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...
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
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.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Loyalty and friendship
Interesting dinner incident. Gillian and Isaac throwing daggers at each other across the dinner table. Gillian threatening to spill Isaac's secrets like "I'm gonna tell mum about that time when you told me not to tell..."
I stopped her and said I didn't want to hear it.
To me, loyalty is the issue here. If you've been honoured with a secret or entrusted with a dear friend's thoughts, dreams, failures, fears - be honoured and keep those close to your heart. And should the good times end, its important to still keep these close to your heart. To do otherwise would be disloyal and indicative of a shallow character - a fair-weather friend. I don't know if I over-reacted (probably I did - I tend to get very emotional over issues like these) but I told her I didn't think it was good to treat her brother like this. It was just plain wrong. How to expect people to trust you?
I've been on the receiving end before - of disloyalty in a friendship. It cut so deep that I can never forget this. When you trust someone so much, and when you genuinely like that person, you believe in her and are loyal to the core, the last thing you ever imagine that person would do is to cut you loose and set the sharks on you.
So I've learnt the painful way and this means a great deal to me. I certainly hope that my kids won't act like this. Maybe loyalty is old-fashioned in today's world. But that's just me.
Interesting dinner incident. Gillian and Isaac throwing daggers at each other across the dinner table. Gillian threatening to spill Isaac's secrets like "I'm gonna tell mum about that time when you told me not to tell..."
I stopped her and said I didn't want to hear it.
To me, loyalty is the issue here. If you've been honoured with a secret or entrusted with a dear friend's thoughts, dreams, failures, fears - be honoured and keep those close to your heart. And should the good times end, its important to still keep these close to your heart. To do otherwise would be disloyal and indicative of a shallow character - a fair-weather friend. I don't know if I over-reacted (probably I did - I tend to get very emotional over issues like these) but I told her I didn't think it was good to treat her brother like this. It was just plain wrong. How to expect people to trust you?
I've been on the receiving end before - of disloyalty in a friendship. It cut so deep that I can never forget this. When you trust someone so much, and when you genuinely like that person, you believe in her and are loyal to the core, the last thing you ever imagine that person would do is to cut you loose and set the sharks on you.
So I've learnt the painful way and this means a great deal to me. I certainly hope that my kids won't act like this. Maybe loyalty is old-fashioned in today's world. But that's just me.
Swelling up and saints
The major swelling on Ning's left eye is tracking down, as we were warned it would. But it is also tracking across the bridge of the nose to the other unaffected eye! So the bridge is swelling up, the lower lid of the right eye is also swelling up and looking a bit purply. The right eye's upper lid is also a bit puffy so Ning's right eye looks rather reduced amid the swelling.
Not sure if this is normal. Poor girl.
Eczemic nipple update. Right side (Owain's side) is flaking away and has two open slits near the base of the nipple. Excruciating to nurse. I've fobbed him off but he is very insistent and cried and cried. Poor boy. I feel like a real ass for denying him the nen-nen. Pictures of saints come to mind and I wonder: did they ever complain, and if they did, would this make them less of a saint? Like when saint something-or-other was tortured by - I'm just imagining this here - being made to walk on burning coals or something like that, did they bitch about it mentally? Or did they smile beatifically, nobly and had nothing but good thoughts as they tred across those red hot coals? Did the word 'ouch' even cross their mind? Did they think murderous bad $#@*& thoughts about the cause of their misery?
You can tell: I'm not cut out for sainthood.
The major swelling on Ning's left eye is tracking down, as we were warned it would. But it is also tracking across the bridge of the nose to the other unaffected eye! So the bridge is swelling up, the lower lid of the right eye is also swelling up and looking a bit purply. The right eye's upper lid is also a bit puffy so Ning's right eye looks rather reduced amid the swelling.
Not sure if this is normal. Poor girl.
Eczemic nipple update. Right side (Owain's side) is flaking away and has two open slits near the base of the nipple. Excruciating to nurse. I've fobbed him off but he is very insistent and cried and cried. Poor boy. I feel like a real ass for denying him the nen-nen. Pictures of saints come to mind and I wonder: did they ever complain, and if they did, would this make them less of a saint? Like when saint something-or-other was tortured by - I'm just imagining this here - being made to walk on burning coals or something like that, did they bitch about it mentally? Or did they smile beatifically, nobly and had nothing but good thoughts as they tred across those red hot coals? Did the word 'ouch' even cross their mind? Did they think murderous bad $#@*& thoughts about the cause of their misery?
You can tell: I'm not cut out for sainthood.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
The flip side of cord blood banking
Wrote to ST Forum on cord blood banking. Yesterday a Mr Kong from ST Forum called me while I was at KKWCH attending to Ning. He wanted to clarify the point about cord blood being 'waste'. I was a bit distracted by Ning's situation and my battery level was low so I tried to explain as best I could. Mr Kong was very nice about it. He said he would need to make some changes but would try to be faithful to my message and try his best to do justice to it.
So the letter was published in today's straits times. Reading it, I can't find any portion that is significantly changed. Here it is:
"I REFER to the article, 'Parents pin hopes on cord blood banks' (ST, Oct 12), on the rising number of parents who harvest their babies' cord blood.
As a mother and a childbirth educator, I feel that it is important that parents weigh carefully the risks and benefits of harvesting their baby's cord blood.
Cord blood should not be considered as 'waste', something to be thrown away if not harvested for storage in a cord-blood bank.
While it may be standard practice today for the umbilical cord to be clamped and cut immediately after birth, not many parents know that there are valid physiological reasons for leaving the cord alone until it has stopped pulsating and the baby's pulmonary and respiratory systems are working well.
However, clamping and cutting the cord immediately after birth is necessary for cord-blood harvesting. This action takes away 60-150ml of blood, about one third to half the total blood volume in a normal baby.
There are studies that show that babies whose cords were not cut immediately at birth show higher blood pressure, better oxygen levels and higher haemoglobin levels than their counterparts whose cords were clamped and cut immediately.
Delayed clamping, even for only two minutes, has been shown to boost iron stores in babies as late as six months after birth.
This is information that parents should be told if they are considering cord-blood banking. In the interest of allowing parents to make an informed choice, doctors should give them a complete picture of what it means to harvest cord blood.
Parents should consider not only the merits of each facility for cord-blood banking but also if it is even necessary or in their baby's best interests to clamp and cut the cord early just to harvest cord blood."
It's something which I have been saying for the longest time and I'm glad it's finally out. I hope more parents will now be aware that there are alternatives and will start asking questions. Hopefully doctors will also read it and re-think active management policies for managing third stage labour.... Fat hope huh?? sigh.
Wrote to ST Forum on cord blood banking. Yesterday a Mr Kong from ST Forum called me while I was at KKWCH attending to Ning. He wanted to clarify the point about cord blood being 'waste'. I was a bit distracted by Ning's situation and my battery level was low so I tried to explain as best I could. Mr Kong was very nice about it. He said he would need to make some changes but would try to be faithful to my message and try his best to do justice to it.
So the letter was published in today's straits times. Reading it, I can't find any portion that is significantly changed. Here it is:
"I REFER to the article, 'Parents pin hopes on cord blood banks' (ST, Oct 12), on the rising number of parents who harvest their babies' cord blood.
As a mother and a childbirth educator, I feel that it is important that parents weigh carefully the risks and benefits of harvesting their baby's cord blood.
Cord blood should not be considered as 'waste', something to be thrown away if not harvested for storage in a cord-blood bank.
While it may be standard practice today for the umbilical cord to be clamped and cut immediately after birth, not many parents know that there are valid physiological reasons for leaving the cord alone until it has stopped pulsating and the baby's pulmonary and respiratory systems are working well.
However, clamping and cutting the cord immediately after birth is necessary for cord-blood harvesting. This action takes away 60-150ml of blood, about one third to half the total blood volume in a normal baby.
There are studies that show that babies whose cords were not cut immediately at birth show higher blood pressure, better oxygen levels and higher haemoglobin levels than their counterparts whose cords were clamped and cut immediately.
Delayed clamping, even for only two minutes, has been shown to boost iron stores in babies as late as six months after birth.
This is information that parents should be told if they are considering cord-blood banking. In the interest of allowing parents to make an informed choice, doctors should give them a complete picture of what it means to harvest cord blood.
Parents should consider not only the merits of each facility for cord-blood banking but also if it is even necessary or in their baby's best interests to clamp and cut the cord early just to harvest cord blood."
It's something which I have been saying for the longest time and I'm glad it's finally out. I hope more parents will now be aware that there are alternatives and will start asking questions. Hopefully doctors will also read it and re-think active management policies for managing third stage labour.... Fat hope huh?? sigh.
Not again!
"Tell her lah!" mom prompted dad eagerly and when he was slow to reply, she went on, "You know your dad has been picking up Ning from school these past few days and yesterday, he told me that Ning was the prettiest, the most beautiful girl there! I told your father he should tell you, it would make you so proud!"
And so it did. I beamed with pride. My babe is beautiful. But just minutes after mom said that, Caitlin had a bad accident. Afterwards, mom blamed herself for saying that. Of course it was not her fault. This incident could have happened at any time at the rate the girl kept jumping on the sofa and leaping from one to another.
We had gone out for a drive around the estate to calm Ms Trinity Rose down because she cried so inconsolably when I merely took away a dirty shoe and told her sternly "No!". As we were driving off, we saw Ning standing at the gate looking unhappy that she was included in the car. Dad offered to pick her up and bring her along for the ride. But as we cruised past, we saw her already back in the house, jumping on the sofa, so we left. Dad later said we should have taken her for the car ride, then it wouldn't have happened. But such is life eh?
Minutes later, we got a frantic call from home asking us to drive home - Ning had had a bad fall and bleeding. Dad drove home quickly and I rushed back to the house. I saw globs of blood on the floor, the coffee table, her uniform stained with patches of red. She was sobbing in Lolita's arms.
There was an open gash on her left eyebrow. But what alarmed me was the eye itself. The eyelid had swollen shut; the size of a shiny, purple hen's egg. Luckily dad and mom were there. They drove us to Mt Alvernia hospital. Ning cried all the way there and kept repeating: "I don't want them to laugh at me! My friends will laugh at me!"
She definitely required stitches. The eye itself looked ok when the dr pried up the eyelid (which caused Ning some pain) to look. But the x-ray showed a possible fracture of the upper edge of the left eye socket. The hospital wanted an opthalmologist to confirm. So they tried calling. While waiting, Ning fell asleep.
Now this is the part that left me fuming. We waited for more than an hour while the hospital tried, without success, to get a consultant specialist down to the emergency room to have a look. Ning was insured under KH's company's group hospitalisation and medical insurance scheme, Aviva. So the specialist had to come from Aviva's panel of doctors. The nurses tried to call and page. No fault of theirs. But not ONE of the six opthalmologists from the panel came. Some had no response to the paging. Others were not contactable, no answering service, and some refused to come. One said he does not treat at Mt Alvernia. The hospital then tried their own specialists but one was on leave and the covering doctor said he did not treat children! So in frustration and anger, I discharged Ning and took her over to KKWCH. KH had arrived by then, so all of us including mom and dad, drove over to KH, mom sitting in our backseat with Ning's head on her lap. I have a lot to say on this and will speak my piece in a letter to Aviva, MAH, MOH and the press. But first, I had to get Ning treated.
At the hospital, she was seen immediately. The eye looked ok - they tested her vision by asking me to pry up her swollen lid. It was painful for Ning and painful for me to be the cause of it! Then the doctor looked at the x-rays and tried to prod the area. Ning said it hurt. The doctor kept asking her which part was painful - the eyelid or the upper part and watching her, I honestly don't think Ning could even differentiate the area. In any case there was too much swelling there to tell, so the doctor said the x-rays will be shown to the x-ray specialist the next day for an opinion.
As for the gash, they recommended stitching but not under GA as they did not know the extent of the damage and did not want to risk masking of symptoms of a head injury as both the after-effects of GA and a head injury were similar. So they applied a gel and we waited for half an hour. Then Ning was bundled onto a restraining board, velcroed and rolled into a blanket. The doctor stitched away while we talked to her to distract her from the stitching. She was a trooper and never cried at all, tearing and wincing only at the last stitch. I was so proud of her.
We - KH, Ning, baby Trinity and I - ended our evening with dinner at KKWCH's McDonalds before going home, drained and tired from the stress of the events.
"Tell her lah!" mom prompted dad eagerly and when he was slow to reply, she went on, "You know your dad has been picking up Ning from school these past few days and yesterday, he told me that Ning was the prettiest, the most beautiful girl there! I told your father he should tell you, it would make you so proud!"
And so it did. I beamed with pride. My babe is beautiful. But just minutes after mom said that, Caitlin had a bad accident. Afterwards, mom blamed herself for saying that. Of course it was not her fault. This incident could have happened at any time at the rate the girl kept jumping on the sofa and leaping from one to another.
We had gone out for a drive around the estate to calm Ms Trinity Rose down because she cried so inconsolably when I merely took away a dirty shoe and told her sternly "No!". As we were driving off, we saw Ning standing at the gate looking unhappy that she was included in the car. Dad offered to pick her up and bring her along for the ride. But as we cruised past, we saw her already back in the house, jumping on the sofa, so we left. Dad later said we should have taken her for the car ride, then it wouldn't have happened. But such is life eh?
Minutes later, we got a frantic call from home asking us to drive home - Ning had had a bad fall and bleeding. Dad drove home quickly and I rushed back to the house. I saw globs of blood on the floor, the coffee table, her uniform stained with patches of red. She was sobbing in Lolita's arms.
There was an open gash on her left eyebrow. But what alarmed me was the eye itself. The eyelid had swollen shut; the size of a shiny, purple hen's egg. Luckily dad and mom were there. They drove us to Mt Alvernia hospital. Ning cried all the way there and kept repeating: "I don't want them to laugh at me! My friends will laugh at me!"
She definitely required stitches. The eye itself looked ok when the dr pried up the eyelid (which caused Ning some pain) to look. But the x-ray showed a possible fracture of the upper edge of the left eye socket. The hospital wanted an opthalmologist to confirm. So they tried calling. While waiting, Ning fell asleep.
Now this is the part that left me fuming. We waited for more than an hour while the hospital tried, without success, to get a consultant specialist down to the emergency room to have a look. Ning was insured under KH's company's group hospitalisation and medical insurance scheme, Aviva. So the specialist had to come from Aviva's panel of doctors. The nurses tried to call and page. No fault of theirs. But not ONE of the six opthalmologists from the panel came. Some had no response to the paging. Others were not contactable, no answering service, and some refused to come. One said he does not treat at Mt Alvernia. The hospital then tried their own specialists but one was on leave and the covering doctor said he did not treat children! So in frustration and anger, I discharged Ning and took her over to KKWCH. KH had arrived by then, so all of us including mom and dad, drove over to KH, mom sitting in our backseat with Ning's head on her lap. I have a lot to say on this and will speak my piece in a letter to Aviva, MAH, MOH and the press. But first, I had to get Ning treated.
At the hospital, she was seen immediately. The eye looked ok - they tested her vision by asking me to pry up her swollen lid. It was painful for Ning and painful for me to be the cause of it! Then the doctor looked at the x-rays and tried to prod the area. Ning said it hurt. The doctor kept asking her which part was painful - the eyelid or the upper part and watching her, I honestly don't think Ning could even differentiate the area. In any case there was too much swelling there to tell, so the doctor said the x-rays will be shown to the x-ray specialist the next day for an opinion.
As for the gash, they recommended stitching but not under GA as they did not know the extent of the damage and did not want to risk masking of symptoms of a head injury as both the after-effects of GA and a head injury were similar. So they applied a gel and we waited for half an hour. Then Ning was bundled onto a restraining board, velcroed and rolled into a blanket. The doctor stitched away while we talked to her to distract her from the stitching. She was a trooper and never cried at all, tearing and wincing only at the last stitch. I was so proud of her.
We - KH, Ning, baby Trinity and I - ended our evening with dinner at KKWCH's McDonalds before going home, drained and tired from the stress of the events.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Hit the books and hit the ground running...
After months of dilly-dallying and going into a nice stupor, my graddip studies have suddenly roared back to life. I am reminded that I have only 2 months to go and loads of work to do. D-Day Dec 31 2006 - graduation.
But first, to get there, I've got to complete my supervised series, write reams of papers - lesson plans etc, borrow a videocam to record my sessions, write my observations of various maternal-child health services here in Singapore, complete a video presentation unit... God help me!! I've written to KKWCH to ask permission to sit in on one of their classes, study the lactation unit, the hospital practices etc. But no reply yet... yikes! I've already completed three birth observations, and the birth centre in Bangkok (but lost my notes! See how klutz I am!!)... but there's loads more to be done.
I am really seriously thinking of throwing it in. But the thought of chucking 5k down the grinder with nothing to show really makes me feel kinda ill.
I can see the BP rising and late nights looming. So much for a peaceful year end! I'd be busy racing to the finish line with all the work that is left.
On top of that, work in the office is also piling up and I am sitting on at least 5 different committees in the poly. There's at least one audit, two major publications, three major events coming up and I am in serious danger of losing at least one of the balls I am desperately juggling now.
The good thing about all this is: my coursemates from Down Under and I are back in touch and we are keeping each other's spirits up as much as possible. Helen, Gill, Vina and me - the last of the Grad Dippers. Everyone is facing some level of stress and work in the Grad Dip, but I reckon mine is worse. I promise never, never, never to do this to myself again. Make this the one and only paper qualification I will ever have. Will remind KH to please, please kick me in the butt if I ever even think about doing another course like this!
Why oh why didn't I take up mom's advice to just learn driving instead of this monster-load Grad Dip CBE???
No, no... must look ahead, think positive, not negative! This time next year I can put alphabets next to my name! (if I ever get through the next 3 months and finish the course lah)
What cheap thrills I live for...
After months of dilly-dallying and going into a nice stupor, my graddip studies have suddenly roared back to life. I am reminded that I have only 2 months to go and loads of work to do. D-Day Dec 31 2006 - graduation.
But first, to get there, I've got to complete my supervised series, write reams of papers - lesson plans etc, borrow a videocam to record my sessions, write my observations of various maternal-child health services here in Singapore, complete a video presentation unit... God help me!! I've written to KKWCH to ask permission to sit in on one of their classes, study the lactation unit, the hospital practices etc. But no reply yet... yikes! I've already completed three birth observations, and the birth centre in Bangkok (but lost my notes! See how klutz I am!!)... but there's loads more to be done.
I am really seriously thinking of throwing it in. But the thought of chucking 5k down the grinder with nothing to show really makes me feel kinda ill.
I can see the BP rising and late nights looming. So much for a peaceful year end! I'd be busy racing to the finish line with all the work that is left.
On top of that, work in the office is also piling up and I am sitting on at least 5 different committees in the poly. There's at least one audit, two major publications, three major events coming up and I am in serious danger of losing at least one of the balls I am desperately juggling now.
The good thing about all this is: my coursemates from Down Under and I are back in touch and we are keeping each other's spirits up as much as possible. Helen, Gill, Vina and me - the last of the Grad Dippers. Everyone is facing some level of stress and work in the Grad Dip, but I reckon mine is worse. I promise never, never, never to do this to myself again. Make this the one and only paper qualification I will ever have. Will remind KH to please, please kick me in the butt if I ever even think about doing another course like this!
Why oh why didn't I take up mom's advice to just learn driving instead of this monster-load Grad Dip CBE???
No, no... must look ahead, think positive, not negative! This time next year I can put alphabets next to my name! (if I ever get through the next 3 months and finish the course lah)
What cheap thrills I live for...
A rural life?
This morning while having our brekkie of wanton mee, KH and I indulged in our usual fantasy of life-after-retirement. We were talking about the haze-stricken areas of Kalimantan and the tiny hidden villages in the forests which are now smothered under all that bad air. KH was reminiscing over one business trip which saw him taking a small commuter plane that landed in a tiny airstrip in the middle of nowhere, to meet a business associate in a small town by a river. It was, according to him, a sleepy town, not unpicturesque with the brown lazy river meandering past, slicing through dark green jungle on either bank. On Friday night, the town came to life with tribal people making their way to the town. The people pitched in to erect a huge tent, like a circus tent. It was their weekend market where trading between the town and the tribes took place.
We discussed staying in place like this, whereupon KH commented that I would go mad from boredom after the first week. I objected. What did he mean? I huffed. I kinda liked the idea - going far away from another life, to set up a new life in a different place. We'd plant organic veg, have our own livestock, fish in the nearby river. I could see myself living in a single-storey bungalow atop a hill some distance from town and if ever I needed to head to town, I'd do so in my ancient Vespa. But this, I know, is just romantic rubbish. KH is right - not that I would die of boredom, but I would find the going hard as a city girl.
The harsh reality is probably more like me chasing a chicken round the back yard, desperately trying to summon up enough courage to dispatch it neatly for dinner. Now how on earth does one pluck feathers from a dead chicken??? (See what comes from sanitising everything in Singapore? Once upon a time we could see chickens being slaughtered in dirty wet markets. Today, they come to us already dead, frozen and nakedly featherless in supermarket freezers!)
And did I mention that animals have no respect for me? They smell my fear a mile off. So they would probably end up ruling the roost! And for all the organic veg talk, we all know I don't have a single green digit among my fingers and I'd probably get blisters just trying to break the earth with a hoe! As a matter of fact, I DO break out in blisters when I wield the shears and do a bit of weeding in the garden. And as for the Vespa, well, KH does not even trust me on a bicycle!
Nice fantasy though - with a bit of a bizarre undertone of Marie Antoinette and her perfumed sheep in her hamlet at Versailles! Yes the ill-fated queen played at village living before her head rolled in the revolution.
This fantasy though, ranks second - after my all-time favourite of KH and me jaunting off on a land rover on the overland route from Singapore to Europe. Believe it or not, we even talked about what would happen if one of us kicked the bucket on the overland route! The answer: cremate and carry on!
What is life without dreaming right?
And notice the kids do not figure in all these plans... ah, one day!!
This morning while having our brekkie of wanton mee, KH and I indulged in our usual fantasy of life-after-retirement. We were talking about the haze-stricken areas of Kalimantan and the tiny hidden villages in the forests which are now smothered under all that bad air. KH was reminiscing over one business trip which saw him taking a small commuter plane that landed in a tiny airstrip in the middle of nowhere, to meet a business associate in a small town by a river. It was, according to him, a sleepy town, not unpicturesque with the brown lazy river meandering past, slicing through dark green jungle on either bank. On Friday night, the town came to life with tribal people making their way to the town. The people pitched in to erect a huge tent, like a circus tent. It was their weekend market where trading between the town and the tribes took place.
We discussed staying in place like this, whereupon KH commented that I would go mad from boredom after the first week. I objected. What did he mean? I huffed. I kinda liked the idea - going far away from another life, to set up a new life in a different place. We'd plant organic veg, have our own livestock, fish in the nearby river. I could see myself living in a single-storey bungalow atop a hill some distance from town and if ever I needed to head to town, I'd do so in my ancient Vespa. But this, I know, is just romantic rubbish. KH is right - not that I would die of boredom, but I would find the going hard as a city girl.
The harsh reality is probably more like me chasing a chicken round the back yard, desperately trying to summon up enough courage to dispatch it neatly for dinner. Now how on earth does one pluck feathers from a dead chicken??? (See what comes from sanitising everything in Singapore? Once upon a time we could see chickens being slaughtered in dirty wet markets. Today, they come to us already dead, frozen and nakedly featherless in supermarket freezers!)
And did I mention that animals have no respect for me? They smell my fear a mile off. So they would probably end up ruling the roost! And for all the organic veg talk, we all know I don't have a single green digit among my fingers and I'd probably get blisters just trying to break the earth with a hoe! As a matter of fact, I DO break out in blisters when I wield the shears and do a bit of weeding in the garden. And as for the Vespa, well, KH does not even trust me on a bicycle!
Nice fantasy though - with a bit of a bizarre undertone of Marie Antoinette and her perfumed sheep in her hamlet at Versailles! Yes the ill-fated queen played at village living before her head rolled in the revolution.
This fantasy though, ranks second - after my all-time favourite of KH and me jaunting off on a land rover on the overland route from Singapore to Europe. Believe it or not, we even talked about what would happen if one of us kicked the bucket on the overland route! The answer: cremate and carry on!
What is life without dreaming right?
And notice the kids do not figure in all these plans... ah, one day!!
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Reading...
A Civil Contract - Georgette Heyer
Raising Boys - Steve Biddulph
A Wrinkle in Time - Madeline L'Engle
the latest edition of National Geographic...
Georgette Heyer is comfort reading. Think a more accessible entry into Jane Austen's time. Authentic language, styling, lots of dry good wit, restrained regency romance. Been reading Heyer since sec sch days and I have a decent collection of her books. So once in a while, I'd go back to her just for comfort. The series has been recently re-issued and the new Bishan Lib has loads of those. So I've been borrowing the ones I don't have. Still good after all these years. The heroines are all sensible and intelligent - none of the bosom-heaving, ripped cleavage sort! And the men - definitely not of the Fabio make but elegant, polite and noble.
Raising Boys - not a book I read at one sitting so this is read in snatches, paras, slowly digested. Read it before but still a good book to re-read.
Wrinkle in Time - my new fave. A children's classic which I have only just discovered. Love it so much I want to get the whole Time trilogy.
And NG... always a good flip and browse - also read in snatches. Fascinating read in this month's issue on the 3million year old baby skull which was recently found. Always looking for new insights into how humans evolved and how this impacted birth, babyhood and childhood.
So you know my reading habits - just like my life - too many balls/books in the air.
A Civil Contract - Georgette Heyer
Raising Boys - Steve Biddulph
A Wrinkle in Time - Madeline L'Engle
the latest edition of National Geographic...
Georgette Heyer is comfort reading. Think a more accessible entry into Jane Austen's time. Authentic language, styling, lots of dry good wit, restrained regency romance. Been reading Heyer since sec sch days and I have a decent collection of her books. So once in a while, I'd go back to her just for comfort. The series has been recently re-issued and the new Bishan Lib has loads of those. So I've been borrowing the ones I don't have. Still good after all these years. The heroines are all sensible and intelligent - none of the bosom-heaving, ripped cleavage sort! And the men - definitely not of the Fabio make but elegant, polite and noble.
Raising Boys - not a book I read at one sitting so this is read in snatches, paras, slowly digested. Read it before but still a good book to re-read.
Wrinkle in Time - my new fave. A children's classic which I have only just discovered. Love it so much I want to get the whole Time trilogy.
And NG... always a good flip and browse - also read in snatches. Fascinating read in this month's issue on the 3million year old baby skull which was recently found. Always looking for new insights into how humans evolved and how this impacted birth, babyhood and childhood.
So you know my reading habits - just like my life - too many balls/books in the air.
Monday, October 09, 2006
"But I like nen-nen!"
Poor Owain! He's been getting lots of negativity from everyone lately - the helper, his mama, his grandad, his dad. And me.
"So big boy already still nen-nen!!" "Owain, only little babies drink nen-nen!" and others along the same line.
I hear it all in silence and sometimes I say similar lines. But I wince everytime I say those. Because I am not convinced 100% - not even 50% - that what I am doing is right. Nor am I comfortable with the negativity that is going around. So if I don't like it, why say it?
I usually enjoy our nursing sessions. But lately, nursing has been very very painful. My nipples are so severely eczemic and the skin so dry, that fissures form, tear open and bleed and weep. Can you imagine, everytime I even undo the cup to nurse it hurts - because the raw bits have dried onto the cotton so it gets pulled apart afresh everytime I undo the cup.
Everytime he latches on and draws the nipple in, it feels like the whole bit is on fire, sliced up finely. I usually grit, grimace, sometimes yell when its particularly bad. He is aware of this because he looks up at me and says: mummy your nen-nen pain?
So I have been putting him off nursing. And he has been screaming blue murder everytime I try to fob him off. I offer to hold him instead of nurse him, cuddle him to sleep instead, but he would have none of it and usually ends up screaming/crying so miserably that I just give in. Then I end up feeling angry with him and with myself, my body tensed up in anticipation of pain during nursing. Far from lovey-dovey, cosy, comforting and serene - all the happy elements it used to have!
Our nursing conversations go like this:
"Mummy I want nen-nen!"
"Later Owain."
"Nooooo!! Pleeeease mummy please! Just a lil bit, short while only!"
"I just gave you nen-nen! Less than five minutes ago!!"
"Pleeease mummy! But I like nen-nen!"
"No. Let me eat/read/write/work in peace for a while. I'll give you nen-nen later."
"Noooooo!" he wails. Then, "I drink, you eat (insert whatever activity I was in the midst of)!"
This goes on for a while, to and fro. And when I finally give in, it goes like this:
"Remember, Owain, SHORT while only ah!!"
"Okay mummy..." and he grins eagerly as I undo the necessary, practically jumping in glee.
"And when I say STOP..."
"STOP!" he repeats by rote.
"And when I say let go, Owain..."
"Let go!" he repeats again.
"You're sure you remember... not bluffing me are you? Cos everytime I tell you to stop you don't stop..."
And he protests: "Not bluffing you mummy, not bluffing you!!" And of course he will never keep to his promise.
As he takes the first suck, I too suck in my breath in a deep breath and blow out.
KH commented that it looks like I'm in labour. Har har.
What does he know? It is bl**dy painful! At least contractions DO end and there is a pause before the next one comes. This kind of pain is non-stop. And this guy nurses (I kid you not!) every half an hour... at least every hour... and through the night!
I feel bad about fobbing him off, guilty about entertaining thoughts of weaning him. Knowing that I will almost certainly regret weaning when it does become permanent. KH has said, looking at my reactions everytime I get a request to nurse, and looking at Owain's frequency, that it is time to wean. But look at him - still pretty much a baby isn't he? The reasons for nursing him past 1 year still hold true. He is still exploring, and learning and the breast is still a haven. All that has not changed. His needs are still valid. Why should all this change just because my breasts have become eczemic?
Am I being selfish? I certainly feel this way. But the pain is incredible. The nipples look red, raw and rough. And the silly nipples are not healing either. I have tried steroidal creams - nada. So I have come to the conclusion that it is really not going to heal but I'll just have to fire-fight and make sure the dryness and itch does not (a) spread and get larger and (b) split open into fissures. Between the California Baby Calendula Cream (which seems to work better than the steroidal creams) and Palmer's Cocoa Butter, I think we can manage for the time being - although I do feel like the little boy with his finger in the dyke! Its all pretty much stop-gap, I know...
Today, I read this article and it touched me. I have always been a proponent of letting the child signal its readiness - in birth, breastfeeding etc. Its hard to do this and I do feel unsure at times if I am doing the right thing or if I am on the right track. But reading this article helped remind me just WHY I wanted to nurse my babies until they self-weaned and why I believe so much in a child's natural rhythms.
http://www.mothering.com/articles/new_baby/breastfeeding/difficult-promise.html
So Owain gets a reprieve from weaning for now. I'll grit and bear it for as long as I can. Not a matyr but I don't want to do something that will be traumatic emotionally for him and for me. Far easier to take deep breaths as if I am in labour than to wean and regret. And in a way, perservering through this is a kind of labour of love isn't it?
Poor Owain! He's been getting lots of negativity from everyone lately - the helper, his mama, his grandad, his dad. And me.
"So big boy already still nen-nen!!" "Owain, only little babies drink nen-nen!" and others along the same line.
I hear it all in silence and sometimes I say similar lines. But I wince everytime I say those. Because I am not convinced 100% - not even 50% - that what I am doing is right. Nor am I comfortable with the negativity that is going around. So if I don't like it, why say it?
I usually enjoy our nursing sessions. But lately, nursing has been very very painful. My nipples are so severely eczemic and the skin so dry, that fissures form, tear open and bleed and weep. Can you imagine, everytime I even undo the cup to nurse it hurts - because the raw bits have dried onto the cotton so it gets pulled apart afresh everytime I undo the cup.
Everytime he latches on and draws the nipple in, it feels like the whole bit is on fire, sliced up finely. I usually grit, grimace, sometimes yell when its particularly bad. He is aware of this because he looks up at me and says: mummy your nen-nen pain?
So I have been putting him off nursing. And he has been screaming blue murder everytime I try to fob him off. I offer to hold him instead of nurse him, cuddle him to sleep instead, but he would have none of it and usually ends up screaming/crying so miserably that I just give in. Then I end up feeling angry with him and with myself, my body tensed up in anticipation of pain during nursing. Far from lovey-dovey, cosy, comforting and serene - all the happy elements it used to have!
Our nursing conversations go like this:
"Mummy I want nen-nen!"
"Later Owain."
"Nooooo!! Pleeeease mummy please! Just a lil bit, short while only!"
"I just gave you nen-nen! Less than five minutes ago!!"
"Pleeease mummy! But I like nen-nen!"
"No. Let me eat/read/write/work in peace for a while. I'll give you nen-nen later."
"Noooooo!" he wails. Then, "I drink, you eat (insert whatever activity I was in the midst of)!"
This goes on for a while, to and fro. And when I finally give in, it goes like this:
"Remember, Owain, SHORT while only ah!!"
"Okay mummy..." and he grins eagerly as I undo the necessary, practically jumping in glee.
"And when I say STOP..."
"STOP!" he repeats by rote.
"And when I say let go, Owain..."
"Let go!" he repeats again.
"You're sure you remember... not bluffing me are you? Cos everytime I tell you to stop you don't stop..."
And he protests: "Not bluffing you mummy, not bluffing you!!" And of course he will never keep to his promise.
As he takes the first suck, I too suck in my breath in a deep breath and blow out.
KH commented that it looks like I'm in labour. Har har.
What does he know? It is bl**dy painful! At least contractions DO end and there is a pause before the next one comes. This kind of pain is non-stop. And this guy nurses (I kid you not!) every half an hour... at least every hour... and through the night!
I feel bad about fobbing him off, guilty about entertaining thoughts of weaning him. Knowing that I will almost certainly regret weaning when it does become permanent. KH has said, looking at my reactions everytime I get a request to nurse, and looking at Owain's frequency, that it is time to wean. But look at him - still pretty much a baby isn't he? The reasons for nursing him past 1 year still hold true. He is still exploring, and learning and the breast is still a haven. All that has not changed. His needs are still valid. Why should all this change just because my breasts have become eczemic?
Am I being selfish? I certainly feel this way. But the pain is incredible. The nipples look red, raw and rough. And the silly nipples are not healing either. I have tried steroidal creams - nada. So I have come to the conclusion that it is really not going to heal but I'll just have to fire-fight and make sure the dryness and itch does not (a) spread and get larger and (b) split open into fissures. Between the California Baby Calendula Cream (which seems to work better than the steroidal creams) and Palmer's Cocoa Butter, I think we can manage for the time being - although I do feel like the little boy with his finger in the dyke! Its all pretty much stop-gap, I know...
Today, I read this article and it touched me. I have always been a proponent of letting the child signal its readiness - in birth, breastfeeding etc. Its hard to do this and I do feel unsure at times if I am doing the right thing or if I am on the right track. But reading this article helped remind me just WHY I wanted to nurse my babies until they self-weaned and why I believe so much in a child's natural rhythms.
http://www.mothering.com/articles/new_baby/breastfeeding/difficult-promise.html
So Owain gets a reprieve from weaning for now. I'll grit and bear it for as long as I can. Not a matyr but I don't want to do something that will be traumatic emotionally for him and for me. Far easier to take deep breaths as if I am in labour than to wean and regret. And in a way, perservering through this is a kind of labour of love isn't it?
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Jennifer Love Hewitt... where are you when I need you?
Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.
Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.
Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.
The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.
They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.
Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.
And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.
I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.
The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.
Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.
The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.
So what to do?
Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.
Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!
My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.
So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.
I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.
Looks like it's time to call the ghost whisperer again. 6 years ago, Fr Vincent Chee blessed the house after a spate of disturbances. Since then, all was calm and peaceful on the Riang front.
Now it looks like another unwanted guest is disturbing the peace again.
Odd little incidents have been happening over the past few months.
The television switching off itself in broad daylight as Owain watched Sesame Street. The television switching on by itself in front of me and Isaac as we sat there in the living room talking. Each thought it was the other who pressed the start button on the remote - until we realised that the remote was on the sofa behind us and with no one else in the immediate vicinity. Those were one-off incidents that never happened again. Then there were Trinity's unexplainable hysterical crying bouts. Happened once or twice when she was really little - 2 to 3 months old? And again, yesterday. Then there were the times when I'd get the flesh-creeping feeling as if someone was watching me - usually at night when I was the last one up to bed.
They say babies can see things. You'd know if a house was 'clean' or 'dirty' if you brought a baby in to it and she reacted. I know this is true. At various times, Trinity has screamed for no reason and each time, I could guess what it was. Even Owain has, when he was a baby, but not as often as Trinity.
Yesterday's crying bout was bad. Lolita said that for no reason, Trinity started screaming at 11+ in the morning. Nothing would calm her. A bottle of ebm was finished and she still sobbed. At the time, only Lolita, Trinity and Owain were at home and they were in the living room. Lolita said, and I knew exactly what she meant, that Trinity "cried differently". Normally, she would be sleepy and grumpy and given the ebm, would settle down and sleep. That day, she howled non-stop until exhausted, she slept. In the afternoon, around 3+ the same thing happened. Gillian, carrying her, said Trinity kept looking at the side garden. Nothing would pacify her. Lolita called me at work and I heard the screams. Was on the verge of packing it in and cabbing home but had to see my boss, so I couldn't. Asked Lolita to take Trin out for a walk - out of the house. Lolita said she did. And the minute they left, Trin was alright. They went for a walk round the neighbourhood. But the minute she stepped back in the house, Trin screamed again. So off they went. The second time they returned, it was better - Trin was calm.
And yesterday, Lolita commented that our house was full of ghosts. She knew because her hair kept standing on end at certain times, particularly in certain places. So where were the hotspots? She identified the backyard, her bedroom and the dining room.
I knew she was not lying because I knew these to be the troubled spots too. Years ago at a barbecue held in the garden, my sister had taken me aside whispered that she had seen a faceless shadowed form in a blurred white gown/robe hovering (she used the word because whatever she saw had no feet) near the water pot. The side garden where the waterpot was was also responsible for crying jags by the babies (Owain and Trinity) - the babies would cry/literally scream non-stop and inconsolably when they were out there once in a while - usually at twilight/dusk. So eventually I made it a rule that the babies were not to be carried out there after 7+ at night.
The previous maid who also slept in the back room had reported instances where she too felt spooked for no reason, and on one memorable stormy rainy night, had glimpsed a long-haired form peering in from the outside.
Lolita also told me that when she sometimes ate outside near the backyard, food would inexplicably slip from her grasp. I challenged her and said her hands must have been oily. She said no, no matter how tightly she grasped the spoon or the piece of meat, it would go. Then she would know and she would take a bit of food/rice and throw it on the ground. She said it was Filipine custom to do so - the ghosts wanted to eat.
The girl was unfazed by all this though. She said that this was very common in the Philippines. Practically every house had a resident spook or two. No matter how many times the priest was called in, these things stayed. She had never seen one but had felt the presence of many - so much so that while she was discomfited by it, she was not afraid - this being an almost familiar feeling. She was surprised that Singapore had ghosts though and had asked her recruiter about it. Her recruiter confirmed it of course. Singapore, while looking like a glossy metropolitan, is still full of spooks.
So what to do?
Last night after dinner, in the waning light, I went out back and stood there in the semi-darkness. I didn't speak out loud, but I think the ghosts do hear what I am saying in my mind. I asked them to leave us alone. To not disturb us, particularly Trinity. But if it or they, frightened Trinity again, I would come after them. Ghost or no ghost.
Am I scared? Yep. But I am also quite fed up. Its one thing playing with the TV remote and giving us the heeby-jeebies but to scare my babes? That's really outside of enough!
My mom offered us her place as a refuge since KH was still out of town. But I'm not going to be driven out from MY home. If anyone should go, it's not going to be me.
So I guess it's time to call in the reinforcements. I need a sensitive priest. Fr Chee, at 70+ is getting on in age. Moreover, he's moved to Woodlands and no longer at IHM which is down the road.
I know these things will escalate. It starts off with the creepy feelings and slowly get worse. Yesterday was the first time that Trinity was affected in broad daylight, not once, but twice. So better start getting help before the infestation gets worse.
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