“Aom, I’m going to Sichon. Are you in Cha-uat? I’ll stop by for a meal there.” I sent a message to the local. I’ve been traveling past the entrance to Cha-uat for over 20 years. If not passing through the west side on the main road of the south, then through the east side entering via Bo Lo, the Nakhon Si Thammarat-Hua Sai line.
Cha-uat feels like a forgotten town because if you’re going to Cha-uat, there must be a reason or a purpose to decide to turn the car in. Today is a good day, a day I have to travel to Sichon alone. Time is mine, so Cha-uat becomes a waypoint along the way.
“I’m in Trang, brother.” Oh, this is the real Aom. “I” like this, for me, it’s just one person.
“Are you stopping for lunch? The restaurant Yiam Ocha, the mackerel chili paste is very delicious. Professor Prasert ate three bowls.” She started selling.
“I mean I’m looking for someone to treat me to a meal.”
“Haha, just stop by. Even if the host isn’t there, you can manage.” She still hasn’t stopped selling.
“Traveling alone, eating alone isn’t satisfying.” I hesitated, wondering if I’d end up going to Sichon on the usual route, turning into Nakhon Si Thammarat at Suan Phak junction.
Then I stopped contacting her for a while because something happened today, I don’t know what. Five patients came to the clinic, chatting away until 11:30, so I hurriedly closed the shop.
“Let’s say I might stop by to eat in Cha-uat. Tell me the must-eat menu, or else I’ll eat James Ruangsak’s chicken rice.” I decided before leaving the clinic.
“The usual favorite, river prawns in coconut milk with pickled bamboo shoots, salt-baked river prawns, mackerel chili paste, sataw, stir-fried morning glory with red chili.” See, she’s quite good at selling.
“Alright, just the river prawns in coconut milk and mackerel chili paste will do.” Eating alone, this is enough.
Then I drove out of Hat Yai at noon.
…………………..
Early morning around 5 AM that day in spring. Hmm… a novel begins.
At my home in Hat Yai, we certainly don’t have such a season. We only have summer and rainy seasons. If spring were to pass and flowers bloom, it would just be a cool damp breeze after the rain, and mushrooms start to sprout along the house walls, causing nasal inflammation, runny nose, and tears due to mushroom spore allergies.
The phone call rang, waking “Cheer,” the on-call doctor that night, to get up and become alert.
“Doctor Cheer, an 18-year-old patient is about to give birth prematurely.”
The call came from the delivery room.
She was a pretty young girl, with hair slightly past her shoulders, crying out in pain as she was about to give birth.
It wasn’t normal because the labor pain was caused by inserting about four abortion pills into the vagina late last night, and the pregnancy had already progressed into the third trimester.
I was just a listener, and upon hearing it, I felt depressed because those abortion pills, if inserted into the vagina at less than 12 weeks of pregnancy, could cause a miscarriage. They cause the uterus to contract violently, expelling the pregnancy.
But this was inserting all four pills hoping for a miscarriage in the third trimester.
Hey, it’s not causing a miscarriage, but it causes premature birth. The baby came out alive, crying loudly.
This isn’t scary because premature babies are easier to manage now. Pediatricians are very skilled at saving the lives of newborns.
But we’re worried about the mother’s safety. Even one abortion pill used in a large uterus can cause it to rupture and lead to the death of the pregnant woman.
“Calm down, push slowly.” Doctor Cheer tried to calm the young girl from the pain. The cervix was fully dilated, and now it was just a matter of pushing slowly.
The baby was born, and a pediatrician came to take care of it. It was tiny, and if estimating the gestational age, it would be around 28 weeks. It was purely a visual estimate. The little one looked frail, its skin pale. Well, the pediatrician would handle it.
And shortly after, the placenta was delivered, followed by a large gush of blood.
The young mother lost consciousness, and her heart stopped immediately.
“She’s arresting!” Doctor Cheer shouted loudly, and within seconds, the delivery room nurses rushed in. One called the team for help, another quickly inserted an IV line in the other arm for saline, and another opened the emergency cart, bringing out various resuscitation drugs as Doctor Cheer directed.
CPR began.
Several doctors gathered, taking turns performing chest compressions. Minute after minute, many vials of medication were injected into the veins. Minute after minute, her blood flowed from the vagina, soaking the delivery bed pad.
“The blood is here, use a syringe to pump it in.”
Minute after minute, her heart couldn’t beat on its own. The doctors’ sweat soaked their clothes.
Minute after minute, the resuscitation that started around 6 AM now extended to 10:30 AM.
“Enough, she really can’t make it.” When the senior doctor said that, the resuscitation stopped.
“She,” the beautiful one, passed away shortly after turning 18. She was pregnant, and we didn’t know who the father was, nor did we know what would happen next.
The exhaustion made Doctor Cheer, who was very sleepy at the time, unable to fall into a deep sleep even when lying down for a nap. It felt like a half-asleep, half-awake state.
“Eh… who’s standing there?” Cheer squinted to look.
There might be a TV there, but the TV was off.
Next to it was a refrigerator, or was it a refrigerator?
“No, it’s a person.”
She was a woman. How did she get into the male doctor’s room? A long-haired woman, her hair slightly past her shoulders. She was pregnant, wet, standing at the foot of the bed, then moving away.
“Oh shit,” that was me exclaiming.
Haha, I’m telling Cheer’s story, not mine. Don’t forget, this can’t happen to me. I won’t allow it.
“I can’t sleep now, I have to get up and check.”
“Wow, you’re brave,” I thought to myself.
“There’s no one, no woman from earlier, but the floor at the foot of my bed is wet.” Cheer paused.
“Did a friend come in? They showered and didn’t dry off properly.” This theory was thought up.
“I called my roommate, professor. He’s still busy on the ward, hasn’t come back to shower since last night.” There you go, why ask for clarity?
In truth, it’s not very clear. It’s not clear because it’s just a vague image.
That same evening, Cheer had to go to the delivery room for some business.
The delivery room, on a day when Doctor Cheer wasn’t on call, looked empty. The section for near-term patients had no patients, so only a few lights were on. Some nurses were chatting, others checking equipment and remaining medications.
Music played from the radio on that bed, the middle bed, where the patient lay before being moved to push in another room at dawn.
At that time, playing music to reduce stress and pain during labor was popular. Many beds had CD players. Doctor Cheer went in to turn it off because no one seemed to need music there.
“Strange, why didn’t the nurse turn it off?” Cheer wondered.
But wait… it’s not plugged in, so where’s the music coming from?
“Feels like someone’s watching.” It must be a feeling because we can sense being watched or see it from the corner of our eye.
No one.
But there must be, felt it all the time.
Then Cheer looked under the table with the fetal heart monitor next to the patient’s bed.
She was sitting there.
The patient from the morning, the beautiful long-haired one, her hair slightly past her shoulders. She wore a hospital gown, sitting on the floor with her knees up, hugging her knees, crying, and looking at Cheer.
“Oh shit… what did Cheer do?” It turned out that the one more scared than anyone was probably me, not Cheer.
“I just walked out of the delivery room, professor. Couldn’t stay any longer.”
………………………….
This didn’t happen to me, but it’s a story that Professor Cheer really experienced since he was a final-year medical student or a new intern. I’m afraid of ghosts, but the fear of ghosts from Cheer’s story doesn’t affect me more than the death from such a story.
Pregnant women shouldn’t die.
Deaths from attempted abortions shouldn’t happen.
If we had met her five or six months earlier, we could have helped her more.
And it’s heartbreaking that the death was a lonely one.
Her last consciousness was probably tied to Cheer. He was the last doctor she saw before losing consciousness.
Should I be sadder about this than being afraid of ghosts while telling my student’s story?
…………..
“Pee Pae, enter Cha-uat via Mai Siap. U-turn near the PTT gas station where we used to meet for medicine. That entrance is the easiest. I’ve ordered the food for you.” Wow, the way the message was sent, it’s as if we’ve exchanged drugs before.
“Yiam Ocha” is a restaurant located by the road along the Cha-uat canal. I drove past the fresh market that had just ended and parked at the back of the restaurant.
“The doctor is here, Aom’s order.” The aunt, whom I guessed was the owner, shouted to her staff, then led me through the kitchen. I saw about 5-6 charcoal stoves, with two lit, waiting. The heat hit my face. I guessed they were prepared for grilling.
The kitchen was very clean.
“River prawns in coconut milk with pickled bamboo shoots” was unusual because what I had before only had coconut shoots or fresh bamboo shoots. I scooped up the soup to sip.
“Slurp” a soft sipping sound. It couldn’t be slurped loudly because it was hot, mildly sweet, with the aroma of pickled bamboo shoots. If it were a sour curry with fish or sea catfish, it would be perfect.
The river prawn, slightly smaller than my palm, was placed on the rice. Its meat was bouncy, and its head had enough orange fat to mix with the rice.
“Mackerel chili paste” was the next dish, with cucumber, fresh bitter melon, eggplant, winged beans, and neang fruit as side vegetables. I bit into the fresh chili in the chili paste, spicy and tingling on the tongue. I chuckled to myself, thinking I’ve become a chili eater now, or maybe I was a myna bird in a past life.
“Stir-fried morning glory with red chili” was the next dish. Hmm… I didn’t order that. I remember telling her only two items.
I had a hunch, coming like this, I feared I wouldn’t have to pay. But don’t get carried away. Since all three dishes in front of me were so delicious, the only downside was that if there were grilled sataw, it would be perfect. The mackerel chili paste would make me even more delighted.
Before I could finish the thought, suddenly they brought a plate of grilled sataw. Tears almost fell. Am I this lucky? Just thinking in my mind without telling anyone, and the grilled sataw was served.
“Sataw, the whole shop only had that much. At first, she said there was no sataw today. Hey, how come? But in the end, there were two pods, just enough for one serving, perfect.” She probably meant to write “perfect” instead of “perfect.”
I intended to save the eggplant for last. It should help deal with the sataw smell in my mouth to some extent.
“Doctor Aom already paid.” A staff member came to tell me.
“Damn Aom, why did you pay? Haha…” I sent a message.
“But thank you, it was really delicious. If it weren’t for you, I would have really gone for chicken rice.” I thought.
“I surrender, surrender to chicken rice.” James Chusak’s song echoed in my head.
…………………
This coming Monday, I have to go to Bangkok to lecture on abortion at the government center.
Someone asked, “Why do abortions?”
I don’t know how to answer because I’m not obsessed with it. I don’t like doing abortions. I’ve been answering like this for over ten years.
But when asked, “If no one performs abortions, what could happen to that woman?” Such a question might not resonate with those who haven’t talked to someone with an unplanned pregnancy.
But if one day that person is someone we love, a sibling, or even a child, we might be able to answer the question I asked.
How long will I have to keep asking like this?
……………………….
The grilled sataw, which I believe came from the charcoal stove, was broken out of the pod, placed on the mackerel chili paste, scooped up, and chewed.
Whether eating one seed or the whole pod, the mouth smells the same. So I ate without holding back because it smells the same anyway.
But wait a moment.
Don’t forget that when morning comes, when you poop, one sataw seed and the two pods you ate smell different. Really, I’ll tell you because I just pooped, emptied my stomach at 10:30 PM.
Thanaphan Chuboon at Cha-uat, January 26, 2019
Source: https://www.gotoknow.org/posts/660528
Abortion and Dying Alone by Assistant Professor Dr. Thanaphan Chuboon