We Hate Hospitals

The Easter weekend that passed has been one of the worst weekends. Matthew was hospitalized for what the pedi said was a very serious of stomach virus.

It started out with a lack of appetite Friday dinner. By bedtime, he had a major laosai, followed by 2 rounds of vomiting. Saturday morning, we brought him to the pedi, and he threw up couple of times in the car despite not having any food intake. We were sent home after an anti-vomit jab, and asked to monitor closely. Matt was mightily thirsty, and fought with us for water and Hydralite. After one hour, he threw up all the fluids he consumed. I started to worry, and when he threw up again after another hour, we made our dreaded journey to the pedi who checked him and ordered for admission to the hospital for drip as by then, he was dehydrated and lethargic.

My very lethargic baby :(

I hope no one's kid ever has to go through the trauma of having to have a drip. Despite already so weak, he fought so hard against the nurse who bundled him up in a blanket and used her entire body weight to pin him down while the pedi inserted the needle into the back of his hand. Matt is very strong, and he cried and fought till his face was tomato-red. All I could do was helplessly stroke his head and prayed for Jesus to take all his pain away. As hard as I tried to stay strong for him, I was crying equally hard and wished with all my heart I could be the one taking the pain on his behalf.

His left hand was also bounded to a cast to prevent him from yanking out the drip from the right hand, rendering him completely handicapped. Naturally, it traumatized him badly - he'd wake up from his naps to yell at me to remove them, then fall right back to sleep. My heart broke each time it happened.


Exhausted after fighting with the nurse; So weak, stoning away on the hospital bed

The first time it happened was about 2.5 hours after the drip was first administered. He managed to fall asleep, but then woke up 1.5 hours later screaming for me to take the drip out. That was when I noticed his cast was wet. So was the bed where his hand rested. I examined closer, and saw some blood under the tape. I summoned the nurse, and when she removed the tape, the sight that greeted me filled me with first, fear, then anger. Matt was screaming all the while, presumably from pain? Then I was angry. How did it happen? Who screwed up? Why did they not check that they connected the drip to the needle insert tightly? But more so, I was angry that precious hours ticked by with unsuccessful treatment that he so badly needed. I was alone then for hubs had gone for reservist, and between consoling Matt and having to go through the trauma all over again of correcting the needle, I could not do anything else.



The next 3 days in the hospital was all about pacifying and comforting him. He refused to let me out of sight whenever he was awake, and even with me sitting beside him, he'd be sobbing or outrightly having mega burst of tears. We had to monitor that he doesn't throw up. He had zero appetite, and we fed him Hydralite to give him some energy. Fever yoyo-ed for the entire duration. We kept him happy with Iggle Piggle. In our eagerness to cheer him up, we made a mistake when we took out his favourite truck because he was unable to hold it. He begged me to take the drip out, and begged me to bring him home. I felt so helpless.

Then on Monday, despite pedi's uncertainty, we asked to be discharged as we felt that Matt would probably recover better at home. He was still largely lethargic, not eating much except some bites of biscuits and bread, but he was drinking and keeping the fluids down. Another round of trauma taking the needle out, then we were out of the hospital.

Elated when I told him we were going home!

On Tuesday, though, he threw up twice, and I panicked and wondered if I made a bad decision. I worried through the night until our check-up the next morning. Miraculously, his energy returned on Wednesday, but pedi said he was not out of the woods. But he proved the pedi wrong, and he demanded for beef and rice which we fed and he chomped down greedily at lunch AND at dinner. He had a mega outbreak of very itchy rashes all over his body especially at his joints, caused either by the virus, or a new anti-diarrhea medicine we introduced that morning. By Thursday, the rashes cleared, and he was eating his meals regularly. We avoided milk still, as we suspected the 5 tablespoon he demanded from us caused the relapse on Tuesday.

I am exhausted, but I am just glad this whole episode is over and my little boy is healthy again. I wish I knew more specifically what caused this bout of virus so I can take steps to prevent it, but it's hard to pinpoint. All I can do is to pray that he never catches it again, ever.

Back-Breaking Activities

Papa is a flatbed truck!


Running in the air! (struggling against being carried by papa to do things I don't wanna do!)

The Head of the Household

Now, the big boy. The man of the family.

Poor, poor hubs had to bear the brunt of running the entire household, looking after me and Matt, and still working in a merciless client-driven job. On top of that, cope with a sudden surge in business travels which added on to the stress of leaving the family behind, worried sick if we'd be able to cope.

He had to do grocery shopping, cook Matt's meals during the weekends, made sure I had food to eat every 2-3 hours before my gastric hit me, instruct the (problematic) maid what to do, and above all, stay positive for the family.

You'd think I'd be the most grateful wife, but sometimes I am extremely demanding and moody, which made things difficult for him. We bickered some. I scolded him sometimes for what now I remember not, but I was hormonal and wanted company all the time. He would rush home from work early whenever he could, only to be working from home and answering endless work calls, which sometimes made me mad. I tried to be understanding, but it was a trying time for everyone.

Yet the only thing he says is, "It's okay that I am tired, but it's not okay that I see a sad face every time I come home"

I guess it's not that I was sad, but I was just in pain and was tired, smiling would be completely faking it although eventually, I struck a I-am-strong pose flexing my weak arms up which made him smile.

That's our way of keeping things going. Cute funny actions that break the intensity of things, and having the faith that things will tide over in no time. And I just have to keep reminding myself that he has done his utmost best in the given situation, and not conveniently take it out on him just because he is the closest person to me.

The Little Boy

During my down time recently, my two boys have been amazing! Lets start with Matthew.

This little one surprised us with his maturity. When I was hospitalized, we wondered if we should let him come visit me given his stickiness to me. Hubs decided to bring him anyway, but not without explaining in depth what was happening. While he wasn't sure if the little one understood completely (or whether he would accept the explanation when it was time to leave), he also felt that it was plain cruelty to not let him see his mama for days.

I heard his voice outside my room, and when he toddled in, the joy on his face ... oh my! Ok, maybe mine, too. He hugged me, kissed me, sayang-ed my face before he got busy with the up/down lever on my bed, the movable food table, the tube going into my hand, and the works. After about 45 minutes or so, when it was time to leave, he started to protest with incessant chants of "I want mama!" but reluctantly toddled over and hugged me with a downcast face after a session of pep talk. No tears.

After I was discharged from the hospital, we naturally had to make adjustments at home. One was sending him to my in-laws after school every day till after dinner. Two was having hubs go through the whole bedtime routine with him and putting him to sleep. Matt really did not like it initially and struggled to fall sleep, resulting in late sleeping nights. He accepted it over time, but it didn't stop me from feeling guilty.

Whatever it was, he knew "mama is sick", "mama needs to rest" and "I cannot disturb mama", phrases he would repeat to himself as he goes to his room with papa.

We struggled somewhat when he fell ill, and in his sleep / naps, he would sometimes cry "I want mama!" There was even once in his groggy state (from his medication), he toddled over half-conscious to my room and clambered up onto my bed to sleep on me.


So so tired, and a little insecure


Every night when he came home, he would run up to check on me, and if I was awake, he'd ask for me to rock him. Completely broke my heart.

But given his character, I am very proud of him for coping pretty well with the abrupt changes in our family.

All For a Good Reason

The last 7 weeks or so have been rather trying.

I was hospitalized over CNY. I threw up every other hour, and when I saw blood in my vomit and a pee that was orangey red, I knew I had to seek professional help. I was admitted to A&E, and was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum - extreme, persistent nausea and vomiting that led to dehydration. 2-nights at the hospital and 8 packs of drip later, I was discharged and sent home to rest. I was also administered jab to ease the severe gastric spasms. I have been on home rest since.

The weeks that ensued were so tough, I look back now and wondered how I survived. I continued to throw up every day, up to 7 times a day. By evening, vomit would be bloody, which by then I learnt was a result of my oesophagus having been burnt by my stomach acid. I could not eat a thing, which resulted in a mad cycle of gastric spasms, stomach churning which rendered me literally paralyzed in bed, except for the quick dashes to the bathroom when the urge to throw up came. My blood pressure was extremely low.

I tried to eat, but it was impossible with my burnt throat. Not eating exacerbated the gastric. I forced myself to eat, only to throw up again. I found respite in sleeping which came easily because I was so weak. When I woke up, I paid the price - I could feel the acid all the way up to my throat.

I was too weak to even cry. Or pray. Except to cry out in my heart for God to help me and give me strength.

I got friends to pray for me. I asked my parents to make a trip down from Malaysia and stay with me. I sub-contracted Matt out to my in-laws every day after school till after his dinner. On days when hubs travelled, I felt like dying.

I tried to stay positive. All for a good reason, I tell myself. But it was really, really trying. After 5 weeks of throwing up and gastric spasms, I started breaking down. Every day. Each time that I puked, I'd cry. At times, I wasn't sure if I could take it anymore.

But I also knew God would not lead me to where His grace cannot sustain me.

Faith brought me this far. Friends' prayers. Support from parents and in-laws. And love from hubs and Matt.

And also the visits to the gynecologist. At 9 weeks scan, the little one waved at us, as if assuring me that despite it all (me not eating or drinking, me vomiting), he/she is doing okay. I almost wept in the clinic. At 12 weeks scan, the little one somersaulted right in front of us, facing down when the scan started, and doing a run-about turn to face up as the gynae prodded at him/her. Active one I've got :)

Things started easing up in the last 2 weeks or so. I now puke max of twice a day, and can stomach more food. The gastric is gone. The throat still feels parched, that will take time to heal, I suppose.

I look forward to better days ahead. And I praise God every day for this precious gift.