The Middle Child

Have not written about Farah for quite some time so here are some things about her which are interesting.

1. Even though she doesn't have to be in school until 9am, she gets upset when we do not wake her up together with Huda at 6am. When she gets upset, her glare is enough to melt an iceberg. 

2. She is extremely generous with her food. Whenever we eat fried chicken or fried fish, she will share the crispy skin with everyone although that is her favourite part. 

3. She loves reading and she reads well for her age. 

4. She doesn't understand some of the words that she reads. She used to just infer the meaning of the words (not accurately sometimes resulting in her saying things like "my tongue feels so disappointed" ~said in mid 2014) but these days she would ask us to explain the meaning of the words.  

5. Sometimes, she'll ask us the meaning of the words in very random situations. A few days ago, she asked what 'possessed' meant. I thought it was something to do with spirits but I sought clarification from her anyway. 

"Where did you see the word?" I asked. 

"Once upon a time, in a land far away, a single drop of sunlight fell to the ground and grew into a magical golden flower that possessed healing powers."

(Yes. She quoted verbatim from a storybook she read a few days earlier.)

This happens very regularly. Sometimes she's about to sleep and she would ask the meaning of a word and would quote the sentence it appears in. I'm impressed with her memory. 

6. A little voice within me and a few voices around me told me that I should send her to a madrasah. She would definitely be able to cope with the syllabus, they said. But, I am not sure if *I* can cope with it.

7. She is very loving to her little brother but less so to the older sister. Often, before she goes to school, she tells me, "Mak, can you tell Ihsan that Kakak Farah loves him very much?"

After months and months of this, I asked her why couldn't she just tell him herself. 

She said, "I don't want him to forget me when I'm in school."

8. Her treatment of Ihsan when they play together reminds me of Elmyra from Animaniacs. At times, I have to stop her from being too rough with the little boy.

9. I love how much faith she has in Allah. She believes in the power of du'a and many times, her du'a is answered. Her du'a for now is for everyday stuff. Food, ability to do things (like, unscrew a jar etc). Once she made du'a for nenek to cook her favourite pucuk manis masak lemak (otherwise known as 'the green vegetable with the yellow gravy'. I forgot about it and that day, when we went to my mother's house, my mother happened to cook exactly that. Another day, we had leftover beef soup for sahur and there weren't many pieces of potatoes left. She wanted more and to pacify her, I told her to make du'a for potatoes. That evening, my mother gave us a potato dish for buka. Masya Allah. The power of du'a. 

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My du'a for Farah, Huda and Ihsan is for them to always have complete and unwavering faith in Allah. I du'a that they will always be hardworking and will always strive hard for their goals. Being 'clever' when you are young is meaningless if it's not accompanied by a desire and the will to better yourself  throughout your life. 

A Short Summary

Here are some updates of our lives. Some might turn into longer blog posts. Some will remain here as one-liners.

1. Alhamdulillah. Ihsan's aneurysm has been reduced to a dilated artery while his dilated artery has turned normal. I cannot thank Allah enough for His Mercy.

2. We went to Coventry, London, Paris, Switzerland and back to London. Coventry, London and Switzerland are awesome.

3. Came back 2 days before Ramadan and Ihsan is letting me stay wide awake between 11pm to 2am. Baby jet lag is horrible.

4. Huda has gastric. An extension of her severe motion sickness that she gets during any travels. Includes car rides.

5. I must upload many many pictures of Ihsan here.

April 2015 (Part #3)

What is the one lesson that I've learnt?

Get that insurance early. When it's too late, it's too late.

TheBoy was born with one of the ducts in his heart not closing in a timely fashion. In layman's terms, that's a hole in the heart. In December last year, he had a heart scan which showed that everything was a-okay. We should have seen our insurance agent at that moment but we procrastinated. As always.

In January, he was supposed to have his vaccination. Don't ask me which one. As a bimbo mother, I bring him to all his vaccinations diligently but for the life of me, I can't recall if it's this or that or another one of those things. He had a cough then so I was advised to postpone it to the following month. In February, he was supposed to have another jab so both jabs were given on the same day, 13th February.

That night, he developed a high fever of 38.4°C.

Nope. I did not think that was abnormal. He had a jab. He's never had a reaction to any of his jabs before. But hey, he had 2 jabs today. So, a fever is normal. (Note: Low-grade fever is expected after a vaccination. Not anything above 38°C.)

The fever somewhat subsided over the next 3 days. He still felt warm but when I took his temperature, it was always 37-point-something.

Tuesday morning. 17th Feb. Hmmm... Shouldn't this post-vaccination fever go away already? Googled. Googled. Googled. What? Post-vac fever should not last more than a day? Should be sub-38°C? Oh God. Let's take his temperature. What? 38-point-something?! Oh no! To the polyclinic we go! Pronto!

TheBoy didn't show any other signs of illnesses other than a fever. He was sponged by the nurses. His temperature dropped a little bit and after a thorough check by the doctor, we were sent home with instructions to have a blood test if the fever persists.

It was the CNY week. His fever was raging. It came down with Panadol, but after 4 hours, the fever shoots up to above 39°C. It not only persisted, this nasty fever, it also went up and up. For a child who had not even started on his weaning diet, his first foods were a cocktail of chemicals.

Thursday. First day of CNY. He had been inconsolable for many days. He barely slept. His stubborn fever was evil. We decided to take him to KKH for a blood test. Blood and urine tests turned out normal. Just a nasty viral fever, said the doctor. Go home.

Friday. Rashes started appearing on his hands and feet. Not HFMD. Not chicken pox. Googled googled googled. Maybe it's roseola. But roseola appears when the fever has subsided. This fever was still going on strong. But maybe, it's roseola and maybe, the fever is subsiding, we comfort our worried hearts.

Satuday evening, rashes which seemed to look better in the afternoon worsened at night. His lips were cracked and bleeding. He has cried himself hoarse and he's barely drinking any milk.

Sunday morning. He was too tired. He had been crying throughout this ordeal. We were exhausted. We could not comfort him much. It was time for another trip to KKH.

"It might be Kawasaki Disease," the doctor said.

Disease, why disease? The word 'disease' sounded like a long-term problem. My heart constricted a little bit and the doctor explained.

"Flat rashes, red lips, red tongue - looks like symptoms of Kawasaki Disease. But for patients with KD, there is a possibility that they might get heart disease as a result of this episode."

Heart disease.

I lost control of the floodgates. The tears gushed. The knowledgeable doctor said that as long as treatment is given within 10 days, most KD patients would not have any heart problems. I started counting. Counting his vaccination day as Day 1, that day was Day 10. But later on, another doctor said that they started counting from Tuesday as the 3 days when his fever was sub-38°C was not considered .

He was hospitalised and initially for my own comfort, we opted for a private ward class. The next day, a doctor spoke to me and asked if he was insured. No, I said. She strongly advised me to downgrade. At that moment, they could not start the treatment for him as there was no single test to confirm that TheBoy had KD. What they had to do was to confirm that he was not having anything else and all signs must point to KD. It would take time. "If it's not KD, what else could it be?" I asked. She listed a list of conditions which I didn't want to hear of either. Brain infection, sepsis of the blood. My mind - which was beyond exhaustion as a result of handling a sick, crying baby who cried through the night, giving me a total of 2 hours of sleep each day for more than a week - went blank after that. Downgrading is always a tricky issue at hospitals but I had to try. I went to the business office, pleaded my case and was given a downgrade to B2. Alhamdulillah.

But, Allah is kind and most merciful. B2 does not have a bed for us so we could stay in the comfort of the private ward class for another day and night.

I had witnessed so many days of inconsolable crying that on the first night at KKH, I started crying along with him. As I tried and failed to comfort him despite my best efforts, crying along was cathartic somehow. Had I been in B2 (6 patients in a ward, beds close together), I would have made many, many enemies as both son and mom wailed through the night.

Late Monday morning, the doctors confirmed that it was KD.

The treatment, Immunoglobulin harvested from many many many plasma donors, would be given intravenously. The doctor assured me that once the Intravenous Immunoglobulin (IVIG) has been administered, the fever would crash and he would be a lot less cranky.

Finally, at 12 noon, the treatment was started. By 2pm, his fever finally went down on its own. For the first time in what felt like forever, he slept for 2 whole hours, uninterrupted.

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But the worst was not over.

We had to scan his heart. The appointment to do so was for a week after discharge. For some reasons, I always think I'm strong and can do these things alone. So, TheHusband didn't take time off from work because we are optimistic that results would be good. (Sometimes, I really don't know where I get this big bucket of optimism from. It could be insanity masked as optimism.)

TheBoy's name was called and in we went. A sweet technician with a lovely singing voice started scanning TheBoy's heart. She sang to the boy. I heard her murmuring to her partner, dilated. She continued singing to the boy. Could I have heard wrongly? Yeah, I'm sure I did.

The head of the paediatric heart department came in. Hmm. Why not just a regular doctor, like during his December scan? He scanned TheBoy again and I could hear the words I didn't want to hear.

His right coronary artery is dilated. And there is an aneurysm in his left coronary artery.

Allah. Allah. Allah. Give me strength, Allah.

He explained with diagrams what he meant. The good thing is, the aneurysm is small and it just requires regular monitoring.  The worst thing that can possibly happen is a sudden heart attack. He has to learn how to manage stress and live a healthy lifestyle.

I nodded at appropriate pauses and tried to keep those tears out. I remember going to the counter to arrange for my next appointment. Then, I walked in a daze and only realised that I was at the taxi stand when I almost knocked into a display panel. I told the taxi driver where I wanted to go. And miraculously (because Allah is kind and merciful and so He sends me good friends and a great family), 3 of my friends asked me separately how Ihsan was when I was in the taxi. The tears that I had stoically kept within myself flowed.  The enormity of the situation was too much to bear and on these friends,  I unburdened my sorrow.  (Thank you.)


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A week passed.  And I felt better.  I saw the silver lining behind this dark cloud. So many people unknowingly live with their aneurysms. At least for us,  we know he has one and we can get it monitored at regular intervals. We can take precautions and with Allah's mercy,  Ihsan will live a long, healthy life.  Amin.

30 November 2014

(I resolve to stop writing titles. I will just write the date I start writing each post.)

Ihsan

Ihsan is now almost 4 months old. I am so very grateful that he has been an easy child to take care of. I only realise just how easy he is when he was cranky this morning, possibly because he had very little sleep yesterday.

He,like Middle Sister (as she would like to be known as now) Farah, is extremely curious about everything. Yesterday, when we were at his paternal grandfather's place, he stayed up during the entire 6 hours or so that we spent there taking in the sights and sounds which are less than familiar to him. I let everyone carry him, only taking him back to feed him, as I'm afraid that in the coming months when he can recognise faces, these faces that he does not see as often would only be howled at should they carry him. So, now, when I can enjoy some freedom and can have my arms to myself, I better enjoy it. The moment we left, at about 9 pm, he fell asleep in the baby carrier only to be rudely jolted awake at about 10.30 pm as I insisted on bathing him before changing him into his pyjamas. 

This morning, he was not his happy cheerful self when he woke up. He normally just whimpers softly for his milk. When he's ready to wake up for the day, he coos and smiles; such a happy camper! But this morning, he cried each time he was put down. It was the first time in his entire life that I had to carry him, pacing back and forth, to calm him down. Not typical at all. But after a long afternoon nap, he was back to his calm, cheerful self. 

Ihsan's Schedule

He normally wakes up 2-3 times a night for his feeds. He normally sleeps by 8-9 pm. He sometimes wakes up at 11pm for a round of milk, but not always. His next feed will be around 1 am followed by another one around 4.30 am. Around 8 am, he wakes up for a brand new day. 

He takes naps throughout the day. A few hours in the morning and a few more hours in the afternoon. 

When he's awake, and if I'm not busy doing housework (of which there is no end), I will spend the time talking to him. Well, errrr, I hope that's enough stimulation for the boy. He doesn't need colorful objects et al hung above him, right? He does see the rotating fan when he lies down on the sofa. Hur hur. 

Me & Birth Control

When I was first admitted to the hospital last July, Dr KT Tan had a long conversation with me and strongly recommended ligation as another pregnancy could very well end my life. But, after that long conversation on Day 1 of my hospital stay, I had too much time to google the side effects of ligation and came across websites upon websites of women who supposedly suffered from Post Tubal Ligation Syndrome. So, in the end, I decided to go for Intra-Uterine Contraception Device (IUCD). As Dr KT Tan didn't visit me anymore after that, there was no one to tell me that IUCD wasn't suitable for me. All the other doctors I spoke to seemed to be okay with IUCD for me. Unfortunately, during the C-section, they found that my womb was paper thin. I suppose that was why after I delivered, Dr Tan came to visit me and chided me for changing my mind about ligation. Prior to this, I had been a model patient, always listening to her. 

In the follow-up appointments, another doctor from the team of doctors who treated me, Dr Sim recommended Implanon. Research shows that among all the birth control methods, this has a very high success rate, higher than ligation and IUCD. 

And so, Thursday came - the day for me to be fitted with the Implanon rod. 

I have a tendency to over-research (that's how I came across Post Tubal Ligation Syndrome) so I did not want to do that again. I kept strictly to the medical websites, steered clear of forums. But I couldn't help googling 'Implanon and breastfeeding'. Official research shows that the volume of breastmilk was not affected and only an insignificant amount of the hormone seeped into the breastmilk. But, some women complained that their supply was affected. 

I became wary. 

So, I prayed and prayed for this Implanon to have no negative effects on me. Please please please. 

Day 1-2 of Implanon insertion - my milk seemed to take a beating. I have always felt very engorged when I wake up in the morning but the first two mornings, I felt rather, well, just slightly full (of milk) when I wake up. I remembered what one of my friends told me, "The breasts can be trained" and fed the little boy non-stop. I knew my milk supply was affected when one side no longer sufficed. Prior to this, each feeding session required only one side. But on Friday and Saturday, I had to feed him from both sides. I didn't press the Panic Button. Yet. (Panic Button = "TheHusband, we need formula milk!"

Day 3 - I woke up to a wet top and damp bed sheet that smelt of milk. Hooray! The milk supply is back. Insya Allah, I will always have enough milk for my baby.

Other than the slight reduction in milk supply for the first 2 days, I have not had any negative side effects and I hope for it to remain that way. Amin!

Back to Implanon. It's a small rod, the size and length of a matchstick that is inserted just below the surface of the skin. The procedure does not take long. The doctor will first clean the site with alcohol, then inject a local anaesthetic to numb the skin. That will be the most painful part of the procedure. 1-2 minutes later, the doctor inserts the Implanon rod. If you wear long sleeves, make sure it is loose and can be pulled all the way up. After that, the nurse will clean the site. She will place a plaster where the rod was inserted. A piece of gauze on top of it. And a bandage that goes round and round your arm. You can remove the bandage after 24 hours. The plaster has to be changed and TheBraveHusband is tasked with this job. TheBraveHusband said that the insertion point looks like a tiny pimple now. 

I do not know if the rod will show. I have not really inspected the site. If it does, there goes my swimwear modelling career. Not. It will be somewhat interesting to have this matchstick-like protrusion on your skin. Oh the tales I can weave with this to scare little people! (I came up with some fantastic tales to frighten innocent little people when I had braces once upon a time. Hee!)

Big Sister & Middle Sister

I am actually now quite wary about writing too much about them. Especially the Big Sister. She is a big girl, after all, now, and I don't want to embarrass her in future. I want to be honest here and write about everything, not just the good stuff. 

(I can always delete the entries, right?)

Until I have discussed this with her extensively, I think she will only make occasional appearances in this blog.

Now, the Middle Sister is all of 5 years old. Feisty like what-lidat (to copy my nephew's favourite simile; I can feel all EL teachers rolling their eyes). You don't want to cross her path and make her mad. First, there is her scream. Very loud. Not a girlish shriek, mind you. She does not have a girlish voice. Then there is her piercing stare. Even a hardy cactus will wilt under that glare. And finally her stomping which attempts to wake the dead. 

When does she employ this? When she perceives that injustice is done (more eye rolling). It's terribly annoying what they see as unfair: "You only want to play Kakak's game; you don't want to play my game!" (We've been playing Snap/Memory Game/Snake and Ladders almost every single day. One day, Kakak wants the family to play Monopoly. After a fun game of Monopoly - which went past their bedtime - she takes out her Snap cards and wants us to play Memory Game.)

"You always let Kakak carry Ihsan. I don't get to carry Ihsan!" (Never mind the fact that after 5 seconds of carrying Ihsan, she will ask somebody to relieve her. Or the fact that she tends to squeeze Ihsan too much. Or the fact that she just carried Ihsan in the morning.)

"You always sit beside Kakak. You don't sit beside me."

And a host of other "You always... You don't..." 

I really dislike that adverb, always. Don't you?

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But she is also the more expressive one between the two. Huda is not one to open up and share her emotions with others. Farah is very expressive. She declares her love for one and all. "Bye bye Nenek! I love you!" She hugs me when she is going to school and when she comes back. She openly declares that she misses me when she's in school. When I tell her I love her, she asks, how about Ayah/Kakak/Atok/Nenek/insert family member. So now I tell her, I love you and Kakak and Ayah and all our family members, near and far. 

The Big Sister is quite different here. She is not as expressive as her sister. Outside her school, she doesn't want to hug me. Huaaaaarrrggghhh!!! The Big Sister is growing up too fast! 

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Sometimes, I ask them, if you can exchange me for any mother, who will you choose? They are pretty undecided about this one. I have yet to hear a name being mentioned. What I am so grateful for is that they are very close to their cousins and all my siblings and in-laws are as neurotic as I am. Since we are all about the same, swopping mothers with their cousins does not seem to bring any benefit to them. (There will still be highly limited screen time. So, no fun.)

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All righty! Must stop now before I accidentally write so much about the Big Sister without consulting her! 

November 2014 Updates...

I have a few hours to myself now. Ihsan can nap for 2-3 hours in the daytime now. Huda has gone off for a Tarbiyah Programme conducted by sister-in-law's company, Little Muslim Readers. Farah is at the childcare centre. I'm supposed to straighten out the big store room but this blog requires some updates. Heh.

In no particular order and with no organisational skills/planning put into this entry, from the top of my head...

1. November 24

I turned 37 yesterday! Alhamdulillah, I'm still alive, in pretty good health, blessed with a good husband, lovely kids, a supportive extended family, very good friends, in decent financial state.. what more can I ask for? Alhamdulillah. Allah has been really kind to me and I am always grateful. (Forgive me, Allah, when I sometimes complain and whine. I  try to cut it out but I am a weak human.)

I complain sometimes about insects which find my home extremely attractive. Like these creatures that decided to wave at me and (according to Haryati) wish me a happy birthday yesterday..

Stuck on the outside of the living room window. Yikes.

Talking about homes - I have stopped looking for a bigger flat. I like the view outside the window too much to give up this place. What we'll do instead is to renovate the entire house sometime next year or year after next. There will be lots and lots of hidden storage space, airconditioning and there should be no need for window dressings. I actually hate curtains and it's such a waste of greenery outside when it's all covered by curtains. We have to engage an ID consultant for this. TheHusband and I only have vague ideas of our dream design and we need a professional to make sure that it happens.

Of course, a key thing that we will have will be some kind of 'invisible netting' to prevent all the insects from coming in. Yes, all those greenery come hand in hand with creepy crawlies but surely there is a way to tell them to stay out of my house!

2. Ihsan

He is now almost 4 months old! 110 days; 3 months 18 days to be precise. (I didn't count. I used an online duration calculator.)

He smiles and laughs a lot. He is quite a guzzler, drinking milk noisily as if he is famished. He wakes up 2-3 times at night which is fine by me. He sleeps in a cot beside my bed but always ends up on the bed with me  because I tend to fall asleep while feeding him.

He used to poo about 6 times a day. Small amounts of poop but boy, are they stinkbombs! Now he poos once or twice a week only. But it's a whole lot of poop which requires many many wet wipes and a complete hose down after all the wiping.

Knowing that this is most likely my last and final child (and perhaps the fact that I am an older mom therefore calmer, less kiasu etc), I am a lot less uptight about many things. I am not checking developing milestones every other day and ensuring he meets them. As long as he is developing well, I am fine. So what if he is not turning yet. Eventually, he will. I remember what a worrywart I was with Huda. I was concerned that she was taking a long time to start walking. But, it doesn't quite matter at which point you start, because you will get there someday. And so by the time Farah came around, I had made some realisations so I was relaxed about her toilet training. No point forcing it on her. When she's ready, she's ready. And so Farah practically toilet-trained herself.

And then, there's this poem I read recently. It was one of those poems which made the rounds on Facebook. About how this particular thing you do for your child could very well be the last time you do it for your child. No, not in that morbid way that you or your child will die. But, the fact that your baby grows up so fast that today, you are bathing him in his plastic bathtub and tomorrow (okay, more like many months from now), he will be standing up without the need for a tub. So I don't grumble (much) and just enjoy the moments.

Anyway, this boy enjoys his bath time very much. He kicks the water, smiles and coos during bath time. Absolutely adorable. And here are random pictures of him.

Must take pictures of him crying. Heh.

Kakak Farah squeezes and squashes him on a regular basis.

Kakak Huda and Ihsan look alike, yes?

Kakak Farah boring him to tears, no, sleepyland with a book about fairies. 

I took all three kids on a long MRT ride all by myself. Felt accomplished.
Hehe..

Actually, I wanted to write about the girls too but I think that has to wait because I absolutely must must must do housework now. So, goodbye for now!

And TheBoy is Born...

This will be one long entry which will take days or more likely, weeks (more like months) to write.

28 July 2014

Hari Raya.

First day of Hari Raya is usually the mildest for me. We'd go to the mosque to perform our special Hari Raya prayers, go home for a short spell, then to my mom's, to my SIL's and finally to my FIL's. This year, thanks to TheHusband's NS-going nephew who had to report back to camp by 10pm, we ended the visiting much earlier, at around 8pm instead of the usual 10pm.

So, back home we went. After getting all items for work and school ready for the next day,  TheHusband and I turned in at around 11pm. As always, it was a restless sleep for me. In the final stages of pregnancy, all women complain of the same thing: no sleep position is ever comfortable. What I normally do after turning this way and that multiple times is to move to Alternative B: the sofa in the living room. When that fails to bring me my much-needed sleep, Alternative C is the extra bed in the kids' room. So, I migrated to the sofa and sleep came soon enough.

29 July 2014, 3.15am

I woke up feeling some pulsing sensations down below and with every pulse, out came some fluids. I thought it was heavy discharge. I touched my bottoms and it felt wet. Could this be blood, I thought. I switched on the light - I honestly do not know how I did it, considering that so much blood was coming out but I did.

There was blood on the throw which we used on the sofa. And as I stood up to look at the damage, more blood gushed out.

I called out for TheHusband, loud enough for him to hear but not so loud that it would cause an alarm. Thankfully,  he responded the second time. I remember being so calm at this stage. I told him, calmly, "I am now bleeding. KK's number is on the fridge. Can you call the hospital and find out what we are supposed to do? I am going to take a shower and if I have to go to the hospital, I'll call my parents later to tell them we are depositing H & F over there."

All the while, blood was running down my legs.

I grabbed the throw, revealing blood-soaked cushions underneath the throwp. I used the throw to stem the flow of the blood so that I would not be dripping blood on the way to the bathroom.

As I showered, more blood gushed out. TheHusband, following my instructions, took some pads (thank God I had not chucked them out when I found myself pregnant!) and the work pants that I had prepared. After the shower, I got dressed and sat down on some towels and made the call to my parents. The first call to the home number went unanswered and the second call to my sister's phone went unanswered too. I called the home number again and this time, my sister picked it up.

In the meantime, TheHusband started stripping the cushion off its covers and dumped the covers in the washing machine together with loads of VanishO2 (not paid for this product placement ad).

My sister informed my parents and according to her, my parents literally jumped out of bed. My mother has always been a bit worried about my pregnancies because of the difficulties I faced in my previous pregnancies. Receiving calls like this in the wee hours of the morning was something she feared.

My sister called again to say that my father would be fetching the girls. The girls woke up without much of a fuss and when my sister appeared at the door, they followed her. My parents, thinking that we were calling an ambulance (I did not; I was just planning on calling a taxi), then got us out of the house and took us to KK.

29 July 2014, 4.30am

At KK. We had to decide on a ward class. I wanted KT Tan to continue being my doctor so I initially opted for the lowest private class - B1. But even with B1, the admin office said that seeing that the baby was premature, I would expect to pay about $50,000 in hospital bills. No way jose. So, I settled for the cheapest subsidized class, C, and left the rest to Allah.

The doctors soon came and I was categorized in the high risk group. Besides being a confirmed placenta praevia major case, I was also a 'suspicious placenta accreta' patient. Placenta accreta is a condition (in my layman's terms) in which the uterus is stuck to the old C-section wounds. At birth, the placenta is supposed to come out on its own after the baby is born but in this case, the placenta had to be pried out and it might cause some heavy bleeding. I was told that if this is indeed placenta accreta, the way the delivery is approached would be very different. First, the incision will not be a horizontal incision at the bikini line. But it is a vertical incision starting from below the ribs. Prior to the birth, I would have to have a surgery to insert some catheter/balloon-thing from my thighs so as to stop the expected heavy bleeding during the birth. They may have to remove my womb during the surgery if they couldn't stop the bleeding and I may need a stay in ICU after the birth.

I wanted KT Tan to continue treating me and as my good luck (somewhat strange to call it this considering the circumstances) would have it, despite being a subsidised patient, KT Tan was in the team of doctors who treated me. As a high risk patient, not only do I have my preferred doctor, I also had a team of doctors and professors looking into my case.

30 July 2014

The first 2 days were filled with worries and fears. I had an MRI scan and 3 ultrasound scans, the second and third attended by the head of the OB/GYN department himself. I didn't have to worry about quality of care as a C-class patient.

Groups of doctors came to explain my situation to me. I got the idea of how grave a situation I was in. All of them warned me that death was a likely scenario. I had reached the point of leaving everything in the hands of God. If I were to die, it is not something that I could avoid. I wrote a simple will for my husband to execute in the event of my death. In Islam, I can will away up to 1/3 of my estate in whichever way I want but a minimum of 2/3 must be given away according to faraidh law. (If you are interested to know who will inherit your property, check out the faraidh calculator on MUIS' website.)

As my situation was still uncertain and I could be wheeled to the Operation Theatre at any time, I was not allowed any food. Throughout the pregnancy, I was eating 6 meals a day, except during Ramadhan of course when I miraculously could withstand the hunger. On the first day, I was only allowed to eat close to 7pm. Considering that my last meal was at 8pm the previous day, I was completely famished by then. Every doctor or nurse who came in after 4pm was asked the same question, "Can I eat now?" While I understood why I could not be given food, my stomach couldn't take it! Eventually, the combination of hunger plus missing my daughters and the worries I had made me break down in tears when a doctor asked me how I was. "Why are you crying?" she asked. "I'm so hungry," I answered. And I immediately got my dinner.

The next day was the same. I was not allowed any food. It was only around dinner time when they were sure that I was not going to bleed anymore did they allow me food. By that time, I was sure I could fast in Iceland, the land of 23 hours of daytime, if I had to.

All the scans also showed that my condition was 'mild' which in medicine-speak, means that it might be an accreta, it might not be one. But, I was told that I must stay at the hospital until I deliver. The plan was for me to deliver on 22 August, sometime after I hit Week 37. 3 weeks away. Oh. My. God. 3 weeks stuck in the hospital followed by at least 3 days post-maternity. Oh. My. God. This has to be the longest I ever stay in the hospital.

31 July

I was sent to the normal ward! Yippeeee! But I also had some trepidation as it was a C-class ward I was going to. My last experience in the C-class ward 8 years earlier was not pleasant. I was wheeled to Ward 34 and upon arrival, I was not greeted by any staff. Predictable, I thought. But, that was okay. I have already prepared myself for a care-less ward stay. I was just glad that I got a corner bed, Bed 16, not along the corridor and by the window. Behind me was a wall instead of a low partition separating each group of 6 beds. Some minutes later, Nurse Lisa came, introduced herself and asked me to give a urine sample. I did as was told and minded my own business at my bed.

It wasn't long before my impression of the C-class ward changed. During change of shifts, the nurses introduced themselves. The midwives made small talk with me and the nurses treated me like a person instead of just a digit. I actually felt comfortable there.

31 July to 7 August

The next week or so was a blur of excessive boredom. One boring day blended into the next and I learnt quite a few things about some groups of people which is of interest to some of my siblings who work in certain lines. Hur hur hur. I put my friendly self forward and got to know other long-stay patients. I did not want to get too close to those who just gave birth because they get discharged so quickly that it gets depressing  when one person you develop a liking for leaves.

Throughout my stay, I was constantly visited by groups of doctors and medical students seeking interviews. It was reassuring that my case was looked into by so many doctors. Sometime during my stay, I was told that my delivery date (after I begged them) was pushed forward to 15 August. Hooray! One less week!

In the meantime, us antenatal cases were moved to another part of Ward 34 and so I found myself in Bed 9. My fellow neighbours in Bed 7 and 8 were also long-stayers like me and our due date were just days apart. The nurses called us the 35-weekers.

8 August

2am. There was a flurry of activity in Bed 8 and my neighbour was rushed to the Operating Theatre. 6am. She came back looking somewhat weak with a slightly smaller stomach. She delivered!

I had a chat with her on the way to the toilet to take my wudhu' for the morning prayers. She was initially concerned that the date her C-section was planned for was not a particularly good date. I congratulated her cos now her son had chosen a good date to be delivered. 8/8 which is extremely prosperous sounding to Chinese.

I went to the toilet, passed urine and saw blood. It was nowhere near the gush that I experienced more than a week earlier. I wondered if I should inform the nurses about this. Hmm. I shall wait, I thought. I took my wudhu', performed my prayers (while sitting on the bed which was how I performed all my prayers throughout my hospital stay), sent a message to my husband and sisters. I still was wondering if I should tell the nurses.

It all happened quickly. I clicked 'send' on my phone and off my message to my sisters went. Then, I decided to press the call button. A nurse came. I told the nurse. And before I could send another message, the porter was there to send me to the Delivery Suite.

On the way there, I saw Dr K T Tan and Dr Sim standing by the Operating Theatre. A roomful of doctors came by and Dr Shiphali and Dr Ann Wright said I would be delivered that very day, as planned earlier. What time, I asked? Should I ask my husband to come here? By 10 o'clock, the latest. I was told.

I informed TheHusband and he got off his train at Buona Vista and took the train back to Novena. (Will he even reach the hospital on time?)

In between sending messages to so many people, I decided that I had time to read Surah Al Kahfi. I had a feeling that by the time I finish reading the surah, that was when things would really happen. I had to stop reading many times to attend to messages, doctors coming in to get my consent for various things, nurses getting me ready etc.

The nurse attending to me had no help. It was at this point that TheHusband had taken the train instead of a taxi. The OT is calling, I kept hearing people telling the nurse. TheHusband was nowhere around. I haven't finished reading Al-Kahf. Husband still hasn't reached. I finished reading Al-Kahf. The porter came to wheel me away.


8 August. 9am.

The one needle I feared the most is the needle for the anaesthetic to numb the lower part of the body for C-section. I don't know why I fear it so much. Yes, it's long. But, I could only feel a prick before the numbing sensation set in. I don't know how long the pre-surgery preparation was. Possibly half an hour? After the anaesthesia kicked in, I was ready for the surgery.

A short while after it started, then doctors congratulated me. "It's a boy! Congratulations!" But I didn't hear any cries. The anaesthetist who became my BFF during the surgery told me not to worry when I asked him about it. He said the baby doctor would settle it. Some time later, I heard cries and I felt relieved. A nurse came by showing me Ihsan. She brought Ihsan to my face so I could kiss him. Be a good Muslim, I whispered to him. And off he went.

----

With Huda and Farah, the arrival of the child was the climax of the story.

After that, it was just time to stitch up and go.

Unfortunately, with this surgery, it was like a scene from ER. I was given jabs after jabs and I heard doctors asking me to be given this medicine and that. I had three drip plugs on my arms and all three are active with various stuff poured into me. I could only feel jabs on my shoulder but I could not feel the jabs on my thighs.

I was feeling sleepy but my BFF did not allow me to sleep. He told me, you are losing a lot of blood. That was one of the things I was told might happen. They had 4 pints of blood on standby for me throughout my stay.

Later on, I would find out that I did not have placenta accreta and the loss of blood was due to something-I-still-cannot-comprehend. Hysterectomy would be an option but they could not do that as they realised, upon opening me up, my bladder was stuck to the womb.

I was beginning to feel really foggy at that point and I tried to stay alert because I am a kepoh by nature and I must know what was happening at all times.

At some point in time, the surgery ended.

I heard the doctors saying that I was going to the ICU. I asked my BFF and he confirmed that I was indeed going to ICU. Why, I asked? You lost a lot of blood. 1.2 litres of blood, he said. At that point, I didn't realise how much 1.2 litres of blood was. I thought we had many many litres of blood in us and 1.2 litres is not significant amount. I later learnt that a woman of about my height and weight has about 3.3 litres of blood. And in a surgery, a loss of 500ml of blood is considered a huge loss. And then, my mother put it in perspective. 1.2 litres of blood could fill one huge PET bottle. Oh.

8 August. 11.45am.

I was sent to the ICU and I was extremely foggy by then. I wanted to sleep but the nurses kept on slapping my face (gently) to wake me up. I had no control of my bottom half and was shivering uncontrollably. TheHusband came in but I was too drugged up to realise what he was saying. He showed me photos of Ihsan and I could only smile weakly at them. If I smiled at all. A couple of doctors came in and told me that the surgery went well. I tried so hard to focus and understand what they were saying but I was too drowsy to comprehend much. It was only a day later that I managed to piece together enough to understand how the surgery went.

TheHusband went off for his Friday prayers. When he came back later, he brought bad news. Ihsan was in NICU because he had breathing issues. Oh no no nooo.. I had the steroid jabs to strengthen his lungs. His lungs should be mature enough. We were just 2 days short of Week 36. He's not that premature, my mind screamed. But the after effects of the surgery meant that I only had enough energy to nod at TheHusband.

I spent the rest of the day and night sleeping and staring out of the window. The ICU has a pretty view. And in the glass reflection on the building's facade, I looked at cars going from one window pane to another. The view was hypnotic and I didn't even miss my mobile phone which had been my constant companion throughout my stay there.

9 August

I was less drowsy but still in much pain. I could barely sit up but I was glad when one plug drip after another was switched off and pulled out of my arm. In the evening, I was sent to the Post-Operative Area and the next morning, I was sent back to Ward 34.

10 August

Going back to Ward 34 was like going back home. Delivery Suite, ICU and POA were pleasant enough but Ward 34 with all the familiar nurses and patients was like home. It was heartwarming when the nurses and midwives stopped by my bed and said hello.

It was a Sunday and H & F had joined their cousins for Hari Raya visits. So TheHusband was my companion for the entire day.

12 noon. Afternoon visitation hours for NICU came.

Another thing that made me fearful of C-section is the pains of the first step. To go to NICU, I had to get out of bed and walk to the wheelchair. With help from TheHusband and a nurse, I managed to make those few steps to the wheelchair.

10 August, NICU

Ihsan.

There he was, attached to tubes and wires. My heart broke. But, I know that everything will be okay. Eventually. I was not allowed to carry him so I could only look at him and touch him. In some ways, I was grateful that I had experienced something similar with Huda so at least, there were areas that I could prepare myself for.

But still, I was a wreck. I was just so emotional; I felt so pained by all that he was going through.

12 August

About 10am, I received a call from NICU.

Earlier they had removed the breathing tube from Ihsan but in the morning, he had turned blue and his oxygen level was low. They did not understand why that happened so they wanted to do a spinal tap to rule out infections as well as a scan of his heart.

I was beside myself with grief. There I was, sobbing away as I sent messages to TheHusband and sisters.

I could not wait for TheHusband to come in the evening to take me to NICU and so I asked to be sent there at noon. As luck would have it, the scanning team was there and so I had the results immediately. I was given relatively better news. The problem was the foetal duct between the walls of his heart had not closed. In most infants, this duct would close on its own a few hours after birth. But for him, it was taking much longer.Ever an optimist, I was sure that the hole would close soon and therefore, my tears and incessant worries in the past 3 hours or so were completely unnecessary. Thank you, Allah.

18 August

Ihsan was discharged. Alhamdulillah.

Thus began my career as a mother of three.


(Psssst... finally finished writing this on October 23. Hm.)