On my way out of the ward, I heard my patient screamed in agony. It was from the first cubicle where it housed Amanda and Iqhwan, and the scream was that of an anguished boy.
It must be Iqhwan. He's a stoic kid who wouldn't talk to us and always had a lot of one ringgit bills with him. Yesterday he had all his one ringgit bills on the bed and turned it into a funny bedsheet.
He had liver injury grade V from a domestic injury about two weeks ago and we just off his analgesic. Was he in pain? Or worse, did he fall and his liver bled again?
I walked steadily towards him. I saw the boy crouching on the floor near the edge of his bed, screaming like the world ending. And I saw his mother sitting cross legged on the bed, looking at him with nothingness in her eyes. Ah.
"What's wrong with him?"
"He's angry that his KFC is still on the way."
He was noisy. I told him to stop screaming. He kept on screaming. I pulled out a one ringgit bill from my nametag and told him
"If you stop screaming I'll give you this."
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