It is late by my standards. 10.40pm. I am usually in dreamland by now. But tonight, I am still surfing, listening to some jazz, Trinity sound asleep in my arms.
The house is quiet and still. The lights downstairs are off. Only the Christmas tree lights are twinkling and giving off a glow. Everyone else is asleep. Owain though, is still awake and sitting in a corner quietly making robots with his big duplo blocks. He has graduated to the smaller Lego bricks but still prefers to use the duplo. Once in a while, he looks up and tells me something about his robots or asks me to admire his work. I do - they're really nice squat symmetrical little pieces. Can you tell? I am proud of these achievements.
Ah now he's come over for his fix of nen-nen. One moment a bigger boy, serious and busy with his imagination and hands, the next, still my babe, still needing me for his nen-nen.
Maybe it's something about the music or the cool rainy breeze blowing in, but I am drifting back through time tonight. Specifically to another cool and rainy night when I am 16 and attending a 'function' at Futura. My then-boyfriend is sitting next to me. We are sitting on the steps of the lobby waiting for my dad to come pick me up. The party ended early because of unexpected rain and strong winds. While everyone else has either gone home or headed up to Agus' penthouse, we are sitting down here waiting. It is a nice cool night. I have a stuffed cat in my lap - a present from (now this I can't remember) a friend? Or my boyfriend?
We're just sitting, holding hands and talking, enjoying the cool breeze, when out of the blue, he plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I am taken by surprise but before I can say anything, we are bathed in the glare of headlights. Dad pulls up and the boyfriend quickly pulls away and greets my dad. I hustle into the car and the moment is gone. For some reason tonight, I remember that moment, back in time. It was my first kiss.
Life is full of special unexpected moments. And when you're a teenager facing a tumult of emotions, the heady mix of invincibility and passion of youth, you think this is how it will always be and you try so hard to keep the moment alive. But of course, we can't. And so while we may grow up, marry someone else, have children, grow old, I think there is always something in us that remembers those special first moments. And hopefully, if I can still remember these and if they are still meaningful to me and if I can still grasp the import of these 'first moments', then hopefully I will be sensitive to my children's own coming-of-age.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Nursing rooms
Was out on my own last week - in orchard road. Had to express milk in the middle of the afternoon. So I headed for Takashimaya's nursing rooms. The nursing room had two other mothers in there nursing their babies.
I asked politely if I could join them as I needed to express milk. One mom showed me where the outlets were but I was hand expressing, so no need for any power.
I sat there in a corner, t-shirt tugged up, bra undone, surreptitiously hand expressing into a bottle. I don't know why but I felt vaguely uncomfortable. Both other moms were nursing their babies and didn't seem inclined to make conversation. Maybe they were shy or didn't know how to make conversation with a half-naked woman vigourously milking her boobs! Either way I got a sense that people were uncomfortable and the discomfort was infectious!
I was surprised at myself being so uncomfy. I am usually not prudish. I usually enjoy talking to other nursing mothers when I do have to nurse/express in nursing rooms, imagining a sisterhood among us. But this time, I actually had to turn my body halfway towards the wall and work fast - and of course, the more 'kan cheong spider' I became, the poorer the letdown!
It got me thinking about nursing rooms and where a hand-expresser like me could express milk without facing a silent wall of disapproval. Does this mean that I should hand express in the loo? But why should I? I would not feed my babe in the loo so why should I hand express there? Why would it be wrong to sit in a semi-public nursing room and hand express? Is it me? Or am I just picking up on their vibes?
The whole concept of nursing room means nursing away from public view. It is something that does not sit right with me. Because why should mothers hide away to nurse their babes? I do appreciate that having a nursing room is useful in a pinch for expressers who need a place to express milk without resorting to the loo. But I guess there is the ick factor for moms to deal with when they come face to face (or face to boob!) with a mom like me.
Perhaps we're so divorced from the reality that yeah, breastfeeding does involve the boobies and yeah, this is what they look like and what they do? We're all so covered up when we're nursing - even in the nursing rooms, and when we pump, there's always the technology/machinery as a shield. So I don't blame moms for being disconcerted, but I do hope we'll all just live and let live, know what I mean?
The sight of naked breasts are still very much linked to M18 films or National Geographic docus. But a pair of them in the nursing room of Takashimaya? Erm....
Was out on my own last week - in orchard road. Had to express milk in the middle of the afternoon. So I headed for Takashimaya's nursing rooms. The nursing room had two other mothers in there nursing their babies.
I asked politely if I could join them as I needed to express milk. One mom showed me where the outlets were but I was hand expressing, so no need for any power.
I sat there in a corner, t-shirt tugged up, bra undone, surreptitiously hand expressing into a bottle. I don't know why but I felt vaguely uncomfortable. Both other moms were nursing their babies and didn't seem inclined to make conversation. Maybe they were shy or didn't know how to make conversation with a half-naked woman vigourously milking her boobs! Either way I got a sense that people were uncomfortable and the discomfort was infectious!
I was surprised at myself being so uncomfy. I am usually not prudish. I usually enjoy talking to other nursing mothers when I do have to nurse/express in nursing rooms, imagining a sisterhood among us. But this time, I actually had to turn my body halfway towards the wall and work fast - and of course, the more 'kan cheong spider' I became, the poorer the letdown!
It got me thinking about nursing rooms and where a hand-expresser like me could express milk without facing a silent wall of disapproval. Does this mean that I should hand express in the loo? But why should I? I would not feed my babe in the loo so why should I hand express there? Why would it be wrong to sit in a semi-public nursing room and hand express? Is it me? Or am I just picking up on their vibes?
The whole concept of nursing room means nursing away from public view. It is something that does not sit right with me. Because why should mothers hide away to nurse their babes? I do appreciate that having a nursing room is useful in a pinch for expressers who need a place to express milk without resorting to the loo. But I guess there is the ick factor for moms to deal with when they come face to face (or face to boob!) with a mom like me.
Perhaps we're so divorced from the reality that yeah, breastfeeding does involve the boobies and yeah, this is what they look like and what they do? We're all so covered up when we're nursing - even in the nursing rooms, and when we pump, there's always the technology/machinery as a shield. So I don't blame moms for being disconcerted, but I do hope we'll all just live and let live, know what I mean?
The sight of naked breasts are still very much linked to M18 films or National Geographic docus. But a pair of them in the nursing room of Takashimaya? Erm....
Crying it out
S* asked what I believe about crying it out.
For a start, I believe babies cry because that is the only way they can communicate until they acquire some language. I also believe that babies cry for good reasons. Yes, they do cry to get attention, they do cry to get you to do something, but what is so bad about that? They are babies after all and they won't be babies forever. But until they are able to meet their own needs in terms of security and confidence, in soothing themselves, as parents, we'll just have to fill those needs.
Everything I have read about how babies' brains develop and the impact of stress on the growing baby, about how emotions, memories shape cognition and development, personality and character, just reinforces what I believe about not letting a baby cry it out.
Mother nature has already given us the tools for mothering. Birth, and breastfeeding in particular, produces hormones that promote mothering behaviour - prolactin, oxytocin etc. These hormones help us feel protective, they slow us down (feeling relaxed and sleepy) to mother and to be attuned, sensitive to the needs of the baby/child. They promote the warm fuzzy feel-good feelings - oxytocin's main job. After a while, the hormonal dance gets so intricate and so well-co-ordinated that even the sound of a baby's cry, or the smell of his skin, can cause milk to let-down, causes our hearts to race and instinctively, we look to respond.
That is precisely why, if you ask the mothers who try the CIO methods, why they feel so gut-wrenched when they leave their babies to cry it out. Hormonally, we are wired to mother, to respond to a cry of distress. But CIO techniques go against the grain of the mothering nature. And CIO techniques are created by culture, not nature. Yes the literature promotes CIO, supports the idea that babies should be taught to be 'independent', to learn to 'self-soothe', to learn to sleep according to schedule. But who writes these books? How well do they understand the biology of parenting? What are the benefits to the baby who is taught to 'sleep through the night'? Where is the value?
The doctor on one website says that by teaching a child to fall asleep on her own, "you will be teaching her some very valuable skills! Although this is extremely difficult, it is really worth the struggle. To be successful in life she needs to learn how to put herself to sleep. When she does, she, and you will be much happier."
What are these 'valuable skills'? And why are we in such a hurry to teach these? How does success in life relate to a need to put oneself to sleep? I think children have no problem going to sleep. The issue is WHEN they go to sleep and for HOW LONG - and who has an issue with this? The parents.
I believe there is a lot of money to be made by experts telling anxious mothers and fathers what to do and offering solutions that may work for the adult but not the child. They tell us what we want to hear - that there is a solution, that we CAN train babies, that it will be better for everyone in the end. But is it really?
We trust the 'experts' - the doctors, the writers, the child development specialists etc - more than we trust our instincts as parents, more than we trust in our ability to communicate with and understand our babies.
As adults, if we are told to do a task which we feel ill-prepared for, we would naturally feel stressed, afraid, anxious. So will babies. The only difference is that we can articulate how we feel and the babies can't - they can only cry.
To leave a baby to cry it out sends certain signals to the baby - chiefly that their needs do not matter, their needs are not valid. It is a glitch in the correct communication cycle where baby signals a need and a response is given.
How does this build trust? Or independence? Or security? I believe independence cannot be forced, that babies will learn to self-soothe and to sleep 'through the night' when they are ready for it and not before. To force a child to do so by ignoring his cries would be to place him in a situation where he has no control - and this can be a very frightening place for a child who is unable to verbalise his fears or rationalise why mom or dad won't come and help him when he cries. Come to think of it, it would be frightening to anyone caught
The psychological impact of such stress may have far-reaching consequences. Yes, in the short term, you may 'teach' or 'train' a child to sleep. But what the child really learns is that his cry has no value, that no matter how hard or how long he cries, mom and dad are not going to come.
Physically, there are also significant changes that take place when the baby is under stress. Heart rate goes up, blood pressure shoots up, respiration becomes more rapid, catecholamines are released in large amounts, cortisol level also shoots up. If the body is constantly exposed to stress in a stressful environment, it can and will affect growth and cognitive development because the child is constantly in a fight-or-flight mode. So emotionally, mentally, physically, the child is affected.
See position paper on controlled crying or CIO techniques:
http://www.aaimhi.org/documents/position%20papers/controlled_crying.pdf
While I do believe that as children grow older, they will be able to benefit from the structure of having a daily routine. But this is really an age-appropriate issue which hinges on readiness, on language acquisition as well.
S* asked what I believe about crying it out.
For a start, I believe babies cry because that is the only way they can communicate until they acquire some language. I also believe that babies cry for good reasons. Yes, they do cry to get attention, they do cry to get you to do something, but what is so bad about that? They are babies after all and they won't be babies forever. But until they are able to meet their own needs in terms of security and confidence, in soothing themselves, as parents, we'll just have to fill those needs.
Everything I have read about how babies' brains develop and the impact of stress on the growing baby, about how emotions, memories shape cognition and development, personality and character, just reinforces what I believe about not letting a baby cry it out.
Mother nature has already given us the tools for mothering. Birth, and breastfeeding in particular, produces hormones that promote mothering behaviour - prolactin, oxytocin etc. These hormones help us feel protective, they slow us down (feeling relaxed and sleepy) to mother and to be attuned, sensitive to the needs of the baby/child. They promote the warm fuzzy feel-good feelings - oxytocin's main job. After a while, the hormonal dance gets so intricate and so well-co-ordinated that even the sound of a baby's cry, or the smell of his skin, can cause milk to let-down, causes our hearts to race and instinctively, we look to respond.
That is precisely why, if you ask the mothers who try the CIO methods, why they feel so gut-wrenched when they leave their babies to cry it out. Hormonally, we are wired to mother, to respond to a cry of distress. But CIO techniques go against the grain of the mothering nature. And CIO techniques are created by culture, not nature. Yes the literature promotes CIO, supports the idea that babies should be taught to be 'independent', to learn to 'self-soothe', to learn to sleep according to schedule. But who writes these books? How well do they understand the biology of parenting? What are the benefits to the baby who is taught to 'sleep through the night'? Where is the value?
The doctor on one website says that by teaching a child to fall asleep on her own, "you will be teaching her some very valuable skills! Although this is extremely difficult, it is really worth the struggle. To be successful in life she needs to learn how to put herself to sleep. When she does, she, and you will be much happier."
What are these 'valuable skills'? And why are we in such a hurry to teach these? How does success in life relate to a need to put oneself to sleep? I think children have no problem going to sleep. The issue is WHEN they go to sleep and for HOW LONG - and who has an issue with this? The parents.
I believe there is a lot of money to be made by experts telling anxious mothers and fathers what to do and offering solutions that may work for the adult but not the child. They tell us what we want to hear - that there is a solution, that we CAN train babies, that it will be better for everyone in the end. But is it really?
We trust the 'experts' - the doctors, the writers, the child development specialists etc - more than we trust our instincts as parents, more than we trust in our ability to communicate with and understand our babies.
As adults, if we are told to do a task which we feel ill-prepared for, we would naturally feel stressed, afraid, anxious. So will babies. The only difference is that we can articulate how we feel and the babies can't - they can only cry.
To leave a baby to cry it out sends certain signals to the baby - chiefly that their needs do not matter, their needs are not valid. It is a glitch in the correct communication cycle where baby signals a need and a response is given.
How does this build trust? Or independence? Or security? I believe independence cannot be forced, that babies will learn to self-soothe and to sleep 'through the night' when they are ready for it and not before. To force a child to do so by ignoring his cries would be to place him in a situation where he has no control - and this can be a very frightening place for a child who is unable to verbalise his fears or rationalise why mom or dad won't come and help him when he cries. Come to think of it, it would be frightening to anyone caught
The psychological impact of such stress may have far-reaching consequences. Yes, in the short term, you may 'teach' or 'train' a child to sleep. But what the child really learns is that his cry has no value, that no matter how hard or how long he cries, mom and dad are not going to come.
Physically, there are also significant changes that take place when the baby is under stress. Heart rate goes up, blood pressure shoots up, respiration becomes more rapid, catecholamines are released in large amounts, cortisol level also shoots up. If the body is constantly exposed to stress in a stressful environment, it can and will affect growth and cognitive development because the child is constantly in a fight-or-flight mode. So emotionally, mentally, physically, the child is affected.
See position paper on controlled crying or CIO techniques:
http://www.aaimhi.org/documents/position%20papers/controlled_crying.pdf
While I do believe that as children grow older, they will be able to benefit from the structure of having a daily routine. But this is really an age-appropriate issue which hinges on readiness, on language acquisition as well.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
La Dolce Vita
I am up to my neck in work - both in the office, at at home, racing to complete course work etc. But that has not stopped me from fantasing. And planning the trip to Europe next year.
Tentatively I know I want to cover Rome, Venice (for mom). It will be my third time back to Rome and Venice. I am a bit tired of Rome but cannot get enough of Venice. KH says we should live there for a year - ah, pipe dream! But what a lovely one... The nooks and crannies of that ancient city, the twisting and turning of narrow streets flanked by silent canals, flagged by lines of laundry and potted plants, fanning out into tiny unexpected piazzas. There's so much to walk and absorb in Venice. I just love to walk and walk and get lost and when its time to go back to the hotel, just follow the per rialto or per san marco signs. And at nights - just sitting in St Mark's as the cafe orchestras play in a near empty square - you can't beat that kind of atmosphere and romance. So yes, I am still looking forward to Venice.
Still contemplating Assisi, Siena. Definitely one hilltown at least. Italy is not Italy without the hilltowns. But without car, the transfers from train to bus and vice versa might be a hassle. Pleasant puzzles to contemplate.
But this time, I am thinking of moving up to Austria. Not to Vienna (somehow the northern cities leave me cold) but just to Salzburg, and perhaps a day or two on idyllic Hallstattersee, population 1200. Then either west to Neuchwanstein castle in Bavaria or back down to Milan and the Italian lakes. I do think that an Italian holiday is not complete without some 'water' - be it the lakes (Como or Garda are my preferences) or the Cinque Terra in Liguria. And the quiet time by the water is always very therapeutic and healing. My mind keeps going back to Varenna on Como or the cliffside walk in Vernazza.
How nice to fantasise.
And who to bring? Well, baby Trinity certainly. But will it just be mom, me and babe? I always feel Europe is so incomplete without KH. And what about Mr RightBreast as mom teasingly calls Owain? Poor babe will be lost without his nen-nen for so many days!!
Am I getting ahead of myself? Will we even go?
I am up to my neck in work - both in the office, at at home, racing to complete course work etc. But that has not stopped me from fantasing. And planning the trip to Europe next year.
Tentatively I know I want to cover Rome, Venice (for mom). It will be my third time back to Rome and Venice. I am a bit tired of Rome but cannot get enough of Venice. KH says we should live there for a year - ah, pipe dream! But what a lovely one... The nooks and crannies of that ancient city, the twisting and turning of narrow streets flanked by silent canals, flagged by lines of laundry and potted plants, fanning out into tiny unexpected piazzas. There's so much to walk and absorb in Venice. I just love to walk and walk and get lost and when its time to go back to the hotel, just follow the per rialto or per san marco signs. And at nights - just sitting in St Mark's as the cafe orchestras play in a near empty square - you can't beat that kind of atmosphere and romance. So yes, I am still looking forward to Venice.
Still contemplating Assisi, Siena. Definitely one hilltown at least. Italy is not Italy without the hilltowns. But without car, the transfers from train to bus and vice versa might be a hassle. Pleasant puzzles to contemplate.
But this time, I am thinking of moving up to Austria. Not to Vienna (somehow the northern cities leave me cold) but just to Salzburg, and perhaps a day or two on idyllic Hallstattersee, population 1200. Then either west to Neuchwanstein castle in Bavaria or back down to Milan and the Italian lakes. I do think that an Italian holiday is not complete without some 'water' - be it the lakes (Como or Garda are my preferences) or the Cinque Terra in Liguria. And the quiet time by the water is always very therapeutic and healing. My mind keeps going back to Varenna on Como or the cliffside walk in Vernazza.
How nice to fantasise.
And who to bring? Well, baby Trinity certainly. But will it just be mom, me and babe? I always feel Europe is so incomplete without KH. And what about Mr RightBreast as mom teasingly calls Owain? Poor babe will be lost without his nen-nen for so many days!!
Am I getting ahead of myself? Will we even go?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Stammering for help!
Was having usual morning brekkie and chat with KH today when he casually mentioned: Eh, you know Owain does not stammer as much these days ya?
I stop and think and you know, he's right. I say: yeah, probably because I am nursing him more these days?
I was trying to cut back on nursing because my nipples were so sore but because they are recently looking better, I have been nursing him more often and fobbing him off less. And yes, coincidence or not, it tallies with the stammering getting less.
KH comments then that our children cannot take 'cold turkey' treatment. Its too traumatising for them. I agree and say - maybe not just our children but probably all children. We can't just cut them off like that, it will affect them in some way.
KH, being very insightful today, says: well, that's the thing isn't it? If we just insist on OUR way and force it on the child, something will surely snap. Maybe we won't see it today, or even tomorrow. It may not show up for years and even then, the child or adult may not link it to what happened in his childhood, but then again, it just might.
KH himself stammers and recalls that it took him half an hour to get a sentence out once, when he was a child! Over the years, he managed to get it under control and stammers much less but once in a while, a word will still get him. He does believe though, that this happened because he was forced to be a right-hander instead of the lefty he believes he was born to be. He still favours his left - left master eye, carries bags on the left, kicks with left foot during soccer etc. He believes that somehow, the brain, when forced to shift/change direction, must have over-compensated and left him with the stammer.
Today's conversation reinforces what I believe re crying it out, co-sleeping, breastfeeding etc. At every age, they have their needs and if we just push through what we want at the expense of their needs, something invisible, intangible in them, will surely give.
As for Owain, I am glad that his stammering is getting less. I will certainly nurse him more, now that my boobies are feeling a little happier.
Though I have to say he looked darn cute trying to get his words out!
Was having usual morning brekkie and chat with KH today when he casually mentioned: Eh, you know Owain does not stammer as much these days ya?
I stop and think and you know, he's right. I say: yeah, probably because I am nursing him more these days?
I was trying to cut back on nursing because my nipples were so sore but because they are recently looking better, I have been nursing him more often and fobbing him off less. And yes, coincidence or not, it tallies with the stammering getting less.
KH comments then that our children cannot take 'cold turkey' treatment. Its too traumatising for them. I agree and say - maybe not just our children but probably all children. We can't just cut them off like that, it will affect them in some way.
KH, being very insightful today, says: well, that's the thing isn't it? If we just insist on OUR way and force it on the child, something will surely snap. Maybe we won't see it today, or even tomorrow. It may not show up for years and even then, the child or adult may not link it to what happened in his childhood, but then again, it just might.
KH himself stammers and recalls that it took him half an hour to get a sentence out once, when he was a child! Over the years, he managed to get it under control and stammers much less but once in a while, a word will still get him. He does believe though, that this happened because he was forced to be a right-hander instead of the lefty he believes he was born to be. He still favours his left - left master eye, carries bags on the left, kicks with left foot during soccer etc. He believes that somehow, the brain, when forced to shift/change direction, must have over-compensated and left him with the stammer.
Today's conversation reinforces what I believe re crying it out, co-sleeping, breastfeeding etc. At every age, they have their needs and if we just push through what we want at the expense of their needs, something invisible, intangible in them, will surely give.
As for Owain, I am glad that his stammering is getting less. I will certainly nurse him more, now that my boobies are feeling a little happier.
Though I have to say he looked darn cute trying to get his words out!
Monday, November 20, 2006
as kryptonite is to superman
Its the end of the year and time for the round of Parent-Teacher meetings. Isaac did very well, topping his class in three of the subjects, failing in Chinese as usual. But this time, surprise surprise, there was actually an improvement. Last year, he was last in class for Chinese - beaten by even his Indian, ang-moh classmates! This year, he was third from the bottom and had registered a 100% increase in marks gained - that is, he used to get 7, now he's got 15! We think its due to Kumon and we're hoping that he will be able to buck up enough to at least pass chinese in the PSLE.
Mr Philip, his form teacher, related this to us - he was invigilating the chinese composition paper and was walking around the class when he stopped at Isaac's desk. Our friend had, on his entire sheet of paper, TWO lines. Mr Philip said: "I couldn't say a lot but I had to drop a hint, so I told him - I think you better write some more. I went round the class again and when I came back to him, it was still just two lines!!" Mr Philip added: "Chinese to him is like kryptonite to superman!"
Its the end of the year and time for the round of Parent-Teacher meetings. Isaac did very well, topping his class in three of the subjects, failing in Chinese as usual. But this time, surprise surprise, there was actually an improvement. Last year, he was last in class for Chinese - beaten by even his Indian, ang-moh classmates! This year, he was third from the bottom and had registered a 100% increase in marks gained - that is, he used to get 7, now he's got 15! We think its due to Kumon and we're hoping that he will be able to buck up enough to at least pass chinese in the PSLE.
Mr Philip, his form teacher, related this to us - he was invigilating the chinese composition paper and was walking around the class when he stopped at Isaac's desk. Our friend had, on his entire sheet of paper, TWO lines. Mr Philip said: "I couldn't say a lot but I had to drop a hint, so I told him - I think you better write some more. I went round the class again and when I came back to him, it was still just two lines!!" Mr Philip added: "Chinese to him is like kryptonite to superman!"
Monday, November 13, 2006
Standoff at the Riang corral part 2
Sunday and we were out for lunch at Zi Yean, a new dim sum favourite with us. The drama started when we were getting out of the car. KH told Owain that he was not going to carry him and the little guy had to walk. It was not far - just less than 30m to the table.
The little guy refused.
The rest of us left the dad to get on with it while we went to the restaurant, placed our order etc. 15min later and KH still did not appear. Instead, Gillian came back and reported: mum, Owain does not want to get out of the car and dad asked you to go over.
So I went. As I approached the car, I saw a family - granny, adult kids, grandkids - huddling near our car, pointing to Owain, tsk-tsking away. I saw Owain's round face through the car windows, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open wailing away. I saw KH's grim face. Ahh... okay. I get it: standoff.
KH didn't say a word. He walked away as I came. The other family continued standing there watching us quite openly. I guess they are wondering how I will handle this.
I told Owain: wait, let me get a tissue. He sniffled. I wiped his face, neck, shirt, hands - all full of saliva and tears. I asked: where are your shoes? He turned around and got them. Put them on. Come on down from the car. Hold my hand. Wait here while I lock the car. Come on, lets see the fish - ooh that one's dying! Come on, let's go and eat. And he did it - everything I told him to. No fuss.
The other family watching smiled in relief and one of them chucked Owain fondly on the cheek. I smiled back at them.
KH later told me that he knew that it was a standoff because Owain refused to budge and insisted on being carried while he, being The Dad, refused to relent and carry him. So he figured it was time for a neutral party to step in and defuse the situation. He said he could forsee getting into more standoffs with Owain, Cait and possibly Trinity in future. All three are very strong-willed personalities.
Sunday and we were out for lunch at Zi Yean, a new dim sum favourite with us. The drama started when we were getting out of the car. KH told Owain that he was not going to carry him and the little guy had to walk. It was not far - just less than 30m to the table.
The little guy refused.
The rest of us left the dad to get on with it while we went to the restaurant, placed our order etc. 15min later and KH still did not appear. Instead, Gillian came back and reported: mum, Owain does not want to get out of the car and dad asked you to go over.
So I went. As I approached the car, I saw a family - granny, adult kids, grandkids - huddling near our car, pointing to Owain, tsk-tsking away. I saw Owain's round face through the car windows, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open wailing away. I saw KH's grim face. Ahh... okay. I get it: standoff.
KH didn't say a word. He walked away as I came. The other family continued standing there watching us quite openly. I guess they are wondering how I will handle this.
I told Owain: wait, let me get a tissue. He sniffled. I wiped his face, neck, shirt, hands - all full of saliva and tears. I asked: where are your shoes? He turned around and got them. Put them on. Come on down from the car. Hold my hand. Wait here while I lock the car. Come on, lets see the fish - ooh that one's dying! Come on, let's go and eat. And he did it - everything I told him to. No fuss.
The other family watching smiled in relief and one of them chucked Owain fondly on the cheek. I smiled back at them.
KH later told me that he knew that it was a standoff because Owain refused to budge and insisted on being carried while he, being The Dad, refused to relent and carry him. So he figured it was time for a neutral party to step in and defuse the situation. He said he could forsee getting into more standoffs with Owain, Cait and possibly Trinity in future. All three are very strong-willed personalities.
Standoff at the Riang corral 1
I seem to now have an 11-year-old on my hands who would either (a) engage in heated debate with me or (b) stare sullenly at the ground refusing to answer whenever we go head-to-head. It seems to be the start of the adolescent/teenhood "you-don't-understand-me" phase?
Just on Friday, she yelled at a neighbour's kid to "Get out!" Loud enough to be heard several houses down the row. When I told her off, she came back with: "You never listen to me! You never listen to me even when I am telling you the truth!" and then as the conversation went off on an emotional tangent, she started counting off on her fingers the number of times she helped me carry the baby, gave me the thermometer when I was sick, kept everyone away from me to let me rest etc. Which prodded me to retort and say something which I thought I would never say:"If you want to count the number of times you did something for me, how about the number of times when I did something for you! Starting with the fact that I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you!"
Yikes, sounded like a bad soap opera script! As soon as I said it, I wanted to laugh. I didn't of course, but it did help cool me down pretty quickly though. The rest of the argument went on with her staring sullenly down at the floor. But I was calmer and at the end, she understood what I was talking about. By the time we finished, we were ok with one another and ended up playing a game of TextTwist on the computer together.
So what were we arguing about?
She felt that the neighbour's kid she was yelling at was never going to listen to her if she told him nicely to go home. My POV was: Try that first. She said: But the guy's a jerk! I agree - the guy is a jerk, one that is spoiled rotten to boot, one that has taken my stuff without my permission, stolen stuff from Isaac and told Cait to cover for him. So yes, the guy's a jerk. But you still shouldn't yell. What will the neighbours think? Her point was: she does not give a hoot what the neighbours think of her yelling at someone like that. My point was: she should, because it reflects poorly on her and on us as a family. The neighbours, after all, do not have the full picture of what this boy is and as people do, will only judge on what they see/know.
I don't know if I told her the right thing. I do see where she is coming from and I don't know if this stems from being oblivious and insensitive to the opinions of others or if she knows but just does not care, but she seems to think that people will not talk about bad behaviour and even if they do, she does not hear them and so she does not care. I can understand and admire part of that philosophy because I am somewhat like that myself.
I guess I am just worried. My relationship with her has been rocky at times and I am now beginning to see that she is no longer a little girl but getting to be a pretty vocal teen! Discipline is like walking a tightrope these days. How do you guide, be sensitive to her growing sense of self, not intrude unnecessarily? Without blowing your top? Particularly so with her ADHD, the impulsivity factor is so strong.
I seem to now have an 11-year-old on my hands who would either (a) engage in heated debate with me or (b) stare sullenly at the ground refusing to answer whenever we go head-to-head. It seems to be the start of the adolescent/teenhood "you-don't-understand-me" phase?
Just on Friday, she yelled at a neighbour's kid to "Get out!" Loud enough to be heard several houses down the row. When I told her off, she came back with: "You never listen to me! You never listen to me even when I am telling you the truth!" and then as the conversation went off on an emotional tangent, she started counting off on her fingers the number of times she helped me carry the baby, gave me the thermometer when I was sick, kept everyone away from me to let me rest etc. Which prodded me to retort and say something which I thought I would never say:"If you want to count the number of times you did something for me, how about the number of times when I did something for you! Starting with the fact that I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you!"
Yikes, sounded like a bad soap opera script! As soon as I said it, I wanted to laugh. I didn't of course, but it did help cool me down pretty quickly though. The rest of the argument went on with her staring sullenly down at the floor. But I was calmer and at the end, she understood what I was talking about. By the time we finished, we were ok with one another and ended up playing a game of TextTwist on the computer together.
So what were we arguing about?
She felt that the neighbour's kid she was yelling at was never going to listen to her if she told him nicely to go home. My POV was: Try that first. She said: But the guy's a jerk! I agree - the guy is a jerk, one that is spoiled rotten to boot, one that has taken my stuff without my permission, stolen stuff from Isaac and told Cait to cover for him. So yes, the guy's a jerk. But you still shouldn't yell. What will the neighbours think? Her point was: she does not give a hoot what the neighbours think of her yelling at someone like that. My point was: she should, because it reflects poorly on her and on us as a family. The neighbours, after all, do not have the full picture of what this boy is and as people do, will only judge on what they see/know.
I don't know if I told her the right thing. I do see where she is coming from and I don't know if this stems from being oblivious and insensitive to the opinions of others or if she knows but just does not care, but she seems to think that people will not talk about bad behaviour and even if they do, she does not hear them and so she does not care. I can understand and admire part of that philosophy because I am somewhat like that myself.
I guess I am just worried. My relationship with her has been rocky at times and I am now beginning to see that she is no longer a little girl but getting to be a pretty vocal teen! Discipline is like walking a tightrope these days. How do you guide, be sensitive to her growing sense of self, not intrude unnecessarily? Without blowing your top? Particularly so with her ADHD, the impulsivity factor is so strong.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
It was not always like that...
Further to my previous post, Gillian's school was not always like that. Six years ago when we selected her Pri Sch, KH and I considered several factors. Top of the list was the fact that Gillian was already diagnosed to be ADHD and dyslexic. We wanted a place that was not that stressful academically, with standards which we considered reasonable. It had to be a Catholic school. It had to be a convent since I enjoyed my Marymount Convent days so much. And, this was the hard part, it had to be a small enough school with a 'kampong gotong royong' atmosphere - where the principal and teachers were warm and kind, and knew the students well. It had to be 'family-like'.
We went to a few schools and this one fit the bill. We had a nice session talking to the principal, she was warm and kind. We walked around the school and it felt right. It was small - only three to four classes per level. The school buildings were old but we didn't mind. We liked the worn feel of it. We liked the small little green garden in the heart of the school. The little statues that peered out from here and there in the school - the rocky grotto, the entrance porch - all so kitschy but yet so reminiscent of my school days in MC. We decided that this school could care best for her.
When Gillian went in, it was as we imagined - the teachers were warm, caring and concerned. They went the extra mile for her. But then slowly, things changed. The school moved, the old buildings were torn down, the old principal retired, a new principal came on board. And gradually, the school lost its special, old-town feel about it.
New need not be wonderful. What is happening with the school also seems to be just a microcosm of what is happening in the country in general. In our hurry to progress, to be bigger, newer and better and faster, we have lost our old buildings, swept away our old ways of life, our old-fashioned values. We see this kind of impatience in the way we live, our buildings, our jobs, our leisure, our culture, our relationships, our values etc. So if you ask me, not all things new are wonderful. Bigger need not be better. And sometimes, progress is not necessarily desirable. Some things are better left unchanged, or at least, changed slowly with wisdom and with heart. Unfortunately, with this school, that does not seem to be so.
I'm probably the only parent who thinks so though. Judging from the enthusiastic applause at the Parent-Teacher Tea, when performance yardsticks were given, when the facilities were unveiled and ambitious plans presented, I think I might just be the odd dinosaur out who actually regretted the passing of the old ways in the old school.
But then, I am old-fashioned that way.
Further to my previous post, Gillian's school was not always like that. Six years ago when we selected her Pri Sch, KH and I considered several factors. Top of the list was the fact that Gillian was already diagnosed to be ADHD and dyslexic. We wanted a place that was not that stressful academically, with standards which we considered reasonable. It had to be a Catholic school. It had to be a convent since I enjoyed my Marymount Convent days so much. And, this was the hard part, it had to be a small enough school with a 'kampong gotong royong' atmosphere - where the principal and teachers were warm and kind, and knew the students well. It had to be 'family-like'.
We went to a few schools and this one fit the bill. We had a nice session talking to the principal, she was warm and kind. We walked around the school and it felt right. It was small - only three to four classes per level. The school buildings were old but we didn't mind. We liked the worn feel of it. We liked the small little green garden in the heart of the school. The little statues that peered out from here and there in the school - the rocky grotto, the entrance porch - all so kitschy but yet so reminiscent of my school days in MC. We decided that this school could care best for her.
When Gillian went in, it was as we imagined - the teachers were warm, caring and concerned. They went the extra mile for her. But then slowly, things changed. The school moved, the old buildings were torn down, the old principal retired, a new principal came on board. And gradually, the school lost its special, old-town feel about it.
New need not be wonderful. What is happening with the school also seems to be just a microcosm of what is happening in the country in general. In our hurry to progress, to be bigger, newer and better and faster, we have lost our old buildings, swept away our old ways of life, our old-fashioned values. We see this kind of impatience in the way we live, our buildings, our jobs, our leisure, our culture, our relationships, our values etc. So if you ask me, not all things new are wonderful. Bigger need not be better. And sometimes, progress is not necessarily desirable. Some things are better left unchanged, or at least, changed slowly with wisdom and with heart. Unfortunately, with this school, that does not seem to be so.
I'm probably the only parent who thinks so though. Judging from the enthusiastic applause at the Parent-Teacher Tea, when performance yardsticks were given, when the facilities were unveiled and ambitious plans presented, I think I might just be the odd dinosaur out who actually regretted the passing of the old ways in the old school.
But then, I am old-fashioned that way.
New, but not necessarily better
Gillian's school is going single-session next year. She comes home with a long letter from the school, excited about the change. After several years in the holding campus, the new school building is finally ready and with the larger size and enhanced facilities, the school is able to go single session. Normally, I am pretty non-committal about this. I think a single-session school is not a bad idea. But the more I read of the letter, the more I frowned.
With the single session in place, the girls will now start school at 7.30am (a mere 10-minute 'improvement' from the current 7.20am). The teachers will then engage the girls in various activities ranging from PE to USSR (yes that got me too until I realised it meant: Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading. The lengths people go to just to create 'cute' or quirky acronyms never fails to annoy me. Call a spade a spade and forget the cheesy acronyms already!) So from 7.30am to 8am, the girls either have PE or reading. Class proper starts at 8am. School follows as per normal with staggered recess times.
The P5/6 girls have lunch around 1230pm and then all this followed by CCA, remedial, supplementary etc until 4pm.
For someone like Gillian, who has to get up at 5.45am to take the school bus at 6.20am, the new SS timetable will mean very long school days. And on those days when she has no remedial or CCA, she still has to stay on in school because the bus only picks the girls up at4pm. So what should she do on those days? Presumably the girls would keep busy somehow - finishing off their homework etc. But for someone like Gillian, this is very hard because she requires supervision and mentoring to get the work done.
Seems like this SS idea is just a compulsory extension of the normal school hours. I don't see any evidence where the school is making more productive use of the time, there are no details of any enrichment or after-school activities offered. To me, it just spells a longer (more tiring!) day for the girls and a more expensive one for parents because they now have to pay for lunch at school, as opposed to lunch at home. I thought we were in a culture where schools should 'teach less, learn more' but hours like these seem to imply the opposite!
I have other beefs. With the new school building, the entrances and exits have been re-arranged so much so that parents now have to take a longer route to reach the school because of the one-way streets. And parking is no longer allowed in the school so parents just have to park in the residential areas. I don't know about you, but I imagine the residents of Jalan Pacheli, Li Hwan Drive and the other streets nearby will be none too happy about the inevitable congestion! I know I wouldn't! I am not sure if this was ever factored in when the school drew up its plans for redevelopment. Nor, I think, were the residents ever consulted in this exercise.
Secondly, the school decided to close a side gate. Where previously girls taking the public bus can now stop, cut across a park and a small residential lane and be in school in under 5minutes, they now have to make a significantly longer detour. Why do this? For almost 30 years or so, the side gate at Cooling Close has remained open and presumably, with no complaints from the Sisters across whose compound the girls have to cut in order to get to school. I can't see the sisters complaining about this now. So why the change? Come rain or shine, the girls and parents who take public transport now have to walk much farther to get to school.
So how exactly have all these changes benefitted the girls? A new school building with spanking new facilities is an exciting thing but these policy changes seem to have been made without much thought for the girls or with much consultation with parents. This kind of top-heavy approach really makes me think twice about whether the school is the right one for my other girls. To me, its not about the building and the facilities or even the curricula, but whether the school is managed sensibly and with heart. Right now, I fail to see either of these qualities in this school.
So next year, its back to the drawing board for Caitlin when it comes to P1 registration.
Gillian's school is going single-session next year. She comes home with a long letter from the school, excited about the change. After several years in the holding campus, the new school building is finally ready and with the larger size and enhanced facilities, the school is able to go single session. Normally, I am pretty non-committal about this. I think a single-session school is not a bad idea. But the more I read of the letter, the more I frowned.
With the single session in place, the girls will now start school at 7.30am (a mere 10-minute 'improvement' from the current 7.20am). The teachers will then engage the girls in various activities ranging from PE to USSR (yes that got me too until I realised it meant: Uninterrupted Sustained Silent Reading. The lengths people go to just to create 'cute' or quirky acronyms never fails to annoy me. Call a spade a spade and forget the cheesy acronyms already!) So from 7.30am to 8am, the girls either have PE or reading. Class proper starts at 8am. School follows as per normal with staggered recess times.
The P5/6 girls have lunch around 1230pm and then all this followed by CCA, remedial, supplementary etc until 4pm.
For someone like Gillian, who has to get up at 5.45am to take the school bus at 6.20am, the new SS timetable will mean very long school days. And on those days when she has no remedial or CCA, she still has to stay on in school because the bus only picks the girls up at4pm. So what should she do on those days? Presumably the girls would keep busy somehow - finishing off their homework etc. But for someone like Gillian, this is very hard because she requires supervision and mentoring to get the work done.
Seems like this SS idea is just a compulsory extension of the normal school hours. I don't see any evidence where the school is making more productive use of the time, there are no details of any enrichment or after-school activities offered. To me, it just spells a longer (more tiring!) day for the girls and a more expensive one for parents because they now have to pay for lunch at school, as opposed to lunch at home. I thought we were in a culture where schools should 'teach less, learn more' but hours like these seem to imply the opposite!
I have other beefs. With the new school building, the entrances and exits have been re-arranged so much so that parents now have to take a longer route to reach the school because of the one-way streets. And parking is no longer allowed in the school so parents just have to park in the residential areas. I don't know about you, but I imagine the residents of Jalan Pacheli, Li Hwan Drive and the other streets nearby will be none too happy about the inevitable congestion! I know I wouldn't! I am not sure if this was ever factored in when the school drew up its plans for redevelopment. Nor, I think, were the residents ever consulted in this exercise.
Secondly, the school decided to close a side gate. Where previously girls taking the public bus can now stop, cut across a park and a small residential lane and be in school in under 5minutes, they now have to make a significantly longer detour. Why do this? For almost 30 years or so, the side gate at Cooling Close has remained open and presumably, with no complaints from the Sisters across whose compound the girls have to cut in order to get to school. I can't see the sisters complaining about this now. So why the change? Come rain or shine, the girls and parents who take public transport now have to walk much farther to get to school.
So how exactly have all these changes benefitted the girls? A new school building with spanking new facilities is an exciting thing but these policy changes seem to have been made without much thought for the girls or with much consultation with parents. This kind of top-heavy approach really makes me think twice about whether the school is the right one for my other girls. To me, its not about the building and the facilities or even the curricula, but whether the school is managed sensibly and with heart. Right now, I fail to see either of these qualities in this school.
So next year, its back to the drawing board for Caitlin when it comes to P1 registration.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Happy birthday Trinity Rose!
Babe turned 1 on Mon.
Imagine, just a year ago, Trin slid out of me! Clever girl did it all by herself - no yanking or pulling or catching, she just glided out smoothly right in front of the midwives who didn't believe my blow-by-blow account of my progress: the baby is coming. the water bag is going to burst. lift my leg. ah, here she is!
In the year she's been with us, she's been everyone's darling. Even kor-kor Owain goes, fingering her face in his funny deep baby voice: Treeeee-nnnnyyyyy! Baaaayyy-by! Gu-gu-go-wa-aa! And when I left her downstairs as I went up to do my work, he would stomp up and demand of me rather indignantly: why you leave your baby downstairs!
She's the little darling of all her sibs - for now at least. And she's showing loads of personality and will already. She's not walking, nor really saying anything recognisable but I am in no hurry. I just want to enjoy every moment of her babyhood. Its been an amazing year that just flew by all too soon.
We were up to our gills in cake already - cake from the birthday party a week ago, cake from mom's birthday last monday, cake on isaac's actual birthday on sat and now cake again! So we got 4 slices of strawberry cheesecake, stuck a candle in it and let Ms Trin blow it out. When all the cake was cut into tinier pieces and all of us munching away, we realised that the birthday girl had no cake and was in fact, munching on the candle!
Happy birthday baby - we all love you, my little Tweenity Wosebud...
Babe turned 1 on Mon.
Imagine, just a year ago, Trin slid out of me! Clever girl did it all by herself - no yanking or pulling or catching, she just glided out smoothly right in front of the midwives who didn't believe my blow-by-blow account of my progress: the baby is coming. the water bag is going to burst. lift my leg. ah, here she is!
In the year she's been with us, she's been everyone's darling. Even kor-kor Owain goes, fingering her face in his funny deep baby voice: Treeeee-nnnnyyyyy! Baaaayyy-by! Gu-gu-go-wa-aa! And when I left her downstairs as I went up to do my work, he would stomp up and demand of me rather indignantly: why you leave your baby downstairs!
She's the little darling of all her sibs - for now at least. And she's showing loads of personality and will already. She's not walking, nor really saying anything recognisable but I am in no hurry. I just want to enjoy every moment of her babyhood. Its been an amazing year that just flew by all too soon.
We were up to our gills in cake already - cake from the birthday party a week ago, cake from mom's birthday last monday, cake on isaac's actual birthday on sat and now cake again! So we got 4 slices of strawberry cheesecake, stuck a candle in it and let Ms Trin blow it out. When all the cake was cut into tinier pieces and all of us munching away, we realised that the birthday girl had no cake and was in fact, munching on the candle!
Happy birthday baby - we all love you, my little Tweenity Wosebud...
So You Want An AMD...
Sitting in the playground with mom at 10pm last night after watching The Amazing Race 10 and she suddenly said: I want to do an AMD.
AMD, for those who don't know, is Advanced Medical Directive (the colder definition of a living will) - basically a form which one fills in and signs, witnessed by a doctor and neutral party to say something like: let me die in peace and dignity without tubes and needles hanging out of me.
Mom and I are no stranger to discussions like this - which is something else I love about her. Unlike other senior citizens (hah! she'd whack me if she read me calling her this!) she is not averse to discussing death issues. We've spoken about cremation, what to do with the ashes etc. In any case, as she continued last night, you already know what I want even without an AMD right?
I say yes mom, I do, but I don't want to fight my sibs in case things go very emotional. I don't want to have to fight them off over the switch, know what i mean? So maybe an AMD is not a bad idea.
But people still struggle with this and for us Catholics, there are other issues to consider. Better get the theology of this right, I say. We argue rather amiably on the right and wrong of it. Very interesting - where do we get off saying when we want to time? When is time really time? Is all intervention to extend life wrong then? What about kidney dialysis? Even meds for hypertension? The continuum to better life and better health and hence longer life is a long one and ranges, at one end from the simple vitamin to, at the other end, money-intensive stem cell research and treatment. We humans look for any way to extend and improve our mortality. At what cost?
The AMD sits on this continuum. At very micro levels, we have our personal decisions to make. But on the macro level, what we do affects and vice versa. And at those macro levels, the politics of money and big business pollute the picture even further.
My discussion with mom came full circle when KH and the kids arrived. They greeted their grandma boisterously and hit the playground - yes past 10pm at night. Sitting there with mom, our conversation turned to other stuff - plans for Italy etc.
But taking a bird's eye view as we sit there, surrounded by the children, I don't want to think of the day when mom would no longer be around - that is a painful thought. But I know it will come and I dread the day when it does.
AMD or not, if I have to be the one to flick the switch and sit with her as she goes, I guess I will because she counts on me to do this and I'll just have to do my best not to let her down. That's the way it has been all our lives so why should it be different at the very end?
Sitting in the playground with mom at 10pm last night after watching The Amazing Race 10 and she suddenly said: I want to do an AMD.
AMD, for those who don't know, is Advanced Medical Directive (the colder definition of a living will) - basically a form which one fills in and signs, witnessed by a doctor and neutral party to say something like: let me die in peace and dignity without tubes and needles hanging out of me.
Mom and I are no stranger to discussions like this - which is something else I love about her. Unlike other senior citizens (hah! she'd whack me if she read me calling her this!) she is not averse to discussing death issues. We've spoken about cremation, what to do with the ashes etc. In any case, as she continued last night, you already know what I want even without an AMD right?
I say yes mom, I do, but I don't want to fight my sibs in case things go very emotional. I don't want to have to fight them off over the switch, know what i mean? So maybe an AMD is not a bad idea.
But people still struggle with this and for us Catholics, there are other issues to consider. Better get the theology of this right, I say. We argue rather amiably on the right and wrong of it. Very interesting - where do we get off saying when we want to time? When is time really time? Is all intervention to extend life wrong then? What about kidney dialysis? Even meds for hypertension? The continuum to better life and better health and hence longer life is a long one and ranges, at one end from the simple vitamin to, at the other end, money-intensive stem cell research and treatment. We humans look for any way to extend and improve our mortality. At what cost?
The AMD sits on this continuum. At very micro levels, we have our personal decisions to make. But on the macro level, what we do affects and vice versa. And at those macro levels, the politics of money and big business pollute the picture even further.
My discussion with mom came full circle when KH and the kids arrived. They greeted their grandma boisterously and hit the playground - yes past 10pm at night. Sitting there with mom, our conversation turned to other stuff - plans for Italy etc.
But taking a bird's eye view as we sit there, surrounded by the children, I don't want to think of the day when mom would no longer be around - that is a painful thought. But I know it will come and I dread the day when it does.
AMD or not, if I have to be the one to flick the switch and sit with her as she goes, I guess I will because she counts on me to do this and I'll just have to do my best not to let her down. That's the way it has been all our lives so why should it be different at the very end?
False measles. Dang.
Trinity Rose passed her first birthday on Monday covered in spots. The spots came as the fever broke on Sunday. While I knew that in all likelihood it was going to false measles, the way the spots erupted (behind the ears, on the head, then spead downwards as the days passed - to the trunk, arms and legs) gave me hope that it was measles. Even Lolita took one look and said it was measles. But Trin didn't have any other symptoms and I knew the risk of it being measles was tiny with obedient singaporeans queuing up to jab their babies. If I wanted her to catch measles naturally, I would stand a better chance of it in England than in Singapore!
Those who know me know why I am so eager to put my kids through a natural course of what has been marketed as a 'killer disease', 'full of suffering' etc.
The bullseye I am aiming for is natural immunity - lifelong immunity. My Get Out of MMR Free card from the Chance pile of life.
But unfortunately, the dr took one look at Trin this morning and said, nope - false measles.
Dang. Maybe I ought to buy them all plane tickets to England.
Trinity Rose passed her first birthday on Monday covered in spots. The spots came as the fever broke on Sunday. While I knew that in all likelihood it was going to false measles, the way the spots erupted (behind the ears, on the head, then spead downwards as the days passed - to the trunk, arms and legs) gave me hope that it was measles. Even Lolita took one look and said it was measles. But Trin didn't have any other symptoms and I knew the risk of it being measles was tiny with obedient singaporeans queuing up to jab their babies. If I wanted her to catch measles naturally, I would stand a better chance of it in England than in Singapore!
Those who know me know why I am so eager to put my kids through a natural course of what has been marketed as a 'killer disease', 'full of suffering' etc.
The bullseye I am aiming for is natural immunity - lifelong immunity. My Get Out of MMR Free card from the Chance pile of life.
But unfortunately, the dr took one look at Trin this morning and said, nope - false measles.
Dang. Maybe I ought to buy them all plane tickets to England.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Breast cancer
Met a woman today who suspected she has breast cancer. She is in her 30s, with a 3yo son and a year old baby girl. She had had a persistent lump that was initially chalked down to a plugged duct. She massaged and massaged under the advice of an LC but the lump did not go away. Finally, she had a mammogram and recently, a biopsy. She would get her results only a couple of days from now, but the doctors have apparently hinted that the prognosis was not good. Worrying, was how they termed it.
She said her lymph nodes were swollen and suspected that it was not only malignant but in stage three. She had no other symptoms.
Surgery was definitely on the cards whether or not the lump was malignant but she clearly had her mind on the worst. Her words came quick, fast and tight, etched in fear, tinged by bitterness. She didn't mind losing a breast she said, but she had two babies and she wanted to see them grow up. My children need me, she said simply.
I felt she was jumping the gun and expecting the worst because the results were not out. But in her shoes, who was to say I would not do the same? As she said, brace herself for the worst. Her husband was distraught, the pastor, himself a cancer survivor had spoken to both.
I didn't know what to say. So I mainly listened. The fact that she was spilling her guts on something so wrenchingly personal to a virtual stranger like me spoke volumes. A combination of shock and fear. Maybe by telling someone all this, it would be more real. Yet she didn't want it to be real - who would?
She accused breastfeeding of being misleading. "We've all been told. We think by breastfeeding we won't get it. This is not true! In fact, why are we not told there is a risk of calcification? If I had known this, I would have stopped breastfeeding earlier!"
I agreed with her that breastfeeding is not the bullet-proof vest people think it is. But the risk of breast cancer is far higher if one does NOT breastfeed. It was not the time for the Breastvocate to go into action. So I just listened. She needed to talk and I could only help by listening.
We agreed - everyone needs a good baseline mammo. She urged me to go for one when I stopped breastfeeding. I agree. And it should not only be recommended for women above 40. She said the breast surgeon told her he was seeing more women in their 30s. I would not be surprised - combine stress, diet and lifestyle - trouble looms like the iceberg for the Titanic. We t alked about stress, about taking it easy even if the diagnosis came out benign - maybe taking long leave or switching jobs to a lower stress one. We talked about genetic markers etc. Her mother had cancer. My aunt died of breast cancer, so I have been touched remotely by this. We all are, in one way or another.
It could be you, it could be me. I hope it's not her. I hope she'll be ok. I wanted to ask for her number or an email to check in on her, but was afraid of being too presumptuous. But I was afraid of my own limitation - what could I say? What did I know? I was not going through it...
Right at the end of our visit to the doctor (we met chatting in the waiting room while waiting for our turn), we left together. In the lift, I looked at her bright-eyed little boy and I looked at her and wished her luck, saying I hope it turns out ok. I mean it. That little boy needs his mama.
Met a woman today who suspected she has breast cancer. She is in her 30s, with a 3yo son and a year old baby girl. She had had a persistent lump that was initially chalked down to a plugged duct. She massaged and massaged under the advice of an LC but the lump did not go away. Finally, she had a mammogram and recently, a biopsy. She would get her results only a couple of days from now, but the doctors have apparently hinted that the prognosis was not good. Worrying, was how they termed it.
She said her lymph nodes were swollen and suspected that it was not only malignant but in stage three. She had no other symptoms.
Surgery was definitely on the cards whether or not the lump was malignant but she clearly had her mind on the worst. Her words came quick, fast and tight, etched in fear, tinged by bitterness. She didn't mind losing a breast she said, but she had two babies and she wanted to see them grow up. My children need me, she said simply.
I felt she was jumping the gun and expecting the worst because the results were not out. But in her shoes, who was to say I would not do the same? As she said, brace herself for the worst. Her husband was distraught, the pastor, himself a cancer survivor had spoken to both.
I didn't know what to say. So I mainly listened. The fact that she was spilling her guts on something so wrenchingly personal to a virtual stranger like me spoke volumes. A combination of shock and fear. Maybe by telling someone all this, it would be more real. Yet she didn't want it to be real - who would?
She accused breastfeeding of being misleading. "We've all been told. We think by breastfeeding we won't get it. This is not true! In fact, why are we not told there is a risk of calcification? If I had known this, I would have stopped breastfeeding earlier!"
I agreed with her that breastfeeding is not the bullet-proof vest people think it is. But the risk of breast cancer is far higher if one does NOT breastfeed. It was not the time for the Breastvocate to go into action. So I just listened. She needed to talk and I could only help by listening.
We agreed - everyone needs a good baseline mammo. She urged me to go for one when I stopped breastfeeding. I agree. And it should not only be recommended for women above 40. She said the breast surgeon told her he was seeing more women in their 30s. I would not be surprised - combine stress, diet and lifestyle - trouble looms like the iceberg for the Titanic. We t alked about stress, about taking it easy even if the diagnosis came out benign - maybe taking long leave or switching jobs to a lower stress one. We talked about genetic markers etc. Her mother had cancer. My aunt died of breast cancer, so I have been touched remotely by this. We all are, in one way or another.
It could be you, it could be me. I hope it's not her. I hope she'll be ok. I wanted to ask for her number or an email to check in on her, but was afraid of being too presumptuous. But I was afraid of my own limitation - what could I say? What did I know? I was not going through it...
Right at the end of our visit to the doctor (we met chatting in the waiting room while waiting for our turn), we left together. In the lift, I looked at her bright-eyed little boy and I looked at her and wished her luck, saying I hope it turns out ok. I mean it. That little boy needs his mama.
Small world
Been taking Cait to KK for follow-ups on her eye, which is getting better very nicely now! We can see more of those lovely peepers. Contusion still there but doc thinks it will go. Or they can aspirate, which he is reluctant to do - firstly because it is invasive and secondly, because it will risk infection. So we've decided to let it be and do nothing for now. If it does not get smaller, we go back and see him again in 3 weeks. Or I could email him.
As it turns out, the good doctor and I have met before. He looked a couple of times at me and then asked: have we met before? maybe you've come in to a&e... and i was about to say i don't think so, but i go in to a&e pretty often - check out my kids! then it struck me... or rather, he said it - SGH a&e and dengue fever. jackpot.
About 3 yrs ago, when Owain was 8 wks old, I contracted dengue with very high fever. (Yes those woozy days of nursing Owain and alternately freezing and sweating in front of Beep the Bus with thermometer in hand) At the SGH a&e, the good doc wanted to ward me because my platelet count was alarmingly low and I refused because they didn't want to let Owain in. This very doctor consulted with sr doctors who concurred that Owain was at risk of contracting the virus (hah!) and suggested putting him on formula (oh the very idea! Not a good one to suggest to a breastvocate like me). But all's well that ends well - they bent policy and allowed Owain to room in with me (a first for the hospital in a non-maternity ward) and I didn't bite his head off too much for suggesting this nonsense. Maybe too woozy to do so. Heh.
That aside I did think the doc was cute, had a wife pg with twins. And I remember telling him to go natural etc for the birth - the funniest thing! We had good vibes. Then months later, I met him and his wife at One North, the now defunct makansutra food place. We said hi of course. And now, years later, we meet again! Small world indeed.
The good doc now has another baby 18months old. But both births were sections. I asked him why. Said first birth had to be section because one twin was breech. Hmm... as far as I know now, breech presentation would not be a problem with twins. Second birth was also a section. So you know I had a lot to say about that. He marvelled that I now had 5 kids - and proud of 'em! And was intrigued that I had not vaccinated my 3 babes. We would be happy to chat but he had a long line of patients, so he gave his email addy. To be continued!
Been taking Cait to KK for follow-ups on her eye, which is getting better very nicely now! We can see more of those lovely peepers. Contusion still there but doc thinks it will go. Or they can aspirate, which he is reluctant to do - firstly because it is invasive and secondly, because it will risk infection. So we've decided to let it be and do nothing for now. If it does not get smaller, we go back and see him again in 3 weeks. Or I could email him.
As it turns out, the good doctor and I have met before. He looked a couple of times at me and then asked: have we met before? maybe you've come in to a&e... and i was about to say i don't think so, but i go in to a&e pretty often - check out my kids! then it struck me... or rather, he said it - SGH a&e and dengue fever. jackpot.
About 3 yrs ago, when Owain was 8 wks old, I contracted dengue with very high fever. (Yes those woozy days of nursing Owain and alternately freezing and sweating in front of Beep the Bus with thermometer in hand) At the SGH a&e, the good doc wanted to ward me because my platelet count was alarmingly low and I refused because they didn't want to let Owain in. This very doctor consulted with sr doctors who concurred that Owain was at risk of contracting the virus (hah!) and suggested putting him on formula (oh the very idea! Not a good one to suggest to a breastvocate like me). But all's well that ends well - they bent policy and allowed Owain to room in with me (a first for the hospital in a non-maternity ward) and I didn't bite his head off too much for suggesting this nonsense. Maybe too woozy to do so. Heh.
That aside I did think the doc was cute, had a wife pg with twins. And I remember telling him to go natural etc for the birth - the funniest thing! We had good vibes. Then months later, I met him and his wife at One North, the now defunct makansutra food place. We said hi of course. And now, years later, we meet again! Small world indeed.
The good doc now has another baby 18months old. But both births were sections. I asked him why. Said first birth had to be section because one twin was breech. Hmm... as far as I know now, breech presentation would not be a problem with twins. Second birth was also a section. So you know I had a lot to say about that. He marvelled that I now had 5 kids - and proud of 'em! And was intrigued that I had not vaccinated my 3 babes. We would be happy to chat but he had a long line of patients, so he gave his email addy. To be continued!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Snapshots of Mandalay Road
Mom's birthday was on Monday and she turned 63 - which I still consider very young, especially for someone with her joie de vivre. Family celebrated with a steamboat dinner at Golden Mile (very yum!) and a cake at home. Mom and I have always said we'd go to Italy together - she because she wants to see Rome and Venice and I because I think its cool to travel with mom. I've been thinking of this for years and I think its time. If I wait for all my kids to grow up, we might never have the chance to do this - mom is not getting any younger. So I think I'd like to fix it for next year - May/June in the spring or late Sept/Oct in the autumn. But the planning starts now.
Yesterday in the car coming home from Ikea, mom was reminiscing about the Mandalay Road days. I love to listen to her - love to imagine my mom as this young girl, in the spring of her life, training to be a teacher, her friends, her romances, my dad as this gangly young man courting her. I've always liked that time in the past - the 60s, 50s etc.
"Mother Angela, Mother Campion... Sister Holy Child..." those were the names of the FMDM nuns who trained mom and her gang to be nurses. Mom was only about 17 then and back then, training meant living in the hostel at Mandalay Road. There were 15 of them in the hostel, training to be nurses. The bungalow was an old colonial with wide verandas running round the upper floor. The girls' bedrooms were on the upper floor. The 15 girls were split into three rooms - 6 in one, then 3, then 6. Mom was one of the 3 in the middle room. There was a classroom on the same floor and another classroom on the ground floor - and that one held all the bones - real human bones - which the girls studied for anatomy class. There was also a full skeleton which the girls affectionately called Jimmy. And in the classroom upstairs, a mannequin the girls called Deborah.
The bungalow was terribly spooky and was in fact, haunted. "We would hear footsteps but there would be no one there. Then the phone would ring downstairs in the middle of the night but when we answered, it would be dead. We could hear a voice calling... and Margaret actually saw a woman combing her long hair right next to her one night! We were so scared that we would push our beds together to sleep! But the nuns didn't like that of course and we would be scolded terribly if they found out. So we always had to push the beds back in the morning!"
The kids were all agog and for once, the car was silent as they listened to mom. "Apparently," mom went on, "the house was haunted by the ghost of a doctor's wife who hanged herself in the main stairwell."
But it wasn't all about ghosts. It was fun too. "The nuns were strict. We would be scolded and scolded for little things. When it was lights out, they meant it. We could not read or talk. So if we wanted to read the comics or talk to each other in other rooms, we'd sneak off to the toilets in a group. The lights from the toilet could not be seen from the nuns' quarters! And one night, when we were really scared and pushing the beds together, we accidentally broke a wall! And the nuns were furious!"
Then there was The Scratcher - a man who rode around on motorbikes with a razor, slashing women's faces. Mom was not clear if this was real, because they never caught him, or if it was an urban legend. But she remembers the nuns contemptuously scolding the girls, "All of you are so vain! You think people really want to scratch you?? Who would want to?" And then there was the Orang Minyak or Oily Man, who would slick himself with oil and molest women and because he was so slippery with oil, no one would ever be able to catch him. Another urban legend?
Then there were the boys. Who drove up to the nurses' quarters and flashed their headlights at the girls' rooms. And then there was my dad, tall and thin, who called himself Sinoran - and I only first heard of this a couple of days ago and it just floored me! - which meant, according to mom, an amalgamation of two words - sino which refered to Chinese and 'ren' which was man. So I guess it meant something like 'chinaman'. Everyone called him that. Mom's friends still refer to him with that today. Martin Christopher was just his baptism name which he took on in order to be baptised, in order to marry mom. (It was that or no wedding, my grandma threatened. See the things we do for love?)
Why I am writing this? I think these are snapshots of an era gone by. Its a form of oral history. If I don't record this, it will be gone with mom when she passes on. And I think memories are a great way of reliving the past and remembering the life of a person. So when I think of mom, its not just in the context of her role as a mother or a grandmother, but as a woman, a girl, a daughter.
I hope with this blog, maybe my kids will see a different side to me one day as well.
Mom's birthday was on Monday and she turned 63 - which I still consider very young, especially for someone with her joie de vivre. Family celebrated with a steamboat dinner at Golden Mile (very yum!) and a cake at home. Mom and I have always said we'd go to Italy together - she because she wants to see Rome and Venice and I because I think its cool to travel with mom. I've been thinking of this for years and I think its time. If I wait for all my kids to grow up, we might never have the chance to do this - mom is not getting any younger. So I think I'd like to fix it for next year - May/June in the spring or late Sept/Oct in the autumn. But the planning starts now.
Yesterday in the car coming home from Ikea, mom was reminiscing about the Mandalay Road days. I love to listen to her - love to imagine my mom as this young girl, in the spring of her life, training to be a teacher, her friends, her romances, my dad as this gangly young man courting her. I've always liked that time in the past - the 60s, 50s etc.
"Mother Angela, Mother Campion... Sister Holy Child..." those were the names of the FMDM nuns who trained mom and her gang to be nurses. Mom was only about 17 then and back then, training meant living in the hostel at Mandalay Road. There were 15 of them in the hostel, training to be nurses. The bungalow was an old colonial with wide verandas running round the upper floor. The girls' bedrooms were on the upper floor. The 15 girls were split into three rooms - 6 in one, then 3, then 6. Mom was one of the 3 in the middle room. There was a classroom on the same floor and another classroom on the ground floor - and that one held all the bones - real human bones - which the girls studied for anatomy class. There was also a full skeleton which the girls affectionately called Jimmy. And in the classroom upstairs, a mannequin the girls called Deborah.
The bungalow was terribly spooky and was in fact, haunted. "We would hear footsteps but there would be no one there. Then the phone would ring downstairs in the middle of the night but when we answered, it would be dead. We could hear a voice calling... and Margaret actually saw a woman combing her long hair right next to her one night! We were so scared that we would push our beds together to sleep! But the nuns didn't like that of course and we would be scolded terribly if they found out. So we always had to push the beds back in the morning!"
The kids were all agog and for once, the car was silent as they listened to mom. "Apparently," mom went on, "the house was haunted by the ghost of a doctor's wife who hanged herself in the main stairwell."
But it wasn't all about ghosts. It was fun too. "The nuns were strict. We would be scolded and scolded for little things. When it was lights out, they meant it. We could not read or talk. So if we wanted to read the comics or talk to each other in other rooms, we'd sneak off to the toilets in a group. The lights from the toilet could not be seen from the nuns' quarters! And one night, when we were really scared and pushing the beds together, we accidentally broke a wall! And the nuns were furious!"
Then there was The Scratcher - a man who rode around on motorbikes with a razor, slashing women's faces. Mom was not clear if this was real, because they never caught him, or if it was an urban legend. But she remembers the nuns contemptuously scolding the girls, "All of you are so vain! You think people really want to scratch you?? Who would want to?" And then there was the Orang Minyak or Oily Man, who would slick himself with oil and molest women and because he was so slippery with oil, no one would ever be able to catch him. Another urban legend?
Then there were the boys. Who drove up to the nurses' quarters and flashed their headlights at the girls' rooms. And then there was my dad, tall and thin, who called himself Sinoran - and I only first heard of this a couple of days ago and it just floored me! - which meant, according to mom, an amalgamation of two words - sino which refered to Chinese and 'ren' which was man. So I guess it meant something like 'chinaman'. Everyone called him that. Mom's friends still refer to him with that today. Martin Christopher was just his baptism name which he took on in order to be baptised, in order to marry mom. (It was that or no wedding, my grandma threatened. See the things we do for love?)
Why I am writing this? I think these are snapshots of an era gone by. Its a form of oral history. If I don't record this, it will be gone with mom when she passes on. And I think memories are a great way of reliving the past and remembering the life of a person. So when I think of mom, its not just in the context of her role as a mother or a grandmother, but as a woman, a girl, a daughter.
I hope with this blog, maybe my kids will see a different side to me one day as well.
Blur Breast
Fissures have healed. And for one and a half days (Monday and Tuesday), the nipples looked nice and smooth without any redness or soreness. But yesterday, despite all the moisturising and the calendula cream, the red rash was back, the flaking was back. Its been like this ding-donging to and fro for months - healed for a day and then back again to square one.
As for the plugged duct, massaged and expressed like mad on Monday and the fever went away. The milk was yellowish and salty at first (definitely signs of a plugged duct and borderline infection) but the more I got the flow going, it changed to whitish and became sweeter. And because the nipples seemed better, I allowed the milk monster to have his nen-nen in the early morning and sporadically on Tuesday - so I guess he also helped clear it. But there is still residual redness on the upper quadrant and some soreness. The milk expressed from the affected pore today looks clear and normal, tastes normal.
Also, seem to have discovered a galactocele beneath the areola - shifting form like a bunch of tiny grapes - when the breast is full, it swells up (probably with milk) and when gently pressed, milk slowly balloons from one of the pores. The milk from there is cool, clear like water and incredibly sweet. Yum.
Fissures have healed. And for one and a half days (Monday and Tuesday), the nipples looked nice and smooth without any redness or soreness. But yesterday, despite all the moisturising and the calendula cream, the red rash was back, the flaking was back. Its been like this ding-donging to and fro for months - healed for a day and then back again to square one.
As for the plugged duct, massaged and expressed like mad on Monday and the fever went away. The milk was yellowish and salty at first (definitely signs of a plugged duct and borderline infection) but the more I got the flow going, it changed to whitish and became sweeter. And because the nipples seemed better, I allowed the milk monster to have his nen-nen in the early morning and sporadically on Tuesday - so I guess he also helped clear it. But there is still residual redness on the upper quadrant and some soreness. The milk expressed from the affected pore today looks clear and normal, tastes normal.
Also, seem to have discovered a galactocele beneath the areola - shifting form like a bunch of tiny grapes - when the breast is full, it swells up (probably with milk) and when gently pressed, milk slowly balloons from one of the pores. The milk from there is cool, clear like water and incredibly sweet. Yum.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Record number
9 fissures. Yes, count 'em. Two of them at least 1cm long. Several of them less than 0.5cm but all over the nipple, the sides, the base etc. Add to that, a blocked duct.
Last night/this morning, as usual, Owain asked for nen-nen which I gave. But the pain was so gut-wrenchingly bad, I had to pull him off after just a few sucks, less than five minutes. It was so unusually excruciating that it throbbed and stung even after he had gone off the breast. I lay there and cried in the dark. Then got out of bed to see what or why it was so bad.
So at 4.31am in the morning, I sat in the landing outside the bedroom, and counted the cuts - all bleeding and watery, and with a breast that is rock-hard from all the accumulated milk. Ended up grabbing a sterile bottle and handexpressing. Then Owain came out to look for me, sniffling and asking for nen-nen and I could not give it to him. It was just too painful. Poor boy.
Now in the office, expressed the affected breast by hand and feeling feverish. With all the cuts, I am afraid of infection getting in and complicating the picture. Last thing I need is mastitis joining the happy party here.
9 fissures. Yes, count 'em. Two of them at least 1cm long. Several of them less than 0.5cm but all over the nipple, the sides, the base etc. Add to that, a blocked duct.
Last night/this morning, as usual, Owain asked for nen-nen which I gave. But the pain was so gut-wrenchingly bad, I had to pull him off after just a few sucks, less than five minutes. It was so unusually excruciating that it throbbed and stung even after he had gone off the breast. I lay there and cried in the dark. Then got out of bed to see what or why it was so bad.
So at 4.31am in the morning, I sat in the landing outside the bedroom, and counted the cuts - all bleeding and watery, and with a breast that is rock-hard from all the accumulated milk. Ended up grabbing a sterile bottle and handexpressing. Then Owain came out to look for me, sniffling and asking for nen-nen and I could not give it to him. It was just too painful. Poor boy.
Now in the office, expressed the affected breast by hand and feeling feverish. With all the cuts, I am afraid of infection getting in and complicating the picture. Last thing I need is mastitis joining the happy party here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)