One good patch deserves another

When I was a child, I suffered quite badly from growing pains. The attacks always came like sprites in the night - suddenly and in a pack. Throbbing aches traipsing through my joints for hours into the night as I sweated, groaned and tossed about in bed. So unhappy ... and still not tall enough in spite of all that painful growth!

If things got too unbearable -my moans shriller and increasingly disturbing for our neighbours- my late father would prescribe me a painkiller. Most other times though, my mother would squirt some Counterpain or a apply dollap of Tiger Balm on the criminal joint and give it a vigorous massage. This would always be followed with at least one medicinal plaster stuck on for good measure, akin to the yellow talismans (talismen?) in Chinese lore which keep hopping vampires (in imperial court garb) at bay. Ah, the controlled release of soothing agents in subsequent hours!

It wasn't unusual for me to be sporting 4 to 6 of these ko-yok at a time, particularly at my elbows and ankles. During those years, my youthful presence in the household was closely associated with the elderly, ah-kong smell of camphor-cum-balm. Coupled with my penchant for Tiger Balm and Axe Oil, I suppose there could have been a sufficiently strong case made about my all-round flammability. Sigh ... and at that age!

The aches became more sporadic during my early teens, then one fine day just ceased altogether. Like the little lame boy who was healed, I was elated by my ligaments' liberation and threw away the ever-faithful, ever-relieving trademarked Tokuhon and Salonpas plasters.

Today Ste and I headed to Chinatown with a mission. To rally the forces of good and able reinforcements in his battle against backache. We were not disappointed! Behind the bustling cashiers at New Loon Fung Supermarket on Gerrard Street were my ever-faithful, anti-pain patches. Quick introductions were made and we were off to a strong start.