!

Jannati before surgery:

Jannati a day after surgery:

Jannati’s grandmother looked really happy and peaceful sitting there with the little girl in her arms, rocking her soothingly when she frets.

She was allowed to discharge before lunch. I’m really happy for her but feel a bit sad that I may never see her again.

After visiting with Jannati, I went over to the Child Life Room.

In there, Michelle, the Child Life Specialist, was showing two boys pictures of the operating room and explaining to them (through an interpreter) that they’re going to be in that room in a while and that there’s nothing to be afraid of in the room.

There are actual anesthesia masks on the floor which Michelle shortly picked up and showed the boys how to use.

“When you go into the room and you see this, you take it and put it over your nose like this, okay?”

She demonstrated blowing into the mask, inflating the balloon attached to the end of the tube. The boys were then given a chance to try it, as if it were a game.

The reason for this is to allow child patients to familiarise themselves with operating room equipment so that they don’t panic when they go in and someone cups a mask over them.

Munna (on the right) struck me as very shy but eager to please. He smiled often and did what he was told but was afraid to look in your eyes and answer questions.

When I tried to speak to him through the interpreter, he answered in monosyllable and looked down, smiling shyly. Sometimes, he couldn’t even answer out of abject shyness, but he was okay with taking photographs.

I discover from Munna’s mother that the 10-year-old boy is the same at school. He doesn’t talk much but he does well enough in his studies and his teachers like him.

He does have a few friends but most of the kids, especially the richer kids, avoid him because of his deformity.

Munna’s father is a farmer and they live in a village. Because the family is poor, his mother lives in the city to work as a seamstress. She hand-stitches traditional dresses such as the saree and the lehenga to pay the family bills, only going home once a week to visit her family.

Munna had to travel for four hours by ferry and bus to Dhaka to get to the hospital where Operation Smile is operating right now.

I asked him if there was anyone he wanted to show his new smile to, first thing. After much coaxing from the interpreter, we found out that Munna has a best friend named Alamin, and that he’s sure that Alamin will be able to recognise the new him right away.

After our chat, I took out my iPad and let Munna play Zombie Smash HD. He loved it and wouldn’t stop playing it until it was time for his surgery.

When he was told he had to go for surgery, he immediately handed the iPad back to me and obediently went with the surgical crew. What a good boy!

I held his hand and walked together with him into the operating room, accompanying him till he was put to sleep. He was very brave, stoically lying there and letting the O.R. nurses stick electrodes on him and put the mask over him.

Well, the O.R. nurses are really nice. They always speak soothingly and reassuringly to their patients and stroke them lovingly till they fall asleep.

I will go see him again tomorrow and take some “after” shots of him if his plasters are removed by then.

While Munna was in surgery, I was hanging out at the doctors’ rest room, where our interpreter Malika was doing henna tattoos for anyone who wanted one. (Malika is a volunteer herself, from Bangladesh.)

Malika and me:

She’s really talented! She did this for me:

That was before the dried-up dye peeled off. Right now, it’s a light brown colour. I prefer it when it’s black, though.

Malika also did one for Justyn. At first she didn’t want to because she said henna is only for girls and she can only do feminine patterns. But I guess he finally managed to convince her.

Oh, sorry, I forgot to take a picture of his finished tattoo!

Anyway, that’s all I have today. Sorry there won’t be a Justyn Olby Gallery. He fell ill last night (sore throat and fever) and had to go to bed early, so didn’t have time to process photos.

He’s accusing me of passing him the virus because I was having a sore throat during the weekend. But then the soreness cleared miraculously on Monday and I had no further symptoms of any virus, so maybe my sore throat was due to the haze and lack of sleep, and not a virus.

Well, who knows. Doesn’t matter, anyway. I hope he gets well soon or I’m gonna miss having someone to trade insults with.

If you want to see more pictures, the Student Chapter Facebook page always has more!

“Changing lives, one smile at a time” is the tagline for Operation Smile.