Me and My Lumps

pointless lives

2012-01-13T10:19:00.000-08:00

The other day, lamlet no. 2 had a revelation. Out of the blue, he remarked that we all lived pretty pointless lives.

That shook me a bit and i asked him what he meant. He said that as children, they spent most of their time doing homework. Then as adults, we waste it all on computer stuff. Well, sometimes, kids do computer stuff too, but basically, it was an exercise in futility (my words). And he wished that we did more fun things in life.

Pretty astute observation for a 12-year-old.

And I figured he wasn't that far wrong. Sometimes, I feel we spend more than half our lives doing stuff and the other half, discovering that they don't really matter in the big scheme of things anyway.

A couple of days ago, I received news that a colleague had passed away. On a Thursday. Which was five days later by the time we all found out at the office. The utter shock of it all. She was married to an Algerian who didn't speak very good English so probably he had problems with communication. And as a foreigner, had no idea that he was supposed to inform the office of these things. And a sister who thought she had resigned from the company so hadn't bothered to say anything. The fact is, she was the one who held the family together, so when she died, grief aside, no one really knew what to do.

She suffered from ovarian cancer five years ago and had gone for surgery about the same time I went for one of my surgeries. We both came back, relieved to be alive. However, after chemotherapy, she had refused to go back for any follow up treatment and never saw the doctor since. She had been feeling stressed out at work and about a month ago, she couldn't get out of bed as she was in so much pain.

It didn't take a scan to know that her cancer had returned. But instead of going for radiotherapy, she opted for alternative treatment, some herbal medicine her husband's relative had recommended. Colleagues had called her intermittently and just last week, wanted to visit her, but she declined saying that she would receive visitors when she felt better.

Then a few days ago, someone called to find out how she was only to find out that she had died.

No one to mourn. No one to feel her loss. I couldn't even begin to cry. The system just could not understand it.

I thought to myself, I don't want to slip away unnoticed. When I die, I want the whole world to mourn, to laugh, to do something in rememberance of me, rather than indifference.

Hardly had I time to recover from this news, another blow came. May Ling's mum, who had been feeling poorly for the last couple of weeks, finally went for a check up at the hospital. Only to be told she had a brain tumour.

The idiotic doctor essentially pronounced a death sentence to the poor old lady, without any family member present, and disappeared after declaring that there was nothing to be done.

May Ling is the most upbeat person I know. And while she was understandably upset initially, she picked up the pieces swiftly, and carried on her daily affairs the very next day. Simply because there was no point dwelling on the sad, the inevitable, and she had to move on to do what had to be done. That's the kind of person she is. It's not that she didn't care, but the children had to be fed, sent to school, and there was basically too much happening to really be enveloped in emotion. Someone had to hold their head up high.

But when I saw her mother that night, how my heart ached. It was like seeing mum all over again, on a downward spiral towards the long night. Usually never one to sit down, always cooking or preparing something, fiercely independent and refusing help, she was the most frail I had ever seen.

Her voice faltered, sounded so tired, as I helped her upstairs together with May Ling. Later, I sat alone with her awhile as she rested, and she asked me to pray with her. Even in her weakest moment, she prayed that God would give her strength so that she could carry on looking after the family. As I prayed for her, I couldn't help silent tears that fell thickly around her hand.

She knew, I knew. But neither said anything. And in my hearts of hearts, I'm not sure if this year will see her through.

This is the second January in a row, that death came knocking so soon. Most people think there's always tomorrow. Sometimes, tomorrow never comes.

There's a TV programme called The Big C, where the protagonist, upon discovering she has cancer, does what she does when she does. Simply because. I know where she's coming from because I often feel I'm short on time too. Having been back from the brink, many a time, I do things based on spontaneity or gut instinct. I hate waiting, playing mind games, hoping for something that may never happen. I rather make things happen. Sometimes I live to regret my actions. Or not.

We all live in the here and now. It's been seven years. But I can't always tell if, as preacher John Piper puts it, I "wasted my cancer" ...

Some time friends

2012-01-04T07:37:00.001-08:00

Someone recently told me that it was harder to make friends as one grows older. Thought about it and I figured it's true.

Forget the many acquaintances that cross your path every day. All the business associates you meet in the course of your work. Ditto all the public relations executives, sales persons, advertising agents, insurance brokers or even church members that you shake hands with. Facebook friends don't even come close.

At the end of the day, real friends that you've made a connection with are rare and far in between.

As I get older, I thirst for that connection. There are times when I talk to someone I think I would like to know better, and I'm still thrown off course. That's not hard in today's superficial communication. You meet someone for the first time, and you seem to hit off great. Or you meet an old colleague, schoolmate or a past acquaintance after so many years, and you think you could rekindle an old friendship. Thanks to today's cyber links, in two clicks you're sharing information all over again, and everything you post, you get a 'like'.

But it gives a false sense of kindredship. Merely exchanging information and being friends for real, having someone you can count on, are entirely different things. And time and again, just when I think I've made that connection with someone new, it didn't really happen. It kills me when I put myself on the line and start sharing more about myself, and after two calls, (or email), I never hear from that person again. Made a mental note to strike out.

Then there are those whom you only meet once every few months, sometimes years pass, but when you do hook up, you pick up where you left off. That's connection for you.

Most of us are so caught up in our daily lives that we hardly have time to care for another person. Gone were the days when relatives would gather every now and then, and share meals and chat together. My mum used to do that every weekend when I was a kid. I used to follow her to my grand aunt's place in the heart of Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur every Sunday, where she and her cousins would meet up, and pick kuaci (melon seeds) and basically yak the afternoon away. Today, relatives in my generation only meet up because of occasions like Chinese New Year and weddings, and of late, funerals.

So really, with that avenue of connectivity out of the equation, those of us who don't have close siblings only have friends to count on. Men often don't view relationships as importantly as women do, and are quite happy to be absorbed in their work, and talk football or cars with the blokes over a beer. But women need so much more interaction to keep us sane, hence why we need girlfriends (gay friends?) despite being happily attached to a man... or not. Men just don't get why we need to talk so much, vent and get things out of our system, have someone else to bounce ideas off. But I do. That's how most women are wired anyway.

After so many years of journalism and being exposed to so much in my line of work, if I don't get anything else, I know I've gleaned relationships with people whom I know I can count on. When I was going through my darkest periods during my hospital years, a precious few stood by me to encourage me and keep my spirits up. They didn't just send flowers. They came over, cooked meals, helped shopped for groceries and checked on me consistently. They were for real.

Staying connected isn't about leaving a comment on a page. It's not even enough to keep in touch via Whatsapp or BBM or email or Facebook. Because if you don't really care about what happens to the other person, you're not an invested party.

Often, it's not that people don't have a heart. They probably just don't have the time as they have their own lives to play out. And it costs to invest in a relationship. It's about getting involved in another person's life. It means sharing more of your own personal information, and risking getting hurt along the way because you care. And the cost gets higher as you get older.

Someone wrote on a Facebook post:

Cynical, yes. Makes sense to me.

new beginnings

2011-12-30T02:27:00.000-08:00

and so i sit on the threshold of another new year. i've given up on resolutions yonkers ago, because i am too cynical and realistic in knowing that they hardly ever get carried out anyway.

as parents it would seem that we're getting forgetful as so many of us gave the same presents to our kids again this year. i laughed at my best friend who gave the same exact bag to a friend's daughter. last year she gave the same set of paints to ryan for his birthday and christmas. only to have her daughter say that i gave her a comb, though all different versions, three years in a row. another friend gave ryan the same phone holder, but in a different colour.

i totally had no inspiration what to buy for my other half. some friends said they don't even bother anymore, as you're supposed to be able to show affection any time of the year. not just at christmas. the trouble is we all get caught up in the daily frenzy of doing 101 things that sometimes we don't even have time for a decent conversation. much less buy a present. or have a date night. a German friend asked why this is so typical of Asian couples. that we lead such busy lives that we neglect each other. and then we ask, what went wrong.

for one of the first times in my life, i am almost relieved that my favourite time of the year is over. the christmas magic that i so bank on every year to envelop the season somehow didn't quite happen. no fairy dust to make it all better and the hurt of the year go away.

before you know it, like all parents on this side of the globe, one is overwhelmed by other mundane concerns, like getting the new tuition classes in order, school buses running, music classes going, and what have you. we've decided to walk on the wild side and let lamlet no. 1 walk to school. which is only 10 minutes away. my colleague struck such fear in my heart when he said there was a 'parang' (long knife) wiedling gang going around extorting money. and that in 10 minutes, a lot of things can happen.

i used to walk to school, in fact, everywhere else, when i was a teenager. but there is so much fear and trepidation these days over the safety of our children, that i worry if this independence is the right thing to do. perhaps it would be wiser to just spend that money on bus fare and let him be brave in other ways. in fact, considering the amount of money spent on tuition and school transportation, it may make more sense to send him to a private school, given the sad state of education in our secondary schools.

in the new year, two of the lamlets will be facing important exams at the end of the year. they get stressed, parents get stressed too.

christmas was subdued, unconsciously in rememberance of those who are gone. we're not supposed to celebrate the chinese new year, for even if as christians we pay no heed to silly beliefs, many of these are entrenched culturally so forbid it that we should visit others during the auspicious season and 'bring bad luck to others'.

a good friend remarked that it was not necessarily a bad thing that mum and FIL no longer are with us as they both lived well over the age of 80. and the many, many friends who passed, had fought long tiring battles with the big C before calling it a day. but some were taken away without warning. and ultimately, the heart never gets used to saying goodbye. and some farewells are harder to say than others.

losing a good maid was a learning experience as i now know i can survive without one after all, albeit not willingly so, but i am not crippled. God was gracious in providing a new one at all, as many i know can't even get their hands on good help even if they were willing to pay. the present one, as a friend puts it, is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she'll do. as long as i don't have to worry about it.

in a morbid sense, perhaps the many low days i had served a positive purpose, as i finally lost the extra weight which i had been lugging around but couldn't shed. i fail to see though how falling and almost wrecking my knee had been a good experience, as now it still aches and i still can't run. and the many times i fell and am still nursing a sprained ankle. well, scratch that out. put that down to being clumsy. not to mention a persistent UTI that refuses to go away for the last three months now and will be carried into the new year. hopefully the culture will reveal the right antibiotic to knock it out of my system once and for all.

the new year will also spell a visit to the ENT, as the hearing in my right ear has deteriorated and i hear crackling sounds, signalling perhaps a need to finally mend the hole in my ear drum. if the solution be that simple. failing which, they say hearing aids these days are quite advanced. perhaps it was a blessing that in my younger days i learnt sign language and it's time i brush it up. i wish i felt as upbeat as i sound.

in the big picture, the political scenario has been angry and disturbing, with racism and dissatisfaction and frustration fueled by poor govening. the economic landscape is dismal as is our education system which swings back and forth over dual language choices.

the whole year passed in a flurry, as always, though it had been more of a storm cloud that left much damage in its trail.

someone said that if indeed the world ends next december, it would seem silly to try so hard. but we never know, do we, and so we continue to strife in the hopes of something wonderful to happen.

given the many upheavals of the year that was, surely next year can only bring change and hope, and a renewal of spirit.

Christmas draws nigh

2011-12-11T09:14:00.000-08:00

Most people mark the passing of the seasons by looking out of their windows. The colourful falling leaves sign the advent of autumn while the white snow gives a veiled blanket of purity for winter. New life and new blooms mark spring while stronger hues indicate the summer haze.

Like I know because Malaysia is summer all year round anyway. The passing of the seasons for me is only apparent when I stare in front of my cubicle in the office at the decor a hundred yards ahead put up by enthusiastic colleagues. Early in the year red ang pow packets and rabbit paraphernalia fill the space up front. Later it turns green for Hari Raya. And changes into a frenzy of colours for Deepavali. This December a beautiful Christmas tree light up the space. In fact, there are like six trees in the next department and the office lobby looks like it's competing with the shopping malls for best decor. Reckon there's where my bonus went.

At home I don't feel much like celebrating though. It's been a trying year and I feel tempted to disappear somewhere until all the merry-making is over. No such luxury as the lamlets insist on the tree and presents. It's tradition they say.

When does a tradition become a tradition anyway? I never had Christmas in my house when I was growing up as my father wasn't a believer before. But it felt christmassy enough as every year, as was tradition, Christmas eve was spent at my Uncle Richard and Aunt Molly's house. Being Swiss, of course Christmas was important to their household.

When I got married, I decided this was what I wanted for my family, a Christmas tradition to remember the season. And it looks like it's worked. Even my best friend's kids say that: Mum, we're going Aunty Patsy's house right? It's tradition!, they tell May Ling.

But it feels a little lonely as as Mum and FIL aren't around for the first time. Usually, Mum, no matter how frail, would get up and hang a couple of ornaments. In the last couple of years, we basically put the tree within her reach so she didn't even have to get up. And there were days and nights when FIL would just sit on the sofa, quietly smiling to himself, as he admired the pretty tree. And he cherished every present, so much so that we had to force him to open them, as he was quite happy to hoard them in his cupboard, unopened.

And today, as the tree sits in its usual corner, its branches half falling off (we have to get a new tree next year for sure) and my other half insists on playing carols and Christmas songs, I'm slowly being swept up by the season, whether I want to or not. Last year apparently, lamlet no. 1 said I played this Christmas CD by a local singer Leonard in the car so often they all wanted to scream. Right up to March because that's how long I felt like dragging the Christmas spirit, unwilling to let go and begin the New Year proper. Part of it was probably to irritate the lamlets as well ...(can you hear the wicked witch's laughter?) But I don't remember this.

How can it be that it is so easy for me to forget something that I've done year after year? That I always put up the tree in the first week of December? Or that Christmas songs are played in my household from Dec 1? And that I would have prepared all my presents ... most of them anyway, except for a precious few. This year, I feel like I'm living in denial. The lamlets had to remind me, and I went, oh ya hor...

Lamlet no. 1 said that we have the weirdest Christmas dinners .. and for that very reason he loves them as we have a truly international fare. Western pasta, fish pie, roast chicken, some years beef rendang, sotong curry, some years popiah, nyonya fare like otak otak and asam pedas chicken.

And I wonder to myself. What do I impart to my lamlets about Christmas anyway? The tree? The presents? The dinners? The family get togethers? Not any of those count for anything without Christ's birth. And Christmas itself is meaningless without His death.

But if lamlet no.3 can tell me that he doesn't want to listen to songs about Santa Claus coming to town as he's just a made up figure and that Christmas is about Christ, then it's all good...

I don't know where the year has gone. These last almost 12 months have been one big blur. And as Christmas draws near, with change, I hope it spells hope.

And so, a blessed Christmas to all ... including Mum and FIL, and the many, many friends and loved ones that have gone to pave the way in the ever after ...

Another empty room

2011-11-13T08:16:00.000-08:00

It's been two weeks and it still feels like there's something wrong. I keep expecting my father-in-law to walk out of his room any minute. That he would inspect my pots to see what's cooking for dinner. Or sit at the dining table reading his newspapers with a magnifying glass. Or sit in the hall with his congenial grin as he watches the documentary on telly.

Even as I cleaned out his room, I felt a tinge of guilt as I expect him to be tapping me on my shoulders at any minute, chastising me for throwing out his things. If there's only one complain he has of me, it's that I'm always cleaning up and throwing away his stuff. In our years together of living in the same house, we only have had one long running battle ... because he's a hoarder, and I can't stand disorganisation and mess - we can never agree on what's worth keeping.

I still remember the morning of my first day of marriage. The night before I had separated a pile of old magazines to be thrown away. I woke up to see them all neatly stacked back on the shelves.

As I went through FIL's room in the last few days, I found the oddest things. Some plastic bauble. Nails and nuts and bolts. Pieces of string. A leftover broom handle (he very cleverly managed to hide this one from me, I don't know how). And a whole lot of things you wouldn't expect a 90-year-old to own. That's because he would go on his morning walks and bring back some bit of what I term rubbish.

In his small room, he had three times the stuff mum had. He had enough clothes to fill four huge garbage bags. Though he wore probably only at the most 15% of it. Some were practically brand new as every time we gave him new shirts, he would lovingly hide it away in his closet for 'that special occasion'. He kept ang pow packets from the year dot. And he had newspaper cuttings stuffed everywhere in his shelves. Articles he found interesting, stories of people he knew, orbituaries of his friends. Indeed, it did seem like he was the last man standing.

I had always known him as an old person and already how I feel his loss. What more his children who saw how he grew old tending to his family, bringing up six children, making ends meet. He had a hard life and only in his old age could he sit back and enjoy a little luxury of sitting back to enjoy the fruits of his labour. He was a dashing young man who had come to Malaysia straight from China when he was 17 with his brother. He always felt humbled and ashamed as he couldn't read or write in English or Malay. But he was well read in Chinese and kept books of old classics, and at one point even took up cooking classes to pass his time. He played the harmonica and in the last few months, my other half even managed to teach him how to play Chinese chess on the iPad. He may have been clumsy or slow in his actions, but my nephews would testify that he could still beat them any time at Chinese chess - his mind was still sharp.

God's timing is impeccable as the day after the funeral, the new maid arrived. Though unfamiliar with the inner workings of our household, it was an extra pair of hands that was much appreciated. And I welcomed someone who could help me clean up and half the work load. If I had to do it all alone, I would surely sink into the deepest abyss of depression. Even as it were, I felt a sense of dismal as I went through FIL's things as it sank in that he was truly gone.

And so now our household is back on track ... minus two old folks ... which doesn't quite feel like our home.

There's another empty room with another empty chair and empty bed. And the emptiness is deafening ...

the long good night

2011-10-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

sometimes i think i should bite my tongue before i utter the words. or rather click on delete before the words become reality.

and so it has come to pass. my father-in-law, at 90, gave in to the long good night on tuesday. just the night before, i had received news that a colleague had died after battling nose cancer for some years.

it's been one of the longest week ever. seemed far longer than when mum left.

because FIL had been on the upturn, his passing was a real shock. my system took such a beating, especially when i saw him for the first time after he died in the hospital ward and kissed his cold forehead goodbye. he looked so devoid of life, so frail, so different from the warm congenial old man who had been so much a part of my life for almost two decades, an empty shell without a soul. and i shed tears my first tears.

on monday, he had seemed somewhat better, stronger than the day before. he even played the harmonica for the nurses, they had told us. a few days ago, it seemed he had fought with one of the nurses as she wanted to take away his supper before he had finished. FIL didn't approve of wasting food. then on tuesday morning, the nurse on duty noticed that he had paralysis on the right side. he was sent to ICU immediately and a brain scan later showed a massive brain stem stroke.

i had gone to work in the morning with the thought that it was going to be touch and go. my brother-in-law, a doctor, had already called to say that it didn't look good. and whether we wanted to put him on the respirator if it should come to that. barely had i a chance to switch on my computer, the call came that father-in-law had gone.

it was surreal. i made some calls, including one to the undertaker, and continued with my work a short while to wrap up stuff. hoping also that it would waylay the shock a little. but i could not concentrate. i kept thinking how old people should never go to hospitals as they never leave. i always thought my FIL would die in his sleep. or in his lounge chair where he normally naps in his room. that one day we would find him unable to wake up. i kept thinking what a waste it was of a perfectly good old man. because he was getting better and we all thought he'd be leaving the hospital soon. if he had had a stroke that first time, it would have been more acceptable. but he was getting better and it just didn't seem right for him to leave like that.

they say it is often like that. that before a person bids farewell, there's a sudden bright spark of life, of lucidity and happiness. maybe that was how we were meant to remember FIL. we had even taken pictures of him with the lamlets, and of him waving. he seemed so happy. later my sister-in-law said it looked poignant, like he was waving goodbye with finality.

that night itself there was nothing to be done. FIL would only be in the funeral parlour in a proper hall on thursday as we were having the funeral only on saturday, so that all his children and grandchildren could return to give him a proper send off. that night when the news finally sank in, how i sobbed in the quiet of the night on my own. with mum it seemed almost happy as i felt relief. she had gone home. it had been a happy occasion. for FIL, it seemed he had gone into the Big Nothing. up to the last moment, he refused Jesus as he said he was born a Buddhist and he would die one. my pastor once said that if one knows Jesus, this world is only the beginning and the best is yet to come. but if you don't know Him, this world is as good as it gets. and it felt so true as i saw FIL in his lifeless body.

in the mean time, he lay alone in the mortuary. guilt ate me up that he had to lie there a whole night in the morgue by himself. i know. he's not going to hold it against me. but i felt bad just the same.

the funeral parlor was no ramshackle deal. we were all shocked when we saw it for the first time. the lobby looked more like a hotel with a cafe attached. and the facilities included fully air-cond halls, theatre seats, a small room for relatives so that they could rest or even spend the night, replete with a recliner, beds, pillows and blankets. outside the small halls there were massage chairs and wi-fi. my lamlets were overjoyed. the package came with cakes and coffee/tea as well apart from the usual water and peanuts. shucks, it was 5-star treatment all the way. i could just imagine FIL smiling from ear to ear, chuckling at the luxury of it all. he'd probably worry about the price. and wonder what good fortune befell him that he should be the recipient of something so grand.

and so followed days of waiting and chatting to well-wishes and waiting some more. it was one of the most hi-tech funerals as well as we communicated and shared the event via skype with my brother-in-law in New York, and my nephews in North Carolina and Manchester, UK. when they sealed the coffin and had the last rites on saturday, it was finally over. FIL was cremated and on sunday, the children had to be at the temple to 'pick up his bones'.

i was exhausted and since my presence wasn't crucial, i didn't attend. i know i said i wanted to be cremated when my time came as i don't want to take up anymore space in this world, but it seemed awful that FIL was reduced to a pile of bones and ashes. being put to the ground and being worm food seemed more gradual deterioration and more acceptable. i've seen enough CSI episodes and real raw wounds and blood so i reckon i've a pretty strong stomach. but to have a body reduced to ashes in such a short matter of time is disturbing.

so now i have one less lump (lam) to worry about. in one year, a house of eight has been reduced to five people, as two folks passed and kakak went back. suddenly it seems terribly big for such a small family.

FIL bought himself a place next to his wife in the temple some 30 years ago and finally he gets to rest by her side. farewell my dearest sweetest FIL. thank you for being part of my life.

one lump less in the house

2011-10-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

I've one less lump (Lam) under my roof and it doesn't augur well.

My most senior Lam, was admitted into hospital a little over 10 days ago. The preceding events itself that led to it had quite a bit of drama going on as well.

I was having a business lunch when my other half calls me to say that my father-in-law was not able to come out of his room for lunch. In fact, he could see from the back room window, that FIL was lying on the floor.

That morning, I had left the house for an early appointment, and FIL was unusually still sleeping. Normally he would be up at dawn doing his morning exercises. It seemed he had done his exercises much later that morning and had just urinated into his potty, hence why he had locked the door. And his legs gave way, so he sat on the floor unable to get up. Heaven knows how long he was sitting here before Mr Lam discovered him at lunch time. Probably a good two hours or more. Poor old man.

A feeling of dejavu sweeps over me as exactly the same scenario played out with mum. At the first sign of code blue, my other half calls ... me.

So instinctively I instructed him to open the door first, and told him where the key was kept. And in a vintage Mr Lam moment, and men being men, my other half can't find it. My business associate is looking me and my rising panic level (which I try hard to mask but unfortunately come off as looking terribly flustered) and wondering if things are under control.

I tell him all the possible nook and cranny the key could be in, within the two drawers where it is definitely kept. He cannot find it. Even though I tell him to pour everything out and try out every single key. And so he says perhaps I should get an ambulance. Especially since his brother, a doctor, cannot be reached. I tell him to get a locksmith first and at least check out how FIL is. Otherwise the ambulance guys can't get in anyway and would probably have to break down the door.

Fortunately, there's a locksmith barely 500 metres away at the shops nearby. The door is opened and I call the ambulance. I have to manage the situation by remote control from town so that things don't fall apart at home. When the ambulance arrives, they surmise that FIL might probably be in the throes of a stroke. But they are from the general hospital and can't send FIL to the private hospital where my brother-in-law works. Again, my other half calls me and asks how.

Well, just get him to a hospital, any hospital, and we work out from there. I don't know how ambulance policies work! (Later, I found out how.) It turns out that it would be rather complicated to admit FIL into general hospital and then readmit him into the private one we wanted. It made more sense to get a private ambulance (which they called for us), and go straight to Sentosa Hospital in KL. Which is what happened, after Mr Lam consulted me. (Later, he maintains that he was basically just keeping me in the loop, but it didn't feel like it at that time. Sure felt more like I was calling the shots. But never mind.)

First thing I did when I got home was to check the drawer and guess what was the first thing that greeted me? The key. Which Mr Lam maintains he tried but didn't work. Or maybe didn't see. Friends defend him and say that he was in a state of panic and therefore was not thinking straight. I am not so benevolent as I know, for someone who has shared a house with me for almost half my life, he can never find anything.

And so that was how FIL ended up in hospital, for a stroke that wasn't. Praise God there were no signs of bleeding or blood clot in his brain to indicate any stroke. And that his sudden weakness in his legs were more likely due to a viral infection. A better prognosis surely.

In the days that followed, the doctors managed to bring down his mild fever and seemingly bring the viral infection under control. It was really odd and even today, they can't quite explain why and how this happened, and why it affected FIL's legs.

One would think it would be less of a hassle not having an old person in the house. But I strangely missed FIL's presence, even though he largely kept his own schedule and did his own thing. I didn't have to prepare his breakfast and pills. And that felt odd. I didn't have to make sure there was lunch and dinner for him, and that was weird. And most of all, I missed seeing him reading the papers at the dining table, or even snoring away on his lounge chair.

Yesterday when we visited him, he seemed in good spirits and we thought he'd be back in a couple of weeks. His legs were weak but improving. But today, he seemed to have taken a dip in health, and was more tired and blur. The family briefly discusses what would be immediate step of care. I can't take care of FIL, not without a maid, and not with one that wasn't experienced with old folks. Mr Lam's other siblings also had difficulties. But to resort to the inevitable, which was placing FIL in a home, would surely kill him faster as he is such an independent person. At 90, he still does everything himself and has all his faculties about him. Being in a home without loved ones around would be depressing for him and surely a death knell.

We are faced with the inevitable. Because at 90, anything can happen. And again, I am faced with the possibility of being relieved of a burden which I never asked for. But it was one that I gladly, naturally took on without question. Many people have said that I am to be commended to take care of both my mum and FIL. But sometimes these are life choices which you cannot ignore or are simply thrust upon you without question.

And the daunting prospect of two funerals in a year, not withstanding the many farewells I had to bid to friends this same year alone, seem too much to bear.

life and death

2011-10-06T09:59:00.000-07:00

a birthday card from lamlet no. 3 made me smile: Happy Birthday Mommy ...

"i love you deeper than the oceans, i love you higher than the mountains, i will always love you wherever you are, i will never ever forget you..."

as i turned another year older, as birthday wishes trickle in on the eve of my coming of age, my happiness was clouded by a message unlike the others as it carried an ominous ring ...

my friend liz had been admitted to hospital. just a little over two years ago, when i first found out that she had stage four lung cancer, how my heart went out to her. a mother of two young boys, Liz was in the prime of her life. and how she fought the big C like no other.

in her blog, lizadventure.blogspot.com, she penned down every step of her journey, of how she changed her lifestyle, cut out salt, sugar and oil in her diet, went organic and took on a barrage of health pills. and how God was her strength and refuge, and how her faith grew by leaps and bounds. of her trials and pains as she struggled to understand and conquer that which she had no control over.

the last big battle was when her husband and she decided to raise funds to try out this somewhat new medical breakthrough which apparently had encouraging results for those in similar medical crises. it was by no means a small sum, and by God's amazing grace and generous friends, they managed to get the amount they needed in a very short time.

yet hardly had she gone through that many treatments, that there was news that she had to be admitted for water in her lungs. and today, as i'm enjoying the most amazing belated birthday dinner hosted by two good friends, news came that Liz had gone home to be with the Lord.

there are no words to describe her husband and children's agony surely. the ache that family and friends will feel by her loss. the inevitable is never any easier when it finally comes.

and i feel almost guilty, that even as i celebrate life, another has passed through death's door.

I suddenly thought of a bucket list ... again. years ago, when i had my first big 20-hour operation, it occurred to me that i might want to make a list of stuff which i may want to achieve before my time was up. and i wasn't inspired. simply because i was too depressed by the thought that death seemed so imminent. and really, i thought it didn't really make a difference as God would see through our smallness and hypocritical last minute efforts to make right all the wrongs that we had committed. i didn't want to just do stuff one last time ... i wanted to stick around for my lamlets, and watch them grow up, and be a mother to them.

that was then. since then, the show Bucket List hit Hollywood and it made people think a bit. Whether Jack Nicholas did right by going on his rounds of doing all the stuff he wanted to do before he died, or if it was wrong of him to drag his friend Morgan Freeman halfway around the globe along with him when he should have been spending his last days with his family and friends, the people he loved and treasured him back.

when I heard news of Liz, i thought this time, that perhaps it would be nice to visit some places and do some stuff before i go. i don't have the desire to scale mountain peaks or try some weird things. but as a friend pointed out, God probably wouldn't mind one having a bucket list ... so long as it didn't contravene moral and spiritual codes i suppose.

as the world mourns the passing of Steve Jobs today, i know people who would miss Liz and her smile and optimism and her guts even more. Goodbye, brave brave Liz, and may we meet again, in the House of the Lord ...

Keeping my day job

2011-09-07T03:33:00.000-07:00

It's occured to me that I'm running a household of five lumps (I mean lams).

No, the house hasn't crumbled into dust and if there are any points to be given in favour of detractors who pooh-poohed the idea of reliance on maids, it's obvious that I can survive without one. Albeit not happily.

And yes, the strategy is underway. The kids cook the rice and the veggie so that I don't have to worry about basics. I do a three-in-one: wash the bathroom and my clothes and myself. Everybody has his own task. While some complain and would like to swap, the wicked witch says too bad, too sad, work it out yourselves.

Of course, along the way it meant Teri the turtle was not fed a couple of times, the leftover rice stayed in the rice cooker overnight as no one remembered that leftovers do not automatically make their way to the fridge by themselves, and some plants withered as they didn't get watered on some days, among others.

The lamlets have been angelic as they pitched in to do their part although not totally without rumblings. And along the way I am reminded of an age-old fact. That men do not multi-task. That what women regard as common sense isn't all that common. And while the guys are good in executing the action plan ... they stop there after completion, if there are no further instructions to proceed on to plan B.

Otherwise, how do you account for yesterday's leftovers NOT being heated up when it is placed RIGHT NEXT to today's stuff? Or basic stuff like instructions as to where to keep the rest of the food after the meal is over have to be given? You would think these are guests at my home, who don't know the system or where things are kept, not people who have stayed in the same house for yonkers.

When I brought this up in conversation, many of the wives nodded their heads in agreement and said, "Sounds familiar..."

And so I've arrived at a foregone conclusion. Yes, I can go it alone. But it's not possible to have a full-time job and be a full time maid at the same time. Something's gotta give. I can't concentrate on both... When I should be thinking of finishing my articles, I'm planning for tomorrow's meals and preparing ingredients at midnight.

I find myself manifesting into the wicked witch and dishing out instructions daily, rather than being the loving wife and fun mother I should be. Sympathetic friends have advised me to turn a blind eye, nay, close both eyes to the filth and set lower standards. Girlfriends, I assure you, I'm pretty much groping on all fours as it is already ...

Maybe our mothers were supermums who juggled both worlds amazingly. No wonder they didn't get the concept of fun. I contend that they didn't have careers but mere day jobs, and since I do have a choice, I'm not about to kill myself and thrive on stress. It can be done but I choose not to. Simply because I still have the luxury. While some revel in homeliness of it all, I make no apologies for not embracing my role as domestic goddess.

Someone once said you can have some things some of the time, all things some of the time, but not all things all of the time. And being the cynical realist, I'm inclined to agree.

Still waiting for light at the end of the tunnel ...

a room is just a room

2011-08-25T08:34:00.000-07:00

yesterday, kakak left us for good to return to her home in Lampung, Indonesia. it felt like we were saying goodbye to a family member, to an integral part of the core unit that made us what we were and how we functioned. she has been with us for only three years yet it felt like a life time of dependency, how we all ran to her to look for missing things, to whip up amazing meals, my favourite spices as she shared my fondness for chilli and savouries, to do all the chores which we didn't want to do, and basically, pamper us rotten.

she was the boys' accomplice, their confidant, their refuge. and she was my refuge, especially when mum took a bad turn, and she stepped up to the task and took care of mum like her own grandmother, having patience which i can't even muster. we've had so many different maids, but this one really touched our lives.

the lamlets remained stoic throughout the slow goodbye, and as we all hugged and bade her farewell, her eyes moistened. she sent lamlet no. 1 a goodbye text later, asking forgiveness, for the many times she may have reprimanded them. and she said that she was sobbing her heart out at the terminal inside while waiting for her flight.

after that, we all rode silently in the car, all of us missing her in our own way. no. 1 put up a brave front and no. 3 shed silent tears for a while. no. 2, my robust, often angry and take-no-prisoner young warrior, has the softest and kindest heart, and he sobbed all the journey back.

it was resoundingly final.

as i cleaned the maid's stuff from what used to be mum's room, it wasn't just kakak's leftover clothes and toiletries that i was removing.

i felt i was erasing traces and memories of mum that were etched in my mind. when the maid was still around, i left the room as it was. i had given away most of mum's clothes, packed up whatever medication there was left. but her photos still littered the table top, her hairbrushes and trinkets on the dressing table. Leftover hand lotions, her old blanket, indeed, pieces of mum...

now, it's an empty guest room, without the slightest hint of anyone having lived there all these years save for an old wheelchair hiding in the corner. funny how swiftly yesterday's pain and hardship are forgotten so easily. so too fades the joy and laughter all too quickly. ultimately, a room is just a room, and the thought of mum resides not within four walls, but within the hearts of those who remember and love her.

and suddenly, i miss mum again ...

A new direction

2011-07-31T10:05:00.000-07:00

There, it's final! With the click of the mouse, it means signed, sealed and delivered. I have paid for my maid's return ticket. She is going back to Indonesia. Period.

My life as I know it ends on August 24. I have been so blessed all these years that suddenly at the prospect of having no maid, I am at my wits' end at how I'm going to cope.

I've always prided myself on not sitting on my butt. Yes, I've got a wonderful helper, but I do help wash the dishes, pack up the house, do the gardening, and have taught the kids to be independent. As such, they can cook simple meals, wash up, and make their own beds (this only happens on very rare occasions).

But now, suddenly faced with the knowledge that there won't be anyone to 'chap sau mei' (handle the loose ends), I'm awashed with a feeling of panic.

I've been also blessed that all my helpers have been capable women (although some have been somewhat amorous and had to be terminated on those grounds). That they've gotten along with the family members and took wonderful care of mum and dad-in-law. I've been able to leave my household in their capable hands while I work with a peace of mind. I might have to do battle at the office, but at least at home, I don't have to come back after a long day and still have to put in the hours.

They say you have to close one eye as things may not be up your expectations. Heck, in the past, I've become practically blind. Some maids acted more like my nagging mother-in-law rather than I as the boss lady.

In any case, a new replacement is not in sight. I pray that I would not end up like my poor friend Sheila, whose maid ran away last December and is still struggling to find a new helper. she is in dire strait as she has a toddler and a eight-month-old baby to handle, and she had to quit her job as there was no one to help tide her through this rough period. She's still waiting and hoping. We're both down to Plan M or Q or whichever letter it is, as Plan A and B is long gone, crashed and hopeless. Somehow, all the agents we've called up and prospective maids that were supposed to turn up, all never worked out.

So now, as I would plan a project for work, I have to strategise my schedule as to how to fit housework, cooking and washing into 24 hours. I'm thinking I could get part-timer to help out, but the meals, shucks, my poor lamlets will be losing weight as I won't be around to whip up all those delicious food which kakak has been doing. Lamlet no 3 goes so far as to 'order' his 'menu' for the day and she grants his wish. She's a darling that way, also helps that she dotes on him. Not that I'm a bad cook, in fact, thanks to me, my maid picked up western and other local dishes to add to her repertoire. I'm just not around enough.

So I'm thinking, I could wash the bathroom and some clothes while bathing. Get the boys to cut the veggies and prepare the ingredients so that when I come home, I just whip it up. Anyone caught leaving things around unattended risk major fire. I remember the early days before the kids and maid arrived, some of the major squabbles between my other half and me were about housework. I've got my plans all laid out. But I've a sneaking suspicion that things will fall apart once reality bites.

The managing director of The Body Shop had this valuable piece of advice to offer. That I should learn and practice the 'soft skin snake' philosophy. I was in stitches when she explained. The snake is one who sways and moves every which way to avoid being caught, but basically it means being able to be flexible enough to outlast the others. Which means if there's a cup lying in the sink, stuff on the floor, I should not be tempted to do everything myself but withstand the temptation to clean and tidy, but turn a blind eye so that those responsible will do their part.

Yup, I'm trying to shed this old skin already ...

lost and found

2011-07-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

It just goes to show that in Malaysia, it's still about who you know and calling up the right people. After a month of patience and putting up with the incompetency of nurses who could not locate my x-rays and MRI scans, I finally made a call to the corporate communications manager.

Who turned out to be a relative of one of my bosses. One point in my favour. Helped that I was working in the press. Point number two. And the fact that I was educated, knew what I was talking about and was going to write a story (still am going to, except that I will probably be kinder in my review of the hospital now). Three points. Slam dunk.

One call and 24 hours later. Voila! My films were 'discovered' - amazing - hence the biblical adage, 'Seek and you shall find'.

speak up for change

2011-07-11T08:20:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 9 will go down in the annals of Malaysian history as a day when the people spoke and marched for their rights.

Bersih 2.0 may not be sanctioned by the government, but why does a request for a clean and fair election have to be approved? The memorandum may not have been passed to the Agung that day but to a large extent, the journey itself spoke a thousand words.

For too long, citizens have existed in a 'do not rock the boat' circumstance, and fed the story that we would be threatened by political instability should people other than the favoured come into power. We have become a nation cowed by the authorities and a people too afraid to speak up, be it in school, at the shopping malls, restaurants, offices or at the political state of affairs.

Speaking up doesn't always mean opposition. It doesn't always mean we don't agree. It simply means we are entitled to an opinion. And a chance to be heard. And if sometimes that calls for change, then so be it as the only consistency in this life, is change.

While I wasn't able to join the momentous event in the flesh as I was with my lamlets in the forest, my heart was in unity with the spirit of fair play.

We had opted for a day of adventure of obstacles and flying fox challenges at SkyTrex Shah Alam. At first glance, my other half and I scoffed at the course, thinking that it was too easy, nonetheless it would be a good experience for the lamlets.

At the end of the first round, my other half loudly declared that he was exhausted! I bit my tongue although I echoed his sentiments in my heart. Though our old bodies ached the next day, it was great fun, and rewarding to see the boys, even gentle lamlet no. 3, step up to the challenge.

Above everything, I've always told them that one should always try something at least once for the experience, even if it's only to reject it later and say, been there, done that, don't like it. And I hope if nothing else, they would carry the same inclination to explore and be curious into adulthood.

On the way home, we stopped by the cemetery to check on mum. Her gravestone had been completed and I haven't had a chance to look at it. The mound on the ground looked flat already, and mum was finally immortalised by a slab of granite. Since then, almost 20 other new 'vacancies' had been taken up. My other half and I agreed that when our time was up, we would not take any more space than we should and let ashes be ashes.

On the way back, I chanced upon a familiar name. An old schoolmate, a couple years older, who had passed on five years before. I had not known. And I wondered for a moment, how his wife, his children had taken his passing away so young. Their anguish, their loss, their grief. And their slow climb back to normality. And again I am reminded, all is striving after the wind... and that those who are left behind should make the most of our time left. As surely those who have gone on before, are much happier as they now dwell in the House of the Lord.

Till death do us part

2011-06-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

They can't find my films/x-rays! All seven years worth! My entire medical history has gone MIA!

Yup, the hospital's done it this time. It was also my fault for neglecting to collect it back from them. In fact, I had forgotten that it was with them as I was supposed to see the doctor in a couple month's time from the last visit. That stretched to a year and more.

So now, it's nowhere to be found ... yet, and it's especially depressing as my case is unique. Very soon I will have to storm over there and look for it myself. Which brings the question to mind. How long does a hospital keep a patient's details? I will need to find out more. Can I sue?!!

Already half the year gone. And, todate it's chalked the highest loss so far.

Was having a conversation with my regular taxi driver on the way to the airport to Bali last week. I had first met him some eight maybe nine years ago by chance when he gave me a lift home from the airport. He seemed decent enough, an educated English-speaking elderly man opting for early retirement. Tired of the rat race, he thought it would be fun to drive a cab as he would still be making a living, and also meeting people from all walks of life. Since then, he's ferried me every time my other half and I needed a trip to the airport.

Which meant that each year at most I would only see him three to five times. Some years just once. But I found out that his wife was working for an MNC and had since retired, he had three children, one had a scholarship from the paper I worked for. And since then, one had gotten married, another had broken up with a fiance and was now with someone else. And he regaled me with stories of all his different clients whom he had to fetch regularly. Many of them were expats or important company executives. Certainly, if there was a a hierarchy for taxi drivers, he was definitely upper management. He had also travelled much, and oft times would tell me what to look out for while sightseeing or seeking new foods in a new country.

Last year he had told me that his wife had just been diagnosed with stomach cancer. How they were fortunate enough to have it detected as there were no real signs. She had gone through chemo and was recovering well. Just last month, just before New York he had said how she seemed poorly and had to go back to the hospital as the cancer apparently had recurred. Then when he drove me last, he seemed more tired than usual. When I asked, he said he had just done with his wife's funeral arrangements over the weekend.

How my heart went out to him! Now barely 60, just when he thought he could enjoy his twilight years with his partner, she passed away. He seemed resigned to his new state of singleness. There's never a right time to say goodbye to a loved one.

In the same vein, during a recent high school reunion, I found out my ex-school boy had given in to stomach cancer, and two other classmates too had passed on while a few others were having ongoing battles with their personal lumps.

It's funny how we talked about all our different paths, who's doing what job, who's CEO and who's tai-tai, who still looks good. But in the end, for those who have walked down the same road, C unites us all.

Brings to mind (morbidly) what lamlet no. 3 said the other day. He was talking about his school having a haunted house during the school fair. "And you know, there was this grave with this hand reaching out! So normal!" What?!!

So there, if kids at 9 are immune to death, you would think adults should be too. Though his is more of a case of too much Plants vs Zombies...

Oh death where is thy sting ... thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Life's a puzzle

2011-06-09T08:35:00.000-07:00

lamlet no. 3 completed his first 1,500 puzzle when he was six years old. With help from dad and me, and from his siblings too. But I dare say he completed 60% of it on his own. Before that he had figured out simple children's puzzles with huge cartoon pictures and tackled 200-piece pictures. for christmas last year, he declared that he had not found any that was challenging enough and asked for a 2,000-piece puzzle for Christmas.

when my other half granted his wish, i gave him so much flack, because really, do you have to spend so much on the whim of an eight-year-old?

he hasn't started on the puzzle yet. he intends to this monday. especially since he has just completed the 1,500-piece i brought back for him from the States. within a week flat. which cost a song in comparison to the prices we pay. which reminds me of my last post, but ... never mind that, what's amazing is how this child manages to 'depuzzle' a puzzle so quickly! obviously i've got a little prodigy on my hands, though i doubt if there's a market for a puzzle-solver.

when he was down to the last 10 pieces or so, i thought i would add a twist to events. i've always nagged that he should be more careful with the pieces less one day he should get down to almost the last piece and find one missing fragment. that is the ultimate torture for someone who enjoys a good puzzle.

just to bring the lesson home, i spirited a single piece with me to the office. when i returned, he didn't bounce up to me with the usual exuberant enthusiasm i've come to expect from him. obviously there were tinges of guilt - like - mum was right, i did lose one piece. but of course, it came out after the story of how everyone tore the house upside down looking for the missing link came to light. then, amazingly, he cottoned on to my plan and accused me of taking it! of course not, i said innocently. and later when i closed the hole triumphantly, i declared i had found it on the floor. not that he bought my fib.

in truth, i had taken the piece because i wanted the satisfaction of being the one to put in the last piece. but shhh ... don't tell him that!

yeah, the lamlets' mum is a little loony ...

Living for the Joneses

2011-06-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

New York is a world way. Hop onto a plane and the Big Apple becomes a distant memory. What really struck me was the premium people on my side of the globe have to pay. For everything. For stuff that we consider designer or high street right down to food.

For a simple Coach bag, for example, which goes for generally no more than a couple of hundred dollars - the same costs close to a couple of thousands here. Even after you consider the exchange rate and import tax, the figures still don't add up. Makes me feel that Asians are being ripped off, by our own importers who sell a certain lifestyle to us, which touts a luxurious aspiration.

But whose fault is it anyway? That Malaysians should place so much emphasis on brands, and buy into the notion of status equals being able to afford labels?

Time and again I have this conversation with various people. How certain fields add pressure to conform and how one has to carry labels to be acceptable. Admittedly it takes a strong character to reject conventional expectation and stand firm to say: my actions are not dictated by society, my friends, my boss, my industry,etc

While I am no judge to point fingers to say what's wrong and who's right, I only hope that my lamlets have been given a strong enough moral radar to know the difference between buying for personal pleasure (within one's budget) and owning an object out of pressure. That it's quite alright not to live up to the Joneses.

No that I'm not entirely innocent either as I freely confess that I did go on a shopping spree as well. If only to  thumb my nose at those who had to pay premium prices for the same. And it seems totally unwholesome that I should be left in the clutches of temptation without succumbing to the wiles of New York. My biggest earthly joy in life, when not struggling to tout Biblical values to my lamlets, is being able to outwit the system. Getting a bargain for a song.

Everything is chasing after the wind, so it states in Ecclesiastes.

When I mentioned this to a friend, she said that while she agreed with this in principle, she saw no harm in the chase. Especially if you can afford it. And that while she understood where I was coming from, as a mother and as someone who has been on the brink of death's door, she wasn't in the same boat. Therefore she choose to live life to the fullest while she can. Why does it take a glimpse of tomorrow's pain to shock us into living meaningfully for today? Then again, the word meaningful is always relative...

New York state of mind

2011-05-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

I could so fit into the Big Apple. Like a glove ... I love the buzz, the shopping, the people going around with Starbucks coffee in their hands ... it's like being in an episode of NYPD Blues for real. The sirens, the lights in Time Square, the food, the museums, the shows... Did I mention the shopping?

Of course, if one were to live here for real, that could be a different story. But if I don't remember anything else from being in New York this year, the one thing that will stay with me forever is how the waiter asked for my ID when I ordered beer at Applebees, a family restaurant, sort of like TGIF. My brother-in-law said he was just being careful but the guy seriously scanned my licence. Not that he understood the Malay or the numbers but somehow he surmised, yeah, I was above 18.

Forget all the beauty creams, botox and surgery - my sags, fine lines and eye bags disappeared instantaneously for that moment. Someone should market that ... anti-ageing compliments ...

a mother's heart

2011-05-05T11:07:00.001-07:00

I felt compelled to write something in the papers this Mother's Day. Simply because it's not an easy journey and women make it even harder on themselves by placing unrealistic expectations of themselves. While there's nothing wrong with being ambitious and setting goals, it's not right to beat yourself up over things you can't control. Just because one is not a stay-at-home-mother doesn't make one any less of a mother. On the other hand, just because one doesn't have a working career doesn't make you any less important than those who boast successful corporate lives. I think we're all blessed when we are called to be mothers.

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Motherhood and guilt complex

It’s time mothers stopped loading up on guilt and started taking credit for the work they’ve done.

IF YOU’RE a mother like me, you’ve probably suffered from a guilt complex at some point on your maternal journey. Mothers often feel they don’t measure up and they never sacrifice enough for their children.

Years ago, when a colleague of mine was bemoaning how she felt guilty about leaving her baby in the care of her maid, I felt puzzled by her overprotectiveness. After all, her mother was at home overseeing the situation and her baby was probably too young to notice her absence, anyway.

But by the time my own sons were of school-going age, I felt the same sense of guilt and regret – that I wasn’t spending enough time with them, guiding them in their schoolwork and helping to shape their characters as much as I should.

While some parents would like to console themselves that it’s about quality time spent with their kids and not quantity time, the truth is, young children can’t really tell the difference.  According to Focus On The Family, an NGO committed to helping families, as far as children are concerned, the word “love” is spelt “t-i-m-e”. What it’s trying to say is that it’s not about the material things that you shower them with or allocating a specific time out of your important schedule to be with them. It’s about being there for them, even if it’s just doodling on paper or watching a television programme together.

Of course, not everyone has that luxury. And in all honesty, I confess there have been days when I do get to spend time with my kids, that I want to run back to the refuge of my office where I seem to have a better handle on things and achieve more.

But the experts are right, you know. When my eldest son was two years old, he used to tell me: “Go away, I don’t like you!” That was because Dad was Mr Good Time Guy and the person who would pick him up whenever he wanted to be carried. Mum, on the other hand, was a stickler for rules and discipline.

Of course, he was only two then and he grew out of that phase. I reckon it was also because I had the opportunity to spend more time with him when I was on maternity leave for my second son.

(These days, however, he’s reverted to the same opinion of me. That’s because he’s a teenager with raging hormones, and I’m ruining his life by curbing his Facebook and Internet time, but that’s a different story.)

Women generally feel more guilt than men simply because, well, we’re built that way. We feel bad about not spending enough time with our children, for not sending them to enough activities, that we work and dedicate too much time to our jobs, we’re not as good as our mothers, we can’t cook, and our kids aren’t perfect. In fact, we blame ourselves for a whole multitude of sins which no one is really blaming us for.

It doesn’t help that the bar is constantly being raised. The A-lister Mum is always one step ahead. She reads up on the Internet and exchanges news on blogs on how to discover her child’s inner creativity, and channel his or her inner potential to help them achieve better cognitive awareness. She enrols in courses on how to better plan for her child’s activities to ensure they are educational and constructive, and can challenge their intellect and help their developmental skills. And it’s not just about being able to cook, now it’s all about organic food and choosing healthy alternatives.

How do you not compare yourself to your best friend, sister or colleague, who all seem to be doing a better job at mothering than you are?  It’s a constant struggle because there’s no system that can grade you – whether you’re getting top marks for your KPI or if you’ve done a miserable job (but you hope by the grace of God, your kids still come out right).

It also doesn’t help that reel mothers seem to be larger than life, juggling high-flying careers with family issues, and yet they always come out on top of things. The message the media is giving women is clear: if they can do it, so can you.  And so, women end up feeling guilty and inadequate as they can’t accomplish all the things they want to do in both their careers and personal life. But who sets all these “industry” standards, anyway?

Truth is, not everyone is going to make the Mother of the Year list. And really, there’s no such thing as being able to “do it all” (though some women seem to manage better than others).

A wise friend once gave me her opinion: that God has a different plan for all of us. And not everyone is mapped out to be the company CEO or Reba McEntire (of TV sitcom Reba). For some of us, all you get to be is the best mother you can be to your own children. And it’s perfectly acceptable to muck up sometimes. It definitely doesn’t make you any less of a woman or mother.

 I thought about it and it certainly made a lot of sense. So, I vote that it’s time we women lay off the guilt trip and give ourselves a pat on the back for coming thus far.

Happy Mother’s Day!

a time to smile

2011-04-12T11:22:00.001-07:00

a time to cry and a time to laugh ...

surely, it's good to spend a day in the life of a lamlet and smile in the face of recent developments.

no. 1 remarked just the other day that he was surprised that i actually knew all the characters in his favourite TV series Glee. and i knew the songs too. how cool is that?

and he admitted that he used to think (when he was four years old or so) that all parents were from the cavemen period, and had just carried on living until now .... so it never ceases to surprise him that we are actually quite with it sometimes ...

but of late, he's been rather depressed. i had warned him that if his results didn't add up, he would be banned from the Internet and Facebook until he bucked up. silent tears of anguish rolled down his eyes when i carried out my threat. and he exclaimed, 'thanks for ruining my life.' To which the wicked witch of the lams replied, 'you're welcome.'

yup, i've got a full blown teenager on my hands all right ...

mum's really gone

2011-04-05T07:53:00.000-07:00

The events of the past few days haven't quite sunk in. When we went out for dinner just now I still thought of ordering for eight. And my maid and I both agreed how our hands felt strangely empty and light without a wheelchair to push.

Little bits of inconsequential stuff haunt me... Like why didn't I choose better clothes for mum. Suddenly I realise, hey, I didn't give mum a pair of earrings to wear. They said to put in her favourite things together with her but I didn't know what to put in. During the last few days I realised I didn't know what her favourite things were anymore. Heck, I didn't even know her favourite colour. I jested with friends that perhaps I should have put in a plate of mee hoon as that was the only thing she craved for.

In the end I just put in her fav pillow, a comb and brush, and her bottle of perfume. Silly perhaps, and totally useless to her where she is now. But it just felt better than leaving things empty. Later some friends said the normal custom was to pack her body with her clothes so that it wouldn't move about when they lifted her. Nah, I thought, that's just additional worm food. In fact I was riddled with guilt that the stuff I put in wasn't environmentally friendly and would take forever to biodegrade.

During her eulogy I spoke briefly about the mother I knew, not perfect, but certainly a woman of substance. When my brother spoke, it struck me that we both knew the same woman very differently. He said she was quiet and uncomplaining. Well, it was true to a certain extent, but I felt she wasn't one to mince her words either. Maybe because I spent so much more time with her I knew the inner workings of her mind well. And that there were things that weren't spoken of, or that she was in denial of. That while she was of a generous spirit, she was also someone that you didn't want to mess with or get into her bad books as she was quite capable of making you pay for it.

Well, dust to dust, ashes go ashes, in the end it no longer matters. What I will remember in my mind is a picture of my mother who was active, funny, strong and capable. Not the frail thin white-haired old woman who could hardly remember her own name.

In time this strangeness will probably fade. It will no longer feel odd to have extra time on my hands without having to shop for her medicine or rushing back to see that she's ok or curbing our holidays for her sake. But while a part of me yearned to be free of a burden thrust upon me without my consent, I miss the burden now that it's gone. Indeed, I miss mum.

You'd think you're prepared. But when death finally arrives, you're never really prepared. Grief ebbs and flows, my pastor said. How true. Even for someone like me who has had a firsthand experience and is so well acquainted with grief, it still comes as a surprise.

And mum makes three.

2011-03-30T10:47:00.000-07:00

Today, my friend's father passed away at noon, after a long bout with cancer. Also, there was news that another friend's wife gave in to C in Singapore. And mum, after being bedridden for three months, breathed her last tonight.

Last night she vomited a couple of times so we reckoned that it was food poisoning or something. In the morning, I gave her some charcoal pills and porridge, and told the maid to go slow with the food, in case her stomach wasn't settled. After breakfast she threw up once, but seemed alright after that. In the afternoon, she threw up a couple of times more. I decided to call my cousin who's a doctor for advice but he wasn't reachable.

By the evening, in the throes of the madness called work, my husband calls me up to say that mum was throwing up black bile, which was also coming out of her nose. Call someone he says, and I'm asking, who? What do I do? Fortunately my senses hadn't left me totally, and I called for an ambulance.

I left the office and left word with my boss that my mother was in a bad shape. My exact words as I rushed out of the office were, "I think my mother is dying."

It was a comedy of error of sorts as I was in a cab going home, and I called my husband only to find that he was driving to office to fetch me. Fortunately, he hadn't gone too far and turned back. My poor lamlets were sobbing their eyes out. In fact, earlier on the phone I could hear my husband saying, it doesn't look good, and he said, 'Boys, let's pray'. Lamlet no. 1 sent an sms out to his godmother asking her to "pray for poh poh who seems to have stopped breathing". And later, he sent another message out to say, "poh poh is in a better place now".

Even as I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive, my magnanimous maid was performing CPR on my mum with instructions from the nurse on the phone. But by the time the paramedics arrived, they pronounced that her heart had probably stopped 15 minutes ago. Just an hour before, my maid said my mum was smiling at her and having a conversation about which part of her body hurt. At that point, she said she was fine. That morning I had said goodbye before she left for work, and she had smiled.

My distraught maid apologised profusely, so afraid that I would blame her for letting mum die. How could I? I hugged her tightly and thanked her for all the wonderful care she had given. I could not have asked for a better maid and friend, and how in mum's last days, she was so blessed to have someone who was so caring and loving to look after her. Even as mother lay in bed, she sat there beside her to keep mum company until the casket people came. And she was quite prepared to spend the night next to an empty bed where my mother used to sleep until I told her to rest in one of the other bedrooms.

As concerned friends and families start sending me their condolences, I remain stoic. For now, the whole night has been surreal. I have no tears. Surely not because my heart is so cold. But perhaps inside, I realise I probably had prepared my goodbye a while back in my heart. Somehow, I shared with my best friend, I had a feeling that mum wouldn't see this year through. I just didn't think it would be so soon in the year. Or so sudden, on the very same day my friend's father died.

Perhaps, since mum knows Jesus so much better, she has gone to keep my friend's father company and introduce him to the Lord's hospitality.

"In My Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I come again and will receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also." John 14:2-3

Fare thee well, my dearest mother, even as I cry silent tears, I am comforted in the fact that you're no longer in pain and are now at peace.

farewell my friends ...

2011-03-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

life is short. truly, truly short. this week alone, i had to bid goodbye to another two friends. a colleague, who it seemed, was having the most ordinary day with his family and was even seen on facebook that afternoon, suddenly keeled over in the evening. he died of a heart attack on sunday night. he was all of 42.

and even as i was about to call my best friend to tell her, not that she knew my colleague, but as best friends go, i tell her everything, she picked up the phone and was in tears. another friend across the world, her fellow guitarist, Londoner Richard Hand, who stayed with me a couple of years ago when he performed in town, has suddenly died of a brain aneurysm. the sweet gentleman was just past 50.

i was going to talk medical, and ponder over why my mum's urine was purple. really. the doctor is baffled and a urine sample showed nothing amiss in the test. the urine flowing from the catheter is a regular clear yellow. yet somehow when it goes into the bag, it becomes purple like iodine.

i looked it up and it seems it's a urine infection of sorts, a reaction of some enzyme breaking down in the urine, common to someone who's been on catheter for some time. but other than the scary colour, it seems there's nothing to it. or it could be the sub-quality bag, or so lamlet no. 1 deduces. it's bizarre.

but in the face of death, little else matters. a few motoring journalists had gathered for a meal a week ago, soon after Chan's death and talked about how the min average of life seemed to be around late 50s and 60s. one friend has decided to make a date for lunch with me next week after that talk, simply because, well, there's no time like now. we're all not getting any younger.

when i lived past 28, it seemed a triumph of sorts. and while i was relieved that i made it through my 28th year, i felt almost guilty that i was still alive and my sister didn't make it past that age. then when cancer touched my life, all i could see, and hope for, was the end of the year, and Christmas that year was the one i was most grateful for. while people made plans for their children, and made retirement plans, i didn't dare to even hope for five years more. that came and went, and as short memories go, the latest venture is i'm trying hard to save for my sons' education. not to mention, trying to figure how to pay for a new maid.

which in itself is not a bad thing to plan for. but i am suddenly reminded in the course of the many farewells i have had to say in recent months, that i can only make so many plans. God decides when to call the shots.

sometimes we have so much pent up anger, so many hopes and dreams, so much hurt and unforgiveness. and when you think of how easily it can all be wiped out in a single tidal wave or a crack in the earth, or by a medical crisis, and then i am reminded, how frail i am.

in the deepest recesses of my mind in the abyss of my depressive state, sometimes these words echo inside me ... eli eli lama sabachthani ... my God, my God, why have you forsaken me ...

and in that same instant, the answer comes back almost immediately ...He died that I might have life.

that's one death that wasn't wasted...

in this madness called life

2011-03-20T09:09:00.000-07:00

Mum 's wound is healing well. Now the bedsore is not longer as deep and the raw flesh is almost at the surface. The only thing now is to get the epidermal layer going, which basically means skin regrowth.

And I am grateful as I ponder on my small problems ... I haven't gotten around to choosing a nursing home yet, neither have I started on the search for a new maid. Putting it off as long as I can but even as March comes to a close soon, I know I have to make some decisions soon.

Nonetheless, I remember that my blessings are great, and my problems not insurmountable.

In the face of recent calamities that have befallen people I know, my heart goes out to them, and I struggle to makes sense of it all. In the big picture, there's Japan, facing recovery after an earthquake and tsunami, and now nuclear problems. They are an amazing people given to order. So what gives, why does a disaster of such magnanimity hit such a people of grace?

And just in the space of three weeks, two fellow journalists has passed on. Swithin Monteiro, I didn't know him well, was known for his love for music. He left journalism early and embarked on a pr trail instead, focusing on the music industry. Out of the blue, he suffered a stroke few days short of his 59th, and went straight into a coma, and died the next day. Motoring writer B.H. Chan I knew a little better, having met him on numerous occasions during press events in the last 15 years, exchanging personal news now and then. I saw him last in January, after he had suffered a mild stroke in October. He seemed to have recovered miraculously, with hardly a trace of the stroke. We spoke about how he should be taking better care of his health, and when I met his wife at another event, she grumbled how he wouldn't let go of things and take things easier. But apparently after Chinese New Year, he took a turn for the worse, and doctors said that they couldn't perform surgery on him as his arteries were too clogged up. And then just last week, he called it quits.

And it was just last week, I found out a colleague, after battling nose cancer and removing another lump from his neck area, he now has to undergo chemo a third time as his nose cancer has returned. And another colleague, who has chosen not to share her pain ... (but we are after all nosy journalists, so we all know) is suffering from breast cancer which has spread to her liver.

And another close friend at work, after going through a battery of tests for the past month for chest pains, and having ruled out pneumonia, bronchitis, tb, and what have you, could also be facing the big C depending on the next biopsy results. In spite of the looming gloom, he is almost relieved, if only to have a concrete answer for his medical problem at last. Another friend's wife, a former pastor we know, has just gone through emergency operation to remove part of her colon and possibly undergo a hysterectomy.

Indeed. Maybe the next plague to befall mankind, won't be AIDS or some new found flu virus. It could be the insidious C. And I can only wonder, why does life deliver such a severe blow to some and not to others.

I take to heart the story of the athlete who was diagnosed with cancer with a few months to live. Don't know whether it really was a true story, but nonetheless it was truth spoken with much wisdom. People asked him whether he ever questioned or blamed God, why he was afflicted. He said when he was chosen out of the thousands by God to represent the country and went on to win Olympic medals, he never asked why either.

old people are not wimps

2011-03-07T09:43:00.000-08:00

In the course of my work last week, I came across this quote by Madeline Albright:" There's a special hell for women who don't help other women." Man, I wish this was true sometimes.

I've come to realise that there are two kinds of women out there. The ones who go out of their way to help, because you are another woman in need, and then, there's the other kind who especially make life miserable for you, because you are perceived as competition. So okay, let the one who has not sinned cast the first stone. Hey, no one's perfect. But women sometimes expect perfection from other women. Not men. After all, they are ... men. Not so capable, you know. But women are supposed to be superior ... and therefore know better.

Is that why so many daughters are left to fend for their mums rather than the sons? Not sure if it's because they're afraid of retribution, or because women doing other women in.

So okay, my mother is not intentionally growing old or sick on me. But it's hard and tortuous on the soul. For both of us.

I've discovered that it is possible to have a conversation with her. Kind of. I could ask her what she'd like to eat, and she'll tell me. Or jest where has she gone shopping and she'll answer, no-lah. Or if she was in pain and she'll say yes or no. But anything beyond the here and now, and she'll give me a blank stare. Like what's my name. Or what's her own name. Or anything that has the faintest hint of a memory which requires thinking.

And maybe that's not such a bad thing. I get so worked up over what happens at work. Over what people say to me. Over what the kids did. Or my other half didn't do. But it doesn't really matter because the past is over, you can't relive it or undo it. And tomorrow, well, who knows what's going to happen.

Of course, it's easier said than done. It pains me to see who she has become after all that she's been. It's hard to let go of the day's burden without getting bent by the weight in the process. But sometimes, it's easier just to think about getting through the day's task and to ask that God provide that much strength to handle only that much.

Someone once said that growing old is not for wimps.

I think caregivers, on the other hand, are sometimes given small allowances, no?

waiting on the sidelines

2011-02-25T08:38:00.001-08:00

on days when there doesn't seem to be any silver lining, oh how i treasure a jordan pill.

words of wisdom from lamlet no 3: what do you call a wound healed by a plaster?

a plasterpiece.

the nurse today suggested that mum undergo a skin implant. i freak and panic. that would mean putting her under anaesthesia. causing another open wound. how to heal when the current one is already in such dire straits.

but apparently it's not so complicated. it's not a skin graft so it only requires local anaesthesia. it's a matter of cutting small bits of skin and implanting it nearer the wound to initiate transdermal growth to encourage the wound to close and heal better. or something to that effect. i don't really understand it.

but it will be food for thought when i cross that bridge. today i'm juggling with which nursing home, which new maid, what agency, what job definition and where am i heading. will mum ever be able to sit up and go out in a wheelchair to have a meal with us as a family again.

life doesn't get any easier. but then there are no answers for my colleague whose father is in ICU. or for another who's mum has to undergo surgery and then also discovered her sister has cancer. neither is there any easy reprieve for those i know who are already living with cancer. what a dirty word indeed. and then now, my problems look so trivial in comparison.

how blessed it is to have faith like a child. to not plan but let Him take control. to believe that things are ... just because.

waiting game

2011-02-02T00:47:00.000-08:00

if i said waiting to be discharged from hospital two years ago for a procedure which i didn't have in the end was the longest day in my life, i take it back. yesterday was the longest day.

it seemed simple enough. it was a straightforward follow-up visit to the orthopaedic surgeon after the day's slam dunk in the door. Thought he'd say, ok, no bones broken, all fine, go home and have a happy chinese new year.

that's the optimist in me. i should have listened to the pessimist in me.

it turns out, lamlet no. 3 needed stitches after all. which in itself isn't that bad a calamity. after all, since may ling's son chris, being the hyper kid that he is, has already had stitches on his forehead, his chin and broken his collarbone all before the age of five, this is nothing in comparison.

but then, since he had chocolate cake and a drink of milo for breakfast, that called for fasting of at least six hours before Jordan could be given general anaesthesia. adults would probably get a local but since he's a kid, the doctor was afraid he would move during stitching, making things more precarious. so, the slot for the operating theatre was four in the afternoon. which didn't seem so bad, as by the time we waited for our turn to see the doc, waited to be admitted and insurance paperwork, and then warded, it was close to 1pm anyway.

but after the procedure, which took all of 15 mins, we had to wait for jordan to wake up/recover from anaesthesia, which was another hour and a half, and then they had to make sure that there were no side effects. so by the time we actually made it back home, it was 9.30pm. exactly 12 hours in the hospital. oh joy. and even then, we had not cleared the bill as the insurance company had closed by then and i had to return the next day to tidy up loose ends.

waiting sure is tiring. meantime, jordan spent half the day in bed, playing games on the ipad and iphone, and having a burger. not a bad day by a kid's standards i reckon. and then, probably have a crooked middle fingertip which he'll show off as a trophy when he grows older. that's what boys do.

i guess this is what most mothers do. wait. a lot.

don't slam the door

2011-01-31T08:11:00.000-08:00

Some lessons are best learnt when pain is involved. Parents always tell their kids, I always tell the lamlets, don't slam the door lest your hand gets caught.

Well, today it finally happened. lamlet no. 1 was arguing with lamlet no. 3, who was doing what all kid brothers do - be a pest. ryan was trying hard not to let him into his room, and in the tussle, he slammed the door on jordan's finger.

and so the maid hits the panic button and thus begins the ensuing drama. rush home from work, rush to clinic, and doc says have to do x-ray as fingertip of middle finger of the right hand hanging on precariously. in fact, the nail was left hanging on the door as c.s.i evidence. and then rush to emergency room in hospital to do the necessary.

lamlet no. 3 was quite the star of the evening as everyone fussed around him ... poor boy, so brave they all cooed. he was very brave indeed, hardly shed a tear throughout and merely winced when the nurse dressed his wound and gave him an anti-tetanus shot. lamlet no 1 on the other hand, was a mess, sobbing his eyes out in misery, feeling guilty that he might have maimed his little brother for life. surely punishment enough for the tortured soul.

praise God the x-ray showed the wound had missed the bone. A mere 1mm more and the bone would have been fragmented.

since everything ended on a safe note and everyone could laugh again, we thought we would torture lamlet no. 1 a little more. when he called up and asked if jordan was 'normal', i answered, 'not quite'. i know, i know, i'm evil. told him that he had to be jordan's slave for a month. which he readily agreed to. and that he would have to give up his ang pow money to pay for the hospital bill. man, that hurt ... even brought on a silent tear ... but even that he reluctantly agreed to, in thorough repentance for his misdeed. (okay, i'm not that evil-lah. he'll get to keep his money. just won't tell him!)

apparently he prayed for two hours before he fell asleep waiting for us to come home. jordan was unfazed... he asked very practical questions, like how would it be like to have a needle stitching his flesh (he didn't need stitches in the end, as the area was too difficult to sew). and how to wash his behind when he pooed! well, you just gotta manage with one hand, i told him.

as the maid helped him bathe, he held his hand up, like the statue of liberty. when he was coming out of the bathroom, he held his injured hand up, clinging on to the safety grab handles that had been installed for grandma. he cracked a joke, that he looked like a sexy naked pole dancer ...

generous spirit

2011-01-29T08:34:00.000-08:00

The Chinese have a phrase, 'Wai tai' which is translated to mean, 'generous in spirit'. When I was going in and out of hospital, I developed a profound respect for nurses as it certainly takes someone who is 'wai tai' to do the work they do.

It is extremely debilitating emotionally and physically to be unable to do that which you ordinarily perform without hesitance, like cleaning yourself, going to toilet to pee, or even merely getting up or turning yourself in bed. While I was grateful for the helping hand of nurses, it was with the thought that mine was a temporary circumstance.

How much more effort and grit it takes to be looking after someone who is paralysed or bedridden, knowing that there is no respite or a change in tomorrow.

In all of two weeks, mum has gone from being able to respond to simple questions and sitting up in the hall to being totally bedridden and unresponsive. While her wound is apparently healing nicely (though it still looks horrifying, like a piece of raw meat), the rest of her is shutting down and she sleeps constantly.

From someone who suffers from insomnia, I am amazed how there can be so much sleep in one person. After being home from the hospital, the biggest saga was helping mum with an enema. And now, it is a very real consideration, that mum might have to be in a nursing home for better care. I struggle with this personal plight as I cannot be so 'wai tai'. While for those in the Western world, it is a natural course of ageing, those of us in Asia still live with our children or extended family in our old age. Even in Singapore across the border, it is where the old probably end up and the island republic is facing a real social economic situation with an ageing population on the rise.

I remember when I was in my early 20s and someone once asked me what would I do when my mum gets old, I responded unthinkingly that an old folks home would be the best solution. My mum, who was within earshot, never said anything, but I realise now she was probably very hurt then. But as the years progressed, it was never a real consideration and my home was her home.

There were many personal frustrations through the years - much of the family travelling was curbed as I never felt secure enough to leave the old folks alone for too long, our expenses higher than most households as we bore living costs alone without the help of siblings, the inconveniences many as we often had to take time off from work to make hospital or doctor visits, we had to plan in advance if we had office events or invites from friends. Yet, it was part and parcel of the burden called family. There was a certain comfort in knowing that there were grandparents to come home to at the end of the day.

How does my friend Valerie, who takes care of her son, who has been practically bedridden since the day he was born, cope? How do people who run nursing/old folks' homes cope? What makes a person choose to be a caregiver to another unconditionally?

Love conquers all, but even so, surely there are some obstacles which seem insurmountable ...

goodness is viral

2011-01-22T09:33:00.000-08:00

I am amazed. and overwhelmed. let me be the first to say that i am not the most approving when it comes to facebook. not when co-workers spend time blogging and keeping up with friends on an electronic mail book and neglect their work. not when people out there torture the rest of the world with details of what a wonderful life they have while the others look on salivating. or in converse, how miserable they are, begging for company. and surely there must be more going on in some people's mind than inane details of what they're doing for the moment - like watching grass grow.

but yesterday facebook made a difference. i sent out a message that my mum had a huge bedsore and if friends in cyberspace knew of where to get a ripple mattress. within minutes, a friend gave a name of a medical supply shop of where i could get one, and another told me about an ointment reputed to work wonders for bed sores.

i 'texted' this friend about the ointment, and along the way, she put me in touch with another church friend who could help with nursing services and change mum's dressing. and in turn, this other friend/experienced nurse pointed me to church where i could borrow a ripple mattress. and in church, another friend volunteered that maybe she could help me get a hospital bed.

it's viral ... except that yes, it was facebook that sparked it off, but it was truly the goodness in people and their willingness to help others that spread the bug, that makes the otherwise cold unfeeling internet interaction, alive in a real world where real people touch other people's lives. and whether i acknowledge it or not, God is in control, and He amazingly provides for all our needs even when i don't realise i need them.

so mum's back at home already since the evening. getting her into the car was a challenge in itself as it took four nurses and me to navigate her into the car cabin amidst much pain on her part. but then, when we reached home, my maid, bless her, could handle her single-handedly and carried her into the wheelchair. together we helped mum to her room and into bed, where she drifted into peaceful sleep... seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. when she was in the hospital, she clutched the hospital sheets, the bed posts, the nurses, and hung on tightly, as if she was terrified that she would somehow fall. now at home, her fists are unclenched.

sore-y tales

2011-01-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

mum's bedsore is the size of africa ... after a week in hospital, it's much better but then, it looks worse. the dead and black rotting flesh is gone, so is the pus and smell, so in its place is a raw gaping hole. one big enough to fit my whole fist. i kid you not.

it's mind-boggling how it could have descended to that level. but it's even more disturbing that it's suddenly hit home that one can die from something as simple as a bedsore, due to blood poisoning. thankfully mum doesn't have diabetes. and while the doctors have been pessimistic about the hole healing well, since mum's appetite is unwavering, the nutrition helps.

checking her into the hospital was traumatic to say the least. for once, i thought we could fit her into the government hospital and make use of her pension benefits. first of all, we arrived at the private extension of the government hospital to be told we were at the wrong place. the entrance to the ward for admission is at the government hospital side. fine. we cart mum back into the car and drive five minutes up the road to the private wing, which i find out is on the 10th floor of the maze of a building on the east wing. when we make it up there, they say, oh you can't just walk in, you need a reference letter. i have one from the clinic. not good enough. you need from the government side. which means mum still has to wait for her turn at the government accident and emergency side to see the government doctor for his assessment before they do anything. so we try our luck and walk a good 15 minutes with the wheelchair to the main block to the A&E. yes, we are at the right place, but it's minimum a two-hour wait before mum's turn. if we're lucky.

so all this ding-dong ding-dong takes about 90 minutes by which time i say, forget it, let't just go back to the private hospital. when we arrive, in the same 90 minutes two doctors see to her, nurses monitor her and she's checked into the ward. now you know why they charge an arm and a leg for private hospitals.

hopefully mum can come home to celebrate the year of the rabbit with us. she's no longer of sound mind, and can only recognise me and barely remember her own name. but every day without fail, she asks for fried mee hoon. in fact, the last time when she was in hospital, she was a little more coherent. and while she couldn't remember that some friends had gone to visit her, she did remember that she asked for food and i didn't bring it.

well, we all need something to inspire us to keep us going. and if at this stage, all that works for her is food, so be it ...

mummy matters

2011-01-10T06:07:00.000-08:00

Now I know the smell of rotting flesh. Mum has developed a bed sore the size of my palm.

And then now, the challenge to wait for it to heal. Hopefully. Because Mum sits all the time, it's going to be all the more difficult, since she's all skin and bones now, she wears diapers. Poor woman didn't even tell us so we had no idea that anything was amiss.

I miss the person that used to be my mother. These days she stares at me with gaunt eyes and doesn't even recognise me half the time. She's not aware whether she's eaten for the day or what goes on around her. Sometimes, it feels like an alien has taken over her body, and all that's left is this shell of a person that used to be mum.

This is nowhere near the robust short lady who used to work as secretary to the Chief Police of Selangor during the British days right through to the 70s after Independence. A few of them in fact. They came, they got transferred, but Peggy Kam stayed on and guarded the passage to the boss' office so fiercely that everyone who wanted to see him had to be on her good side and be nice to her.

After she retired, she was still actively driving to and fro the YMCA for activities, going for church meetings and cooking for everyone. Ours was a tumultous relationship, it was one of those mother and daughter angst that grew bigger than both of us, and then now, in our mellow years, we're stuck with each other.

Now, as a mother of three myself, I realise that she accomplished no mean feat. While she was still working, she managed the household, cooked for all of us, took care of my ailing dad. When he passed away almost 30 years ago, she became this single mum who took care of the family. Or rather, of me. In hindsight, I also realise I probably wouldn't have coped half as well as she did, and have been lucky enough to have a maid all these years to help me out.

After I got married, she was pretty much on her own as my brother lived in Singapore, and she lived the 'high life' shuttling between two children. In the last 15 years though, she stayed with me as it wasn't safe for her to stay alone anymore as she fell a couple of times. She missed her independence fiercely and went the other direction by totally relying on me and my resources. She no longer made her fantastic dishes but relied on my maids to cook, didn't want to potter around the garden but just basically enjoyed watching life pass her by. By the time the kids came along, she was too frail to help me look after them, but it helped to have someone to keep an eye on the maids to ensure they weren't up to any hanky panky.

These days, I feel like I'm taking care of six kids. My lamlets, my father-in-law, lam senior, who's 90, and hubby dearest, junior lam, and then, there's my mum. Thankfully, all we have to deal with for now, is the bed sore. In the last week, she's shifted from being able to walk a few steps with help around the house to being practically bedridden as her legs don't seem to function at all.

It's no fun growing old ... But what would I know, I'm only 29, and have been for many years now...

the fridge trilogy

2011-01-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

the saga continues ...

the fridge technician uttered these words, 'one day you'll be calling me to complain that the fridge is too cold.'

his prophetic words have indeed come true ... for the first two weeks after he fixed the thermostat, it seemed to work great. then after that, it got colder and colder ... just like how the planet seems to be suffering from the depleting ozone layer and climate warming, my fridge was following in sync.

after the third week, everything in the most bottom shelf began to freeze - my veggies rotted overnight because of the damp caused by the ice which thawed out every time we opened and shut the fridge door. i had to content with grape, orange and tomato popsicles, only without the sticks. i played with the thermostat, took it to minimum, changed position of the meats to help ventilation, changed the ventilation control to minimum, and then up a little, figuring there must be some magic formula somewhere. today, when my fresh batch of greens froze overnight for the umpteenth time, i threw in the towel and called mr fridge man.

i was at work, but i could just picture his smirk. remember you told me that you'd buy me dinner if the fridge became too cold, he taunted me. i told him i could buy him a feast as long as he fixed the blinking problem once and for all. and then he brought out the good old thermometer again...

but you know, i put the thermometer in for 15 minutes, it was only 5 degrees C. if it's that cold, it should be zero, he exclaimed. i was going ballistic but over the phone, tried to sound logical - whatever the temperature shows, obviously it's not right, for as you can see, my frozen bottle of water in the bottom shelf is not by accident.

and he came up with this list of what might have been - maybe it's been in there too long, you never wrap your veggies properly, wrapping them in newspaper not good enough, should have plastic, and then punch holes in the plastic, and whatnot.

anyway, he said he would try to fix it and return to change the 'damper'. whatever that meant.

the fridge might be freezing but i'm at boiling point. and yet, i am amazed at my own patience and how i continue to be so civil to mr fridge man. to be fair, he wasn't rude. he just isn't able to fix the problem.

look at the bright side, i tell myself. like may ling says (no, not that life is a box of chocolates), there's always someone out there who's worse off. true enough, as i was telling my colleague my problem, she told me of her TV which died after only three years - it just refuses to be switched off. and it costs too much to be fixed. a second time. for the same problem. it was cheaper to buy a new one.

they surely don't make things like they used to.

My cup of goodness runneth over

2011-01-05T09:27:00.000-08:00

what a wonderful start to the year ... note that the operative word is 'start'.

on sunday, lamlet no. 2 was in a particularly good mood ... he started out by helping to clear the dishes. we started by having a conversation of how it should have been him who made the shift to the new room formerly the guest room, as he's the neater and more organised child. then he proceeded to clear the breakfast table (be still my beating heart), wipe the table, took lamlet no. 1's cup to wash (close that jaw, ryan) ... and then he told me, what's next, mum?

quick, he said, before my goodness runs out. i know him well enough, so i give him a cloth to wipe the side table, and he cleans the pictures, ornaments, dining table .... this lasts for all of 30 mins more ... a life time away, if you go by Inception standards ... and then, he gets distracted by something on TV, plonks himself down the sofa, supposedly for a quick peek, and whoosh, that's the end of the goodness streak ...

on monday night, packing him off to bed on a school night, it's back to the usual moaning and groaning ..., 'what your goodness worn off so quick?" yup, was the reply ... no hesitation there.

blessed season

2010-12-25T05:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas isn't Christmas, till it happens in your heart ...

this year, it took a long time in coming ... the lamlets put up the tree, my prezzies were mostly left till the last week, usually i'm more or less done by then, leaving only a few important ones ... and basically, i was, along with most adults and even kids today, too busy and caught up with trying to juggle too many things at one time ...

it's christmas day today, and the lamlets want to spend the last few hours playing plants and zombies ... how christmassy is that?

but, even as youtube demonstrates, whether the story is told old-fashioned style with serious depth and in Hebrew, cute and adorable by kids in a play or digitised via internet, the bottomline remains that the greatest gift of all was given, and in that, hope eternal flourishes ...

whether i'm naughty or nice; we eat turkey or popiah, the lamlets got a glee cd, mp3 or 2,000 piece puzzle, it's not relevant because ...

Christmas isn’t Christmas ‘til it’s Christmas in your heart

Somewhere, deep inside you, is where Christmas really starts
So, give your heart to Jesus, you’ll discover when you do
That’s it Christmas, really Christmas for you.

Icky ice-cream

2010-12-20T09:24:00.000-08:00

it's a week away from Christmas ... why don't feel Chruistmassy one? even my lamlets said, Mum, can please change that CD? i asked, why? they answered, that one not about real Christmas, it's about Santa Claus. so proud of them ...

and lamlet no. 3, the funny boy ... thanks to him, i found out a new novel way to eat ice-cream. i wasn't with them that day, but seems in Singapore, when my other half took them sight-seeing, they had stopped by an ice-cream stall near the Merlion which sold old fashion ice-cream sandwich. you know, the cheap kind which had a slab of ice-cream in between two wafers ...

i've long realised that no. 3 has this knack for saying the strangest things and doing things differently. what he did was, he finished eating all the wafers first, which left this messy glob of half eaten runny ice-cream on his palm. when he showed it to dad, of course my other half said, hey, that's disgusting, finish it and be done with the mess.

he had trouble finishing it, so no. 2 had to help him ... by licking off his hand. and in the midst of licking off this muck, it began to rain so they had to run to the bus stop. picture this: everything around you is wet, and you're running around with ice-cream in your hands ... gross!!! fortunately, because it was raining, he just stuck his hand out off the shelter and washed off the muck...

for the next couple of weeks, if i should feel down, i just need to think of this and i'll be laughing.

and the wall came tumbling down

2010-11-30T08:44:00.000-08:00

you hear of this happening only to other people. but when the wall comes tumbling down right before your eyes, it's a huge shock.

this was my neighbour's house and she was meeting a couple of friends for lunch. One of the ladies, already in her 60s, had parked the car already outside the house. Aunty Chee asked her to repark under the porch so that it wouldn't be so hot. as she drove in, she must have accidentally stepped on the accelerator instead of the brakes and she slammed into the wall.

i was out attending a press conference but my other half was in and he jumped up in shock as he thought the fridge or something huge had toppled over. he called me and said, you wouldn't guess what happened. i told him i was in a middle of a meeting and he said, then it's ok, i'll call back. why do men do that? my mind was racing, did something happen to the old folks or the kids, or what? of course, i forced the abridged version out of him.

when he checked, the old lady was still in the car, in a state of shock, still fidgeting with the steering wheel and trying to drive... she literally didn't know what hit her ... or rather, what she hit. my maid and other half helped pull her out of the car. both the airbags had imploded and she had a slight gash on her lip. but if they hadn't opened up, her injuries would have been worse. the impact was that forceful. all the womenfolk were all badly shaken. luckily aunty chee wasn't standing in front of her. there was a huge gaping hole in the wall, and there were even hairline cracks all the up the wall near the top of the windows, and the metal frames were dented.

late, when i meet my other half for lunch, he goes into this long hypothetical conversation about how the insurance would or would not pay. again i ask, how does this concern us? well, always good to know, he says. i agree, but to me, it's a simple yes, they will, or no they won't for certain things. end of story. but men discuss stuff like they talk about politics over teh tarik ... a long discourse about something that they have no control over, and usually, doesn't even concern them or matter.

anyway, i try to console Uncle Chee that it could have been worse. he was understandably upset that a couple of old ladies meeting up could go so wrong and cost so much. i told him to think of the bright side ... that the friend could have had the accident on the road where she could have crashed into another car instead, or been badly hurt. or crashed into the pillar and the whole roof come tumbling down. it was also fortunate that another neighbour was renovating the house so Uncle Chee easily got those workers to come over and look into rebuilding his wall immediately. otherwise, to get a new contractor to look at this meagre hole in the wall might take forever, not to mention the safety issue.

at the end of the day, i realised i was pretty much reminding myself as well. it's always the case ... things could have been much worse, but a small bad incident averts a larger calamity. i am reminded that in all situations, whether we know it or not, God is still in charge. and while the small picture throws us helter skelter, He's in charge of the big picture. always and every single step of the way ...

fridge vs the taxman

2010-11-19T08:37:00.000-08:00

one problem at a time, thank you. last thursday, i left my ice-cream and butter in my neighbour's fridge. simply so that there'll be a reference point for Mr Fridge Technician when he returns. and because at that point of time, the fridge still wasn't up to par. the stuff in my neighbour's fridge froze whereas it didn't in mine. I called him to come by and check. by the time he did appear, i was out of town. so he leaves a note with my maid to say that he'd checked the temperature and the fridge was behaving itself.

and so it was. somehow the thermostat kicked in after a few days ... and now my stuff are turning into ice... including my veggie and oranges, and foodstuff in the lowest shelf...

so now, it's too cold. never mind, too cold is better than not cold at all.

i've got other things to content with. after a glorious break in Singapore (my only regret was that i didn't get to shop. ultimate self-restrain... i'm so proud of myself ...), i return to ground zero with resounding thud as the taxman catches up with me.

a couple of weeks ago, they send a notice saying they want to see receipts for 2008/2009. i surmise that no.1, i'm not sending receipts in the post. no. 2, i sent them a scathing letter of how they got all the figures mixed up, and my tax assessment is totally screwed up, (which they did not receive, hence reason no. 1), no. 3, in the past years, they've mixed up my other half's tax interchanged with mine before, sent his entire paid tax account to someone else's account by keying in the wrong number, and send numerous letters saying how my tax is underpaid, and then paid me back 'the excess'. and i'm supposed to trust these people with numbers ...

miss tax woman calls up to remind me that i've yet to send the receipts. i proceed to tell her that i've already sent her a reply, with the correct figures, and how they've gotten the figures wrong all these years. in retaliation, she says, ok, let's set things straight then, we audit for the past 5 years... oh man, where am i going to find the moth-eaten receipts which some have already faded into oblivion ...

they say the only thing certain in life is death and taxes ... heck, my father has been dead 30 years and every now and then, they find it amusing to send him an income tax form... seems tax is even more persistent that death...

Runny ice-cream

2010-11-09T06:48:00.000-08:00

It is incredulous! Mr Fridge Technician comes by today to finally do something concrete. He changes the thermostat, but not before declaring, 'Eh, your fridge quite cold now! But never mind, they say change, I change lah.'

I come back to find that my ice-cream, which to me, works better than any blinking hi-tech thermometer that he has, is soft. Not a little hard, not incompletely frozen ... runny soft. What in world happened? Of course, I call him and he says, give it a night. So, I'm giving it a night, but I know without even needing a jury of 12, that the fridge is playing a number on me and ice-cream will be just plain cream tomorrow.

Again, I ask, what is a decent period of mourning before I storm the MD's office for a replacement?

When we first bought the fridge, the salesman tried to sell me an insurance policy to ensure that I get warranty for five years. My other half probably jinxed it by saying, oh, if it was a LCD TV, I understand why I might need that kind of coverage. But not for a fridge.

So, now the fridge is showing off precisely what are the kind of things that can go wrong... My initial cheapskate gut instincts were right ... I should have just gone with the cheaper model ...

my water ain't cold!

2010-11-06T09:30:00.000-07:00

when my maid announced that the fridge was leaking again for the umpteenth time last sunday, i decided, that's it - i announced to my other half that we were getting a new fridge. that very afternoon, we signed on the dotted line ... albeit the little voice of guilt at the back of my head for getting rid of an old faithful which had served us well for 13 years. despite the occasional floor wetting and energy zapping, it kept food and ice-cream nicely cold and frozen.

and so that was how we landed with the fridge that wouldn't get frigid. cold, i mean. the guy came on tuesday. this after a couple of false starts and calls about coming and not turning up. he calls to say he'll deliver on tues after lunch, only to arrive at 10.30am, leaving us frantically emptying the stuff out of old faithful. and this was after we had emptied and then put everything back after his no show on monday. this should have been a sign of things to come.

my other half happily rattles on about how nice and spacious the newby is. and i arrive home at night to find my cold water... not cold. i am livid. i hate it when things, brand new, do not work... it's like a switch goes on inside of me and i lose it ... so first thing, i tell my other half, you call the technician and tell him to fix the problem before i come back. or else. (i was going to be away the whole day for a press launch and returning only at night.) and good thing too, my best friend said, if not the shop/technician/whoever in my way would have gotten the brunt of my anger.

so the technician arrives, and calls me at Putrajaya, to say, 'oh i measure already, things seem fine, the frozen stuff are frozen at -15degree C and the fridge is about 5 degree C. which is about right. give it some time. i've got complaints before about this model. but it's fine.' so okay, maybe i don't know anything. maybe like a car or an amplifier, you have to let it run for 24 hours before it gets cold like it used. i leave my thermometer inside and it says a nice cool 15 degree C. some fridge this is.

the next morning i wake up to check and my cold water is ... tepid. i am NOT HAPPY! so i call the technician again. he comes again. he tells my maid to arrange the food properly, not to block the air vents, the fan and all working fine, and opens up some gauge at the back of the fridge. 'should be alright now.' i come back in the evening after to work to find stuff colder... but still not as it should be. my best friend and her other half drop by to visit the fridge. her husband who knows a thing or two about these things declare that the fridge is a dud .... no such thing as running in a fridge, either it's cold, or it's not working. that's what i thought.

so i call him a third time. he says, i'm bringing the temperature gauge again. and i guarantee (guarantee, he says!) it'll be ok. so he comes today, and we finally meet face to face. i'm ready to tell him off... he said i used the wrong type of thermometer, yeah right, i said, but it's still a good gauge that the blinking fridge is not right. my best gauge is my uncold water.

he finally arrives at 1.30pm, sits down and measures the temperature of both the freezer and fridge compartments and after one hour declares, well, it's definitely not as cold as it should be. didn't fix anything. it's a couple of degrees off (duh, ya think?). so he'll make a report and now hand this over to Sharp. all the while i've been dealing with a sub-contractor. the procedure calls for someone like him to tackle problem and if it's not solved, then he fills up the paperwork, and passes it over to headoffice and if they can't solve the problem, then, maybe then, i might get a new fridge.

i'm counting the fingers and toes on my hand as to how long is a decent period of time before i storm into the MD's room at Sharp to demand a replacement. i don't want to sound like a desperate housewife who's got bad karma with appliances that don't work. because technically, it's not just appliances. it was a sofa of the wrong colour, a vibrating belt that died the day the guarantee expired (i swear this self destruct detail is on purpose), an air-cond that refuses to cool down (don't get me started).... not to mention the printer that won't print.

did i mention that my ice-cream is not frozen? it's solidified, but not so much that when you take it straight out of the freezer, you can still nicely scoop it out without effort. i tell him this and he quips some lame joke about something wrong with my ice-cream rather than the fridge. wonder if they have any laws about stuffing fridge technicians into a fridge? after all, not so cold what ... he can't possibly freeze to death, right?!!!

juicy news indeed

2010-10-21T08:36:00.000-07:00

Newsflash ... a woman's monthly cycle is a sin and may cause decay in moral values...

That's if you want to believe what went down in the recent Puteri Umno delegates debate. Already blogs and facebook comments have gone viral - i'm not sure which is worst - what someone can come up with such a ridiculous statement just to gain political ground, or that she might actually believe in it herself...

.... Johor Baru Puteri Umno chief Azura Mohd Afandi wants the Information Ministry to curb television shows and commercials that could lead people astray from the right religious paths.
"Horror films and commercials deemed too sexy for young viewers might lead to deviant teachings.
"For example, commercials on sanitary pads are openly shown on TV and this could influence the young to get involved in social ills," said Azura, urging the ministry to increase shows that teach good values and religious practices.

....Kedah delegate Azifah Abdul Rahman supports the continued use of the Internal Security Act against those threaten the country's security.
She said: "The Act is needed, especially as there are those who dare question the Malay rights."
The Star, Oct, 21, Pg. 8.

On the point of sanitary pads, the statement is beyond retort, as one can only hope that this poor lady knows what a sanitary pad is and have access to one. There could be cause for medical alarm as there's a possibility that her menstrual cycle has gone to her brain, killing cells for reasonable thought pattern. And if you think about it, she might have a point to what she's saying as all the commercials shown only insinuate what a sanitary pad is used for. They never really fully explain the body system and therefore, this will only serve the young to go wild with their imagination as they visualise how sexy a woman left alone with cotton fibres can be...

What's more worrying is the latter statement ... which clearly states how one set of people presume upon what they have. And how it is beyond reproach.

i worry, nay, i am terrified that this is the world that my lamlets will be growing up in, a country that forgets that we were a product of tolerance, of how far we've come, only to go back in time and repeat the mistakes of our forefathers. i'm trying hard to raise my children to care for and respect others, regardless of skin colour or religion, and yet there are those who insist on drumming in contradictory values into our next generation.

We can only hope, no, pray very very hard, that the future is not as bleak as the present portends ...

Show highlights

2010-10-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

at least i can say, yeah, i'm hip - i went to adam lambert's concert! to which lamlet no. 1 said, you mean there were people older than you there? oh yah hor, dad was there too! somebody slap that boy, will ya!

and man, did i feel old at that concert ... i got hold of standing room tickets - of which (ab)normal people fork out close to RM200 for ... surreal ... that this american idol runner-up, not even numero uno, could command such audiences and prices.

and so there i was ... standing in the sea of young people, mostly young college students or teens, though there was the odd parent or two, drowning in the noise like me. i knew a couple of the songs, sure ... but the energy, the screaming, the gyrating were beyond me. on one hand, i felt lucky to be able to be smack in the middle of such a phenomenon. on the flipside, i wish i was up in the stands with my best pal May Ling, who had cheaper tickets but had a proper seat. seems the people up there didn't so much as sway even to the music. after the second song, her other half said, can we go home now? the mad youngsters around me however, were bathing in their own sweaty frenzy, too caught up in the moment to notice anything else.

and so i stood rooted to my spot, less i lose my angle of sight, one finger stuffed in my ear because it was so, so loud, and the other hand closed around my nose, as the stench of b.o and somebody's bad breath enveloped me.

did i enjoy the show? well, i enjoyed the experience. i saw the man in person - adam was an excellent showman and polished performer, and even more accomplished singer. but the words were hardly intelligible, and it would have been good if there was more of a tune to more of his songs. they had meaningful words but not exactly the melodious kind that you could really sing to ... but i keep telling myself - it's a rock concert - that's how it's supposed to be.

next time round though, i'll be staying home, watching him from the idiot box from the comforts of my own home instead.

feed the piranhas

2010-09-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

there used to be a time when i worried about the lamlets and their lack of interest in food ... kids go thru phases, and all the lamlets were different and individualistic in their eating habits.

lamlet no. 1 was the hardest to feed when he was a baby. i used to line the floor all around him with newspapers and ultimately, there would be more on the floor than in him. i would be happy if he finished five spoonfuls of solid food. then when he was two and a half years old, he had a bad bout of stomach flu, which made him reject milk totally as that made him sick ... since then, he developed an aversion to milk. but converse, he took up eating in a big way and meal times became more peaceful... it's also harder to fill him these days as he polishes everything in sight and more.

lamlet no. 2 was easiest to stuff. and then, when he became old enough to talk and decide to tell me what he wants to eat ... or not ... food became another battle, to add to the list of many that we now have even today. he doesn't like vegetables, and even now, he cuts them into small small bits like his grandmother, so they go down easier. no one sees this tho coz when he's outside, he eats everything and even encourages his friends to take their veggie, coz he 'loves' them. oh man, this boy is no. 1 con man. but these days, he's growing, and food and him are more agreeable.

lamlet no. 3 is generally more acquiescent, but he's a moody eater, and what he loves today may not be what he likes tomorrow. he also has total self-control, so if he says he doesn't want something he means it, and even if he's tempted with ice-cream or choc or anything sinful, he doesn't take the bait.

the other day, when the lamlets asked for a McD treat because lamlet no. 3 said 'you must buy the latest triple deck burger' - as tho it was my maternal obligation, their eating styles were telling of their characters ...

Jordan ate as if his life depended on it, and the small boy finished his burger fastest, as tho it was a race that he had to complete first. half the time his mouth was so stuffed that it looked like food was about spill out any minute. evan ate his in segments ... he basically took apart the whole burger and ate each piece separately - the meat, then the bread, the cheese, etc. sometimes, he does that with his rice too, whereby he would finish all the dishes he had taken on his plate first, and then only savour his rice last. other times, he mixed his rice and dishes up so much that it looked like pig food.

ryan is the connoisseur - savouring each bite as and dabbing a bit of sauce here and tasting a bit there, as if he was eating a fine ribeye steak. he's also high maintenance, professing a love for japanese food, and fine dining cuisine ....

so yeah, these days, feeding them is the least of my problems ... when they eat at friends', it's a food frenzy so much so (except no. 3) that people wonder whether they're ill-treated at home as they act as tho they don't get food at home at all... but surely, this is easier to handle than dolls, make-up, clothes, nails ... one of me is enough ...

plots and schemes

2010-09-19T23:43:00.000-07:00

It started last Wednesday when lamlet no. 2 asked not to go for Mandarin tuition classes anymore.

Naturally, I was concerned and asked all the usual questions: is teacher mean to you, do you not like her, is there something wrong with the way she teaches, etc. He did mention before that he felt she didn't give him enough to do for his essay and therefore he didn't feel 'challenged'. In
fact, he asked for his former teacher, who was grumpy and overloaded them with homework,
which he had complained about before. What gives?

lamlet no. 1 of course, had his own spiel. heck, he said, what's your problem - you've the best kind of tuition teacher one could ask for - someone who gives very little work, and offers little snacks and goodies all the time! Anyway, I relented, since the school's main exams are in early October anyway, so I thought if he attends till end of the month, there really is no need to continue as the kids won't be thinking about studying much anyway after the exams.

So, after tuition, Evan announced to his friend that he wouldn't be attending anymore. The teacher overheard and asked why. He blurted out: my results are bad and I need to buck up so my mother will be getting another tuition teacher. Embarassed at his tactlessness, I called the
teacher to apologise and explain. I said, no, we're not getting another teacher. But Evan
did mention that he doesn't feel he's getting enough.

Hah ... that's when the story broke. The teacher said how he was stuck on one essay homework, and he never passed that up. He also never showed her his exam paper (as he was too embarassed by his marks probably) even though she asked with the intention of helping him think through his mistakes and improve. And in time, it all snowballed into five different essays which were never completed or handed up.

In fact, she said for the last two months, he seemed somewhat distracted and not as attentive as usual. Although at home, this is nothing remarkable, lamlet no.2 is the consumate actor everywhere else. Be it as school or at church or at public places, everyone thinks he's an angel as he flashes the sweetest smile, he's responsive and extroverted, and despite all his hijinks at home, he manages to be at the top of the class. So naturally, the Mandarin teacher was concerned. Thereafter, she realised that he was not as innocent as he portrayed himself to be.

At home, I gave him a stern talking to (putting it mildly, as my friends say mad woman ranting is more like it), and as the floodgates opened, he confessed that he lied simply because the homework had gotten out of hand. That night in bed, he sobbed in between the sheets and exclaimed in defence, 'don't know how to do also, how to do!' I told him that it was no excuse to turn his back on something that had to be done. It's just like Amazing Race, when you face a Road Block, you have to complete it to catch up with the other competitors otherwise you'll be disqualified. If he didn't understand the lesson, then ask the teacher or me or any other adult. Don't just sit on it and hope it will go away. Coz it won't, rather it'll come back to haunt you.

And, so that was his whole weekend, homework, essays and two last minute art projects (which was mostly my work, as usual). Felt like forever to complete, as he's the ultimate procrastinator.

In retrospect, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry at his craftiness and ingenuity in cooking up such a scheme. And I'm wondering how long before the damn breaks and being well-behaved for three days is just too much to bear for lamlet no. 2 ...

When he was two years younger, I used to pray with him at night and would ask him why he was naughty that day. Can you please be good tomorrow, and Evan would reply in all honesty, I really don't know why I did why I did ... and I can't promise what happens tomorrow ... we'll see how it goes...

end of the road

2010-09-13T07:08:00.000-07:00

my colleague Susi finally lost the battle...

we both got admitted into hospital in the same year the first time in 2003. i went in for my 24-hour marathon carotid tumour surgery, and unbeknownst to me at that time, she had a mastectomy. and through some twisted hand of fate, every time i went in, she did too ...however, while i was clearly aware that i was systematically removing my lumps once and for all, more and more kept appearing in her case.

two years later, a small tiny lump appeared in her other breast, for which she had no need for chemo or radiotheraphy, but a lumpectomy was performed. later, she noticed her left eyelid had trouble staying open, implying that perhaps there was something wrong with her sympathetic chain.

turned out there was a tiny tumour behind her eyeball, which could not be operated on. instead, she had laser/some form of radiotherapy. it apparently kept the tumour from growing, but it affected her muscle movement and in time, her eyelid could only half open, which made it hard for her to judge distances, especially when she was driving.

still, she kept her spirits up. this, despite the fact, that she had discovered along the way that there was evidence of cancer on a small part of her backbone and was taking medicine to keep the pain at bay and also its spread. another year down the road, she noticed some skin discoloration... it was skin cancer, for which she had treatment for, and then discovered that it wasn't working as somehow her hormones were getting in the way of the treatment and hampering progress, for which she had a hysterectomy.

and then, another year down the road, Susi discovered that the cancer in her backbone was spreading upwards.

that was last year, and she probably knew she had to get in for a second round of chemo, but she postponed as she was probably hoping for some miracle and went for a pilgrimage in India first before she consulted the doctor to confirm what she already knew. chemo was in the cards, and when that didn't work, the doctors pronounced yet another cycle, stronger, different. poor Susi by now was so weakened by treatment that she could no longer walk for long stretches as her bones ached. she was in much pain, and doctors didn't know what else to offer. she had to ask whether radiotherapy would lessen the aching and they told her, 'we could try'. some consolation that was. it did help ... a little. bought her a little more time.

i confess we weren't close knit - not like we even shared lunches or had tea together as we were from different departments. but our paths crossed almost every day, and you know how it is, we stop at the corridors and exchanged medical horror stories. she always asked how i was, and i always said, don't worry, i'm fine, you take care of yourself. and that i'll pray for her and gave her a hug.

last saturday, Susi, at 44, ran out of time. her family and friends had gathered at least a week before since monday, when she had been admitted for laboured breathing. on tuesday when i saw her last she had removed the oxygen mask and all other tubes running through her. she thought she could go faster. but it didn't happen fast enough. she could hardly talk and the last thing she said to me as i whispered a prayer for her in her ear, was 'i can't go ... '

the word brave can't even begin to describe my friend. so tired. hers was a lumpy journey fraught with pain that never went away. farewell, dear Susi ... I pray that you have found peace.

missing month

2010-09-01T09:43:00.000-07:00

hey, who stole august from under my feet? what a lumpy journey it's been, literally so, as Sydney offers up its sporting best. i thought to myself, been there, done that, seen the sights. what else is there? lots apparently, as i embraced many firsts - quad biking, para-sailing, dolphin sighting, and view of Sydney by Harley and from the river by cruise boat, and the icing on the cake, from one of the highest peaks in the city, the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

all in a day's work ...it's been an exhilarating journey ...

returned only to hear the sad news that May Ling's mum-in-law, diagnosed with stomach cancer last january, finally gave up the good fight last week.

i cannot help but stand amazed at the balance of life. just as every cloud has a silver lining, so too at the edge of every happiness, waits a dark cloud.

am reminded afresh to count my blessings, that in spite of the pressures at work and at home, no quarrel is worth carrying a grudge, as life is just too short. it appears that mum probably suffered a minor short circuit upstairs - in other words, probably another mini stroke - because in the last two weeks, she is even less coherent than when she last left the hospital and she drags her right leg now and can hardly walk. her sense of recognition has deteriorated even further. yet, she has outlasted May Ling's m-i-l, who just nine months before appeared hale and hearty, and could walk to the market every morning for breakfast...

finally made that appointment and the doctor has pronounced me 'in total remission' as i finish year six in good health (albeit minor hiccups and lumps). but i haven't ventured back to check whether last year's lumps have shrunk after the SRT. for now, it's good enough to know that i've taken proactive steps to tackle the problem. it's been exactly one year since treatment but i'm in no hurry to know what's the deal with my body's biology.

life is but a frail thing, fleeting like the morning dew in the landscape of eternity...

lamlet 3 turns 8

2010-07-29T09:04:00.000-07:00

today lamlet no. 3 turns eight...

most people plan for one or two kids. three takes a little more courage. or for some, 'accidents' which are really God's way of telling us we need more kids than we know.

lamlet no. 3 came about because i was inspired by so many friends who already had two boys and whose third child were girls. i wanted a girl so bad that i pinned up my colleague's adorable baby girl's photo on my side partition in the office to encourage my body to be like-minded. when i saw little girls in cute dresses, or shopped in department stores, i imagined all the little girlie things i would get. and when i got pregnant, i was so absolutely sure that it was headed that way, as it was july and the other two boys were born early in the year. my cravings were so different. when my gynae friend showed me very early on with his 3D scanner the little penis on the foetus at five months' old, i cried buckets, and hoped against hope that the machine got it wrong.

when jordan arrived, i felt resigned to my fate... sigh ... me, mother of three lamlets. he looked adorable as all babies do, but oh, what a horrible baby he was... he never wanted to sleep in his own cot from day one, and he was the most finicky eater. joy is the child who feeds off the breast and falls to sleep when he's full. jordan, on the other hand, was the most playful feeder, whether it was my breast or the milk-bottle. when he slept, he always wanted to feel the warmth of another person next to him. as a baby, he hated to sleep, and even in his sleepiest of moments, he would force himself to stay awake, as if he was afraid he would miss something exciting if he closed his eyes. and the amount of milk he drank ... i was always so afraid that he would puke, but it all stayed in, yet he was never fat. he could polish off two bottles of eight-ounce milk within an hour of each other and still wake up at 4am for some more. by the time he turned two and a half years, i told myself enough was enough, and he went cold turkey. it was a battle of the wills, whether i would wake up, give up and feed him in the middle of the night, or stand up to his wailing for a good hour. and unlike the other two, as it's definitely not in the genes, this one is a sulker. thankfully, as he grows up, the sulking has grown to a minimum although there are unreasonable days ...

but with jordan, it was also a different ball game, as i had my first op when he was just seven months old, and he spent the next year thereafter sleeping with the maid. no surprise why he initially preferred her to me. the few times i felt well enough (as i was so frail after) to have him in my room, he wailed and yearned to be with her. he barely turned two when i was diagnosed with cervical cancer, and while i thought to myself that i was ready to meet my Maker, i bargained with God as i couldn't bear the thought of leaving my children motherless so young.

after the first maid left and a new one took over, he became closer to me as he didn't take to her. with jordan, i was less anxious as he was the last one. there was no chance of ever having a girl as i already had a hysterectomy. and of course, although all parents claim to love all their children equally, one can't help but give the last one just that little more, because he's the baby of the family. he's also the firm reminder that whatever time i spend with him, or with the other lamlets, is extra time, by God's grace. and as he grows, he's a real comfort as his temperament is angelic (most times anyway) as he's the most acquiescent of the three.

while initially i still ached for a baby girl, eventually the idea of three boys grew on me.

the advantages? all the clothes are hand-me-downs from lamlet no. 1 right down to no. 3. and all they ever need are shorts, pants and T-shirts. no need to specially shop for the holidays or spend on trinkets or barbie dolls. clothes for all three fit into one neat cupboard. boys whine less, or at least mine do. boys don't mind getting rough and dirty. you don't have to worry about dirty toilet seats so much as they pee standing. you don't have to spend time doing their hair. heck, you don't even need to get a comb.

there are days when i watch them sleep, especially no. 3, and i tell myself, i've been so blessed, that if God decides my time is up, i would say it's alright, i've had my chance to be my kids' mother, and it's been good...

so no, i wouldn't trade no. 3 for anything in the world. my boys rock...

Malaysian telcos suck

2010-07-26T10:00:00.001-07:00

I didn't think much of it until my phone bill came today. it nicely reminded me as a consumer, that we should be saving paper, by telling me henceforth, my telco will be charging RM2 for a printed copy of my bill, and RM1 for itemised billing. if it was online, then it would be free. the best part is, i could request for this service by calling or going there personally, but there was no option to do this online ...

normally, i would think that this was a great service - indeed, walk the talk, save the environment, sure, i'm all for it ... but coming from a telco, in this instance, celcom, which has fallen way short of expected services, it only served to ruffle my feathers.

it started a couple months back, when i wanted to change my phone line to my personal name. currently mine is registered under the national union of journalists. i had actually taken the trouble to get the union president to give an official letter requesting the transfer of the line to my name, along with a change of package which offered better rates. when the new bill came, i found out the charges had been changed under the new package, yes, but the name change didn't happen.

when i called the help number, the person at the other end told me that i had to go to the centre personally... which i told her, i had already done that. it never ceases to amaze me that telco companies, the people supposedly in charge of communication, can be so bad at it. the person at the other end refused to give me the tel no of the branch which had accepted my earlier letter. she said 'it was not allowed.' when i finally barked that i was a journalist and she better release details, after keeping me on hold eternally, she returned sheepishly only to tell me that i was supposed to pay RM60 for a name change.

furious, i refused to carry on the stupid conversation and proceeded to deal with the pr exec directly. which apparently was not much use.

along the course of a couple of weeks, she told me that, so sorry, but the letter (which i faxed a copy over to her), was not explicit.

it read: Please change the number xxxxx registered under the union of journalists to the personal line of so and so... (which part of 'change to personal line' did they not get? is there another form of english i don't know about?)

after some time, she reverted to me, very apologetically (for surely she was not the one to come up with this moronic red tape?), that she would fax over the form for me to fill (sure, i'll fill that), to be given along with a copy of my ID (sure, i understand) and an official letter from the president (wait a minute, deja vu?) and .... wait for it.... a copy of his ID to verify change.

afterwhich i lost it and said, forget it, don't bother. i mean, if the phone was registered under the newspaper i worked for, does this mean my MD has to submit a copy of his ID? why wasn't the official letter on letterhead paper good enough? short of frothing at the mouth, i bluntly told her, thank you very much, but i think it's easier to get a new line.

but apparently, this wasn't half as bad as a friend of mine, who wanted to do something similar.... he wanted to keep his number, but it was a company phone/number. maxis wanted him to pay RM900 just to keep the number. stuff it. just when you think you got it bad, someone else out there always manages to top it ...

a little curve

2010-07-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

i'm discovering new issues which my parents never knew existed ... that flat feet is not a small problem, and later in life, can cause serious leg and spinal problems. and that the canvas shoes which Malaysian schools insist on suck.

a couple of weeks ago, my friend pat noticed her daughter sprained her ankle. as adults, usually we dismiss little girls' rumblings as a cry for attention. but as another friend and i proceeded to rub ointment on her foot, we noticed that it had bunions on both sides of her feet, a common problem caused by ill-fitting shoes. but usually, this appears mostly on adult feet, and commonly on women's feet which have been stuffed unceremoniously into tight killer-high stilettos in the name of fashion for years. Hew F'ng is only 9.

this called for serious attention and the first thing was to get her out of sloppy slippers and Croc shoes, which obviously weren't giving her enough support, and into proper shoes - sports shoes. not long after that, i noticed, to my horror, that my own two lamlets' feet had the makings of bunions too. this was strange, because they were at the middle of the foot facing the outside near the foot arch, not right in front near the side of the big toe.

this i later learnt from orthotic specialists, was caused by a collapsing arch. in time, without proper support, the bone will protrude, manifesting in a small lump, known as a bunion, and which, if it becomes too pronounced, can only be 'cured' by surgery. that's the worst case scenario. alternately, early intervention means wearing the proper orthotic support and forcing your foot to have an arch, strengthening it with foot exercises. Hew F'ng, on the other hand, had too high an arch, it seems, which was the source of the bunions (lack of support) and her spraining her ankle so easily as her feet were too flexible.

another friend's daughter, at 7, had complained for ages about her aching legs, and there were days they were so painful that she couldn't stand properly. doctors checked her and dismissed it as growing pains. but a doc friend noticed that she 'walked funny' and recommended consultation with a podiatrist.

it was confirmed that she had flat feet, and the uneven load-bearing of her weight was causing pain to extend to her legs. an expensive investment of customised orthotics worn over a period of a couple of years solved the problem and even changed the shape of her feet to have a better developed arch. and to think that little curve in our feet makes such a difference to our lives...

the lamlets now wear sports shoes to school. they can't be happier as it means they don't have to wash their shoes every week! save for no 1., who has a decent arch, but has problems finding a decent pair to fit his ginormous feet. at 13, his feet are as large as his dad's. i don't know whether he'll live up to expectations of being as tall as his feet suggest he might be, but they're surely burning a hole in my pocket ...

father and son

2010-06-27T07:26:00.000-07:00

my other half and lamlet no. 2 just came from a father and son camp. it was just an overnight trip but i never cease to be amazed how the organisers, Focus on the Family, manage to fit so much in just two days and one night.

the destination changes, and there are about two camps a year. but each father, no matter how many sons he has, is allowed to bring only one son at a time, to ensure bonding time. within that period, the couple (father and son) gets to go through physical activities like an obstacle course, telematches, jungle hike at night (where torchlights/candles are put out for a few minutes so that the boys can hear the sounds of nature) and a water trek. they also go through communication modules, set up tent (and spend the night), get a camp fire going and cook a meal.

three years ago, lamlet no. 1 went. and this time, when evan came back to relate his experience, it was mind-blowing to see how the two of them perceived things so differently. ryan was painfully shy, freaked out by the night sounds and couldn't sleep the whole night as he was terrified of the bugs! but my other half also learnt of his needs, when ryan communicated that he felt his father didn't spend enough time with him. after some short quizzes, ryan's personality was defined as the beaver. only now as he's older, he's more talkative and approachable, and blossoming. of course, he's also full of teenage angst.

evan, on the other hand, took every task in stride, made friends easily and had no problems manning the 'house' (tent) on his own. like ryan, he experienced many 'firsts' - night out under the stars, left alone with dad with no mummy to run to, night hike, leeches, cooking over a barbecue fire. he was exhausted but had lots of fun. and overnight, he grew a little, and became more of a man.

lamlet no 2 is often the one who breaks the harmony at home, and causes someone to cry. but left to his own devices, he's polite, helpful and brave. teachers often praise him for being a model student and i laugh at how he's such a good actor. lamlet no. 2 is an otter.

my other half on the other hand, is a retriever, the peace maker. not that he does much retrieving at home, judging from the stuff he leaves lying around after use ... it's a man thing...

the CEO type is the lion-personality. well, don't have those in my family so we're not about to run any corporations any time soon.

(Father/son camp details to be found at www.family.org.my)

hospitals drawing blood

2010-06-23T03:46:00.000-07:00

finally, mum is back home, after the five-day saga.

started last sat, when she seemed particularly weak on the left. It so happened that we were at the GP anyway, to check her spiking blood pressure. Her speech slurring, and her left arm and leg weakening were clear indication that something was amissed. So, checked her into a private hospital nearby ... even though mum is a pensioner, reckoned it would be faster instead of a government hospital. And, of course, with service, there's a price to pay. Within 2.5 hours of checking in, the hospital ascertained her condition, took a brain scan and chest x-ray, gave her some meds and checked her into ICU already.

after a couple of days in a "four-star hotel" (i.e. hospital), mum is a lot more alert and, asking for food. she forgot that my son is actually her grandson, and not her son, that other friends had dropped by to see her, but remembered that she had asked for fried mee hoon, and i didn't bring it for her when i visited. guess she's on the mend.

but what was a learning experience ... was hospital protocol and billing procedures ... five doctors looked in on mum. a neurologist, for her stroke/brain, a physician, for general health management, cardiologist for her heart, and along the way, since her hemoglobin was on the low side, a specialist in that area, and ... wait for it ... a surgeon to look in on her bed sore! which i could have sworn developed in the hospital and not at home, though they will never admit it.

the rest i could live with - but a surgeon? i flipped and asked the physician why couldn't he be in charge of that. i got the usual hospital spiel - "oh, that's protocol, the surgeon has a management plan for the bed sore, can be very complicated, it's a different area of expertise," blah, blah, blah ... and just because the surgeon would only be free in the afternoon to look in on mum before discharge, i would have to pay half a day extra. as you would for a hotel. i complained some more. he said he'd ask the surgeon to help out to come in earlier. that he did, but in the end, i still had to fork out an extra RM170 for the surgeon's consultation fees for something that could have been handled by nurses. when i consulted doctor friends/and the hospital pr, i was told that if he had wanted to, the physician could have handled it himself without the referral and benefitting the hospital further.

to add salt to injury (pun intended)... mum's sodium level was on the low side. he suggested she stayed another night. no way hose! at the med counter, the docs prescribed ... salt! i kid you not ... a small bottle of natrium chloride the size of a pill bottle along with four tablets of multivit. my other half protested and made them take it back. and sarcastically added that we had a whole bag of salt (sea salt, iodised salt, what have you) from Giant, the hypermart, which costs only RM1, as opposed to the tiny miserable bottle at exorbitant charges. and they snucked in a comb ... which i was probably billed for ... which i only noticed when i was home.

why do hospitals do such things?!!! what happened to the hypocritical (intentional) oath of saving lives? well, they might argue they haven't changed their philosophy - except that now, it costs many pounds of flesh ...

seasons in the sun

2010-06-16T09:10:00.001-07:00

World Cup fever is on ... so, i guess that calls for at least one post ... enough to last for the next four years at least. doesn't help that everybody speak in initials these days. so it's wc on fb, lol, omg. took me a while to figure out fb, and i was wondering why the heck the toilet suddenly got to be the topic of the day, until it struck me .... oooohhhh, World Cup, not water closet (as in poo-poo room)... heh heh ... time to take my head out of the sewer ...

so, survived Cameron Highlands with the old folks and the lamlets. whew ... this in spite the fact mum was nursing three stitches at her brow, having fallen and knocked her the side of her head, looking like someone had punched her, just two days before travelling and dad-in-law in all probability, having suffered a minor stroke. he fell a couple of times in highlands, so much so, that we were all too spooked to let him walk alone, and took turns to hold his hand while walking. while he shrugged off all the extra attention and nagging, he probably was secretly pleased that the lamlets looked after granddad so well. (but brother-in-law doc felt that it was probably very minor and nothing to be done, so since dad seemed to be much better as the days passed, all there was to it was to take a couple of extra neuropills.)

but Camerons, on the other hand, was definitely worse for wear. the lamlets enjoyed the cool air, and the educational trips to the farms and tea plantation. but generally, it was sad, no, horrifying at the rate the erosion of the land was happening, due to all the non-stop clearing of land for farming. which isn't necessarily a bad thing, except that it is mostly hydroponic farming, which uses excessive water and artificial nutrients. high rise condominiums marked the hills and valleys, and where in the past the eye could see miles of soothing green, now here and there, the scene would be marred by ugly cement and construction, some unfinished project, or constant droning. and everyone, and i mean everyone, was planting strawberries. every corner you turn would be strawberry key chains, pillows, tissue boses, hairclips, plates, and anything else you could imagine with that fruit. it was downright sad, because strawberries are not native to camerons, thus they are sour to the taste and artificially induced to grow to decent sizes by fertilizers. sad because, it would seem that Camerons now have little else to offer. except commercial kitsch.

i should make a rule never to visit places that i have fond memories of, as change is often for the worse, as modernisation these days, isn't always a good thing - it kills the charm and quaintness, and the reminiscence of better days gone by is often replaced by profound sadness that my children will never be able to enjoy the country i once knew...

fare thee well, my friend

2010-06-05T09:48:00.001-07:00

my friend saleha hashim passed away early yesterday morning. a diminutive woman at 61, saleha, or aunty leha as she refers to herself when she talks to me, had seen better days. Confined to a wheelchair for the past seven years due to acute rheumatoid arthritis and a car accident, she used to be an independent woman who had worked for organisations like World Bank and Antah Holdings Bhd as well as ran her own property management company.

a mother of seven children, aunty leha held her head with pride despite her frail body. i had interviewed her two years ago for mother's day. she was also the proud mum of pretty TV celebrity Azura (formerly of Disney Chanel), which was an opener for a cynic like me. usually you reckon that someone who speaks well and looks pretty like that would have had a silver spoon to kickstart her career. but it was heartening to find out that Azura had her feet firmly planted on the ground.

aunty leha obviously had a large role to play in orientating the family as bringing up seven kids was surely no easy task. and she ruled with a military hand and instilled good values in all of them. she may have lost control of her limbs but she certainly was still in control of things.

somehow, after our chance meeting, she felt a symbiotic link to me after she found out that my mother was also wheelchair-bound. a different generation from the Malays of today, aunty leha spoke in impeccable English and was the consumate host each time i visited. which i'm sorry to say wasn't often at all save for Hari Raya. yet she remembered me during Christmas, my birthday, and even Chinese New Year, and would get her husband to send me small gifts for the occasion. now and then she would send me text messages to send her regards or ask my opinion as a journalist on various matters. that was about all she could move - her thumbs to send text messages. her husband told me that she had good and bad days, but i only remember how she lit up when i visited her, how chirpy and kind she was. that she was someone who counted her cup as half full, rather not at all ...

earlier this week, i had received news that aunty leha was not doing well and had difficulties breathing, and had been admitted to hospital. by then, she was quite severe as she was in and out of ICU and visitation wasn't allowed. Azura had passed on the message to her that i asked about her, and she smiled, through her oxygen mask.

farewell aunty leha, perhaps she's in better place now and no longer in pain...

_______________________________________________

The Star, May 2008

To commemorate Mother’s Day this weekend, women talk about

the phases of motherhood....

Saleha Hashim:

“When they were growing up, I worked on a tight budget and it was a

matter of juggling ‘one lid between five pots’. But I’m very proud of

all my children and even now, I’m still excited when I see Azura on

TV!” she says.

What’s different: My mother also had seven children and she was very

strict. When I went out, I had to be home by Maghrib (evening prayers,

about 7pm). My father passed away when I was very young and she

single-handedly nurtured us even though she couldn’t read or write.

She was one tough woman.

Like her, I brought mine up military style. If one person misbehaves,

all of them would get it. My children were also trained from very

young to do chores and from the age of five, they arranged their shoes

and made their beds.

But I also tried to strike a good balance, and we went to karaoke,

dancing and played games together. Some of our best family times were

our “Friday horror movie night”!

The challenges: In the early years, making ends meet was the toughest.

I had agreed with my husband very early on that he would stay in the

civil service while I went out to work to make the money. The most

telling difference of having working children now is that they can

contribute financially.

At this stage of motherhood, there are no real challenges for me. I

used to be very active and scuba dive, go boating and do other

activities. I’m an outdoor kind of person and my physical limitations

are my personal challenges. My family support has been vital in

keeping things together.

The fears: Malaysia has become very unsafe and I hear all sorts of

stories. I became particularly jittery after the Canny Ong case. When

Zarina (my oldest) goes for parties, she would be escorted by her

brother. If she doesn’t come back by the stipulated time, I would lock

her out! Even now, Azura has a curfew of 11.30pm (and she has to

inform me if there are changes.) Astro also has contributed to the

negative influences by having channels like MTV and airing other

suggestive shows.

The expectations: At this stage, I’ve got everything so I don’t have

expectations. My children were taught to adhere to the “circle of

love” and that if any single link falls out, then the circle would be

broken. They are taught to stand by each other and we’re a very close

family.

The future: If I can be so vain as to say this without sounding proud

– I brought up my children well and in these problematic times, I am

not worried as I know they’ll handle themselves well.

iodine deficient

2010-05-30T06:29:00.001-07:00

wanna have smarter kids? eat iodised salt. i kid you not.

the other day, i interviewed a Professor Creswell Eastman, leading endocrinologist and world expert on iodine. (yup, i didn't know there was such a thing either.) he said that a lack of iodine has a led to general fall of IQ of children in many countries such as Thailand, India and the Philippines.

now, being the eternal cynic, i am convinced that supplements with iodine that are being recommended for expectant mothers are no more than a marketing gimmick. yeah, yeah, pregnant women are the favourite targets for everyone who's selling something as mothers will do anything for their children.

but an encounter with the doc has changed my stand somewhat. there's no rocket science involved - basically, iodine goes towards helping the body produce the hormone thyroxine - and an iodine deficiency may lead to an enlargement of the thyroid (resulting in an ugly goiter), or worse case scenario, hypothyroidism in the expectant mother, which may lead to mental retardation or less severe, lower IQ, in infants. even countries like Australia are affected, as iodine which used to be introduced through the milk they drink, is no longer found in their dairy products as sanitising methods (which gave trace elements of iodine) have changed. as such, the population since the 1990s is mildly iodine deficient.

so okay, you're thinking, i'm beyond help as i've had my kids. so what's done is done. BUT, even for young children, a healthier thyroid goes a long way towards healthier brain function. so, the message is - no, don't go and buy supplements, but make a point to buy iodised salt. and, check the label on your expensive sea salt. you'd be surprised that it might not contain iodine.

learn something new every day ...

moral idiots

2010-05-20T08:34:00.000-07:00

by whose moral standards are we judged? i just looked through lamlet no. 1's test paper today and i realised i didn't have answers for half of the questions. simply because they weren't logical to begin with.

example: (translated) what is the main responsibility of the father of the household?

a. to take of the property

b. discipline the children

c. provide for the family financially

d. take care of the household chores.

my guess is the textbook answer is c. Ryan answered b. and i applaud his choice as frankly, i don't see anything wrong with it. so, who sets the standards for these archaic beliefs? in today's world, i deem it just as important that the mother can provide for the family financially. and that discipline is very much the responsibility of the father. for the school, teacher or even government to dictate or instil such 'morals' is morally wrong.

another question that begs logic:

what determines why you should undertake a certain action?

a. result (of that action)

b. benefit

c. importance

d. i don't even remember this

the answer probably is result (as the cause and effect of things). but really, i don't think c. importance (ryan's answer) is really wrong either. neither are any of the other answers. yet we subject our children to this and ...

for the icing on the cake: sanggupkah anda berkorban untuk negara? (would you die for your country?) of course, the logical reply is yes ... but who in their right minds ask 13-year-olds such things? unless you're planning a revolt or intend to start a coup with a group of young kids.

man, our education system ... or thoroughly lack of one, spells an omnimous disaster for the next generation of Malaysians.

and the person who thought up of the subject of moral, along with its ridiculous answers, should be shot. oh, i forget ... it's one of our ministers ....and these guys are running the country ...

sidetrack

2010-05-09T08:41:00.000-07:00

some more jordan matrix:

if i had five apples and i ate four, how many would there be left?

the logical answer would be one.

But, according to lamlet no.3, that's wrong coz in reality, he wouldn't be able to finish four apples anyway ... d..uh!

one for the record: if ryan had 10 pimples, and jordan had none, how many would evan have?

don't even begin to answer this one ...

(lamlet no. 3 got thumped by lamlet no. 1 for this one). no prizes for guessing who's going thru puberty ...

mothers and daughters

2010-05-06T08:09:00.001-07:00

a couple weeks back, i told myself that i'd write about my best friend's oldest daughter's, 'coming of age' event. but given how other events have overtaken that day since, it has kind of been forgotten. i asked may ling what she did, and she said they did what they would normally do ... go out and eat. yup, for the chinese, any occasion is always a good excuse to eat.

i asked whether she talked to Kim about the 'birds and the bees'. she said ... err, no. appalled, i asked whether Kim knew at all how the human body worked. ...'kind of'... seems she had been carrying a sanitary pad in her bag for over a year, to prepare for that 'big day' so when it finally came, it wasn't that much of a shock. but she still didn't fully understand why she was bleeding, that you needed to wear a pad even at night, and how that translates into womanhood.

i dunno. if i had daughters ... i would call them kamlets... (go figure). if i had girls, i would tell them to shut up and stop whining because i have no patience for that kind of silliness. i would say, it's fine to climb trees and fight with the boys, because i did. and yes, i would tell them how girls often get the raw end of the stick so protect yourselves sexually, get them to have cervical cancer shots and pray they don't inherit their mother's melancholy. i would say, stand up for your rights and don't let a man ever beat you, be independent with your money so that you'll never have to be beholden to someone ... and probably, stop taking my make-up...

i guess it's never easy when kids grow up and start to ask the inevitable, 'where do i come from?' but in a recent story that i did, i learnt that despite the advances that we've made, we've come not much further when it comes to body-knowledge. at the end of the day, it's uncomfortable, you don't know the words to say or how to go about it. but, better it be you or your other half who gives the sexual education than some friend she met through internet...

Female woes

Bridging the information gap on body knowledge is crucial so that girls don’t grow up believing half-baked truths and myths.

WHEN it comes to the female body, it pays to know more.

So, how much do young women understand their bodies? Obviously, not enough, judging from a recent study on Myth, Misinformation And Mystery – The Kotex BodyLife IQ Study Of Young Women In South Asia.

It would appear that most girls grow into adulthood relying on half-baked truths shared by friends, snatches of information gleaned from women’s magazines, and old wives tales passed down by their mothers and grandmothers.

It’s hilarious when you read that some girls believe that stamping on their towel during menses will shorten their period to three days. Or, that many young women don’t know that menses and urine don’t flow from the same opening. And, old wives tales such as you can get sexually transmitted diseases from sitting on dirty toilet seats still persist.

But it’s not so funny when you realise that your own daughter could be part of the statistics.

The study revealed a shocking information gap whereby many young women nowadays are still ignorant of even the most basic facts when it comes to how their body works.

Conducted amongst 1,800 young women aged between 16 and 24 in India, Malaysia, Singapore, the Philippines and Vietnam, the participants were asked 10 questions divided into five categories related to myths about their bodies and essential aspects of being a woman: female biology, pregnancy, virginity and health.

The answers were obtained via an online questionaire and face-to-face interviews.

The results of the study were compiled in April last year by international research company Millward Brown and were relatively consistent across participating countries despite social, cultural and economic differences.

Key findings showed that across South Asia, more than 60% didn’t know where their hymen was, almost 70% believed in some prevalent local myth and 40% of young women wondered why they have periods. Amongst the six countries in the study, Malaysian women ranked the lowest when it comes to understanding pregnancy and virginity issues, and only 3% were able to answer all questions correctly.

Several reasons accounted for the extent of the female body-knowledge gap in South Asia.

Firstly, young women surveyed highlighted a lack of formal education or instruction by qualified professionals. Almost 40% of those surveyed have never received a sex talk from either a medical practitioner, at school or a parent.

Dissatisfaction with the quantity of education given or information provided was also evident in the research.

Many of the young women expressed a need for more access to accurate information on every aspect of the female body, ranging from wanting to know how their body functioned to the first steps of understanding and coping with menstrual cycles, right up to pregnancy and motherhood.

Over half the women surveyed said that society doesn’t allow them to talk openly about their bodies, especially when it concerned “taboo” topics like periods and pregnancy. And, while many of the young women surveyed indicated they wanted to ask questions, they felt “it may be wrong to ask”.

Despite increased access to the Internet and the outward sophistication of young women today, a combination of misinformation and mystery have allowed myths to thrive in the countries surveyed.

In all aspects of their lives apart from their bodies, all the young women revealed a contemporary and confident outlook with their sights set on a career in addition to becoming wives and mothers one day.

The top concerns cited were school and career, relationships with family and friends, and their bodies. Better body knowledge emerged as a priority amongst this group of young women, with 92% believing that having body knowledge is important as it will allow them to feel more comfortable with themselves.

Equipping our young women with the right facts about their bodies will empower them to make informed choices when it comes to relationships, marriage, motherhood and long-term health

FAT!!!

2010-04-29T07:20:00.000-07:00

looks like Someone upstairs wants to make sure i continue on my lumpy journey...

was a wee bit concerned and asked my doc what the soft lumps under my skin in my arm and leg were. she checked and said they were most probably lipoma, slow growing benign fatty tumors.

doesn't cause any problems unless they are blocking or sitting on some nerves but they are nonetheless a little worrying, since she said, that sometimes, it could be an indication of high cholesterol. so naturally i take a blood test, and the results revealed that although generally my cholesterol was fine, my HDL were above limits. in my household, we only eat fish and chicken, since the old folks and my other half are always worried about cholesterol and high blood pressure. but possibly, it was one too many press events that come with seafood and red meat that did me in. so, guess that means avoiding fried stuff, seafood and other cholesterol-laden stuff. so fine, i'm no spring chicken, rising cholesterol is part of the package deal.

but what was really troubling was how my sugar level was off the charts. how can it be possible for someone who drinks her coffee and tea black, and generally avoids cakes and sweet stuff coz i'm more a savoury kind of person? heck, i hardly even eat rice, which translates into carbs. just six months ago, my sugar level was perfectly normal and my diet hasn't particularly changed either. which means my metabolic rate has slowed down considerably, and somehow my body's just not breaking down the sugar and fat like it's supposed to. maybe that's why i'm also constantly constipated , but i guess that's too much information ...

it's also something to think about as my father had high blood pressure, heart problems and was diabetic. so far i've had none of his health problems although my brother has inherited them wholesale. i've had my set of unique lumps, which has been enough fun, thank you.

yup, life's not fair indeed. my other half eats a whole lot more, yet doesn't have cholesterol or sugar problems. even my 86-year-old mum has better results than i do. what gives? obviously, size is not an indication of health ...

shucks ... guess i've got to do the dreaded e-thing ... exercise ...aarrrgghhhhh!!!!

stupid fan

2010-04-26T09:04:00.000-07:00

everything has a learning curve. today, lamlet no.2 learnt that for every action, there is a reaction. that what you choose at any precise moment affects others later along the way.

no. 1 had switched on the fan in his room and noticed that it was spinning slower and slower and finally, it stopped. at first he thought it was a blackout but then, he saw that everything else was still working. then he caught sight of the long trail of rubber brands tied together (like you would for a skipping rope) entwined at the top, and the fan felt very hot.

of course, he came down and demanded for someone to own up to throwing the rubberband rope. naturally he accused no. 2 since he was the only one at home in the afternoon. evan protested loud and clear, and why he's always the one blamed for anything that goes wrong.

by which time, i was beginning to lose it and yelled that someone owned up or else. no. 3 began to tear before anything else happened, defending his innocence. my other half and i went upstairs and untangled the mess. by which time, i was spewing a tirade of words ... at no one at particular ... yet, at someone in mind. especially when evan was picking a fight with ryan and it was getting heated.

'do you guys know how dangerous it is to play with stuff like this, and if the fan's spoilt, how much money it's gonna cost to replace it?!!!' and as i was going down the stairs i glared at evan and asked him point blank - did you do this?

he stared back, defiant at first, his gaze slowly melting into guilt. tears welled up in his eyes. downstairs, my husband and i gave him a lecture of how he could have zapped the whole house and burnt down the whole house in the worst case scenario. but what's worse, i emphasised, accidents happen and are forgiveable, but not owning up, and not taking responsibility, is worse. and, blaming someone else for something you did is the worst thing that one could do. for example, i explained to him, what if i had assumed that jordan had done it because no. 2 had said so, and smacked him for it, and in retaliation, a fight ensues between the two brothers or no. 3 gets angry with me for being unjustly accused. it's a whole series of consequences for something so small. the whole problem would have been solved if he had come clean and admitted to kakak immediately that he had thrown the rubberband rope up and she would have taken it down in the first place.

how my insides rankled and i wanted to smack the daylights out of him. i told evan that if the fan is spoilt, his punishment was to sleep the night on his own without the fan. or that he wouldn't be able to go for his class trip as the money would go towards the new fan.

in conclusion, after sobbing in repentance, lamlet no. 2 went to bed quietly. the air-cond is turned on for the night. the fan is working, but now it's squeaking with every turn. well, the fan is kinda old, ryan consoles me, so it was a matter of time before it was replaced anyway. and i suppose evan's still going to the class trip.

it's been a long day. my car is in the workshop cause the air-cond is dead. my phone had crashed the other day. a friend sweetly lent me a spare phone. i had to call to ask how to switch it on. lamlet no. 1 later squealed in exhilaration as it was a Nokia E75, which came with a keyboard and access to wi-fi. my head throbbed further - learning how to operate the darn thing ... some more stress. why can't a phone just be a phone? a couple of decades ago, i laughed at my mum for not being able to operate a cd player. how hard can that be? my sons will be laughing at me for this and many more similar incidents to come.

this is one of those days i wanna crawl back to bed and wish the day had never started...

cold facts

2010-04-24T08:38:00.000-07:00

you want lessons in cold hard painful truth ... talk to a 13-year-old ...

lamlet no. 2 came back with a riddle. what if you had seven people and the earth is about to explode into pieces and you had to leave two behind as your spaceship can only take five? don't know the real answer but no. 1 said you leave the scientist behind. he's got no life anyway ...

on the other hand, you want something more straightforward ...

lamlet no. 1 asks, how do you get on facebook?

lamlet no. 3, just go stick your face on a book ... makes sense to me.

(yeah, he does know what facebook really is...)

another riddle from lamlet no. 2: what do you do when you've got grass, a goat, and wolf, and the man's boat can only take one thing/animal at a time across the river? the real answer's pretty complicated as you've to ensure the grass and the goat don't get eaten along the way.

but i prefer my own cynical answer ... let the goat eat the grass, and then, the wolf feasts on the goat, and the man makes a coat out of the wolf, and he doesn't have to bother to take anything across the river ... heh heh ...

finally...

2010-04-20T07:14:00.000-07:00

so finally, i'm finished with the interview with elle macpherson. i show the lamlets the photo i took with her, and they ask, who that? tyra banks they know, elle who? goes to prove the power of American TV. and if anybody should ask, no, she wasn't a joy to talk to but neither was she a prima donna, it was strictly ... business. designer julien macdonald was more lively and friendly, even though it took like four cancelled appointments before i finally caught up with him. and then, when the hotel gm was trying to confirm the photoshoot with him the next day, he says, 'yeah, a reporter did this story on me, and she wants a picture ... can't quite remember her name.'

i'm also beginning to understand why some people can be so busy that they can neglect their health. i still haven't had time to fix my overdue appointment with my gynae for my yearly 'vault smear' - that's what you do when you no longer have a cervix and they can't do a pap smear - which means they go much deeper in to scrape the walls of your inside (ouch!) for a sample of cells to check if there are any suspicious growth. also haven't had time to see my eye doc to tell him i'm finally having decent vision. so at the moment, i don't have big plans of what to do in the next five years - my immediate short term goal is - fix that blinking doc appointment...

i'm also finally going to be honest with myself and quit trying to tell people that 'yah, i do exercise, but not as often as i like'. fact is, just like football and bob dylan ... they were never part of my vocab - only when i was dating and it seemed cool to share the same things as the other half, you know. after so many years of marriage, i reckon i am entitled to say, heck i never quite understood dylan's raspy voice and lack of melody, and 11 men chasing a ball is not my idea of entertainment. so the same goes for exercise - at this stage of my life - i am practically allergic to it. though i dare say if i get any more sedentary i will totally meld and be one with the sofa ...

some days are like that

2010-04-10T09:26:00.001-07:00

some days i wake up and i wonder ... why?

i woke up today, all dressed up for my big interview with welsh designer Julien MacDonald, who's the judge on Britain's Next Top Model. and so, there i am, making small talk with one of the sponsors, and then Datuk Jimmy Choo, who was instrumental in bringing the whole show to Malaysia in the first place, apologetically walks in to say Julien's held up by the shooting of the show. and so we have lunch while waiting, and as we're about to finish, a call comes in to say, so sorry, Julien can only make it about 6pm. can i come back then?

half my saturday's gone by now, yet i can't exactly tell Jimmy Choo, er no, i'd rather spend saturday with my family so... i'm back on the road again at 6pm, only to get another call midway to say there's been another delay, let's rearrange for sunday. thankfully, i hadn't reached town yet otherwise i'd really curse and swear.

yup, it's one of those days. sounds like a glam job, no? and, who am i to complain about a free lunch spent in a hotel with a celebrity... but having a barbecue and chilling out with friends and kids playing in the background would have been so much more attractive ... which was my initial weekend plan.

and so, i do what i do best on days like these. reminisce. i was having a conversation with my other half about when lamlet no. 1 should be considered old enough to walk to school last night. so that we don't have to be beholden to school buses that charge us an arm and an leg for that short distance. the school is literally 10 mins' walk away. yet, as security-conscious parents, we're too freaked out to let a 13-year-old boy brave the big bad world. what has the world come to indeed? my friend who lived round the corner, about 500 steps from school, used to drive her girls to and fro faithfully every day, even if it meant she had to come home especially early from work that day because they had school activities.

this is the same school that i attended some decades back. my parents simply decided i was walking and that was that. then, it was known as a 'gangster school' as all the hooligans seemed to originate from there. but it wasn't half as bad as some of the schools now where some kids tried to burn down their classroom. these days, parents clamour to get their kids into this same 'gangster school', coz it's gained some respectability through the years and dedicated teachers changed things around.

then, i had lived a little further in Sea Park, a 20 min walk. that was the same neighbourhood where i knew all my neighbours along the row of single storey houses, and all the kids would come out to play in back street in the evenings. there were six to eight kids around the same ages, and we would play catching, police and thieves, and all those run-yourself-silly games that kids played. and man, did we have fun!

when i was a little older, about 10 - 12, the young men in the neighbourhood - those who rented rooms, older teenage boys and young fathers - took over the top half of the street and held their own little badminton championship league. this same back street was where i learnt my smashes and honed my game well enough to represent the school.

so, no, i didn't live in some small secluded kampung. i've always been an urban child. but the setting felt like one - where there was more trust, more camaraderie, more openness. heck, there were days when my parents didn't cook dinner so i just ate at my neighbours'. it was that kind of friendliness. yet, to imagine that happening in today's world sounds so foreign. they even have a special name for such a make-believe place - 'Wisteria Lane'.

so, i guess it's good to remember ... so that one day when i'm old and decrepit and can't even remember my own name, my lamlets will read this and know that ... even though i didn't have any Internet, TV was in black and white, and only started at 6pm, there was no playstation or iPod, no e-mail. air-cond or McD ... it was a better world.

lost kite

2010-04-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

we went to a nice park today at the Waterfront. Not some lovely beach waterfront. but still, a nice enough man-made park and lakeside. the lamlets and i tried to fly our kite. it was a nice breezy day and some had already taken flight nicely, and were at least a mile high, or so it seemed.

but today, our kite just didn't want to take off. it flew a bit. but when we let go some more string, it came crashing down. what's even funnier was that in the end, it was kakak and i who were trying to fly the kite, running around like a couple of mad women. the other lamlets were more interested in the playground. all jordan wanted to do was hold the string. only after it was high in the sky. didn't happen.

when we came home, jor said that our kite forgot to ask for directions. it didn't talk to the other kites so that's why it didn't know where it was suppose to go... funny boy. guess we all start out as lost kites in our own ways.

today is also easter. the lamlets grumble all the time. how it's not fair that aunty pat and her kids get to go disneyland in hong kong and they don't. lamlet no. 1 says it's not fair he has school tomorrow and the other two don't. it's not fair some people at work get promoted and some people don't. that some seem to be rewarded for doing nothing. that the good guys die from cancer and all sorts of horrible diseases, and the baddies seem to go on and on and on about their happy ways. yup, life's not fair.

and then i keep thinking, Christ must be saying, 'You think life's not fair - that you've got a bad deal? What did I do to deserve to be hung on the cross?'

don't waste your cancer

2010-03-23T05:56:00.001-07:00

this sentence rang long and hard in my mind, long after the sunday sermon. the pastor was quoting theologian and evangelist John Piper, who came up 10 points to back his controversial statement, just before he went through surgery for prostate cancer. the gist of it was that cancer was a life changing experience, and it would be wasted if your life (or what's left of it) hasn't changed for the better, if you didn't get closer to God and improve as a person and on your relationships with people, and rethink your priorities.

i was having this conversation with a friend/colleague/superior who asked if i was happy at work. essentially i told her that things could be a lot better but because i work for a higher up Boss, i bear with the situation. she looked at me funny and asked, whether 'i felt i was doing God's work'. i make no such noble claims - i'm just saying - my focus is now different.

an old friend, Lee Wee Min from Focus on the Family, once told me this story and i've recounted it to everyone i've met since. that if you're on death's door, and you've only three days left to live, you won't be rushing to meet your deadline or finishing your project or putting in more overtime at work. instead, you would want to right your relationship with God, and with your spouse or children.

deep down, we all know this, but it's almost impossible to do. simply because people have short memories and we fall back into old habits easily. in a sense, i'd like to think i've changed because work is no longer the be all end all. but i'd be lying if i said that material things no longer matter, that i'm not affected or hurt by what goes on in the office, church or my personal dealings with people. like my friend said, it's easier said but sometimes, work just takes over your life.

cancer here is just an analogy for life's storms - a death, some other disease, financial or emotional problems, a physical mishap like a tsunami. some people i know never get to see past the 'cancer'. others never learn from it. some people need a strong dose of cancer to change. the truth is, the higher up you are, the more you have, the harder it is to let go.

perhaps, it's not a bad thing that at my plebian level, i can still afford to say, stuff the job, God is above it all and my family matters more. my personal strife with cancer is but a distant memory these days. but every now and then, i'm reminded that i can't take my health for granted as i'm still going for scans and tests.

i've since learnt to stop asking, why me, but am learning to be grateful (though i don't always agree or am happy) that it is thru my small misadventures, my feet are kept on the ground and i'm focused elsewhere. i hope that my cancer wasn't wasted and i'm a better person for it. i don't always make a good job of it. i wish my journey wasn't so lumpy sometimes. He's got a bigger and better plan for me. just wish sometimes He'd let me in on it...

the keyword is change

2010-03-10T08:51:00.000-08:00

change. some people embrace change. others, you have to drag kicking and screaming thru the mud.
i fall in the latter category. when i was younger, when we were all younger, change was all we wanted. a new boyfriend, a new job, a new boss, a new lifestyle, heck, at some stages, a new husband, bring it on. but as i get older, i hate the not knowing, having to get used to things all over again, having to adapt.

change disrupts. sometimes it can be a good thing. burn a couple of bras and feminism is born. with enough votes, we might get an opposition government. change is a learning experience. we might find we hate the opposition because it was not all that it was cut out to be. and then who knows, the ruling government may get voted in again.

once, when i was very young, i kicked a ruckus when my mum changed the kitchen sink and added two gooseneck taps instead of just one. but now, i have the same in my house, because i discovered it's a pretty good system.

the office is going thru a reshuffle. i hate my new job specs, the unpredictability of how things will work out. heck, i even hate where i'm going to have to sit in a different corner of the office. and i'm not alone as everyone else is also unhappy. what's more, come april, i might even get a new chairman. but the train has left the station, so the only way to go is forward, although sometimes, depending on which way you sit, it sure feels like you're going backwards.

but change will pass. and eventually, what's new will become old. just like tomorrow, no one will remember my screw up today. i cleared a story yesterday and mistakenly gave the headline, "The People's King", when the whole story was about the visiting Norwegian Prince, so it should have been "The People's Prince". blindsighted, brain dead, bad judgement call. whatever - i was reprimanded, my boss got chewed up, and what made me feel even worse, my poor colleague got the brunt of it, even though i took responsibility for the mistake. so now got to print apology. so sad. but i learnt a long time ago that mistakes have a rippling effect, and when the people at the top are not happy, they need to tap dance on someone's head, who, in turn, need to stomp on someone else's toes. sort of like the fall of mankind and adam's mistake being paid forward throughout humanity... but guess that's a slightly different story...

fact is, today's headlines is tomorrow's wrapping paper for the fishmonger. and today's pain and frustrations will be tomorrow's distant memories, as we commit new mistakes and hopefully, there will also be better, brighter news ahead.

may ling's rule: when you think things are going bad, there's always someone out there who's going through a tougher time. case in point, a friend happened to call me up in the throes of my downward spiral. she asked me how i was, and i said, depressed. in turn, she told me she had just quit her job as she finally had it after eight years. for now, she's feeling a little lost, aimless, frustrated. but change will also mean she needs to get out of her comfort zone, and try harder, learn new handles.

in the meantime, we all just have to hang in there and try to keep our heads above water ...

ode to my best pal

2010-03-02T05:07:00.000-08:00

yesterday (march 1) was my best friend's birthday. funny how we celebrate every occasion by eating. may ling has a penchant for seafood, and so, we feasted on crabs for supper. how decadent. and thereafter, we accuse each other of making the other fat...

jokes aside, may ling is my confidant, my sister, my sidekick - my one and only true friend, so we tell each other. i've known her since we were in school. we didn't even share the same school but we had met at a youth camp under YFC (Youth for Christ) which her sister was heading at that time. i was 17, she a few months younger at 16. she had this cheekiest impish smile then, (still does) and we clicked. we kept in contact after camp, during form six, wept over our results, pursued different career paths and we still call each other every night.

yes, every night. our other halves marvel at how much we have to talk about. some years it was hard to keep it up as she was busy studying for her guitar exams, i was dating and dumping guys. i had chosen to be a worldly reporter, she chose the noble path of music. we lived 15 minutes' drive apart, and later discovered our mothers knew each other as they worked together for the British police back then.

after the men in our lives arrived and we had children, three each, (she blames me coz she says they look so cute when they're babies), we still call each other every day. Late at night, after her half falls asleep and she has no one to listen to her ramblings (he's an early bird, knocking out at 9pm - how boring, we say) and my mr lam is busy working the night shift, we talk on the phone about the day, about my job frustrations, her funny students, how our husbands irritate us to no end, and how our children amuse and cause us heartaches at the same time.

she never doubted i would get out of the hospital, even when i did. we share secrets and keep each other sane, and while i'm the hot tempered, aggressive one who taught her to stand up for her rights and not get pushed around, she's the optimistic even tempered one who helped me to mellow. we are from opposite poles, which perhaps explains why we get along so well. maybe one day we'll both be in rocking chairs and still keeping each other company, so we hope.

i celebrate my best friend, may ling, and if i have nothing else, i am eternally grateful to God who has provided me a friend who has stayed constant. sure a heck lot more than any blood relative would have done for me.

in the midst of my depressive state of mind over the bleakness of the first quarter of the year, i sought for some respite and i realise my cup overfloweth ...

dark days ahead

2010-02-25T18:20:00.000-08:00

One of my colleagues wrote an article condemning the caning of three Muslim women for having illicit sex. While his words were strong - some felt he was treading on eggshells - it was an expressed personal opinion. Short of being foul-mouthed or spouting heresy, there is no law against that.

Ah, but there is. In Malaysia, there is no such thing as opinion as seen by the five police reports filed against us the day after the story appeared. The Star apologised for having hurt any sensitivities the following day, but this is not enough as Guna will have to answer to the Home Ministry. And probably an interview with the police to ensure he is 'not spreading sedition' among the people. His column has also been removed.

On one hand, certain quarters say that we should not bow to pressure from obviously bigotted religious quarters, but the fact is, these are the people who rule the land and we stand to lose our printing licence (KDN) if we do not succumb. As with everything we print these days, which is why now the national English newspaper is a glorified advertorial supporting the political master of the day.

The whole issue poses a paradox as now, for a column that's hardly noticed at the back pages of The Star, it has now garnered worldwide attention. For the benefit of those who missed it, here it is:

.......................................................................................

Persuasion, not compulsion

By P. GUNASEGARAM

When federal laws unambiguously prohibit whipping or caning of women, religious laws must not be allowed to do the opposite.

ONE of the small things that I am grateful for is that I cannot be legally whipped or caned for any offence any more. Yes, there are criminal penalties which can specify whipping, but not for those over 50, I am told. Sometimes being old(er) is an advantage.

The other reason that I won t be legally whipped is that I am not a Muslim and therefore my personal behaviour is not subject to syariah courts, which can hold me liable for offences such as drinking alcohol and have me caned.

For me and for millions of Malaysians of all races and religions, Feb 9, 2010, was a sad, black day in the history of our country. On that day, three women were caned legally for the first time ever in this country. They, all Muslims, were caned for engaging in illicit sex, an offence under syariah law, it was announced.

It is shocking that such sentences are being meted out for such offences. While religious laws may allow for such sentences, it is possible for judges to mete out lower sentences, especially when such offences are of a very personal nature and harm no one else.

When there are loopholes in religious laws which allow such punishment out of all proportion to the crime committed, and which go against the sensibilities of most Malaysians, then it is incumbent upon the Government of the day to use the legislature to do the needful. Otherwise it abdicates its responsibility.

Illicit sex means sex out of wedlock and if we are all not hypocrites, we will admit that it happens all the time, among both Muslims and non-Muslims. To prescribe caning for such an offence is something that most Malaysians are likely to consider just too much.

It also opens the door for caning for more minor offences in the eyes of religious officials, such as drinking alcohol. In fact one Muslim woman, who has refused to appeal her case, is currently awaiting a caning sentence to be carried out after she was found guilty of drinking alcohol.

That case attracted international attention and made it to the front page of two international financial dailies The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times on the same day last year. The current case, announced on Wednesday, is already beginning to attract world attention.

With three women already having been caned for illicit sex, the way has been paved for more caning of women in the future. That will not endear Malaysia to Malaysians, let alone foreigners who are inevitably going to equate us with the Taliban. And who can blame them?

And are we going to go further down the slippery road and cane women for dressing immodestly too, as has been done in some countries?

There are already indications that Malays, especially women, are migrating and leaving their homeland, not because they don't have opportunities here but because as Muslims, their personal freedom is restricted and there is danger that it will be curtailed even more.

Yes, it has been said the three women did not suffer any cuts or bruises following the caning but that is scant consolation to those who have to undergo such humiliating punishment on top of the intrusion into their personal affairs.

As if the caning was not bad enough, alarmingly they spent months in prison.

One of them is still serving her jail sentence and will be released only in June.

All three were found guilty of committing illicit sex by the Federal Territory Syariah High Court, which issued the caning order between December last year and last month. Perplexingly, they were not made public at that point of time. The public had no idea of the caning before it was done.

Also, it was not clear if the women had exercised their full rights under syariah law by appealing the court's decision.

These are behaviours which should not be treated as if they were criminal offences; but they have been. The offenders have not only been caned but also jailed, which is rather harsh punishment for something which did not harm anyone else and was done in privacy and behind closed doors.

This is clear indication that there are laws in our statute books both syariah as well as civil which are outdated and need to be revised in keeping with the times and the recognition that individuals have personal rights.

Personal behaviour between consenting adults that do no physical harm to them and to others should not be legislated. This is in keeping with the development of personal rights throughout the world, and anything that takes away these rights is a step backwards.

Religion is open to interpretation, man interprets it and man can and does make mistakes.

Even if religious rules are flouted, we should have a system which does not mete out punishment for offences, and focus instead on rehabilitation and counselling. That will be in keeping with the universal tenet that there is no compulsion when it comes to religion.

Custodial and punitive sentences by religious courts should be limited via statutes because personal behaviour of adults is often involved and there is no hurt or harm to any others arising from such behaviour. Religion is about persuasion not compulsion, about faith not certainty, and that is the way we should keep it.

Otherwise, bigotry is going to get in the way and we won t be following the tenets of religion but of those who choose to interpret it the way they want to.

We have all seen what happens when religion no matter what religion is carried to extremes and hijacked by bigots. We don' t want public flogging, we don't want arms chopped off, we don't want people to be stoned to death, and we don't want people to be burned at the stake.

We have already moved way past that. Let's not allow a small number of religious bigots to take us back into the dark ages. And for that, we all need to stand up and speak up when our individual rights are trampled upon.

Managing editor P. Gunasegaram is appalled by the number of sins committed in the name of God.

my sweet valentine

2010-02-13T23:04:00.000-08:00

I got a valentine's card this year. Actually, it was addressed to my other half and me from lamlet no. 3.

It said, 'To mum and dad'. When you open the yellow heart card, it said, ' turn to the other page, ha ha ...' and when you turn over, it says, 'I love you' ...

little moments likes these remind me why my lamlets are so precious ... especially on days when lamlet no 1, with hormones raging and teenspeak wisdom, test my patience. aliens have abducted my sweet boy, i tell him, as there are days i don't recognise him at all...

not the best of januaries

2010-01-28T07:27:00.000-08:00

learnt something new... if you log on from another country, you get asked a million questions ... by which time i decided on two things ... i don't know german ... and no. 2, can't be asked to work my brain so hard so my lumpy story can wait.

so ... am finally back in sunny malaysia. january has been a full month and i hardly felt its passing. spent 12 days on the other wintry side of the globe and reaffirmed a couple of things ... paris ain't that bad ... used to dislike the place. and no, contrary to romantic notions, frenchmen aren't the most appealing nor romantic. loved zurich though. in fact, it could have been timbuktu ... the place is not consequential. but with family or friends to spend time with, it makes the travelling worth the while and the country so much more attractive. what was more precious was being able to exchange life stories with family i hadn't seen for years and that was priceless.

but today in retrospect, isn't about extolling the virtues of a grand holiday. it's about remembering to live life to the fullest, because you never know.

this new month of this new decade of this new millennium ... discovered my best friend's mum-in-law has colon cancer. she doesn't know, (maybe she does?) but being in her 80s, ignorance is bliss.

a dear fellow journalist, Shahrizat Hussein slipped in the bathroom in the hospital, and slipped away peacefully. apparently it was not the fall that killed him, but heart failure that had caused the fall. it had been agony trying to persuade him to go to the hospital in the first place. for the longest time, Shah recounted but one story about me, how we, a few young journalists (well, he was not so young) in Thailand for a travel story, all shared a drunken night experimenting with home-brewed Mekong (which he introduced to us btw), a zillion years ago. think he was more upset over the fact that we women had earlier knocked on his door in the middle of the night (out of boredom) and hijacked his bottle of Glenlivet which he had intended for a solitary quiet nightcap. since then, he labeled me "high on whisky". initially i was a little miffed that this was the only story he considered worth retelling throughout our years of friendship. but as the years went by, i came to view it as an affectionate tale because it meant we shared a history, albeit for awhile. the last two years, his lovely wife, a Thai lady, had asked that we, fellow motoring journalists and old friends, visited more frequently, because, well, you never know. and so it came to pass that dear old Shah, thin as a rod, who hardly ate a bite, living on Guinness and cigarettes at age 66, finally bid adieu.

also, the man with the voice, once well-known for reading the English news on local TV, Robert Lam, finally lost the battle after a short wrestle with skin cancer that spread to the rest of his body. it was hardly three months that we first heard of his struggle, and all to soon, it claimed his life.

just today, a thief broke into two of my neighbours' houses in the wee hours of the morning, sparing mine and two others in between. perhaps he noticed that we had an alarm system. or perhaps God had sent his angels to keep fervent watch and provide protection. but relieved nothing else untoward happened apart from a gaping hole in my fence ... as well as three other holes he created in three different neighbours' houses. for all that hard work as well as dislodging the grills from a window, he made off with only two handphones, a watch and some loose change. all of us (neighbours) are baffled at his actions. in the meantime, my poor maid is sleeping with all the windows tightly closed. traumatised indeed.

strangely, my cousin all the way in Zurich today also reported that my aunt's kitchen was set ablaze after some forgotten cooking oil caught fire. after the drama of the ambulance (thankfully nobody was hurt), firemen and workmen, my uncle and aunt were fined for their carelessness by the municipal. talk about adding salt to injury.

and there are still three more days to the end of the month. what further news of gloom can the year of the tiger portend? lamlet no. 2 turns a full decade on the 30th. my only wish is that there be peace .. in my household and for the country, for health for everyone i know, and happiness, that it may not be shortlived...

counting my blessings

2010-01-09T07:26:00.000-08:00

i promised myself that when i started this blog, i would follow a few groundrules. that there would be no bitching about the office (not going to do anybody any good), that it won't be one of those event diaries (went there, bought this, saw that), and that i will stay clear of politics.

therefore, i will not rant about the sad state of affairs the country is in over the use of one simple word, and as to who owns what. My God not so petty that He cares what name is used to address Him (as long as it is not used in vain in disrespect), surely. Rather, He would be angrier, saddened even, by the way people are fighting and causing harm to one another. I can only pray for a maturity of the nation and of the people, that we may all truly yearn for peace and harmony, and therefore work towards it ...

what i do want to do is give thanks that God was watching and protecting my other half tonight. for the second time in the last six months, he's been an almost snatch theft victim. this time round, he was bringing my handbag to me, after parking the car near a field (opposite Cheow Yang restaurant) and walking towards the restaurant where we were having dinner, which was on the other far end on the parallel road behind.

the bag must have looked too attractive as it was in the form of a large weaved basket. fortunately, my other half was hugging it under his arm when the motorbike rider who was travelling in the opposite direction apparently, noticed and made a U-turn and went behind my other half. he actually managed to grab the wooden handles of the basket but since lam was hugging it tightly and had jerked it away, the thief lost his grip and sped away.

when he related the story to me in the restaurant, all I could say was, Thank you Jesus, a zillion times. it's every person's nightmare to have their bag stolen, and to lose my wallet and phone a week before travelling overseas would be a loss too hard to bear.

and indeed, for every good day that i can see without feeling uncomfortable, i am truly grateful. today is day two that my eyes feel 'normal' and after seeing the specialist who assured me today that everything's healed well, i guess it's a matter of being patient and letting my body take its time to adjust. as long as there are no other underlying symptoms or problems, it just means time has to take its course.

the eye specialist also said a very pertinent point - that i had already gone through a long spell of radiotherapy, and so it would be understandable that my eyes would take time to heal. the SRT would have affected other cells near the tumour as well, especially since it was so near my sympathetic chain. so there ... perfectly logical explanation. now i feel stupid, blaming my bad genes or ill luck...

a brother of a friend who has cancer in his throat region went through extensive radio therapy. and now, apart from having huge darkened and bruised patches, he has mouth ulcers, has difficulty swallowing, affected hearing and can only drink fluids. Chris is 38 and his three kid are still kept in the dark about his condition. if you will, say a prayer for him, will ya?

life happens

2010-01-03T06:33:00.000-08:00

i told myself i'd sign in one last log before the year ended. but time flew past so fast, i didn't even have time to do that.

the key question for 2009 has been, 'now do what?' or the statement 'i don't know what to do'. mostly uttered by jordan, lamlet no. 3, which means, read between the lines, can i play computer.

indeed, the internet at home has changed our lives in more ways than one. i started writing an open diary, in the hopes that it would someday help my lamlets to understand my medical condition should they themselves ever have to pass this road. prayerfully not. my other half started a hi-fi blog which has garnered him some measure of fame in the hi-fi quarters.

and my lamlets, well, no. 1 gained a whole new perspective through his blog, his classmates' blogs, messenger and whatever else that he dabbles in. having youth on his side, his knowledge of the computer has grown in leaps and bounds, as surely as it will be an intricate part of his life as he grows older, whether i like it or not. lamlet no. 2 and no. 3 has discovered a whole new realm of games, facebook and whatnot. even though i had limited their playing time, it was enough to get them addicted. and so now, everything has a price. if i do this, i get to play on the computer. which also works the other way... if you don't do this, you don't get to play on the computer.

and so the year begins. as a cynic i know better than to make resolutions. but then again, i still resolve to eat healthier, and exercise ... i should. and the complains begin as well together with the start of school... and madness of homework, tuition, music classes, extra lessons from school, what have you, and the crazy ferrying around. i used to think that parents who only drove their children to and fro from such activities were not productive enough, as how much time does it take to go to and from one place to another anyway? and then, i had school-going children, and it hit me, how much time is really wasted on the roads, battling traffic, the rain, trying to juggle time with the many activities the kids are involved in, and work. some people give up on work altogether.

i really wish school was more fun for the boys. that they didn't have so much stupid homework. and that they were taught to question and use their minds more. i wish i didn't have to go back to work either, after being on a three week break. yeah, too much, especially when some people had to work through christmas. after an eventful year ... some friends passed on after losing the battle to cancer, another has successfully overcome her fourth stage lung cancer, an old friend went through a divorce, a colleague passed on, i had some adventures of the health hazard kind, ... the fact is, time doesn't wait ... regardless whether you had a good or bad year, it carries on. perhaps, as a friend remarked in retrospect, the year was not really a bad one, it's just that she felt she handled it badly. and so, it all boils down to our individual perspectives. sure, we can't be pollyana all the time ... but it helps to look at our cup as half full rather than half empty.

so here's to january 2010... life happens ... bring it on ...

christmas past and future

2009-12-25T08:36:00.000-08:00

christmas, christmas time is here ... and gone ...

i live my year in anticipation of christmases, and before you know it, christmas has come and gone. in my house, i have one rule. christmas presents can only be opened on christmas day ... which officially starts after midnight. so the children stay up once a year, wait anxiously for the eve to end at the stroke of midnight just to unwrap the surprises.

(lamlet no. 1, being the early bird that he is, always falls asleep before everyone else. he complained that one year, when he fell asleep and then opened his eyes next, he found the floor strewn with wrappers, everyone had gone upstairs and he was left alone on the sofa...)

and just like how the tree is laden with presents one moment, and totally barren the next, just as quickly christmas dissipates... sometimes i imagine i can almost feel it slipping through my fingers as i struggle vainly to hang on to the last precious moments...

farewell, christmas 2009. just another 364 days more to go before the next christmas ...

the ultimate gift

2009-12-20T07:35:00.000-08:00

i can see clearly now, the sun has come ... it's gonna be a bright, bright, sun shiny day ...

unfortunately not quite the case. some days are better, other days, my right eyeball feels like it should be dunked in nice warm tea ... when i'm awfully tired, i can't focus. i'm thinking, others do lasik, and it's like the blind can see again. yet for me, it's a long slow lumpy journey ...

looks like my other half is having an easier time adapting to his newfound vision after cataract op - with multi-focal lenses - so now, he can do the distance and read close up as well. it's still a little fuzzy he says, coz of his astigmatism, but otherwise, he's happy. therein lies the difference the two of us. takes very little to make him satisfied. let's say we both have very different expectations... oh well, as i get older, and my number of ailments increase, i learn to let go of the small stuff and live with more imperfections ... after all, he's put up with me all this while ...

and it's five days to Christmas and my true love gave to me ... well, no diamond ring (which i don't want), but quite a few days off work, which has been fantastic, even though much of it has been spent malling and Christmas present hunting. actually, it's lamlet no. 1 that's been doing most of the shopping (with MY money, darn it! and i keep reminding him that he has to pay me back with his next allowance!) as he's the perfectionist (i wonder like who?) and it has to be, not just anything, but the right gift for the right person ...

i told the lamlets that i'm not putting up the tree this year (yeah, right), that i'm not buying any presents (that's what you said last year, mum) and we're not spending major bucks on presents that will be forgotten in a flash (sigh, what wishful thinking). i keep telling the kids... and myself, that it's not what under the tree, or in the box or fancy wrappers, but that it's about Christ, and because of Him, we have a reason to celebrate.

So, lamlets, what's Christmas about? CHRIST! whose birthday is it? JESUS! What's the ultimate present? His dying on the cross for our sins! Yup, they know all the answers ... but still ... come dec 25th, the presents ... and food ... and friends coming over ... feel more real than a spiritual sacrifice.

well, i can't halt time. and i confess that this year i've felt the least Christmassy of all, because so many THINGS are happening ... we always tell ourselves, next time around, it'll be better. when we get the THINGS out of the way. but we never do. i just got news that one of my colleagues, a photographer, just passed away from a heart attack. he's only in his 40s, and his widow is saddled with 8 kids. for some, there may not be a next time.

i remember a time, when i was so grateful to be given a chance to spend another Christmas alive, and with the people i love.

it was the december when i had my hysterectomy and i had been given a clean bill of health, with no more C in my charts. people have short memories. i don't take life as seriously. it's not mine to call the shots for. for the longest time, when people asked me what my long term plans were, i told them i can't even see next year, much less so many years down the road.

and so indeed, five years down the road, i'm still grateful for His gift of life ...

no eye see 2

2009-12-06T08:52:00.000-08:00

i've been a patient so often, i didn't realise what a rotten patient my other half is. the good thing is, he's not like some men, (like my best friend's hubby), who suddenly changes into this invalid who can't even lift a cup and hides in bed when he catches the sniffles - having his own pity party, she sys. BUT, mr lam is definitely not one to follow instructions ... he's so seldom down and out so during the few times that he is, he's really really quiet ... but otherwise, you just can't keep him down.

he just had his first cataract op on thursday. nurse tells him, don't drive for two weeks, be very careful when you bathe and wash your hair, go to the salon if possible, don't bend, etc. etc. gung-ho doc on the other hand, tells him he can drive as soon as he feels up to it.

most post-cataract patients would dorn sunglasses to protect their eyes. not my other half. not clear woh. he feels fine, he says. and then, every so often, he closes one eye, and compares his sight. YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT! i tell him off. and then he compares notes, like he's checking his camera ... 'saturation not so good' ... 'missing shadow details' ... 'a lot of flare' ... 'decent focus but dim' ... 'colour not so brilliant' ... hazards of being a photojournalist for too long ... heck, it's been 24 hours lah ... give it some time, i tell him. it's been six weeks and i'm still getting used to my monovision after lasik. and he expects good results within 24 hours ...

the day after surgery, i drop him off for the follow-up visit at the doc. i call him an hour later to ask when i can pick him up, and find out he's on the way home already, taking the train... today, after church, we stopped by a warehouse sale. we parked kind of far away, so i told him that if he felt up to it, he could drive up to the entrance to pick me up (which was about maybe 200m down the road), and i'd take over the wheel. he did just that and proceeded to drive all the way home, insisting his vision was fine, especially since it was daylight. i let him continue, cringing internally less his judgement of distance fails him - considering that he is shortsighted in the other eye, and he's not wearing glasses at all, so he's really using one eye to drive. sort of like me and my monovision.

banned him from the computer and TV. so far he's been quite good about the PC but not so, the TV. and, today alone, we've been out quite a bit - church, then he went to the park with the kids and later, we went out for dinner and then, to a mall just to check out the christmas lights and bring the old folks out for the evening.

mr lam is walking around like a hero, constantly closing one eye at a time to compare, so much so that lamlet no. 1 complains that he's embarrassed to walk around with dear old dad...

whatever... i'm just grateful that my vision has settled somewhat ... it's still adjusting and my eyes are still somewhat dry ... but at least i know now for sure that it's allergy that strangely triggers my right eye to close, which is something i can handle by simply avoiding seafood, and not something obscure i can't put a finger on.

i'm not terribly happy with my monovision ... i feel the images still don't quite gel ... but i guess, i too, like my other half, need it give it time, or get used to my new sight. but i'm so grateful for small blessings that every day it's a little better ... and that mostly, my other half's op went well, and even as we're bracing for the next one in a few days time, it doesn't feel like we're cruising in the unknown anymore ..

no eye see

2009-11-27T09:17:00.000-08:00

i'm beginning to think that lumps are easier to deal with. because i don't see or feel them, neither do they cause me any discomfort. it's the removal that makes it challenging.

with my eyes, it's a different matter. i thought lasik would be the answer to my sight problems. but my right eye refuses to behave. i thought i was allergic to seafood. so i'm abstaining. but it still feels tired and overworked. maybe it's the monovision. doesn't help when a friend told me that one of her eyelids droop sometimes, because of the strain caused by monovision. initially, stupid doctors freaked her out major when they examined her and told her that she had classic signs of lymphoma. thankfully, after extensive medical checks, not to mention the doctors' bills, she was given a clean bill of health. but she uses lenses so she can still opt out by wearing glasses.

i'm thinking of extreme possibilities, like how perhaps the lump located between the T2/T3 (which I just had SRT for) is touching the sympathetic chain and somehow causing irritation hence the discomfort on my right eyelid. long shot. okay, now that i've written it down, sounds kinda stupid. but after all, i do have a propensity for the rare.

after my hysterectomy, it meant no more periods... or so i thought. after all, menstruation is basically the shedding of the lining of the womb, which i don't have anymore. BUT, i still bleed off and on, at monthly intervals, albeit just a few drops, apparently because post surgery, i've developed endometriosis cells outside the uterus. or so the doc says since there's no other explanation.

well, i refuse to chalk another first on my list. therefore, i shall and will, by God's healing grace get better!

changes

2009-11-25T04:01:00.000-08:00

lamlet no. 1 has set on his first maiden trip alone to langkawi. without his parents or his siblings. and he doesn't seem to miss us. it's his graduation trip - heck - year six and they're calling it graduation. thought it only applied to university. at 12 years old, what's the big deal?

oh well, it's as good a reason as any to celebrate i guess. so, in the morning, i pack him off, with nagging reminders of 'don't forget your jacket, don't lose the camera, don't buy rubbish,', etc etc. yadda yadda yadda... mothers are so bothersome, he probably thinks ... i wish my own mum paid as much attention to me when i went on my first trip alone. i think i was 15, and it was a church camp for youths. it was bye, and then, oh hi, you're back. no - did you have a good time, did you miss me, were you good, - etc.

yup, times have changed - just like how kids are so demanding these days. i told ryan that i was given a badminton racket for doing decently well in form three. and now, he wants either a handphone or ipod for ace-ing his upsr. he says, too bad - you didn't have handphones then. well, my other half and i decided on the lesser of two evils - an ipod. which he wanted before he went on the trip. no way jose. i'd be lucky if he brings back the camera, the phone and the jacket.

meanwhile, i've discovered a personal tragedy ... that i've suddenly become allergic to seafood. still raw from my lasik, i was pretty good for a while and then last week i ate some crabs, and wham! i discovered i had difficulty keeping my right eye open. that same eye that's been troubling me the past few months. maybe i was allergic all the while, and it wasn't my lenses to begin with. well, whatever the case, a second episode of seafood confirmed my sensitivity. shucks. hopefully it will pass but for now, no more crabs, prawns, sotong, clams. not sure whether it also applies, but my greatest weakness, sambal belacan ... sigh ...

late life allergies are common, so they say. nobody quite knows what the trigger factor is or why something is fine for years and then, not anymore after a point. yup, it's no fun ageing ...

past ...present...future

2009-11-10T09:08:00.001-08:00

it has been one month since my last SRT. saw the oncologist for follow up. he spent all of three minutes with me ... no checks, no medication, no referals, nothing. basically i have nothing to report on my side, and he doesn't really have anything to follow up on. so he scheduled an MRI for six months down the road to see how whether the tumour has shrunk. part of me don't really want to know ... if it hasn't then what?

the best part was when he asked, who's really supposed to look after you? very funny... he's asking me ... so i threw it back at him. that's a good question... who is supposed to be handling my case? the oncologist (him), the neurologist or the vascular surgeon? whoever's interested i suppose, i said. he let the remark slide and told me to pass the MRI results to him and he'll discuss it with "one of them".

so i guess, i'm suppose to be looking after me since no one else will take charge ...

so ...on the 7th year of my lumpy journey, hopefully this is it (to borrow a line from michael jackson's movie). henceforth, there will be more lamlet stories rather than lumpy ones ... which is a good thing. i hope.

so here's to a walk down memory lane:

Publication Date: 05.05.2003

Publication: The Star, StarTwo

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting back on track

Byline: PATSY KAM

THE kids are running around the garden playing catch. My other half and I are having this squabble over where to drill the hole in the wall for the curtain rod. By all counts, it's just another normal Sunday afternoon. Apart from the scar along my neck and this constant dull pain in my head, I feel almost normal. Which is a good thing because I've since learnt that you can't take ''normal'' for granted and how frail this life is.

Late last year, I was diagnosed with bipolar carotid tumour. If you don't understand the medical jargon, it means I had lumps growing inside my neck. It wasn't such a huge blow since I was already prepared for the worst. The night before I went for the CT scan (computerised tomography scan), I prayed, no, begged, that God would somehow make the scan come up empty and I would be given a clean bill of health.

My children were so young, I had so many more things to do and so many places yet to visit, or so I reasoned. But can one really make a bargain with the Big Guy upstairs? It is in times like these that I question my own existence and my faith.

Waiting to do the scan at the hospital the next morning seemed to take an eternity and in the meantime, I saw patients being wheeled in and out of the waiting room. Some of them were clearly recovering from chemotherapy and I wondered whether I would have to join their ranks.

When the doctor explained the results, though, somehow I already knew even before he told me that it wouldn't be quite the dramatic end I had envisioned. It was as if the court judge had lifted the death sentence, so even though there was surgery to contend with, that hurdle hardly seemed worth worrying about.

Surgery was necessary as the tumour, which had grown to about the size of a large egg, although benign, would continue growing albeit very slowly and in time, may cause health problems. The surgery itself was risky as there was a possibility of a stroke occurring midway through as the doctor might have to do a shunt (bypass an artery). Since a whole lot of nerves go through the neck area to feed the face, there was a possibility that some of those would be affected.

In fact, the first vascular surgeon I consulted gave me the worst case scenario – that there was possibility that my jaw might have to be dislocated or even cut and then placed back since the tumour was so large and so high up my neck. As a journalist, I've written numerous health articles and have always called for doctors to be honest with their patients. But he was being more forthright than I bargained for. Alright, so the tumour isn't going to kill me but the surgery sure sounded like it might well finish the job.

During the next few months, I kept myself busy so that I wouldn't have to think about the surgery. Part of me was almost naïve in thinking, ''So what? It's just my neck, my limbs wouldn't be affected, it'd be a good time to catch up on my reading in the hospital.'' On the other hand, I wondered whether this was the time I should ''put my house in order'' and clean up my personal affairs. If my time was up, my other half would at least be able to collect on the insurance money and pay up for the mortgage. When the kids drove me up the wall, I bit my tongue as I didn't want the last thing they remembered about their mother was me yelling at them.

So, okay, I was being morbid – there are people out there who are much, much sicker than I am, especially those battling with the Big C. Doesn't help when I joked with the doctor and asked whether I should be drawing up my will, he didn't give me an outright no. He probably didn't appreciate my warped sense of humour. I've since switched doctors.

You know that old adage – live life to the fullest as today may be your last? I just couldn't bring myself to change overnight and repent in sackcloth – I figured God would probably see through my hypocrisy. In retrospect, it seemed rather ironical that I didn't rush to change my will – I felt that if I left some things half done, somehow by some divine intervention, the message would get through to Someone that I had to stick around to finish them.

I checked into hospital just after Chinese New Year. I kidded with friends that I might just return with a constant silly smile if my facial nerves got screwed up. On the other hand, I wasn't thoroughly sure if I would be able to wake up after the surgeons were through with me. But, really, Death wasn't a threat. It was the thought of having to leave my children to fend for themselves at so young an age that was tough.

The operation would probably take more than four hours; at worst, I reckoned maybe I'd be out in eight. Eventually, it took a little over 20 hours, more if you count the time the medical staff had to take to prepare the patient. I was told the surgeon, my hero indeed, emerged from the operating theatre at 6.30am to go home for a shower before coming back to the hospital to run his morning clinic. I remember having some weird dream before the doc woke me up. It was as if I had awakened from a deep slumber, and not like I've just been cut up and sewn back together. Then, reality hit me – it sure gave me a new perspective on PAIN!

I've been told that vascular surgery is still by and large a dinosaur in comparison with other medical fields. Where in gynaecology or urology, you have the option of lasers and wonderful thingamajigs, in vascular surgery, it's a very slow old fashioned cutting process – with a small and very sharp knife or a pair of scissors. The doctor had difficulty removing one part of the tumour that was particularly stubborn as it was stuck to the wall artery, so in the end he had to do a graft (replace part of the artery with an artificial one).

So imagine my good old doc, on his feet for a full day (and night) cutting away at raw flesh and at this insidious tumour, with blood splattering everywhere. (I needed 11 pints of blood.) Frankly, I had no idea how horrible the whole episode was until another doctor friend gave me the gory details (thanks, Peter!).

I was in the Intensive Care Unit for all of one night - which was pretty much one of the longest nights in my life, if you don't count labour pain and giving birth. I shouldn't complain as I was in good hands – the medical staff took excellent care of me. But ICU is a terrible place to be. It's noisy as there's equipment constantly beeping and chugging along. And awfully sick patients get wheeled in and some don't get out alive.

You know how everyone says you have to be strong … for the kids. So I visualised each of my children's face and carried them into my sleep. No, I didn't see any bright light at the end of a tunnel. Yet another part wanted to just let go as it was so hard, even to breathe or swallow. I was totally hooked up – the IV drip, the blood pressure and oxygen level sensors and other stuff. I felt weary like I had walked a thousand miles, yet I slept fitfully.

It didn't help that I coughed every few minutes because I gagged constantly on my own phlegm. The nurse gave me something to suck on to ease my throat and I thought to myself that it would be so macabre if I survive a twenty-something hour operation and then choke to death on a lozenge.

Well, it's been a couple months of recuperation. Wish I could say I'm as good as new … but I'm not. I still cough constantly, and people eye me suspiciously in case I've got SARS (Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome). My left jaw is still numb and swallowing food has become a conscious effort otherwise I would choke. My head also throbs. It seems strange, I suppose, since the surgery only affected the neck. However, being put in one position for so many hours while the doctor operated on the left made everything flow to the right side of my head – which is why it's kinda swollen. But the most frustrating part is my voice – or the lack of it.

For sure, I'm not going to make the church choir. I can only speak in a loud whisper because one of the nerves to the voice box was affected. Hopefully it's only temporary but in the meantime, I can't even order food in a coffeeshop as nobody can hear me. Conversely, my other half says it's nice and peaceful at home. It has dawned on me that we've really all been talking too loudly because, surprisingly, most people can make out what I'm saying.

For a while, I was seriously contemplating suing the first hospital that did my CT scan and the ENT (ear, nose and throat) specialist who treated me. This was seven years ago when I went to see him for a very bad ear infection. He felt a lump and prematurely informed me that I probably had cancer. Later, when the scan failed to show any incriminating evidence, he didn't tell me what the lump was (maybe, he didn't know?) or that it should be taken out. He should have recommended that I got a second opinion but since he didn't and I didn't know any better, I went on my merry way and let the tumour ferment. Unfortunately, my lawyer friends tell me that I can't take up the case since it has been more than six years. What the heck, there should be more to life than pursuing old grievances, no?

I also know now who my friends are, and there will be some who will weep at my eulogy. Many people prayed for me and that was tremendously encouraging, not to mention friends who actually cooked chicken soup for me, bought groceries for my household and checked on me at the hospital every day.

I confess I'm hardly up and about celebrating life. I know, I know, there are many people out there who are worse off – I shouldn't complain. Years from now, if I live to be old and grey, perhaps I'll look back and laugh at the whole ordeal. But for now, let me wallow in my pain a little longer.

Oh yeah, did I mention the word bipolar? That means another blinking tumour is growing on the other side of my neck. It's smaller and probably much easier to handle, but I'll worry about that later. Right now, I've got to get that darn hole in the wall rightly aligned lest my curtain hangs funny.

got eye see

2009-11-06T08:17:00.001-08:00

exactly one week ago today, i took the plunge. just when i said i wouldn't go under the knife again, i did. well, of a different sort.

i went for LASIK (laser-assisted in situ keratomileusis), a type of refractive surgery for correcting myopia or hyperopia. after months of struggling with dry eyes, allergy and contact lenses, i decided to be rid of glasses once and for all. some friends tell me they took five or even ten years to save up and decide. i took at most, a month? the fact that there was a very attractive price tag had a lot to do with it... between a designer handbag, i reckon this is definitely a much better 'purchase'.

was it scary? pain is relative and for someone who has gone through so many surgeries, this was nothing in comparison. the whole procedure took less than 20 minutes (including prepping time) for both eyes and the actual 'cutting' by the laser took seconds. of course, the thought of eye correction is no laughing matter as there are so many risk factors. and every person is different, which means the rate of healing, tearing, vision accuracy and other issues are different for the individual as well. but if it's any consolation, LASIK is at a point where it is most comfortably affordable, safe and reliable, after having been around for almost 15 years in Malaysia.

the contention is of course, that it's an optional procedure, one that you need not have to go through if you're happy with wearing glasses.

the eye specialist decided to give me monovision, since i'm no spring chicken and would need reading glasses along the way. which means my left eye (my dominant) is now my distance eye and my right, for reading.

during the first few days, i had minor nagging headaches, as you would getting used to a new pair of glasses. as the week progressed, it got better, as did my vision. i guess i don't really have absolute faith ... in myself ... as a part of me is worried that my sight might deteriorate. after all, you hear so many horror stories of how LASIK has not worked out for some people, how they can't drive at night anymore, etc. etc.

by God's grace, and am praying that He'll sustain me, my vision has been fine. but the irony is, my eyes feel even drier than when i had the allergy problem. am hoping that it's only temporal.

in the meantime, going around with no eye make-up and eyes that look like i haven't slept for months, is a magnet for sympathy as friends comment that i 'must be so stressed', getting sleepless nights over my health', ''must be so tired out by my boys'...

unfortunately, my editor isn't buying into my sob story ... oh well, can't win them all...

Filling painful...

2009-11-05T08:13:00.000-08:00

About a week ago, my sis-in-law learnt the true value of friendship... or not.

Back from the States, she reckoned it would be cheaper to get her teeth done here. I offered to take her to a dentist friend nearby but since she knew of a personal friend, she said she'd give him a try as he said, "I'll buy you lunch and give you a good discount."

It turned out to be a real fiasco as this 'old friend' (apparently they had gone out a couple of times some 20 years ago) of hers, a Dr Lim Hong Kim located along Batu Road (Jalan Ipoh) not only bought her a cheap lunch at the mamak stalls (you may argue that it's the thought that counts) but overcharged her. At first, she thought he was being 'nice to her since she did say she may not have enough Malaysian Ringgit on her. He took US$150 (RM500) for six fillings, and this was for exposed gums rather than work done on actual cavities within the tooth itself.

From what little experience I have, my dentist had earlier performed similar work on two of my teeth, and he had said that although there were more of the same, he was not going to bother with the rest unless I complained of pain as these kind of fillings would eventually fall out anyway.

And to be charged RM500 for something so meagre was attrocious. Apparently even the nurse whispered quietly that he was overcharging her which set alarm bells going in my sis-in-law. She called him later that night and he said that he normally charged RM60 to RM80. When she pressed him further, he hung up on her. Then, the next day, she actually turned up at his clinic to speak to him.

Instead of speaking to her privately, he marched out into the waiting area when he heard she was there, and raised his voice, upset that she had accused him of 'overcharging' her. A shouting match ensued, and when she insisted on an itemised bill, he concocted something that amounted to RM510. He stormed back into his room and to add salt to injury, the other clinic nurse let on that another similar incident had occurred a few months ago when another friend had a row with him about overcharging. She also said that in 'normal' situations, he would have charged about 300 plus. Obviously, he had a bad habit of ruining relationships.

One thing for sure, that's one friendship down the drain. Everybody knows that the American dollar is higher, but that doesn't give dentists the right to take advantage of the situation. Yes, his prices are probably cheaper than that in the States, but it was unethical of him to conduct himself in that manner, and raise his fees just because he felt like it.

Well, this will certainly be one 'toothache' that my sis-in-law won't forget in a hurry...

value of communicatin

2009-11-03T08:08:00.000-08:00

is the art of conversation dead?

lamlet no. 1 has finished his first week of punishment. due to his disobedience when i strictly said no going online during exam week, his ban has been extended to two weeks instead.

thse days, i've yet to see a more listless teen. after school, he comes home, finishes what little homework he has, and then he sleeps in the afternoon. this is the boy who abhors sleeping his afternoons away. what about reading his story books (read them all), playing with his brothers (d-uh?) or some other fun stuff? apparently, there is no life after the computer shuts down.

then, he deviced excuses. he has to show his friend the costume which he intends to wear for an upcoming concert. he has to show her via webcam. hello? what happened to describing it to her over the phone? or better yet, talking to her at school? it seems she doesn't go to school so often these days. and she's almost always on line. don't have her phone number. well, too bad.

then, he needs to talk to another friend to discuss their great adventure out at the mall. talk to her over the phone, i tell him. can't. and why not? the phone line is bad. so noisy that it hurts his ears. why can't you tell her in school? oh, she's in a different class. then i catch him staying up to send sms-es. it's so ridiculous that i don't even have the heart to scold him. that it should make sense to him to send a load of sms-es back and forth, despite the phone line being 'so bad'.

when i was growing up, my parents would curb my long hours on the telephone. but at least that was still conversation. with a real life person at the other end. what is so fascinating and necessary about sending messages across the Internet? Why do children meet in school and then, only talk to each other back home online? Yes, laugh at me, I'm behind time, I don't understand. But I firmly still believe that nothing replaces a live relationship; real time conversations with spontaneous answers and laughter; meeting and touching someone real rather than tapping on a keyboard or phone pad, and sharing tangible lives rather than just make do with electronic communication, which should be only a temporary replacement for times when the real thing is not possible.

and therein lies the challenge. not just for ryan, but for all his peers and the next up-coming generation of kids. that they should not lose the true value of communication.

electronic wars

2009-10-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

the point of contention is the computer. i knew this would happen and i suppose i was fortunate that it had been delayed for so long.

for the longest time, we had slow dial up connection to the Internet. intentionally. since my other half and i have easy and faster access at work, there was never a need to get something better at home. and i didn't want to encourage the kids and have them hooked like how so many of my friends' kids were.

then a couple of months ago, we decided to bite the dust as lamlet no 1 had school work projects that increasingly needed him to go on the Internet. besides, the telco had this really good offer we couldn't refuse since we had to upgrade the home pc anyway which was at least 7 years old, a dinosaur in computer world.

on the very first day we were linked to the rest of the world, lamlet no 1 started his blog within six hours. which prompted my other half and i to start our own - we told ourselves we had nobler reasons - i wanted people to share and understand my medical problems. my other half will be retiring soon in a few years and he needed to expand his networking. but the truth of the matter was, we the parents, could not let a 12-year-old, get the better of us! the fact that we had to ask him for instructions was rather telling ...

today, four months down the road, lamlet no. 1 is almost always playing facebook games or messenging his friends or blogging. when we check on him, he says he has projects to finish. lamlet no. 2 is always fighting with him for more computer game time. lamlet no. 3 apparently, wakes up bright and early (he's in afternoon school) to switch the computer on and play facebook games before he goes to school without our knowledge.

this week was the clincher as it's exam week and no one seemed bothered. of course, i put my foot down and said no playing on the computer for at least a week. but does anyone listen? so this calls for sterner action. lamlet no 1 and 2 are banned for two weeks now and further disobedience will result in more devastating punishment. jordan had been relatively unscathed - this was before 'proof' of him playing was produced. (ryan showed the timeline of the page - and this had not occured to me to check earlier.) so now, he's been banned for a week too.

sigh ... is this what our children are reduced to? on one hand, technology opens a world of ideas, creativity and knowledge. on the other, it produces bickering individuals who become selfish, non-sociable creatures who lie and cheat just to get their hands on an electronic box.

so, it's no big deal - so many parents out there let their kids play for hours. but i refuse to let my lamlets, who are usually reasonably well behaved and obedient children, to be ruled and addicted to the computer, when they can be spending time at the park, bicycling, reading, playing board games, heck, anything else. i refuse to be 'like any other parent'.

if and until they begin to think for themselves as to who rules - they or the computer - i'll lock the blinking thing in my room under lock and key if i have to ...

happened in a flash

2009-10-26T08:45:00.001-07:00

didn't think they existed anymore ... but then, of course they did ... there's always a sicko out there out for cheap thrills.

my sister-in-law, my youngest lamlet and i were walking to the pasar malam (night market) a couple of hours ago and we passed through this short but rather dark lane to the main road. normally, i wouldn't take lonely lanes but this wasn't really deserted as groups of people go past every so often, especially today, on pasar malam night.

at the corner, i noticed a man standing next to a lorry in the distance, and he looked like he was easing himself in the drain. we ignored him and walked on. but as we got nearer, he turned and faced us. in the darkness, i couldn't really see anything and my sis-in-law also hurried past, as she was more worried about snatch thieves.

but as we reached the end of the lane and reached the fruit stalls, i consulted my sis-in-law, and we both concluded, shucks, it was a blinking flasher. we, a couple of aunties, were too blur to have really noticed or reacted. soon after us, there was a group of girls going past him the opposite direction and i do believe he tried to flash them too. couldn't have been very successful as there weren't any screams.

feeling most indignant, i went to get some cops who were stationed nearby. three of them came by to check and by that time, the guy had gone. whatever the case, the flasher couldn't have been very bright as he didn't realise that it was too dark for his exhibitionistic skills. later, on the way home, we noticed the light in the lane had been turned on so it was certainly too bright for him to be lurking around.

i told the fruit stall seller who was nearest to the lane and in retrospect, i should have just gotten him and a couple of other stall owners to nab the flasher, and then drag him to the police! oh well, that was the excitement for the night.

i remember yonkers ago, i told myself that i would know what to say and how to react to these disgusting specimen if it were to happen to me. but i guess with time, i've become slow on the mark and well, at my age, very few things surprise me anyway. i do remember my mum telling me once, of how a friend of hers, an old woman, splashed hot water on a flasher when he turned up outside her kitchen window. now that would have been a priceless sight indeed.

food fest

2009-10-22T09:24:00.000-07:00

it has been exactly two weeks since my SRT ended. rather than say that it was a bad patch in my life, i see it as part of my ongoing lumpy journey. it's been a roller coaster of sorts, emotional, spiritual and physical, the last seven years, with good days and bad days, but it has also helped shape my perspective on life, and given me a firm reminder of who's in charge. me, i'm just here for the ride...

and what a ride it's been the last two weeks! my american brother-in-law was visiting and we played tour guides... or should i say, food guides ... in 12 days, our itinerary included:

Bak Kut Teh in sungai way

All you can eat steamboat in sunway mentari

All you can eat durian in SS2

Crabs at Wang Chiew restaurant, SS2

Donuts from J.Co

Murni in SS2

Hawker fare at restaurant O & S

Kluang station and Roti Boy, 1 utama

Lui cha at Hor Poh Restaurant, Kepong

Peanut tong sui from KTZ, ss2

Seafood pot from BBQ restaurant, Janda Baik

Char siew rice at Ah Kai char siew, paramount

Banana leaf rice and tosei at Kavita's, Petaling Garden

Chicken rice balls, Malacca

Peanut tong sui, Malacca style

Satay celup, Malacca

Pork Satay, Malacca,

Hokkien Mee, from Jalan Sultan branch in Sea Park

Wantan mee and char siew, Aman Suria

Poon Choy, Sungai Buluh

Kajang Satay from Damansara Utama

Mee Jawa from SS3

Porridge with ho see, century egg and yong tau fu, paramount garden

Seafood in Kuala Selangor

Ulu Yam loh mee and yam noodles, Section 19

Esquire Kitchen, Sungai Wang Plaza

and yeah, we saw some sights too ... hahaha ... janda baik, kuala selangor, templer's park, malacca... and what else in Kl but malls after malls ...

and you wonder why he had massive food poisoning by the time we hit satay celup at the malacca leg of the tour - maybe it was contamination from the raw food which wasn't cooked properly, the spices in the sauce or the beer thrown in ... who knows .... poor mike camped in the hotel toilet that night, and was out action for three straight days after that. we concluded that malacca and mike had bad karma as the last time he came four years ago, it was also malacca that tripped him.

i must say he had amazing will power as last saturday, my other half's siblings also joined us and we had poon choy (this huge 'basin' literally filled with 14 different types of meat, seafood and vegetables) and loh mai kai ( a whole chicken stuffed with glutinous rice). the food was placed smack in front of him and the poor fellow could only sip isotonic water and plain white porridge. we all agreed that any one of us in his shoes would have said, to heck with the stomach cramps, eat first, worry later!

thankfully, mike recovered in time to make good on his last three days here. he's back in cold New York, while the rest of the lams and lamlets are slowly recuperating from the extra weight gained ... fatfully happy ...

the satay celup that did mike in ...

First pay

2009-10-13T08:07:00.000-07:00

Lamlet no .2 got his pay check today! He was shortlisted for an ad but didn't get chosen. Instead, he was offered a role as an extra along with some 50 kids or more. His face probably won't even be seen, but we thought the experience along with the exposure would be good for him.

When he came back, I teased him, can you buy us dinner? His instant reaction was, no way. And why not, young man? 'Sam ku chea (who's visiting from America) eats a lot!'

That's what we've been doing since last week anyway ... stuffing face... it's been three days since my final day of SRT and we haven't stopped celebrating since ... before, during and after!

Here's to no more lumpy days ahead!

Don't say whatever!

2009-10-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

Hah, at last, I feel vindicated! To all the parents who feel as irritated and exasperated as I do when children answer with word, "Whatever," here's a very good reason why it should be banned from conversations!

__________________________________________________

Whatever you do, don't use 'whatever' in conversation

Thu Oct 8, 2009 8:52am IST

NEW YORK (Reuters Life!) - If you want to be a great conversationalist, whatever you do don't use the word "whatever."

It topped a U.S. survey as the most annoying word.

The Marist telephone poll of 938 adults revealed it was more grating to many people than "anyway" and less tolerable than phrases such as "it is what it is" and "you know."

"The impetus of this poll was a casual conversation where we started discussing those words that get on your nerves. You hear them over and over again," explained Mary Azzoli, director of media for Marist.

Nearly 50 percent of people questioned said "whatever" was the word that bothered them the most. It was the most irritating word in all regions of the country, and among both sexes, all age groups, educational levels and income brackets.

"It is used so often in terms of casual conversation. Also, when you think of the meaning behind it, it is often a way to dismiss someone. It is irritating in that regard. It is much more off-putting compared to any of the other statement we asked," she added.

A quarter of people selected "you know" as the phrase they would like to ban most from the English language. Eleven percent simply could not tolerate "it is what it is," while seven percent found "anyway" irksome.

And at the end of the day, "at the end of the day" was the phrase that came in a distant last with two percent of the vote.

"In order to be a good conversationalist, the key is to always be aware of what you are saying and maybe to do a little research about which words are overused," Azzoli added.

Lumpy facts and fancies

2009-10-05T07:34:00.000-07:00

1. Has the SRT worked? How do I know the tumours have shrunk?

I don't. It's not immediate and not a magic bullet so there's no guarantee of the effectiveness of the treatment. The doc will probably order a CT scan or MRI six months to a year, to compare notes to see if indeed the lumps are smaller. Reports document positive findings, but it's not quite the same as surgery where you cut out the affected area and immediately dispel the problem.

2. Why can't you sing? If you can talk, you can sing, so said a friend.

For a year I spoke in a whisper. Although the vocal cords weren't affected, the nerves linking them were, and one of them was cut (the 12th, I think). After that, my right side compensated for the left, which no longer function as it should as it's working at half capacity. So even now, I can't hold high notes and my voice breaks when I try to sing, which I did rather enjoy once. I used to jest that the only song I can hold a tune to these days is Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams are Made of These ...

3. Benign tumours are alright...

Which is true in theory as they do not spread as viciously and destroy the body like malignant ones. But benign ones still grow, and paragangliomas, albeit, harmless with very slow growth rates, still cause problems as they cause blockages or get in the way of other organs, etc. The left carotid tumour had grown as large as an egg and was one step away from 'eating up' the nerves to the voice cord. After surgery, it still affected the voice cord as it had become too large and was problematic during removal.

The glomus (tumour in the ear) was tiny in comparison, barely 1cm, but it caused ringing in the ear, and I felt I constantly had water in my ears. The one in my chest is relatively harmless, but left untreated, may eventually cause my eyelid to droop and harm the voice cord as well.

4. Cervical cancer is a result of promiscuous behaviour.

Most of us think so anyway. After numerous interviews with patients, doctors and seminars, I learnt that it's a result of a virus, which most of us could have contracted somewhere along the way anyway. And it's transferable even though a woman has remained a virgin all her life, as the virus can be passed even via fingertips, in sexual encounters (not necessarily ending in intercourse), through a husband's/wife's/boyfriend's/girlfriend's previous encounters, even though he/she is now faithful, and it hits you when your immunity is low and your system can't fight back.

5. Cervical cancer jabs are not necessary or my daughter isn't old enough.

In Australia two years ago, they gave the jab to all 13 year olds. The jab should be delivered before girls become sexually active, or even explorative, which experts put down to be as early as 9 years old. It used to be really expensive but prices are now halved. Some enlightened parents even gave their sons the jab, as boys inevitably become carriers. If I have girls, I would definitely vaccinate them, as the need is more urgent. The Malaysian government has recently decided that it is more worthwhile to invest in this vaccination rather than bear the cost of treatment later which amounts to twice as much.

6. There are always signs to look out for in cervical cancer - bleeding, discharge, etc.

Not true, as I had no symptoms whatsoever. I just happened to be in the hospital to see a dermatologist and since my gynae's waiting room wasn't bursting at the seams that morning, I did a pap smear. And discovered I had stage one. My last pap smear was just two years before.

There's the other thing about treatment - at this stage, radical hysterectomy is practised and so many women are so reluctant to give up their wombs as they feel they're giving up a part of their femininity. But it's a no-brainer - why choose death when life is staring at you in the face? Anita Mui died a senseless death. And no amount of repeating this will bring her back. It also helps to know that a hysterectomy doesn't always mean the ovaries are removed, not when you're still young. I still function as a woman, have my womanly cycles, my mood swings, except that I don't see red. Not a bad thing, really ...

7. Surgeries are the be all end all solution.

Definitely not, I learnt. In fact, I was mostly healthy before surgery. And after every surgery I ended up worse for wear as nerve endings were affected, the healing process took a long time and some parts of the body remained numb forever.

8. Eastern medicine contradicts Western.

I went for accupuncture for almost six months, and that helped me get my voice back. Though not Eastern, Sonotron is considered alternative - a relatively unproven science but very effective form of treatment (electrons piggybacked on soundwaves) which worked wonders for my backache, frozen shoulder, tunnel carpal syndrome, healing of open wounds. The efficacy of supplements are pooh-poohed by Western medical journals but I've hardly fallen sick (apart from the surgical problems) thanks to a host of vitamins and healthful organic foods. The same can be said for Chinese herbs and medicines. Aside from practising the black arts, who's to say what method or foods work, and what doesn't. Above it all, there's no dispelling the power of prayer and His healing Hands...

Done in by durian

2009-10-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

I don't even like durians. I was going to write more lumpy stories when some silly durians got in the way.

It started with this guy approaching us while we were having steamboat dinner at a coffeeshop in Sunway vicinity (near Pyramid, the mall). I nonchalantly asked the price and he got excited and said, 'oh, don't worry, you speak hokkien, we are 'kaki lang' (same ethnic group of people). I'll give you a good price.'

Then he came back with a blue van filled with durians. I had earlier said, at most, I want three. Since my second lamlet loves durians, I thought I'll get a few. (Conversely, the first lamlet hates durians.) Then, young boy starting selecting and and putting them into a huge brown paper bag. The first two or three he let me see and feel the fruit. Then after that, he kept saying, oh, don't worry, I'll give you the best.' I kept asking him the price and he ignored me. He dumped like seven fruits in and said, 10kg, RM120.

No way was I going to pay that much. I stood my ground and insisted l had said three fruits and I meant it. Take the rest out, or forget the sale. They grumbled and offered a discount from RM12 per kg to RM10. I said no. Then, they used the excuse that they had already opened the fruits. I still refused and they reluctantly took out two and said, 'Now, just 8kg. Big discount just for you, RM75.' I still said no, I barely have RM50 in my wallet. Take it or leave it.

By this time, their faces were really black and so was mine as I realised that I was being held at ransom. The boy took out another fruit and the weighing machine showed 6kg. I gave him my loose change, which totalled RM45. He still insisted on RM50 and I walked away. The rest of the boys were already cursing at the top of their voices.The first guy and oldest of the group calmed things down and said, 'Never mind, give it to her.' He then apologised and said, 'So sorry, we don't want to fight with you. You did say only three fruits.'

I went back to the dinner table and grumbled to my maid. The heated exchange spoilt the rest of dinner. Later at home, when we opened the fruits proper, I discovered that one was rotten. So much for the 'one extra for free' line. It was probably put in to just add extra weight as the boy surely knew that it was bad. So infuriating ...

When I told my other half, he said that it was a huge con, as he had a similar experience. They had weighed the fruits in a separate bag, which was probably weighed down by sand to add weight. And similarly, they insisted on a RM100 deal, which ended up being halved.

Moral of the story: Don't buy durians from roaming vans! Haiyah!!!! Better to buy from a permanent or regular stall.

Technology gets the better of us.

2009-09-29T10:34:00.000-07:00

Hello! I am a Canon printer and I am going for a song! Read: Buy me and get conned into buying ink catridges!

After I brought it to the 'hospital' (computer shop), the saleslady told me that it's typical of Canon printers to encrypt a protection code in its ink catridges so that it doesn't recognise refilled catridges and you're forced to buy new ones. Which cost an arm and a leg, and I would be better off buying a new printer.

So, I had three choices: foot out RM140 for new ink (printer cost RM130), or buy new HP printer, which apparently can be refilled. Or, reconfigure the printer (doesn't always work for all printers) otherwise modify to have to ink pot by the side, bypassing the original system, which also cost as much as buying a new printer. But then, in future, can refill.

So much for recycle and reuse. Apparently, this accounts for the mountain of rubbish in USA, where in the buy and throw society, it works out to be cheaper to just buy new stuff.

Moral of the story: double check replacement parts before buying printer. I normally do, but I assumed that since I was able to refill my last printer this would be the same too. New technology also means getting snagged more often due to chips which are too smart.

Meanwhile, my curly locks are gone! Chopped the lot off and for the first time in my life, my hair is straight - even after washing! People pay good money to get their hair permed, and here I am, straightening a perfectly wonderful God given gift! Well, the grass is always greener they say, and for a while at least, it feels good to wake up in the morning without having to battle my curls, which seem to have a life of their own, and like a woman, possess their own mood swings...

Today also marked treatment No. 17, so another 8 more to go before I get to bring the mask back. Yup, they said I could, as they don't have the space to keep every single one, and it can't be recycled. I could hang it on the wall as a sculpture ... what's a trophy in comparison ... come to think of it, should have gotten the docs to give me back all the lumps in bottled jars ... people collect insects, I could collect lumps ....

One of those nothing days

2009-09-26T10:35:00.000-07:00

Some days feel so wasted. Today was one of those days. Went over to mum's house to mend the basin tap but it wouldn't budge. Not even under my other half's brute strength. It was so old and rusted that it had fused together with the pipe. And the leak in the shower head also couldn't be fixed as the problem was the tap, which was connected to the heater itself. A little too complicated and beyond my expertise. Which means I still have to call the plumber.

Then, I topped up the printer ink, yet it is still on the blink. Can't read and says ink low. Sigh, gotta take it to the shop tomorrow. And by the time I went back to the boutique, the dress I had set my eyes on had already been sold. Then, after spending almost three hours at the hair salon straightening my hair, I don't like it. I did 'half rebonding', but obviously the hairstylist and I have differing views as to which half is supposed to be straight. Which means I'm gonna go back tomorrow and get the stylist to right it. Basically tomorrow is going to be about righting today.

No serious calamity but then, I felt like such an under achiever. And my lamlets, man, did they have their own opinions indeed.

Lamlet no.3, as I walked in through the door, "Mum, what happened to your curly hair? You don't look nice at all!" Truth out of the mouth of babes ...

Lamlet No. 2: "The front's nice but still too curly at the back. Looks better when it's all straight." A bit gentler, probably can be categorised as constructive criticism.

Lamlet No. 1, always the diplomat: "You look nice, don't cut your hair anymore. It looks fine." This young man will charm the pants off some woman in the not so distant future ...

All or nothing

2009-09-25T11:03:00.001-07:00

The point of contention is a post exam party tomorrow. Lamlet no. 1 wants to go for the whole day - from 8am to 4pm. As an adult, I'm thinking the kids will probably be tired and bored halfway thru. But no, Ryan says there will be all sorts of activities and has been bargaining with me all week long to go for the whole day. I stand by my decision - either go for the morning or the afternoon. Besides, he has music lessons in the morning. So it makes perfect sense to go for lessons and then drop by the party later.

Nope, not good enough. When you're 12, the world is your oyster. I'm trying to understand - after all, I was 12 once. But then, the world I grew up in didn't have water fights, computer games, Internet, Playstation, Wii and other thingamajigs. The odd time that my parents let me out for a movie with friends, unchaperoned, was a privilege. And I was at least 13. And only for a couple of hours. Even then, I had broken convention as my older siblings never had the same opportunity.

I realise as the thought of 'in my time' runs thru my head, it's obvious I'm behind time. At least in my children's eyes. Even as Ryan and I go through this constant battle of the wills, I sense communication doors shutting down in the distance. My son is already a teenager. And, there are so many things Mum just don't seem to get, he's probably thinking. Thus, he's not sharing as much as I would like him to.

But, my dearest son, I do get it. I know you need your space but I need you to also know that there are boundaries. But I'm always there for you. I felt the very same way about my own parents (didn't we all) but unlike Ryan, mine were really from a different world - one that went through World War II, and didn't even have modern appliances. Our world has evolved so drastically that I can't blame them for not keeping up.

At least, as far as 'modern parents' go, we are now equipped with so much more knowledge from books, seminars and the Internet, that we try harder to reach and bridge the so-called generation gap. Different time zones, same problems. It doesn't get any easier.

Lamlet no.1 has decided that if he can't go for the whole day, he'd rather not go. It's all or nothing. Well, I warned him that when friends talk about what a great time they had, he's gonna regret even more. And he has to live with his decision. Life sucks sometimes as you don't always get what you want. But that's how the cookie crumbles.

Small ambitions

2009-09-22T10:02:00.000-07:00

Too much! On the day of my radiosurgery, right after lunch, I pushed off with the lamlets and my other half to Janda Baik for an overnighter and a bit of R&R. Of course, anyone with kids will know that it's probably going to be more stressful than about recuperation - between my friend Pat and I, we have six kids, ranging from 12 years old to an eight-month-old forever hungy baby - and to imagine a time of convalescence is wishful thinking.

Janda Baik, just 45 mins from KL, is all about going back to nature. Spent half the time helping Pat clean the floors of her house which was stained in red juice and poo, courtesy of the bomber bat squadron. A choir of insects resonated well into the night, which was as chilly as a crisp spring morning in London. The bugs there seemed extra well fed, and how the kids screamed when one got especially close. My friend wisely chose not to tell her eight-year-old daughter that a foot-long iguana was hovering about the mirror when she was brushing her teeth. Every other hour, lamlet no. 3 would ask while the adults worked, 'Now what do we do?' Yet, when I asked them whether they would go back there to stay again, lamlet No. 1 said, 'D'uh'. Which translates as, 'Of course, do you even need to ask?' in normalspeak.

So, it was good to steal away from the city. As concerned friends called up to find out how I was doing after 'surgery', I gleefully replied that I was up and about, 'partying'. By evening, the lymph nodes on the right side of my throat was seriously throbbing. But by the next morning, it had subsided, so that went well...

If only all lumps would so easily vanish! In the meantime, I am halfway there, having completed 12 sessions out of 25. The doc said I would be feeling serious lethargy, and won't feel like running about so much by week two, but I'm on the verge of week four. Praise God for giving me energy ... though I confess I'm secretly hoping for some down time ... with a valid excuse at that, to simply vegetate!

Will the eye doctor have some positive news for me tomorrow, I wonder? It's been weeks, nay, months since I've been able to wear my lenses properly. After a few days, and sometimes, even just a few hours, my eyes feels totally out of sorts these days. I've grown allergic to my lenses. Or the solution. Whatever. Have been living on antiphistamines. Yeah, yeah, I should 'give up my small ambitions' and just live with my glasses ...

Not quite surgery

2009-09-18T09:47:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is the day for my radiosurgery. Sounds like a big day, intimidating even, but it's not. It's just more of lying down on the bunk, and more zap, zap, except that this time, it will be focusing on my neck at a higher dose.

I was worried if there would be other side effects, but apparently, none except possibly some slight swelling on the neck. The last time I had radiosurgery, my head grew bigger ... literally. There was swelling around my temples and around the base of my neck, because they basically screwed (no, I'm not being rude - they really physically did this) on the apparatus, and my entire face looked stretched out like an inflated balloon. Imagine how you screw nails in and do this to your head. To don this hanibal-like helmet seemed more trying than actual surgery as at least, I would be asleep throughout for that. The neurosurgeon asked, 'It's not that bad, is it?' as I had tears streaming down and I sarcastically told him, you've never tried this on yourself, have you?

Thank God for the amazing advances in medicine. Now I just have to strap on this synthetic 'mask' or more aptly, frame, which is slightly uncomfortable, yes, but pain free. Makes me feel almost guilty as well, as each time I go in, the therapists have to spend time to ensure the mask is fitted on precisely as my treatment requires the rays to be directed accurately at the tumour. One session takes at most 30 mins including fitting time - not long - but in comparison to the other patients, it seems a lot of work for something that doesn't threaten my mortality.

I noticed the same group of people who come in for treatment each time. There's this small little Malay boy, who's the only one using a mask like me. He has a malignant brain tumour, but fortunately, treatable. Then there is this other elderly Chinese lady, and a European chap after me. They are all cancer cases ... but their therapy doesn't need to be precise, as long as it's aimed at the general area, and they're done in like 10 minutes.

And here I am, spending thousands (company money - whew!) and moaning about the deteriorating quality of my life ... so what if I don't hear so well anymore (my other half is more deaf, I always say, judging from the number of times I have to repeat myself), can't sing anymore (hey, I was a decent soprano, okay), I'm a little bald in some places, my tongue's crooked and parts of my neck will be forever numb as is my ankle area ... But I'm alive and probably healthier than most ....

A friend remarked once that I must be having really 'bad luck' one particular year, as I had barely recovered from one surgery and had to go for a hysterectomy due to cervical cancer. That year was particularly difficult, work and healthwise. On the contrary, I think I've been really blessed. Because if the cancer had been detected much later, I would have had to go thru chemotherapy and a whole regimen of treatment - and lose all my hair - horrors, which would have been a lot worse. I should count my blessings ... so, why is it I'm more hung up over my hair loss than my other problems? Woman, thy name is vanity ...

"Communication let me down ..."

2009-09-12T10:26:00.000-07:00

if you know the song, you're not that young either ...

anyway, it came to mind when i saw the oncologist the other day. i walked in and he asked, 'so, you talked to your vascular surgeon?' i'm thinking - he was supposed to call you. heck, you were supposed to discuss with him.' don't you guys communicate?

the vascular guy only comes once a week on tuesday to the hospital and they missed each other. i had called him the week before, and he gave the green light for my radiotherapy. i conveyed this to the admin nurse as well as the senior radio therapist, who later told me that she specifically reminded the oncologist to call the vascular surgeon. oh well ... we both shook our heads and sighed, 'doctors all like that wan...'

well, that episode is past and the oncologist has done his homework on the new scans and it seems i can do radio surgery on the right carotid tumour, which is one single blast rather than another 25 small doses. yay! which means everything should be over by early october. lumps begone! hasn't happened yet, but i'm thanking God ahead in faith.

on the other hand, my lamlet continues to vex me. no prizes for guessing which one. after a fun morning of watching cartoons (a treat in this hse), having his friend over to play for the afternoon and dinner together as well, it was too good to last and already on the way home, he fought with ryan. at home, he fell asleep in the sofa and kicked a ruckus when he was asked to go to bed. and upstairs, he happily got himself ensconed in my bed (when i had specifically told him no) and refused to brush his teeth. fighting off a wild cat might have been an easier task than getting his teeth cleaned. he's gone to bed, still in his day clothes ...

and tomorrow he will wake up, all sweet and cheery... maybe even melt my heart by apologising, which he so often does. how do i nurture this little lamlet of mine into the great young man that i know that he will be? a rough diamond going through the polishing process ... aren't we all in God's eyes ...

Happy to be a little poorer

2009-09-11T08:30:00.000-07:00

What happened today proves you can't tar everyone with the same brush.

i was approaching the roundabout near my office and stopped, as I rightly should, and within seconds, i heard a loud boom, the contents of my glove compartment spilt out, and i lurched forward.

the taxi behind me did not brake in time. why do these drivers tailgate the car in front? anyway, the big burly indian chap agreed to drive to the side to discuss the situation. at first he wanted to make a police report but i said it was just too troublesome and he was on the losing end anyway, as he would surely be faulted. then he agreed to settle.

my bumper was hanging from the right side, indented and cracked, the right reverse sensor no longer worked properly and the exhaust pipe hung down. but it was nothing in comparison to his Proton Saga which my mum used to say, was made from the Milo tin. his bonnet was folded like a card, his engine hissing, his radiator obviously wrecked as it was leaking green fluid. actually, i was surprised that he could still drive as there was smoke emitting from the radiator.

i called my mechanic who gave an estimate of the damage. in fact, in my mind, i was thinking forget it, these guys never pay. it was about RM500, but then, he hadn't seen it proper so he couldn't make a real judgment on the extent of the damage. i told the taxi driver and he agreed to fork out RM200. he didn't have enough money so he followed me to the nearest ATM teller and actually withdrew money for me. before the drive there, he assured me, don't worry, i won't run off. after he paid me, he actually shook my hand and said, we're settled? i thanked him, and said to his face, thank you for being honest.

in hindsight, perhaps i should have taken a picture of his car. as evidence. just in case. but then, he paid me, and in faith, no further details were exchanged. later my mechanic said, it was smart to take whatever he offered as it wouldn't have been worth it to claim from insurance.

repairs are gonna cost - pocket pain le - but i'm thinking, what do you know, there are decent taxi guys out there. as i drove on to the hospital, i couldn't help but praise God all the way. He's always watching out for me.

Bad Drivers

2009-09-09T10:03:00.000-07:00

when you think of the attitude of some Malaysian people on the road, it's not surprising why there are so many accidents and so much road bullying going around...

when i was driving back from the hospital near sunway today, the traffic was moving slowly, as usual, and the motorbikers were weaving in and out. one came dangerously close, as he suddenly zipped from my right side to the left in front of me, and i narrowly missed him as the cars inched forward. i gave a small beep and ... he stopped.

now in hindsight, i think i was still high on hospital fumes because i acted very stupidly. he could have easily snatched my handbag. i actually wound down my window on the left to exchange a few words with him as my car moved forward slowly and caught up with him. all i said was, be careful. thinking that perhaps a quiet voice of reason would make him regret his reckless riding.

and i was gobsmacked at his reaction. instead of an apology, the indian man, who had a pretty indian female as his pillion rider, shouted back at me: 'ada kenakah? mana ada?' (did i hit you? where?) and then, he continued, his tone getting more defensive as he scolded me, 'tak ada kena apa cakap cakap, mau hon. bising bising.' (i didn't even hit you what are talking about, why did you even press your horn, making so much noise) and he went on and on...

i wasn't about to start a fight, especially since i was a lone woman in the car, though i doubt he could have done much at peak traffic hour. but still .. so i waved him on and said, 'forget it'. he rode off into one of the side roads into the flats, his voice still ringing loudly as he continued to derail me. hello? who's at fault here? and if indeed he did hit me, no. 1, these kind of people are never going to admit fault or pay up and no.2, the guys on the bikes always stand to lose anyway as the car gets merely dented and they get physically hurt.

my best friend asked me later why i was so tongue-tied when normally i'm so much quicker at the return. unlike some drivers who automatically change into aggressive beings when they get behind the wheel, i choose to drive defensively and am relatively patient. i'm not instinctively mean. then something like this happens and it really spoils your day. and you snap - that's probably how most things start.

as i drove on the rest of the journey home, i got angrier and even more frustrated at the horrible man, and at our Malaysian roads and drivers, nay, entire education system, and how it does not address basic values like manners and civic-mindedness. instead, we're a society that perpectuates the 'i, me, myself' mentality and small-minded behaviour. and while i wasn 't unduly alarmed or afraid, i did reach out for my clutch lock after that ... just in case.

almost home free

2009-09-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

surprise, surprise... when i did make that call to my vascular surgeon ... he actually seemed open to the idea of radiosurgery. i do so remember having a similar conversation with him a couple years ago and how he adamantly insisted in his quiet but firm (he's an excellent surgeon, but not exactly the friendliest of docs) way, that surgery was the best option (read: in his books - only option). which was why in the end i had the second operation on my neck, after sparring with him about the possibility of embolism and radiosurgery. but this time round, he actually said that if the neurosurgeon felt he had a fair shot at handling the paraganglioma, go ahead.

i remember at the height of my lumpy paranoia a couple years back, i asked if he could give the number of the other paraganglioma patient, so that at least i could share and get to know a fellow 'sufferer', and the symptoms he experienced. all he said was, 'patient confidentiality'. he didn't even consider asking the other person if he would mind talking to me. i felt, and i still feel, like i'm some walking medical textbook freak. wish some doctors had a little more heart and understood how patient support helps...

perhaps, at this stage he doesn't really care what i decide... maybe coz its a recurring lump, maybe it's complicated to cut the same place again, maybe he's saying to himself, 'whatever lah ...if you think someone else can do better than me.' i suppose it's not nice of me to second guess him ...

whatever the case may be, have crossed that bridge. so now, what's left is taking another MRI on tues. i told them about my right carotid lump. i said to consider the possibility of handling both lumps by SRT at the same time. but now they say, they don't have proper scans of that part of the body. took the brain, the ear and the chest ... but didn't get the neck .... and hello? the two parts are like connected?

have done three rounds of SRT already. it's painless, effortless, and with no side effects ... thus far. so now, to tackle the other lump and i'm almost home free ....

Act One, Scene Two

2009-09-03T09:59:00.000-07:00

lights, camera and .... no action. that was tuesday. braved the traffic (the buka puasa crowd was unbelievable), arrived at the hospital 15mins late. and then, it was my turn to wait ... and wait for a good hour it was ... afterwhich, they told me they weren't ready.

seems they haven't had that much experience with zapping tumours in the body region although they're pretty used to that in the head area, and they needed to recalculate to make sure the radiation rays arched properly. an elderly gentleman came out, the physicist (now i believe physics actually had a point to it in school), and explained how it was arching like this when it shd be like that, should be aimed at the tumour precisely and not hit the table or bed instead etc, etc. in the end, i told them thank you but frankly, i don't really need to know the details, just calculate and do what you have to , and get it right when i do the treatment proper. three hours of my life wasted, spent waiting for nothing ... well, lovers wait by the phone all the time, don't they ...

and so today, i had my first dose of SRT. which was no big deal as all i had to do was lie down while they adjusted my body position and then, strapped me down with the mask, and basically, aim, zap.

what's more troubling, and really depressing, is the lump in my neck. because the oncologist and radiologist concur that it is indeed a tumour. either the vascular surgeon missed this during the last surgery, or it's grown surprisingly fast. pissed at him, and more at myself ... and my stupid body of lumps.

and now, after playing musical surgeons, i'm back to square one - i have to see the vascular guy. i asked the oncologist who decides ... the vascular guy or me. he said both. what lah ... and if he decides that he wants to cut, and i want SRT, who wins?

sometimes, i feel i'm fighting a losing battle. it's like a cartoon on TV, you whack one lump, another one sprouts almost immediately. i tell myself, this will be my last surgery. but it's never quite.

at one stage, i was so fed up and depressed, i told God, i'm tired of being special, of being one in 3 million people in the world to have this rare paraganglioma condition. why can't i have some common disease, like cancer and be done with it. be careful what you wish for - you won't like it when you get your wish. and so, God gave me cervical cancer for a while, to remind me of my mortality. God has a higher purpose to all this, yeah, yeah...blah, blah blah ... i think He's got a warped sense of humour to go with it ...

How?

2009-08-23T10:37:00.001-07:00

the chain has been set in motion. spent a good part of thurs and fri in the hospital, getting the 'mask' made for the stereotactic radiotherapy (SRT) ready (which they need to ensure that I stay in the exact same position every time I get zapped), getting MRI and CT scans. so the lump in my chest is pretty much covered ... the end of my lumpy journey seem in sight.

or not ... there's still the tumour in my right carotid to contend with. the oncologist and neurosurgeon are supposed to go through the scans again with a fine tooth comb and ascertain whether it is really a tumour or just a bunch of lymph nodes. but they're not really sure themselves. if it's indeed a blinking lump ... then what?

well, i'm hoping that this current SRT treatment will also cover the neck area, which the neurosurgeon says can be done. but there is niggling doubt on my part, because i know my vascular surgeon, who firmly believes in good old fashion cut and throw away, will insist that the best solution wd always be to operate. radiotherapy will also cause adhesion and scarring, making surgery in that area a lot more difficult in the future. But there have been many positive reports on how radiotherapy has been largely successful on treating paragangliomas. and i really don't look forward to another surgery again ... especially in that very same area that's been cut before.

i cd resort to walking by faith. that God will make all my lumps go away. how ah?

one of those lamlet days

2009-08-18T11:02:00.000-07:00

sometimes, it's hard to be on good behaviour all the time. today was evan mania day... again.

lamlet no. 2 was up to his usual hijinks. he didn't want to eat his lunch, then he wanted to eat in front of the TV and when the maid said no, he wanted to take the food upstairs. so at the height of his silliness, lamlet no. 1 called me.

all he did was put the phone out and i could hear the ruckus from my end. evan was screaming at the top of his lungs, mad at the maid for not letting him get his way, mad at ryan for ratting him out. basically, it was one of those days. fine. i told the maid to forget it and clear up, let him face the music when i got home.

when i eventually did get home that evening, evan had gone into hiding. i unearthed him in grandma's room, slinking behind the door. 'wanted to surprise you' he said as he hugged me, a sorry untruth indeed.

terrified of the consequences of his bad behaviour, he decided to hide out until the storm had passed. he had finished his homework, practised his drums and bathed (for a change), and was looking angelic.

what happened today? i asked. 'wat? dunno', was his innocent reply. were you naughty? 'yes.' why were screaming? 'dunno.' what made you do what you did? 'dunno.' think you deserved to be punished? 'yes' he sheepishly agreed.

alright. you're going to eat your dinner, fast, no funnies, and right after you're going to bed. no TV, no fooling around. otherwise, the consequences will be worse. you're clear on that? 'yes.'

so, he crept into bed early and as he said his nightly prayers, we asked that God would help him to be good. i reckoned if i had been home at lunch time, i would been furious, tempted to smack him into obedience. but by evening, i was able to reason with him, that screaming does not pay, and yelling at kakak is not polite and that as someone else's mother, her children would probably not appreciate her being yelled at either.

we both learnt something today ...

icing on the cake

2009-08-15T10:55:00.000-07:00

the sofa finally arrived two weeks ago, a couple of days just before the supposed surgery. i was so sure that they would muck it up that i was all prepared to call and lambast them. but they actually got it right. in fact, they almost left without taking the old covers. except that my other half, bless his honest being, pointed it out to them. later, we all said, darn, shouldn't have said anything ...

and the best part, yesterday someone from Macy called other half and asked, 'how would you rate our service?'

shucks, if that was not opening yourself to gunfire, i don't know what is...

my other half said very calmly, 'first of all, you deliver the sofa almost a month late. next, you get the colour wrong. and then, you tell us you've run out of the fabric of our choice. and you take ages to deliver the right ones. so how? perhaps you should consult your other departments before you make such calls.'

there was a hurried thank you and goodbye on the other side.

we all had a good laugh, and the lamlets said she was real lucky not to have encountered me...