[Life] 1989, Melbourne's Cold Night Surgery

Author: JEFFI CHAO HUI WU

Time: Thursday, June 26, 2025, 2:42 PM

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[Life] 1989, the Cold Night Surgery in Melbourne

It was the winter of 1989, and the nights in Melbourne were particularly cold, with the chill seeping through every crack in the streets, piercing the skin like needles. A small sore suddenly appeared above my right ear; at first, I didn't pay much attention to it, thinking it was just an ordinary little wound. I simply cleaned it daily and continued with my busy life. However, a few days later, the wound began to swell rapidly, the skin stretched tight and shiny, accompanied by a persistent fever and a faint stinging pain. I tried applying a hot towel, but it provided no relief. By the seventh day, my entire ear was swollen and red like a ball of fire, the pain radiating from my ear to half of my head, making it impossible to sleep at night. My head felt like it was going to burst, while my body shivered from the cold. As I touched my forehead, I realized that a fever had already set in.

At that time, I had been working for less than a year, in a foreign country, without familiar friends and no relatives to rely on; everything had to be handled by myself. In the late night of Melbourne, the streets were empty, the buses had long stopped running, and taxis could be called, but the high fare made me hesitate—not because I couldn't afford it, but because I was used to spending every penny wisely, especially in such an unexpected situation, I preferred to save the money for truly critical medical expenses. In the end, I decided to walk to the nearest hospital, enduring the tearing pain in my ear, and forced myself to go out.

The night wind pierced through my thin clothing like a sharp knife, the cold seeping into my bones from my neck. The swelling and pain in my ears intensified with each step, and my mind felt like it was packed with gunpowder, constantly expanding. I gritted my teeth and walked slowly with my head down for dozens of minutes, as if each step was a struggle against the unbearable pain. Upon arriving at the hospital, the doctor took one look and immediately said that I needed to be cut open right away to drain the pus from the abscess, or the infection could spread rapidly. However, there was no anesthetist on duty that night, so only simple emergency measures could be taken.

I looked up at the doctor, my voice a bit hoarse but very firm: "No anesthesia, just cut it directly." The doctor was taken aback for a moment, shook his head and said, "Are you crazy? With this kind of wound, you can't bear it without anesthesia. Moreover, the law requires anesthesia to be administered." I didn't argue further, but still insisted on not wanting too much anesthesia, worried that it would affect my nerves and reactions. In the end, the doctor injected a small amount of local anesthesia, providing only limited relief, and then began to drain with a thick needle.

As the cold metal needle pierced the wound, I could clearly hear the sound of it twisting in the sore, like a steel wire drilling deep into the nerves, small yet piercing, the pain spreading like an electric current along the nerves, rushing straight to my brain. I could feel cold sweat seeping out inch by inch along my spine, and for a moment, my vision went dark, but I held back my voice, clenching my fists to keep myself awake. The doctor paused his movements, glanced at me, and said softly, "You are one of the most pain-tolerant people I have ever seen."

At around three in the morning, I walked out of the hospital. The night was still cold, the streets were empty, and I could still feel waves of heat and pain in my ears. My steps were a bit unsteady, and my head felt heavy and dazed. At that moment, I didn’t call home or tell anyone, because I knew that even if they found out, they wouldn’t be able to help. All it would do is add to their worry, and nothing would change.

The next morning, I went to the hospital again for the formal excision surgery. This time the anesthesia took effect, and the doctor handled it more thoroughly, but the burning pain from the cleaned wound still forced me to break out in a cold sweat. After the surgery, I returned to my place and rested briefly for the morning, then went to work at the factory in the afternoon as usual, with bandages still wrapped around my ears and occasional dull pains shooting through my head. Every minute of that day felt like I was just holding on; the heat and throbbing of the wound intertwined with the mechanical operations at work. I gritted my teeth and completed all my tasks, and no one could tell that I was any different.

I have never told my family about this matter, not a word, not because I am deliberately hiding it, nor because of some so-called strength, but because during those years of wandering in a foreign land, I deeply understood one thing—on unfamiliar soil, the only one you can truly rely on is yourself.

Source: http://www.australianwinner.com/AuWinner/viewtopic.php?t=696530