It has been some time since I last penned down my thoughts in this blog. I apologise to my regular readers and thank you for the e-mails dropped. I had gone through a very interesting quarter of a year, the past three months, I mean. There were events that I could not digest until now that I decided to just go with the flow. Fated, I guess.
First, there was “The Accident” on our National Day, involving our car and a seventeen year old ‘Mat Rempit’ (or the ever-dangerous-street-cup-racer), which resulted our car to be stuck at the workshop for about a month, particularly, the Ramadhan or the fasting month; and the “Mat Rempit” to break his wrist. That was the first time ever, I saw a real stuntman, flying from his motorbike across the road, without any cameraman or director saying “Cut!”. I know it is not polite to be saying this, but, serves him right. Civilised human beings do not use the public road as a racing ring. Hope that he had learned his lesson.
Then, there was “The Operation” on the twentieth day of the fasting month. My eldest was complaining that he was having tummy ache due to constipation. We visited the general practitioner in our neighbourhood and she gave him a prescription for constipation and gastric pain. Guess what, it got worse and he soon had a temperature and was later referred to the specialist hospital. Immediately, he was warded as the doctors suspected that he had appendices pain. We were assured that it would be just a minor operation, taking about an hour tops. Next morning, after an hour long of waiting in front of the Operation Theater, the surgeon came out, with lots of blood on his scrub, asking our consent to cut longer than the one or so inches promised. He diagnose that my son’s appendices had burst and had severely affected his intestines. I nearly fainted, just by looking at the sight of the surgeon, let alone, with the gruesome news of the severity of my son’s illness! Luckily, hubby was with me, supporting me, physically.
Three and a half hours later, he was pushed to the Intensive Care Unit, when at the same time, the surgeon, came out explaining to us what had been done and showed us the ruined 10cm intestine which he had to cut off from my son’s abdomen. In the ICU, my heart sank over and over again, looking at how my son suffered. There were four tubes coming out from his body. One from his intestine and skin, to drain out the pus and germs; one from his other part of the intestine, to flow out his faeces; one from his nose, to drain out the hydrochloric acid from his tummy and one from his urine system, to drain out his urine. Apart from that there was a needle poking his hand to flow in his medicine, pain killer etc. It was really heart wrenching to see a thirteen year old having to go through such a thing.
He was not to take any fluid or food orally as his intestine had no activity and while waiting, he had vomited the hydrochloric acid from his stomach over and over again. We were not allowed to stay back in the ICU until three days later, where he was allowed to be placed in the single room ward. We literally camped in the hospital for eleven days, until two days before Eid Mubarak. Yup, not much to celebrate, except that we were grateful he was alive and getting better. Thankful because according to the specialist, in most cases of appendices which had burst and had infected the intestine, there would have been a very slim chance he could have survived. Today, he is well and healthy, life is back to normal.
Then, there was “The Work”, which ‘came’ to me a month ago. One of my clients (who is also my hubby's friend) had offered me a very irresistible position in the organization. With a 150% increase in remuneration compared to what I was being paid as their consultant, I was offered the Head of Department’s position, regardless the fact that I was twenty eight weeks’ pregnant and asking to be in the office only four hours a day and work-at-home another four hours; the Board of Directors insisted that I came on board. It was too good to be true for a stay at home mum like me. On one hand, it was the excitement, but on the other hand, it was the guilt for leaving my kids at home, although it was only about six hours a day - inclusive the journey of forty minutes each way to and from KL. At last, after listing down the pros and cons, I opted to take the challenge and so far, it has been one and a half months! The solution: I take the challenge one day at a time. It was difficult at first, since my hubby had to be back in Nigeria three weeks ago. Everything has to be done all on my own. Discipline is my daily melody. Waking up as early as five every morning to prepare breakfast and lunch for the boys, and off to the office until I am back in the afternoon, to escape the terrible jam. Now, it has become a routine for us.
I was telling myself, in times of recession, I am not in the position to be picky and choosy, especially in my case, I did not apply for the job, but the job applied me! All I have to do is to be like the squirrels, gather as much nuts as possible for the winter season.
God has His ways to do things. Odd ones though. I do not wish that wealth be bestowed upon us by sacrificing my child’s intestine, my time with the children and my hubby’s time with the family. God knows better what’s in store for us. All that we can do is just do the best we can, within our boundaries, and pray hard that everything will turn out well and okay.
Thinking back, how weird life can turn out to be. My baby brother, who was obviously the baby in the house, everything made for, very well pampered, is now a father of two boys. Will he be a real man who can take real responsibilities? Or does that ‘leadership’ being partially delegated to my sister-in-law who is the second child of four in her family? With that thought, I revert back to my situation. My hubby is a baby brother in his family too. Does that make him any less of a responsible man? Gee… I really have to see deeply into this matter…(after 15 years’ of marriage?…he..he ) Bottom line, I love the person whom both of them are. Maybe the 'give and take' makes things less frictional and makes everything balanced. That’s why they say marriage is made in heaven, because in true fact heaven is created by a blissful marriage. Am I making any sense? Or is it my maternal hormones talking?...
