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Saturday, December 31, 2011

WHEN AISHA WAS BORN -3

Day4/Night5 PS: I will get up today. I will go to see my daughter today. I must. It’s enough even strangers know my baby and I don’t. These were my thoughts when I opened my eyes this day. I told everyone around because I needed morale. By now, I could take more sips of water and had started drinking warm fluids, tea only, to be precise with just the tiniest teaspoon of sugar (no fair, I complained). I felt strong enough to go see my girl, if only movement didn't hurt so much! Told my ex to help me up, get me cleaned and dressed. He was surprised. Thought I was 'throwing smoke'. But I was serious. I was tired of the sheets around me and that bloody catheter had to go too! I did it, I got out of bed, I stood up, and my legs didn't fail me. Thank YOU GOD! The nurses were ever so happy for me. But only after a step, I was calling for a wheel chair! Trust our nurses; they totally ignored me, LOL. Which I must say was good. But after managing to walk, with aide of course, half way to the pediatrics department, we were informed that no patients were allowed in because they were having examinations. Even though mothers and fathers were allowed in, I was still a patient; therefore it’s a no zone for me.
I came back and cried my heart out. After all the hard work and effort and pain in every step, I couldn't see my baby.
Later on that night I was called to go and see her but I couldn’t go through the pain of walking again. Do you know how you get frightened or alarmed when, after putting your mobile on silent vibrate for a long time and have forgotten that its in your pocket, then it suddenly vibrates? Yes? Well that was how each step felt like, a vibrating shock right from each foot to the incision site. No sir, I wasn't going through that again.
Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is another day I thought to myself as I drifted to sleep.

Day5/ Night6 PS: it's a lovely day. It's a good day to see my baby. It’s a good day to try again. Wednesday, 22nd July, 2009 a very memorable day for me, the very first time of holding, of cuddling, of seeing, and physically loving my daughter. When I got there I needed no introduction, everyone knew I was the tiniest baby's mother (loved the attention) mostly because of the double cannula I had. One on each hand. Those things might be rubbery for flexibility but I assure you they are very discomforting.
On getting to the ward, I was lead to the intensive care unit (ICU), a doctor was blocking my view of what was inside one of the incubators, but I knew it was my girl(her nanny was standing nearby). As I got closer, the tiny thing inside was stretching all limbs fighting to be free of her doctor, she was obviously crying but her voice wasn’t audible, but I could feel her pain not because she was my baby, but because personally as an adult, I use the yellow colored cannula(using the color code so as not to seem as an expert) for less pain and comfort-ability (as far as it will allow) the pink is OK but the green is only absolutely used when necessary. And she was being pricked with the yellow cannula. OMG! Why is she hurting her? What have I done to this baby? Was all I could think of. My heart was racing, my legs were shaking, I was trembling all over, and my incision site hurt like never before. The doctor took one look at me and said, "Please get a seat for Baby Fatima's mother." Then she told me, "don’t worry I am only stopping the drip. It was on all night. And nothing is wrong with your baby, we are keeping her to monitor her weight" I could only smile. After I had calmed my nerves, the tiniest human baby I ever saw, wrapped in a light blue cotton shawl was handed to me.
She had only diaper on, and it was way too large for her. She was all skin on bones, had bulging eyes, tiny mouth, cute button nose, tiny, tiny, tiny fingers and toes (had to count them over and over to make sure they were five on each limb). She was a purple/violet color and she looked pretty baked to me, that's because she was receiving photo therapy(had slight jaundice).  The first name that came to my mind was "my sweet little chicken peri-peri." She did kind of look like a chicken, with her legs folded up towards her belly and her hands tucked under her chin……. The most beautiful sight I ever saw.
Then just as I carried her, the rest of the umbilical cord dropped onto my laps. I couldn’t hold it in any more, the tears came pouring out. I witnessed something good, something new.
God was probably letting me know that with the pains and sadness I went through while pregnant and after delivery, I will also witness great and eventful tidings with her.

I spent nine more days between the O and G ward and pediatrics ward. I was ready to go home after 14days in total of being in the hospital. I asked to be discharged and it was granted. My daughter, who was by then named AISHA, was not going to be released. Her doctors thought I wasn’t strong enough to take care of any one just yet, but I insisted and it was finally granted on the grounds that we return after a week and if she was still below 2kg (she was 1.70kg) she would be re-admitted.

Aisha is now 2 years 5 months and 2 weeks old. She weighs 13.5kg, and one of the liveliest toddlers in her daycare. Was not readmitted and has never had cause to even be admitted at all since we left the hospital. 
Indeed there are better days to come for me and my Aisha. Insha Allah.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

WHEN AISHA WAS BORN -2

Where were we last time? Ah yes, I was carried away in a tricycle from the OR to the O and G ward. I remember it being a really bumpy ride and me admonishing the driver to be gentle and careful. He had to stop a couple of times for me to catch my breath. Dear God, the pain was excruciating. I also recall being so hot and having a battle with the sheets that were on me. I'd take it off and someone would cover me up again. Didn't whoever it was realize I was feeling so hot?  It turns out I was stark naked and out of the OR and there were patient-visitors around! My poor hubby must have been stunned by my nudity in public! I'm the kind of patient that doesn’t keep how I feel to myself. Life's too short for that.
Then came the horrible part of transferring me to the bed. When I heard the matron in charge say "on my count of three" I just screamed out "noooo, wait, just wait, leave me here. I'm OK here" then I drifted back to sleep. She somehow managed to count to three and "aaarrgh." Torture. Unmodernized, advanced torture. I pray no such for anyone. But I was on the bed. So uncomfortable, didn't know if I wanted it raised or lowered, or if I needed pillows or not. One mistake I made though was shifting from my side to my back. I was stuck on that position for 5 days; every movement was a cry for help!

Night 1 (post surgery, PS): was a really rough night for myself and the doctor on call. He was instructed by my consulting gynecologist to take my blood sample every 4 hours for hematocrit and hemoglobin level checks. He also had to check my liver (by palpation) every 2 hours. But I couldn’t bare to be touched, not for anything except for my pain killers and I wanted it I.V and I had to know the dose. So, he would come close and say, "Fati, please I want to take your blood sample?" I would keep repeating, very agitatedly too. "Don’t touch me, don’t come near me."
How we got through that night is just the grace of God!

Day1/Night 2 PS: I begged for water. I was thirsty. Very badly. I begged for my pain meds. I was in pain. Very badly too. The pain meds were right there in front of me, but I couldn’t reach them. Lord knows, if I could, I would have injected myself. I told my doctor that and he was really impressed by my honesty!
Everyone who knew me came to congratulate me, "Madame congratulations, you should get well soon to see your baby, she is a beauty, very strong despite her tiny size." It was the same congratulatory comment I received. I was proud. I was beaming with joy. I was eager to get well. I was greatful for His mercies and the wonderful team of pediatricians (nurses and doctors) and gynecologists (doctors and nurses) taking care of my baby and I.
My husband (now ex) could only tell me how tiny she was, how scared he was to pick her up, how his riffle weighed more than her. But that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever set eyes on. Said she had my hair texture (amen) and may probably take my petite statue (that would be superrific!)
Night was hot and painful and I felt dehydrated despite the drips I was on.

Day2/Night3 PS: I used what little strength I had in me to beg for water. My lips were chapped, my tongue felt sticky, my saliva was thick and my throat was dry. "I will die o!" was all I kept saying to anyone that came close enough to hear me. My veins were collapsing; new and painful sites on my body were pricked. I was too tired to even flinch! I was still on my back. I couldn’t breathe at night, it hurt to exhale, and it hurt to sit up even with support. It hurt to be cleaned and changed. It hurt to pee (even with a catheter on). It just hurt to be me.
The consulting pediatrician came to personally tell me how my girl was faring. She is a survivor, the daughter of a survivor. I needed to want to get well, and soon too.

Day3/Night4 PS: all glory be to God, I was given the go ahead to have my very first sip of water. My bowel movement sound was A-OK! (to me it was S-Starving). I was to have just 5 Eva bottle cap of water every 3 hours. OMG! The bottle was right there beside me, if only I could just reach out a bit further…..
By now, breathing was a problem for me especially exhaling. I had to change position, I had to sit up, that’s what the doctors and nurses kept encouraging me to do. My ex kept trying to lift me to sitting position, my 'nanny's' tried to balance me but it was damn too painful, the incision site felt raw, the surrounding site felt pulled towards it. Moving any muscle was not a good idea as far as I was concerned. Breathing was a total effort, the only solution was to raise the head of the bed and prop me up with pillows. Then I had to be on oxygen for the rest of the night.
It was a really long night for me.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

WHEN AISHA WAS BORN -1

   Frankly speaking, I have no bloody idea what happened! I was out cold and it took me 5 days to know the full story.

If not for the mercy of Allah, I would be dead. I came to know this much later even though it wasn't a direct comment. Personally, I felt something pushing at the softer part of my palette and I just wanted to spit it out. Urgh! Very uncomfortable, you know that feeling when you've got a terrible cold with mucus stuck up in your nose and then you try to relieve yourself by sucking it through your mouth to spit it? Yeah? Well that’s exactly how it felt. I later found out it was a tube being pushed down my throat… so anyways, I vaguely remember the midwife that was in-charge (shame on me, I don’t remember her name) calling on me to bring me to "Fatima, how are you?" I replied, very dazed, "I'm fine aunty. How are you too?" LMAO! OMG! Then I went on to ask "how is my baby?" She replied "she is fine." "And my husband?" she replied "he is fine too?" Okay, I need to let you dear readers know that I wasn’t asking 'how' he was but 'where' he was! It doesn’t sound plausible, right? Yeah even to me too! But it's true. Mehn did they have fun making jest of me with that!

By and by, I was taken out of the OR and carried away in a 'toktok' aka tricycle, aka keke NAPEP! Yesso, the prestigious 68 NARH, Yaba, with its great surgeons and very fantastic team of pediatricians lack a good moving ambulance. Even sadder is the fact that there is no provision for an OR in the O and G department. You guys know how our country people build things to save money naow????

Anyways …oh dear, my baby girl is calling. I'll have to stop here today. See you tomorrow. ISA.


WHAT'S IN A STORY????

The world is filled up with daily doses of sadness. Everyone wants to express their feelings and everyone wants to be heard and understood, and where possible, they want it to be put to use. I cannot tell you, dear readers, how much I hate writing about  such sadness, and in any case, there are other people that write about it. And they are so many. But the truth is there are so many sad stories that we don't get to hear or read about, like, take for instance, earlier on this evening my 2 year old, tripped and fell. I was trying to get her dressed and she was trying to run away with the trousers still at her ankles so she tripped over and fell flat on her tummy! As she began to cry, I scolded her for not staying still! ( I did tell her to stand still!). That's a sad story that you didn't know, right?

Her feelings included; pain, fear, sadness and neglect. She expressed them through crying. I heard but I pretended not to understand and I didn't put it to use. Yes, I know I was wrong and there was no reason why I couldn't have picked her up, cuddled her and requested she stop crying! But you know what? Next time I will put it to use. How? I'll sit her down while dressing her or place her on the bed where it's soft and I know she won't be bothered to move till I'm through. I also believe that she will put her own lesson to use. How? I have no idea, but I bet she does!

What I'm trying to say is, everyone struggles day in, day out with their own little problems and if they can't, won't or don't find solutions to them, it grows and spreads until each person in that house is affected with a piece or portion of that persons once simple problem. It then becomes compounded and complicated and that person takes his/her frustration and/or anger out of that house to the public, and the rest is what we see today. Suicide bombers, genocidal bombers, murder bombers, and all the classes and categories of bombers!!!

I deeply regret that I didn't comfort her. That was the only thing she needed from me at that time. :(

Please whenever and wherever you can, don't leave anyone you love or care for, family or not, with a painful or sad feeling in them. Try as much as possible to resolve it. who knows, you might be the reason, they decide to be humane in their actions and words and thoughts. Everyone looks for someone, anyone at all they can immitate, but noone is ready to be positive not because they can't but because they are also searching for someone to make a difference in their lives, in their world.

Don't save the world, save the person next to you. Check on your neighbour, call that distant cousin of yours', send a text to that friend's number you have in your mobile but have never called. It takes only time which I must say we are quickly running out of! Hug that little child near you, I'm going to hug my daughter and kiss her right now as I leave you with this final message: Love your neighbour as yourself!

My First Post, Her First Date!

Oh wow, I am overwhelmed that I was able to open this blog on my own; mostly because the instructions were written in Arabic, and my Arabic isn't that awesome! At the time a very important message came into my mobile but I didn't notice it till much later. It turned out to be my daughters admirer from twitter! He was surprised to find out I have a daughter, and I was surprised to find out he was in Egypt! So, when we came to Alexandria for the holidays, he promised to come visit. Kept to his word! I love such people.
He brought with him, for her, the tiniest, cutest, Teddy Bear in a very sweet little red bag......how romantic! I couldn't believe that she could be quiet, she always gets so hyper when we have guests! It was a lovely visit and when it was time for him to leave, my girl became so sad! After seeing him off, she actually pouted and tears welled up in her eyes!!!
Now I have written my first post with my daughter, not letting go of her new Teddy, I hope you enjoy it.