JULY 22  — Being told I need to be on medication (Tamoxifen) for the next 5-10 years was a bit daunting.

Even with a daily reminder, I still slip up and miss a dose or two every other month so I understand now why doctors fuss about medication compliance.

My hormone blockers would cost me nearly RM200 a month but are, fortunately, covered under our public healthcare system.

Last week though, the entire process of procuring them was somewhat maddening though I don't blame the doctors and nurses who are doing their best.

A typical oncology follow-up goes like this:

1. Arrive at the hospital at least half-an-hour before your appointment.

2. Surrender your appointment book to the counter, placing it in the little box with the time of your appointment on it.

3. Wait for 20-40 minutes for your name to be called for you to get a number.

4. Wait up to an hour for the payment counter to call you to prepay your admission fee (currently RM5).

5. Wait for your number to be called to finally see the doctor.

6. If blessedly you have no alarming symptoms, you get pushed out the door and now you need to get the appointment desk to give you a date for the next appointment.

7. Wait again to be called and given your appointment book back.

8. With your appointment book, bring it along to the pharmacy with your prescription slip (which your doctor should have given you) and then wait for your medication.

9. Be grateful you pay nearly nothing except half a day gone.

I used to be really judgemental seeing some patients bring along multiple family members when going to the hospital but I get it now.

Looking at some of the older patients (like one uncle who spent most of the morning with his walker looking a little dazed), I think they would forget halfway what they were supposed to do next. 

Heck, I forgot halfway I was supposed to get my appointment from the counter because when I was still at the specialist building, whichever oncologist I was seeing would give me my appointment on the spot. 

I already get funny stares when I'm sitting down in the waiting room because without my bald head, I look fairly able-bodied.

It's not like I can wear a sign around my neck that says "If you make me stand for too long, I'm not going to be able to leave my bed for the rest of the day."

Every hospital visit feels like a trial and speaking of trials I recently watched Christopher Nolan's take on The Odyssey. Twice.

There's a moment in the movie where a torn sail flutters in the wind and it got me thinking about how sometimes, life is like this — that sometimes, you must wait for favourable winds.

You take from a story your own meaning and the movie was a good reminder to me that I need to let go of the illusion of control; there is a time to fight and there is a time to wait for a change in weather.

All I can do in my situation is show up to my appointments and tell the stories for those who do not understand what it's like.

A fix for the entire inefficient process at the hospital could be as simple as signs explaining the processes, no need for AI promises or some other high-tech solution.

It feels sometimes in Malaysia, we are all trapped like Odysseus' crew, looking for a captain to steer us in the right direction.

All we can do now is hope the boat is strong enough to survive the choppy waves and unexpected storms, trusting that soon we'll find land again. 

* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.