My favorite thing to do at 4 am, yes, besides sleep

Like a crazy loon I still wake up at 4 am, mind and body shaken from sleep , emerging .... itchy . Having gotten into the habit when our son would wake us up at about the time before he rooster crows (4 am, more or less , or before the sun would rise ), my internal clock continues to think it's not too far from that of a roosters'. Thank God I am able to fall back asleep again (after some time ). What to do at this unreasonable hour ? I've gotten into the fun game of killing mosquitoes . I absolutely hate how they think they can one up me while I'm asleep , and often my husband who's beside me and likes to sleep without a shirt , is a victim too, though the buggers often prefer even say, my finger to his whole bare back . They apparently like the challenge . Or they just love my blood more ... if I'm given one pass at rejecting someone's love , this would be it.

So this morning I zapped 3 fat ass mosquitoes and sent them back to their grandparents and ancestors, as my dad would often put it. Am going back to sleep feeling fulfilled .

I'm ready to go back I knew this day would come when I would feel that I overstayed my welcome though it's probably just how I feel or how I'm made to feel through other circumstances that indirectly lead to that .

Had a spat last night and basically neither of us (a certain family member ) are happy I'm being made to feel like a bad mother because I left Oli for a minute on the floor last night (in our room with toys on the floor and a "dangerous" electric socket),  which forced the person to come up even though the superstition of hand washing and cold douse prohibition after ironing /handling hot objects may not necessarily be true (it is definitely not scientifically nor medically founded)   , and moreover said person felt that I don't appreciate all that's been done , because I said that I didn't like it when said person tried to get Oli to side with aforementioned person and told Oli not to mind "your fatty mother" and that "your mommy doesn't love you anymore....i  love you more... Awww poor baby your mommy doesn't love you anymore" along those lines , though  it was purportedly  a joke;  and moreover no recollection of it being said registered from the speaker,  it's been a few days , a week maybe , I've kept it and didn't say anything about it but I just feel it wasn't necessary to say this...

Sigh. Hit that part of the inevitable wheel that I had no doubt would come one day , and it has after a month of staying here. It is time to pack up and head back with our baby... But where is home now?

Laughter and asian blondes

You know how some people can get you ROFL (Rolling Over the Floor Laughing) with their jokes or  quips? Well, that never really happens with my Estonian husband. Read more about Estonians here. Well, today my husband dressed our son up in a new pair of jammies from H&M with the words orinted "I <3 mum and dad" printed like a million times, and when I asked our 11 month old son if it was true, he replied (by he I mean my husband) "It must be, he says it so many times. This elicited a few seconds of laughter from me. I honestly cannot remember having heard something that has caused me to ROFL but as laughter they say is the best medicine, I would rather have some of it in mini ounces than none at all...

As my days go by ungloriously small mundane things can be rather interesting to me, such as having a few white hairs come off the hair brush as I stepped out of the shower, and I delighted myself in the thought that my scalp has finally realized that these "Asian blonde" strands do not actually belong to my young scalp.

A small victory , hurrah.

Hospital woes

I am so lucky to have the support of the "hua ren mamas" group on the Chinese app, Weixin.

Since Oli has been confined for jaundice initially on the evening of the 24th of August, just 4 days old, and thereafter held by the doctors, conducting test after test on our poor fragile baby, we had been worried sick on his condition.

The public hospital where he was at allowed calls strictly only within the 2:00-4:00 pm window, and visits were only allowed at the same time; such that, if one were to find out that it is possible to visit our son for that afternoon, a mad rush to the hospital that is about an 45 minutes away from our home would ensue. We were always on call, like doctors, ironically though we were at the mercy of the very people we seemed to be involuntarily emulating, at least at that one aspect. Other rules are as below:

1. Family members can only visit within the 2:00-4:00 visiting hours, and may not enter or hold their baby. They can only stand behind a distance behind the viewing window. Concerned members will be informed the day itself if the baby can be discharged for the day.

2. Mothers or family members may not bring in their own breast milk for their babies. The hospital provides (an unmarked) formula.*

3. During confinement, the doctors will conduct several tests to rule out different possibilities, depending on the condition and situation of the baby.

4. A deposit of 5,000 RMB upon leaving your baby at the hospital's care is necessary.

What initially was simply a planned treatment for jaundice ended up being much more, and costing us more, The doctors conducted several tests including MRI, Ultrasound, electrocardiogram, echo doppler, and so on and so forth, most of which we were informed only very shortly before they were done. We could only trust the doctors that they know what they are doing, even though it hurts to think that they would allow our fragile baby to undergo so many exams. Were they really all that necessary, one cannot help but also doubt the intentions, if all these were merely to cash in on us?

We did not and could not know when our son could be released, it felt more and more as if he was being held there as a hostage, as each day passed and the promised release kept being moved over and over again, and the promised call never seemed to come.

I aired out my grievances and worries in my "hua ren mama" group and there was a verbal propaganda that ensued with suggestions coming from all corners of Shanghai and from moms from different countries who sided with me and were aghast at the deemed unjust holding of our son at the hospital.

Suggestions flew left and right, recommendations to transfer our son to other hospitals, names of recommendations for doctors in order to seek second opinion (the unanimous suggestion was to seek second opinion from other expat hospitals, unfortunately, as we do not own any insurance as of writing, these expat hospitals charge an arm and a leg)

Just feeling all the love, support and energy from women I have never even met has kept me going through these uncertain and difficult times, not knowing when we would ever see our son again (though I knew of course we would for certain get to see him sometime...), the bleak diagnoses, in which we were given spoonfuls of bad news every other day over the phone with the worst possible case scenarios, making us think about the unthinkable...sending us catapulting to the darkest place ever imaginable...



Over the course of several chats with several moms, I learned that doctors in China generally give the worst possible case scenarios in order to not be help liable for if and when these do happen. This is the total opposite approach to what we in other countries and culture are used to, in which doctors generally tend to not give the worst possible scenario unwarranted to family members, in order not to cause them unjust worries and stress! One mom was repeatedly told she had a cyst in her pancreas here in China, but every time she went for a check up in HK she was all clear! I was therefore told to consult expat hospital and find doctors who can explain our son's condition in English and end our worry streak once and for all.

In an answered prayer, we had our son back on my birthday on the 2nd of September, being able to see him, hold him and have him safely back to our home was the best ever birthday present a mom like me could ever have! Moreover, we had the feeling it was like the day we brought him home from our hospital of birth for the first time. I shared the news to the group and the whole group rejoiced at my news! It was the last regular day before a 3-day holiday, so it was especially crazzzyyy there with family members clamoring and rushing to get their little ones out of the hospital, as visiting was not allowed during the holidays... @_@ ?!

Shanghai is special that way... it's the people who make it special <3


* When asked what brand formula was being used, we were angrily told that this formula has been prepared by their nutritionists. We of course, never found out the brand, though I noticed a Nestle sign at the nursery ward reception center...

Game of hearts

Since being told yesterday of the hole in Oli's heart, my own heart felt as if it were ripped out of my chest.  Ventricular Septal Defect , it is called.

Having a mom who is adamant on the traditional practice of gelai she was thrilled to have "discovered" technology, or rather the practical use of it... having found a recipe for gelai rich foods, one of which is pigeon.

With news of the hole in Oli's heart still fresh, I accidentally uncover a small oval thing under the heap of bones and barely there meat... the pigeon's heart (game pigeons hence the title...)  I normally don't get emotional over a dead pigeon, but this time around it was different. I started to think about the pigeon's mommy, and this being her baby, did she feel the same pain I felt when her baby was killed for food? I, being a carnivore predominantly, momentarily swore never to eat meat again... imagine getting emotional over my lunch. But luckily that moment was gone not soon after.

=============================================

Another blow. My brain feels like it wants to explode further.
Doctor Who updated us with the news today that our son might have porencephaly, a result of an MRI scan, my heart felt as if it were ripped out of my chest...again. and, heart still beating, squeezed out of its life.

oli we promise to protect you and raise you the best way we can but please be healthy and strong, all we wish and pray for is that you be able to live a healthy and normal life.

Still fresh from the fatigue and pain of childbirth and surgery, I didn't know how to go on anymore, each terrible news sucking what little life and energy and spirit there is in me...

The Breast Milk Gestapo

Saturday morning, my mom cooked up a thick creamy white soup from two live fishes, to help me recover and heal faster.

That same day, I take 2 capsules of Fenugreek seeds. Twice.

Our son refused to suck and instead chose to continue on with his favorite pastime these past 60 hours, perfecting the art of slumber.

That evening, my breasts turned to a couple of hard rocks.

It was the most excruciating pain I have felt since last Thursday's anesthesia shot. This must be what it feels like to be punched by Pacquiao, except even the slightest touch would send my pain sensors in full swing. I considered gravity my enemy at that time...sitting or standing up, as long as I was in a vertical position, would send me wincing in pain. But it was nothing compared to the late night (or early morning, however you look at it) 2 am surprise visit from the...

Enter the Breast Milk Gestapo

Clad in white, and dark rimmed glasses, she had a stern presence and commanded attention from everyone in the room (that being, myself, my husband, and my mom. The cat has checked out and the human calculator has not checked in yet). Or perhaps the fact that she came in unannounced at 2 am, while we were deep in our sleep, and turned on all the lights and started speaking loudly and angrily, was what gave her such a commanding presence.

Either way, she announced: " What are you doing sleeping throughout the night?!? Why aren't you pumping? And you dare get formula milk from the nurse station?!? Look at you, your breasts are hard as a rock!"

 (Proceeds to prod and poke my breasts unannounced, without warning, and sends sharp, painful pangs throughout my whole body, the MOST painful feeling I've gone through). The closest analogy I can think of is being punched in the breasts by Mike Tyson, or Manny Pacquiao. Or let's just call in a fictitious boxer, Rocky Balboa (what, you didn't know he didn't really exist? big "blow", huh? Pun intended.)

My boobs became public property from that day forward.

She commanded (yes, demanded if you want another term), my husband and mom to get to work massaging and pounding and pumping my twin rocks until they became soft, which didn't happen in the next 3 hours, but massage and knead they did, alternately, as we only had one manual breast pump at the time. They worked tirelessly from 3 am until sunrise, allowing me to squeal in pain and take breaks in-between tears of pain, in order to take another attempt at hobbling to the bathroom, only 2 days from my double surgery C-section.

I can boldly compare the pain to the pain of giving birth, without anesthetics. Scoff if you will...

Ultimately, the next morning, my mom dutifully went to the local bakery shop to buy some soft dough and cabbage. The gestapo lady was still on duty at 7 am, and she proceeded to march to my room and slapped the dough onto both my rock-hard breasts, leaving the center to peek out (for what reason, I'm not entirely sure as no one, nor anything can penetrate that thick dough fortress) that made my breasts resemble being wrapped in plaster.

Strange as it felt and even stranger the way it looked, after about 3 hours, I was told to remove them by washing them with warm running water. A load of sticky mess and 10 minutes later, I felt my breasts no longer in pain from engorgement. Alleluia! Thank God! That is also the last time I will let a stranger touch my boobs.

As for the cabbage, we were instructed to keep it chilled in the fridge and put it inbetween my brassiere and boobs to cool down the next engorgement episode. But the best prevention is to keep pumping, she said. As of writing, I can proudly say that I am all pumped up and this has thankfully not recurred.

The gestapo nurse's home remedies for engorged breasts:

A. Soft bread dough method

1. Buy soft bread dough from the local bakery (ask them nicely and try not to tell them the real reason why you are getting it otherwise they might give you a strange look)

2. Divide into two (for obvious reasons), and pat around firmly around each side, leaving the center to peek out for whatever reason.

3. Cover each side with cling wrap or a thin plastic film to prevent the dough from sticking to your clothes.

4. Wait for the dough to harden and dry*, then peel off and wash off excess residue with warm running water.
(*In my case it took me almost 4 hours for it to harden, though even then it did not completely harden as the though was rather thick on me.)

B. Chilled cabbage method

1. Buy cabbage heads from the market or nearby vegetable store.

2. Chill in the fridge

3. Insert in-between brassiere and breasts

Use any of these two simple techniques whenever you feel pain or harness, and couple with non-stop pumping and massaging until you feel them become soft.

Good luck!

Checking in with my next door neighbors

Checked in at the hospital on August 18, prepped for 2 days, prior to the scheduled C-section on August 20. They couldn't and wouldn't confirm with us until the actual day itself if we actually had a room... room booking was only allowed strictly a week before the planned check-in date, such that we went there 8 days before the check-in date, in the afternoon, but they turned us away and asked us to come back the next morning. When they mean a week before, they really mean 7 days. No wonder the Chinese are so good in Math. (8 is definitely not 7, stupid foreigners! I could almost hear their thoughts)

I requested for a shared room with 2 beds, as the private room was preposterously expensive. I would stay for at least a week. It turned out to be an interesting experience.

Worlds apart, while in the same room, in the same hospital, in the same city,  and only actually separated by a thin curtain and nothing more. Two vastly different co-sleepers situated a few meters from my bed.

Neighbor A: The Whiny Cat

Curtains closed, with only the sound of intermittent whining and please for more attention from her obnoxiously loud family of 4 (note that only 2 visitors are allowed each time but they somehow escaped the Chinese hospital SS police), the whiny cat sounds sweet and pretty. Based on her voice she could be a sweet sexy thang (pre- pregnancy and surgery)

Curtains drawn, with the sunlight coming in through the only window in the room, which happens to be on the cat's side, the cat is revealed to be the complete physical opposite of her sweet sexy voice... I am reminded of the saying "Don't judge a woman by her voice" , or more popularly known as, "Don't judge a book by its cover", or something like that.

Decibel level of family members: equivalent to trying to speak up so as to hear the person right next to you at a noisy bar, especially active when neighbor (specifically, I), tries to sleep or rest, along with our newborn son.

Neighbor B: The Independent Supercomputer

5 days later, cat woman has checked out and this other woman checks in...

Curtains closed, the sound of a corporate woman hotshot, talking animatedly on her mobile phone, giving a blow by blow account of her ordeal. Barely 3 hours after her cesarean operation, she recites the exact time and details down to the second decimal place. " Yes, hi how are you? Yes, it went well, I went in at 6:08, the doctor administered anesthesia and it went effect after about 10- 15 minutes, then 20 minutes later I was done. Yes, a baby boy. Thank you! He was born at 6:28 am, weighing 2824.58 grams, that is about (barely pauses for more than 5 seconds) ... 6.23 pounds. Yes, everything is ok, thank you, just resting..." and so she went on for another 10 minutes or so on the phone, seemingly oblivious of the fact that she had just been butchered up on the cutting table an hour or two ago.

I am amazed at how vastly different these two women are.

Gosh, I think to myself. She is better at math under sedatives than I am sober. Sometimes, I wonder if I really have some Chinese blood in me, these math skills would have come handy to impress my next door neighbor anytime.