Gems in a sea of dreariness

12 October, Tuesday


Today is my eldest son's birthday. Happy birthday Khairul. Mama loves you.

Two days ago, I had to go to PPUKM (Pusat Perubatan UKM) in Cheras for an x-ray. Needless to say, hospital is a dreary and dreadful place to go. And for sure, a destination which I don't relish going at all.

Everytime I go to PPUKM (that's like once a fortnight), I would feel really miserable and despondent. Whenever I look around, I see a sea of sick people. A couple of weeks ago, I was at the Orthopedic Clinic for an Orthopedic Sports appointment to treat the persistent pain in my shoulder.

There, my heart bled. Besides the patients with "hidden" orthopedic problem, like mine, because it is something not evident to other people, except you, yourself, there were 4 patients who stuck a chord in me. And their orthopedic problem was for the world to see as you could clearly see what was troubling and afflicting them.

One was an adult male who had to wear a metal brace over his head. Can you imagine what he had to go through having to carry that heavy burden on his shoulder? But he bravely walked about the Clinic, waiting patiently for his name to be called.

Even more touching and heart-rendering was seeing three child-patients. One was a little girl (no older than 13 or 14). She was wheel-chair bound. What touched my soul was that the "wheel-chair" was customised using a lazy chair (the one old folks like to relax in) and a trolley board (you should imagine the chair being placed securely on the trolley board).

It was apparent that the parents were not well off, hence the simple but practical and innovative wheel chair for that little girl. And, what touched me most was the fact that for her appointment, she was accompanied by not only her parents but her elder sister too. Ever so often, her parents and her sister would talk to her, fed her water and bread, and would reposition her so that she'd be more comfortable. At one stage, all three helped her to stand up as I reckoned, she was getting tired sitting down. All three were sitting down behind her in case she fell. I could see the overflowing love for her. I could sense she felt truly loved.

The second child that stole my attention was a little boy, approximately 9 or 10. This boy was securely strapped in a luxurious-looking wheel chair which could be adjusted to recline 90°. What tugged my heart was how his father kept showering attention on him, talking to him incessantly and touching, cuddling and caressing his hands and feet. Nevertheless, his mum's stony and indifferent attitude amazed me. His mum hardly even looked at him, let alone communicated or interacted with him. The scene perplexed me.

And finally, I was mesmerised by the next scene before me. A little girl around 7 or 8. I reckoned she's a paraplegic. The wheel chair looked expensive too and she was comfortably reclined. She was accompanied only by her mum. What touched the very core of my being was how the little girl's mum gazed lovingly into her eyes, how she talked and played with her little girl despite there being absolutely no reaction from her. She cooed, she cajoled, she lovingly talked to her daughter. She kept adjusting the girl's position to make her more comfortable, and now and then she was smothering and raining her little one with kisses.

And the above scene brought to mind, how we able-bodied human beings took things and life for granted. We, able-bodied beings, who have able-bodied children and spouse, seldom paused for a moment to thank the Creator, the Exalted for the blessings He has heaped on us. Seldom do we show our appreciation for the good tidings that Allah has showered on us.

Think for a moment, those gems (the parents of that special children) who seemed blessed and joyful despite their kids' condition. And the irony of it all, everyday, we hear of stories of irresponsible girls who dumped their babies (some still alive) to be devoured by animals. Hey, even animals love their kids and would fiercely protect them. Humans? Some are not fit to be called human after all!!!

Love never dies a natural death

17 March 2010, Wednesday

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, witherings, and tarnishings.

Mak 3.0 - Mak, I love you so very much - you're the sunshine of my life.....

Continued from Mak 2.0

Mak, I miss you so. I long to touch you. I miss your warmth, your caring voice, your special touch, your superb dishes, your deep concern and sacrifices for all your kids. This year marks nine years since you left us. Time sure flies as I just couldn't believe that you had left us nine years ago.

It felt like it was just yesterday that I could hear your sweet voice calling us children to the dining table to partake the delicious food you had cooked for us.

Mak, I recalled how every single one of your eight kittos would surround the table to savour the simple, yet delicious food that you lovingly prepared for us. Among your wonderful dishes were beef steak, telor masak kicap, nasi tomato (ummm...yummy), nasi ikan, dalca, daging goreng, sanggul mak inang, gula tarik (now that explains why both you and dad and most of your kids suffer from diabetes....hmmmm), pudding, caramel, gulai ikan kering, kari kepala ikan, etc.

And I still remembered how you would hover at the table and not sit down to join us for meals as you would always put us kids and ayah before you.  You always wanted to make sure that we were fed well before you eat.  And you always ended up eating alone, long after everyone had left the dining table.

Mak, you were a truly selfless person. Mak, we would come across a few great people in our time on earth.  And you were one of them. You were like a conductor holding court in a symphony of laughter and smiles.
I regretted not doing more with you mak, because I thought you were going to be there for a long time.

And that is how we usually take each other for granted. I have many things left unsaid and unsettled. And I always thought that one day we would be able to look back and reminisce the things we did together.

Alas, that was not to be so. Two days after I delivered my youngest baby, Khairi, on 17 November 1993, you had a heart attack. And since then, for the next 7 years you were in and out of hospital.  You were bed ridden for several years. Once you were bed ridden you were a pale shadow of your old self.

But your love for all your children and ayah never once wavered. I recalled visiting you at Subang Jaya Hospital when you went into coma.  And all your children and children in law were in the hospital room too.

You had been in coma for a couple of weeks.  And Abang G (my 2nd brother) had, in jest, whispered in your ears (but loud enough for everyone present to hear), "Mak, you only loved G, isn't it?".

And miracles of all miracles, you shocked everyone present by responding (but it sounded more like a retort to my ears), "NO! I love all my children!" Imagine, you had been in a coma, and you had responded clearly and audibly when it mattered most to you, something which was dear to your heart, i.e, your children.

Everyone burst out laughing, but, soon after that sweet retort, you lapsed  back into coma. In August 2000, you went into coma again, and never recovered.

I recalled the day we lost you.  It was so vivid.  It was as though it happened yesterday.

From the period 15 August till we lost you, I spent the nights with you at the hospital as I reckoned your time was near. All your four girls took turn to take care of you at the hospital. Despite being in a comatose state, you kept moving your legs, which I suspected was causing you pain.

In fact, your right foot and shin were turning black, a sure sign that gangrene had set in. The doctors had told us that there was nothing else they could do, and if we had wanted, we could take you back home (to Ocah's house).  And Ocah had made arrangements for a nurse to take care of you once you went back home.

As the saying goes, we human beings can plan, but God decides.  Your gangrene became worse and the doctor told us in no uncertain terms that they had no choice but to amputate your legs on 23 August 2000. Alas, God is mighty. Before you lose your limb to the knife, God took you back.

Mak, just as when you were alive, you never wanted to inconvenience your kids. You "chose" to leave us in the hospital so as not to inconvenience any of your kids.

The week that you passed away, I was very busy as I was the Chairman of my company's Annual Dinner Committee.  And that morning, I had gone to Mont Kiara to rent costumes for the function.

Despite being busy, a terrible foreboding filled me and my stomach churned. As I was walking toward the costume rental shop with the rest of the Committee members, my phone rang.  It was Kirah (your youngest daughter) who called me to say that your condition had taken a turn for the worse. You were in critical condition. Without hesitation, I left my friends. As I hailed a cab, a wave of acute pain crossed my face as I knew deep in my heart that your time was near.

For some strange reason, the taxi that I took was old, so was the taxi driver.  In fact, the man was no driver.  The whole drive from Mont Kiara to SJMC had consisted of non-stop jerks and jolts as the old man, his hand tightly gripping the steering wheel, had crunched the gears and continuously lifted his foot on and off the accelerator, causing the rusting taxi to rev up and slow down, engine screaming in protest.

I had been too scared to do more than clutch the door handle and keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead. willing the journey to come to an end.

As soon as the taxi stopped, I scrambled out. And I had never been so glad in my life to reach a journey's end.

My heart was beating so fast, and I was getting very impatient.  I prayed fervently to God that I could make it to youur room before it was too late. Upon reaching the room, some of my siblings were already there, whilst we waited for the rest to arrive.  I was later told that your heart had stopped beating earlier but the doctor managed to revive it temporarily.

We were thankful to Allah for giving us this grace period, for giving us this precious time to be with you. We could see that you were hooked on the life support machine but once the machine was removed, your breathing became weaker.

I would always remember 23 August 2000. I could vividly recall the pulse meter that was placed next to your bed.  At that time, it looked like a death sentence meter or a countdown meter, to put it more aptly.

Except for Kak Pah and Noraihan, all your 7 kids and grand children were in your room when you breathed your last breath.

I'm sure till today, Kak Pah would always regret the day she decided to go back to her house in JB.  She had been lovingly taking care of you for 2 weeks.  And just as she thought she needed a break, you left us, without Kak Pah having had chance to bid goodbye to you.

I recalled all your kids hovering around you until you breathed your last breath. Although it was difficult for us to let you go, but we knew that your time was up. Even though you had been suffering a long illness, and we thought we were prepared for it to happen, the impact of your passing away is still very painful and the blow when you died was severe. In fact your loss was almost unbearable.

Till Death Do Them Apart

27 September 2009, Sunday (8 Syawal)

It was really poignant and heart wrenching to see my father-in-law who is suffering from dementia holding his wife's hands (my mother in law) as she lay in her death bed, gasping for air a day (17 September 2009) before she passed away (18 September 2009).

 

 

 

 

 

Imagine, these were the hands he had held tenderly when they were younger, when time stood still, when love conquers everything else.

And I recalled that Sunday, 6 September 2009 (3 days before my mother-in-law was hospitalised for urine infection that culminated in her death on 18 September 2009).
 
That day, my husband and I had taken my father-in-law to visit my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, Tini in Bangi. It's really sad that neither my father-in-law nor my mother-in-law recognised each other.

Imagine, they had been married for over 60 years and they used to be so lovey-dovey. And yet that day, there was no flicker of recognition between either of them. He used to hold her hands tenderly when they were crossing roads. He used to gaze lovingly into her eyes. He used to love her deeply. Yet, today they appeared like strangers.

One day, all of us are going that path too (what you call as dementia). And we just do not know when our life will be snuffed out, so before we pop our clogs, make hay while the sun shines.

Make Hay While the Sun Shines

6 September 2009

Happy Birthday Kirah (my youngest sister) and hope you will grow up to be somebody worthwhile and an icon to your children.

Today, my husband and I took my father-in-law to visit my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, Tini in Bangi. It's really sad that neither my father-in-law nor my mother-in-law recognises each other.

Imagine, they have been married for over 60 years and they used to be so lovey-dovey. And yet today, there is no flicker of recognition between either of them. He used to hold her hands tenderly when they are crossing roads. He used to gaze lovingly into her eyes. He used to love her deeply. Yet, today they appeared like strangers.

While our spouse is still young and hearty, still sprightly and bright, make the most of our life together. Love them, shower them with affection, love them unreservedly, spend time with them.

One day, all of us are going that path too (what you call as dementia). And we just do not know when our life will be snuffed out, so before we pop our clogs, make hay while the sun shines.

Mak 2.0 - Mak, I love you so very much - you're the sunshine of my life.....

Continuation from Mak 1.0

My heart ached for her. "Allah, please don't let her die, please, please, let her stay alive. I've not told her that I love her!" "I've not spent enough time talking to her. I've been busy with work. I've been busy with my husband. I've been busy tending to my kids. I've been busy traveling. I've been busy doing other things, but spent time with her. I've been neglecting her!".

"So Allah, please, please give me another chance so that I would be able to spend more time with her and allow me an opportunity to tell her how much I love her!" I fervently and quietly prayed to Allah.

And my mind flashed back to 1984, 1986, 1989. When mak heard that I was almost due, she rushed to KL to be with me when I delivered my babies respectively in 1984, 1986, and 1989. That's mak - never failing her duty as a mum even though I myself was going to be a mum.

In 1984, when I delivered my first child, a son, mak came down from Penang to be with me a few weeks before I delivered. It was just as well, as my first bundle of joy decided to peep into this world 2 weeks ahead of schedule.

And every night, she would begged me to hand over the baby to her so that she could take care of him to allow me to sleep peacefully. I was adamant in not allowing the the baby to be with her, as I wanted to spare her from having a sleepless night, and more importantly, I wanted to care for my baby myself as I was nursing him and I was steadfast in my stand not to bottle feed him while I was at home.

Mak took great care of me and my baby, giving me delicious pantang food and making sure that the baby was well taken care of, given that this was my first child.

And in 1986, along came another son. The little rascal followed his brother's footsteps by peeking into the world ahead of schedule, this time 15 days earlier. Hence, Mak couldn't make it in time for his delivery, but she rushed to the hospital, together with ayah, upon hearing that I had given them another grandchild.

Again, she took great pains to cook yummy pantang food and helped to take care of my eldest son, while I tend to, and nursed the new kid on the block.

My second son, Khairil was sickly as a baby. He developed asthma and it was a challenge taking care of him, as the slightest irritation can trigger an attack. When he was 2 years old, he had an acute asthma attack. Thank God, Mak was with me at that time, so when we rushed him to the hospital, Mak took care of Khairul, our eldest child. Mak, was always there, when I needed her. She was truly my tower of strength.

In 1989, I was pregnant again, and this time, mak came down a month ahead of time to be with me, as she knew my history of delivering babies well ahead of time. She was spot on as Khairina (my little girl) decided to beat her brothers by venturing outside the womb, 22 days ahead of my due date.

On the day I went into labour, Mak prepared me well for this delivery as she recited special Quranic verses and apply Air Kacip Fatimah on my tummy when the contractions started.

That morning, I had a check-up at Assunta Hospital. And because of my past history, I decided to pack the necessities in a bag and also took my mum along for my check-up.

And when the doctor did an IE, he was shocked to discover that I was already dilated. So, I was pushed to the labour room. Nevertheless, I recalled him mentioning that even though I was dilated, it'll take a few hours before I delivered. And I still remembered the nurse telling him to go for breakfast after he had examined me.

But, lo and behold, even before he could step out of the labour room, I could fill a very strong urge to push. And at that time, the nurse had not even prepared me fully, i.e, my hands were not at the hand bar to pull, and my legs were not positioned properly on the push bar.

As the urge to push grew stronger, I screamed and when the doctor turned, he realised that the baby's head was almost crowning. He rushed in and I actually delivered within 30 minutes of the onset of the first contraction.

Mak, if not for you, my deliveries would not be so effortless and almost painless. Due to God's grace and your faith in the special water of Air Kacip Fatimah, and your relentless effort in reciting the Quranic verses, I had a wonderfully easy births for all my deliveries.

Mak, I also recalled how excited you were, for me, I believe, when Amir told you that I had delivered a little girl, because you knew how much I wanted a girl.

In fact, when I was pregnant with Khairina, I had this strong instinct that I was carrying a girl, the feeling was so different from when I was carrying Khairil, because at that time, I knew I was going to have another boy.

During my entire pregnancy with Khairina, the name "Khairina" kept surfacing in my head, maybe because the two boys' names begin with Khai, so I decided to use "Khairina" as my computer and email password (I was using a totally different password before).

It was really uncanny and amusing that I did not select any boy's name this time around. And when she came along, I told ayah that I had aptly chosen "Khairina" as the first part of her name and I gave him the opportunity to select the 2nd part of her name.

Ayah then consulted the Babies Names book and carefully selected "Izzati" which means...

Mak doted on little Khairina, and bought her lots of little dresses. And it was during these period before 1993 (my last delivery), that I had noticed little things about her which did not seem right.

Sometimes, when she was trying to put on her slippers, she'd just slipped on one side and left the other one behind, without even realising it. I was later told, that that was the first signs of stroke. When she was in Penang, she used to tell us that sometimes, when she was trying to turn the door knob, she would fall to the floor. Again, another sign of weakening of the body system.

But, mum being mum, she refused to believe and think that there could be anything wrong with her, so she gallantly kept on doing household chores and taking care of my dad. And occasionally, she would come down to KL to spend time with her 8 children and the growing number of grandkids.

She kept her house spotlessly clean. When everyone has long retired to bed, she would still be scrubbing the floor until it's spotless. She would not stop until everything is kept away and clean.

Mak, I miss you so. I long to touch you. I miss your warmth, your caring voice, your special touch, your superb dishes, your deep concern and scarifices for all your kids.

And I remembered once again 1993. That was the year I gave birth to my youngest child, a son.
To be continued.