“Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from Him.”  Psalm 127:3

Brian celebrated his fourth birthday on 14 April, 2010. He is so proud of being a big boy now.  Today, he keeps telling everyone still he turned four years old.  

This child is a colourful character.  He is rebellious, adventurous and strong willed.  In our world of methodical, boring grown ups, we would term him the naughty child. 

Secretly, I wish I had inherited some of his recklessness and desire for  dangerous living.  His daily existence is anything but mundane and, boring.  He would jump from chair to chair for the sheer fun of it, or take a calculated risk and jump from the dressing table to the bed.  At times he would climb the door grill in an attempt to touch the ceiling, or risk caning by defying his father’s orders not to meddle with the forbidden object, the notebook.

This is the only child who can make me laugh and cry at the same time. 

Most of the time, he teaches me more about life than I can teach him.  Sometimes, on rare occasions, I try to teach him about nature and him being part of it. 

One evening many months ago, I had some precious time to spend with him and James at the park after the baby was born.  Both of them ran and, jumped and, played till it was time to go home. 

“Feel your heartbeat,” I said to them.

They paused to take a breather after a long run when I told them to put their tiny hand against their chest.    

“Can you feel it beating?” I asked.

Brian was especially excited to be able to feel his heart galloping.

Today was like any other for Brian.  It was a day of adventure and play.  Not for me though.  I had had a long night of broken sleep taking care of the boys.   

He was scampering and jumping and climbing as usual in our room, while I lay comatose on the bed trying to get some sleep. 

He suddenly came beside me and asked me to feel his heartbeat.

I put my hand on his chest.  I could feel his heart, beating steadily, doing its job diligently. 

In turn, he put his tiny hand against my chest, trying to find my beating heart. 

“Mummy, are you dying?” he asked.  Possibly, what he meant to ask was ‘Are you dead?”

“Err, I hope not,” I replied.  “Why do you say so?”

“Because I cannot feel your heart,” he replied.

For a fleeting moment, even I wasn’t sure if I were alive or dead when I couldn’t find my heartbeat as hard as I tried to. 

But surely if I am still breathing I cannot be dead, I reasoned with myself.

Today, thanks to the little boy, I am reminded of the gift of life.  

Every day, I thank God for giving me this beautiful child.  He keeps me alive and on my toes with his zest for life. 

Happy Belated Birthday Brian!  I love you always.

Our room gets the afternoon sun.  This means that the room can get really hot and stuffy.  Thankfully we have installed an air conditioner to cool the room down whenever it gets too heated up. 

For the past six months, I’ve on numerous occasions, complained that the air conditioner was not as cold as it should be.  This is especially felt in the afternoons.  My spouse would always give the explanation of the under powered air conditioner theory installed in a too big room. 

“But the air that’s being blown out if not cold,” I replied.

“It’s cold,” he insisted. 

I keep quiet to keep the peace around the house.  Maybe, just maybe, he could be right.

After six months of getting hot air conditioning complaints from me every other week, he finally relented and told me to get the air conditioner serviced. 

Unfortunately, the service company missed our appointment.  Business was brisk, and manpower was lacking.

The matter did not seem urgent, thus I procrastinated and did not remake another appointment. 

A few days after the missed appointment, my dear spouse decided that he would spend an afternoon taking care of our children. 

I was out when I got a call on my cell phone from him that fateful afternoon.  He was in our room with Brian.  I could hear the boy in the background.

“Have you made an appointment again to service our air conditioner?” he asked with great urgency. “The air conditioner has broken down.”

This sounded like bad news.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Can you turn it on?”

“Yes, but it’s not cold anymore,” he replied.

I rushed home to find our air conditioner humming quietly like it always did every afternoon.  

“I told you,” I told my spouse.

If only he had volunteered childcare during afternoons six months earlier.   

Now we have cool air conditioning.

Real People, True Stories.

“…let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action” 1 John 18

So, I‘ve been sulking for the past two weeks.  Life has been giving me a hard time, I thought with self-pity. 

One night while at the computer, my hand wandered to the left side of my cheekbone and discovered a tiny bump somewhat similar to a mosquito bite.  It was painless, and so, I thought nothing of it.

The next two days the bump ballooned into a huge lump.  It made me looked like Frankenstein with a swollen face on one side.  Still I did not go to the doctor.  I was consuming a thirty day detox package, and thought that maybe this was a side effect. 

Another day went by with me looking hideous, but it was all right since I rarely go out, and my children didn’t seem to be bothered by my altered appearance.

Later that night, my hand wandered again and discovered that I had a swell behind my left ear.  It was the same side where the lump was.  When I went to bed that evening, my ear throbbed.  Needless to say, I had a sleepless night.

Fear can drive a person to act swiftly.  The next day, I consulted a doctor immediately.  He shone a torchlight at my face.  He diagnosed my ugly lump as shingles. 

“This is a case of a weak immune system,” he told me.  Great.

He prescribed medicine for me, and told me not to breastfeed.  I asked for an alternative medicine, but was told that there was none. 

I had to decide.  I didn’t want to look like Frankenstein for the rest of my life, so I took the no breastfeeding choice.   One tablet four times a day, and no breastfeeding made my life totally miserable.

The baby slept fitfully that night.  My mother who was so kind to help me out, also didn’t sleep well.  My breasts were engorged.  I tried pumping them for some relief but could not completely drain them.  Besides, my lump didn’t seem to be getting better despite the aggressive treatment. 

I was ready to look like Frankenstein for the rest of my life just to make my baby and me happy once again.  Anyway, my spouse, in order to save the sanity of his family, checked the internet to learn more about the medicine I had been given.  We read that it was safe to consume the medication and breastfeed at the same time. 

This is not happening, I thought, after having to put up with the baby’s fuss. 

Anyway, I continued consuming the same medicine and breastfeeding simultaneously after consulting another doctor.  I was happy once again and thankfully, so was the baby. 

My shingles eventually shrivelled and dried up.  However it left behind a scar that stubbornly would not go away.  Thank goodness, the swell disappeared all together.    

My life resettled to its regular rhythm.  I breathed easier.  I started consciously looking after my health.  I started with the basic, like drinking three litres of waters daily.  I made the effort to put on my walking shoes every morning. 

Surely, life can only get better with a healthier lifestyle.

Then, James came home from school with a fever.  He complained of a sore throat.   Two days after this, his skin was dotted with a red rash at the buttocks.  His doctor, took one look and said he has hand-foot-and-mouth illness. 

“It’s contagious,” she told me.  It must be, because when I was still in the consulting room, she had washed her hands twice and swiped her table with an alcohol swab.

“First the shingles, and now this,” I whined. “This is just too much.” My spouse patiently heard me out. 

My mum who again, so kindly helped me with the children also caught this infectious illness. Her beautiful hands were dotted red, and so were her feet. This happened one week before her son’s wedding. 

She was entirely miserable regarding the whole situation and, the lousy timing.  She found solace in talking constantly about the illness.  This illness that plagued her that she so freely confided in her siblings eventually turned against her.  Relatives who knew of her illness did not dare come close to her during the wedding.  Not one came to congratulate her in church. 

She ended up teary eyed. 

It was the happiest day of her life, and I am sure, also the saddest. 

I was angry. 

“Would not one take a little risk to do the right thing? I asked myself.  A simple handshake or a touch on the shoulder would have made her very happy.  Or perhaps if one is so afraid of catching this disease by touch, a kind word shared with her would have provided great comfort.”                
 
Alas! They feared the illness more, treating my mum like a leper. 

There was a lot of anger in me.  There was a lot of anger within that I did not know how to dispel. 

I went for my regular walk the other day.  I got to know of  stories that I did not want to repeat.   

A nice gentleman who stays in our neighbourhood was diagnosed with pancreas cancer.  He would need chemotherapy for the next six months.  To add stress to this, he would need to pay exorbitant medical fees for this treatment.

Our opposite neighbour’s brother fell off the roof, shattering his elbow.  He would have only limited use of his right hand for the rest of his life. 

I am not angry anymore. 
 
It is good that the bride and groom were happy and most importantly, healthy during their wedding day.  It is good that my children and I made it to the wedding party.  It is good that my mum made it as well to her son’s wedding party. 

It is good that my children can read and write.  More importantly, I pray that they will take some risks to do the right thing in life.

I am sure they learnt through the shining example of their grandmother who took a little risk taking care of them even when she knew they had this contagious hand-foot-and-mouth illness.  

Cheers!  And a good week ahead.

James started it first.  He brought home the hand, foot and mouth illness.  When I knew, I dropped him off immediately at my brother’s house which is just down the road from ours.  I wanted to contain the virus. 

When I got home, I seemed like a woman insanely possessed by cleanliness.  I barked out orders like these :

“Change all the bedsheets in the rooms!”

“Wash all the bath towels immediately!”

“Disinfect the floors! Disinfect the rooms!  Disinfect the phone!”

“Wash your hands before you eat!  Wash your hands often! Wash your hands every two minutes!”  

My boys didn’t seem too concern.  They did not understand the precarious situation we were in.

Irregardless of my quest for perfect cleanliness to prevent an epidemic, two days later, Brian lay motionless on our downstairs couch.

It was too late. Brian had high fever, and the unmistaken classic blisters started showing up on his buttocks.  There I was, upstairs humming quietly while carrying the baby in my arms.  Beneath this calm demeanour, a turmoil was churning within.  My mind went into overdrive mode, and I was going almost hysterical.  On a regular day, I would have just taken this as another hurdle to cross.  But not this time.   

“Not now! “ I screamed in silence.  My brother’s church wedding was nine days away.

I felt that I had to take some drastic actions.

I switched houses with James.  I asked for him to be sent back to our house, and I went over the other side to stay with the baby. 

Everyone was busy, hustling and bustling getting ready for the dinner, and there I was lying in bed as stiff as a board, feeling myself burning up. 

My mum came into room to me parading the black skirt that she would be wearing at the dinner.  I didn’t really pay attention.  All I wanted was the dull headache and fever and body aches to go away. 

Alas! I never got to attend my brother’s wedding dinner last Saturday. 

It certainly is the biggest letdowm for me this year. All the green and brown and sexy black wear that I bought months ago went to waste.

It was just all lousy timing; the illness, the dinner and the fever that I had all happening at the same time. 

Now, it’s confirm that James has it, Daniel has it, Brian has it and Simon has it as well. 

All the effort taken in segregating the baby was too late! 

“Practise hygiene.  Wash your hands!”

“Don’t go near the baby!”

The baby and I turned our lives topsy-turvy living in a new surrounding. I had to learn to match the switches and the corresponding lights, to turn on a water heater that never seem to work, and to bathe a baby without a bath tub.  In addition to this, I forgot to bring my toothbrush, the baby’s potty, his bibs and a dozen of other things in our rush to migrate.   

The baby, as always, adjusted faster than I did. 

It’s really a small price to pay when you get support that you need.  No one at that home said, “Don’t come! You might infect us!”  I never take a welcome note for granted anymore these days.  Not after the cold shoulder I received just three days ago.   

I still have the sore throat.  Perhaps I am infected too…     

It’s only six more days to the wedding!