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.

Gymnastics

I started Matt at the SJ Gymnastics last month, and he has been loving it. We wanted to expose him to something else other than swimming, and thought that gymnastics would be good for general physical development in terms of strength, coordination and flexibility. He enjoyed the trial class, so there was no turning back since.

For now, the coach is happy for Matt to just explore and have a feel of the trampoline, the balance beam, the high bar, uneven bars, even the vault. I am happy that he enjoys the class, although at times, I feel he is not really listening well to instructions yet to be fully reap the benefits of the class. But I am a sucker for happy faces and ear-to-ear grins. Just as with swimming, the exposure made him comfortable in, and not be fearful of, water, and most importantly, he was having fun. So the same will apply for the gymnastics class. As long as he is happy.

on the balance beam

chuckling away on the still rings

Separation Anxiety

Somehow, something is happening (or has happened) to Matthew, and he is experiencing some serious separation anxiety issues all over again, similar to this and this.

Starting at the new school could have been the root cause, although I do not think so because he seems happily adjusted to it, and as of last week and this morning, he literally skipped from the car to the classroom.

Or perhaps I have also attempted "drop-off" at Sunday School and at Berries. The only negative experience was at Sunday School where I did it with force, but at Berries, I accompanied him throughout.

Whatever the reason, it gets rather exasperating that he wants only me to do the mundanest of stuff. Like brush his teeth in the morning. And no one can take his pyjamas off. No one else can touch or read his books. No one else can feed him breakfast. No one else can bring him to pee pee. I must sit next to him when he drinks his milk. He must hold my hand when walking from the sofa to the dining table. In the house.

Plus he has added a new dimension to his stickiness this time round. He outrightly rejects his papa. Kicks him even, in the most spoilt-child manner. Refuses to let his daddy touch any of his toys. If daddy wakes him up from his slumber, I'd better not be sitting on the throne doing my business, but be ready to soothe his nerves.

Please let this be short-lived.

Motherhood

A friend shared this note by someone on FB by the name of Amanda Motl, a note she wrote about motherhood which I thought was beautifully written. Sharing it here ...

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentiones that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations ..."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read the newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your own child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.

That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.

She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, the issue of independence and gender identity will be weighted against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years - not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesearan scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honour. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the babr or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God ... that of being a Mother.

My Cheeky Boy

I Have Become My Mom

I remember trips home to my parents' when I was a little girl (since I was 13!) during my schooling years in Singapore. I would step off the train - my ma would hug me and cry. For one, she was very happy to see me. Two, she always felt I was malnourished, not getting enough food staying in the hostel, and would always beat herself up for sending me away so young!

So she was always on a mission during these school vacations - to fatten me up in that one month, twice a year. It was a joy to her to put food into my mouth. I think I ate 5 meals a day. It was as if I ate 6 months worth of food in 1 month. As I grew older, we would inevitably fight. Cos the amounts were impossible, and I didn't want to grow fat! And it would always end with her saying, "you don't understand, one day when you are a mother, then you will." In my angsty teenage ways, I would just stomp off after eating some.

Then I grew even older.

I began to understand that it was her way of easing her pain of not being there for me when I am so far away. It was her way of telling me she cares. It was her way of showing love. Till this day, she still feeds me more food than I can possibly eat each time I head back to my home town.

Still, I rebelled against her whenever I got sick of eating, although I try not to.

Now that I am a mother, I completely understand.

It counts as one great joy to be see Matt enjoy the food I cook for him. I am happy when I put food into his mouth. I am pleased and take great pride that the food I cook contain little or no msg. It makes me happy when I see him eat and grow physically strong. It saddens me when he doesn't have appetite when he is ill. I get stressed when he doesn't want to eat. Then I get happy all over again once his appetite returns.

It's crazy indeed. I guess I now feel what my mother feels each time she feeds me, as I do with my little boy.

More on School

Tueday was like Monday. Bleah.

Wednesday was a 180 turnaround. He waved bye bye after hugging me, and went with his teacher. And after school when I fecthed him, I was told he didn't cry at all.

Today was like Monday and Tuesday. Protest, crying. We parted on negative energies.

I asked him every night if he likes school. He will smile and talk to me about his bread and strawberry jam (his morning snack), tells me his teachers' names, and his friend's (he only knows Clarissa). I tried to rationalise why the erratic crying since I thought we had it nailed yesterday.

The only thing I did different yesterday was to tell him in the car that I was going to work. Today, because we were rushing, I only said that to him as I was handing him over to the teacher.

Lets see, maybe giving him a heads-up earlier helps him.

Numb

Second day of school last Friday, I just spent all my time with him in the class and not stay by the sideline. I did not attempt to distance myself. Cos seriously, it does not work.

Me: Matthew, mama has to go .. ?
M: Work work ... (gives a fierce hug, clings on like a koala) .. I don't want mama go work work!

He knows it. But doesn't mean he will accept it.

I know it has to be by force. Like this morning. The very pitiful scrunched up face. The tears. The plea. The wail. So real. So heartbreaking. I told the teacher, please take him forcefully away from me. I threw him a quick kiss. And just walked out.

I hate it. He hates it.

Why are we even doing this?

We drive silently out from the school. Hubs says he'll be okay. I know he will. But doesn't mean it doesn't hurt each time we go through it.

The gray weather certainly did not help my mood. I miss my little boy.

He Goes To School

We meant for Matthew to start school "officially" this year when we signed him up for N2 after the dilemma. The "official" start date was thwarted as months passed by because we were convinced he needed a "prolonged orientation" to get familiar to the idea of being away from me, from home, from comfort, so away he went to school at the childcare.

So, this is the real thing. A school school. Today is Day 1.

We woke up a good 1.5 hours earlier than usual, but I think I struggled more than him in this respect. I am just so not an early person. He slept badly through the night despite being at the tail-end of his cough/flu, so he is now deep in his afternoon nap, hopefully a long one.

I think his first day at the childcare 5 months ago was more emotional for me, I just felt like I was losing my little boy who is going to grow up faster once he starts school. No such emotion this morning, perhaps because I was also groggy from lack of sleep. He started to whine when he saw the new uniform (which is very similar to the one at the childcare), but he did not have much time to protest because everything was wham bam baroom bam bam. Breakfast was given on the way to school in the car.


Arriving in school, still chewing his bread

The children start the day singing praise and worship songs in the assembly hall, after which they go to their respective classrooms. I knew separation anxiety was going to be an issue, and I thought I would take it one day at a time, although the faster and earlier we do it, the quicker the anxiety will end. Not on the first day, I thought, it would be unfair on him, but I had a go at it nonetheless. That small part of me that hopes for no separation anxiety nudged me on, so I gently told him I had to go work, but I will pick him up after school.

He knew exactly which of my buttons to press, and with that scrunched up face with tears welling up so quick and that pitiful "mama" cry, I quickly decided that today was not the day to push it, what with lack of sleep, plus he's still recovering from his cough & flu.

So I stayed on with him till the end, observing all the children - some crying, some smiling, some stoning, and one really bossy kid. I chatted with some parents, all standing by the sideline giving support to their kids but knowing they will eventualyl have to pull that plug in the next few days. I observed the teachers, they seem to be in control despite the seemingly crazy mess of 16 children going in 16 different directions.


My buddy, Clarissa

In the midst of the organized chaos, I had some private moments when Matt was engrossed with his activities, and that was when I became somewhat emotional. Looking at him pitter-pattering around the class, he has changed so much in the last one year. He's a very sweet boy, and I am quite proud how he has turned out. I hope school can fill the areas where I have not quiet successfully nurtured him, although I can't help feeling like I am losing my little boy who is probably going to grow up so so so fast henceforth. Maybe these are silly thoughts, but I was fighting back tears thinking them. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it's the mid-cycle hormones ...


The stoning and the yawning came towards end of session

The hours passed by quickly, although he couldn't wait for his first day in school to end. He happily hopped home, because he is holding hands with mama dearest, whose thoughts have already wandered to the days beyond when the dreaded separation anxiety sets in.

Movie-Going

The very excellent Bourne Ultimatum was the movie I last watched. I enjoyed every minute of that heart-racing, non-stop action movie. Matthew was kicking inside me throughout the show, perhaps in acknowledgement that he felt the excitement I was feeling. I remember I was big as a whale pregnant with my boy, a few weeks away from full-term.

This was more than 3 years ago. Last Monday, we went to the cinema. Our first movie since Bourne Ultimatum. Since Matt was born. I escaped work early and and watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at 4pm with hubs. We were excited like little kids, buying popcorn and drinks, and sitting in the dark theatre. Like good ol' dating days.

We haven't been to the movies for so long because it has been hard to afford that 2.5-hour stretch away from Matthew. We have our couple night every Friday night, but I have a curfew set by my little boy. After hubs get off work, we have a maximum of 2.5 hours to kill, just enough for a relaxed dinner and perhaps a quick errand before it's time to head home to put Matt to bed. I can push that curfew to past midnight, but it will involve him crying until he falls asleep. The tears are surely not worth a movie, me thinks.

Hopefully, we will watch our next movie in 6 months time, when Part II of the same movie is out. Well, even if we fail, there's always the DVD ... or read the book ...

1.1.11

Didn't think anything significant would happen today, but ...

he finally royally pooped into the toilet bowl today!

He bought my tale of how we have no more diapers cos mama forgot to buy, and unwillingly did Round 1. Heaps of praises, hugs, and as promised, I let him open his racing car present from Christmas. I put on his diaper for bed (he promptly forgot the earlier tale), and saw him straining. Confiscated the racing car, which upset him but he felt threatened enough to obediently trudge to the toilet for Round 2. God only knows how many times I have begged, bribed and threatened him in my quest to toilet-train him in the last one year, but he never cared.

I am over the moon! It was long in coming, but the breakthrough finally did happen. I am majorly majorly proud of him! What a great 1.1.11!

Happy New Year!

Wishing everyone a blessed new year! Cheers to mommyhood (and daddyhood if there are any daddy readers out there)!! May the new year be a great one for all of us. Happy 2011! :-)

In Time for New Year!

The stomach virus hit hard, but good thing about it is, it passes fast with medication. Matthew was prescribed motilium suspension (domperidone) which stops him from throwing up, and was given a suppository of the same substance on standby in case the vomiting worsens. Thankfully, we did not have to use it.

We found Hydralyte to be especially good in restoring energy and to keep him hydrated.

I was not aware of how contagious stomach virus is despite warning from a friend who is a "seasoned" daddy until I started having shivers, severe body ache, nausea and up down temperature reaching highs of 38.5C for 1.5 days. I did not throw up since I had zero appetite and hardly ate but I sure felt miserable. Caring for a sick child (or rather, the inability to effectively do so) while being sick must count as one of the most miserable things in a mommy's life!

This morning, we both woke up feeling much much better, so I hope we are well on the road to complete recovery, all in time for the New Year weekend!

Never Before

Even with fevers hovering around 39C, he is usually still fairly active. Not with this round of stomach virus .. :(