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...
Friday, August 28, 2015
Saturday, August 22, 2015
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...
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!
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!
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Pre "D-Day" explosions and contractions
Only 5 more days to go before D-Day and I am forcing myself to relax by distracting myself with house chores. Not entirely sure whether this is a good idea or not, but sitting around just thinking about the Big Day isn't my idea of preparing for Oli's coming.
Men are probably the worst people to ask about signs and symptoms related to birthing.
A photographer friend of mine, also based in Shanghai, told me a very interesting story of how his French wife thought that she had contractions, so they rushed to the hospital late in the evening. Upon arrival at the hospital, the staff gave her a quick check-up, and determined that she was just having an active imagination (rather than being in active labor). She suffered throughout the entire evening having labor contractions, until she couldn't bear the pain any longer and they returned to their local hospital, at which they promptly reported that she has been dilated 10 cm , and within the next hour, was able to give birth naturally to their first son without any medication or further intervention. After this rather interesting story, I asked my (male) friend what the contractions were like, as he sounded like he knew the story and all its details like the back of his hand (as he well should, being the lucky father of their cute son).
Me: ( Looking worried): "What were the contractions like?"
Friend: (Having barely a moment to catch his breath after the marathon storytelling): "Contractions...well you know how they are like... Contractions!"
Me: (Trying to be polite and trying best to refocus on the emotions of the ordeal they have gone through a year ago): "Ohhh! Yes, of course! I get it! I see..."
I've been told that contractions feel like "you want to poo". Just the other evening, while watching old reruns of Harry Potter with my husband and mom, I felt this "urge to poo", and a slight wave of panic ensued, sending a ripple effect across the other 2 audience members of the now- not- so interesting HP rerun movie. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "OMG, I think I'm feeling contractions...!"
Husband: "What is it, how do you feel?" ( sounding as if he studied medicine for many years)
Mom: "It's supposed to feel like you want to poo, well do you??"
Me: " I think so... !"
A few moments later...
Ppprrrrrttttt.........! ( a naturally occurring biological gas explosion heard until the next room)
Me: "Oh, it's gone. It was just Oli's gas passing through me..."
Oli is such a convenient excuse :p
Men are probably the worst people to ask about signs and symptoms related to birthing.
A photographer friend of mine, also based in Shanghai, told me a very interesting story of how his French wife thought that she had contractions, so they rushed to the hospital late in the evening. Upon arrival at the hospital, the staff gave her a quick check-up, and determined that she was just having an active imagination (rather than being in active labor). She suffered throughout the entire evening having labor contractions, until she couldn't bear the pain any longer and they returned to their local hospital, at which they promptly reported that she has been dilated 10 cm , and within the next hour, was able to give birth naturally to their first son without any medication or further intervention. After this rather interesting story, I asked my (male) friend what the contractions were like, as he sounded like he knew the story and all its details like the back of his hand (as he well should, being the lucky father of their cute son).
Me: ( Looking worried): "What were the contractions like?"
Friend: (Having barely a moment to catch his breath after the marathon storytelling): "Contractions...well you know how they are like... Contractions!"
Me: (Trying to be polite and trying best to refocus on the emotions of the ordeal they have gone through a year ago): "Ohhh! Yes, of course! I get it! I see..."
(Awkward silence ensued)
I've been told that contractions feel like "you want to poo". Just the other evening, while watching old reruns of Harry Potter with my husband and mom, I felt this "urge to poo", and a slight wave of panic ensued, sending a ripple effect across the other 2 audience members of the now- not- so interesting HP rerun movie. The conversation went something like this:
Me: "OMG, I think I'm feeling contractions...!"
Husband: "What is it, how do you feel?" ( sounding as if he studied medicine for many years)
Mom: "It's supposed to feel like you want to poo, well do you??"
Me: " I think so... !"
A few moments later...
Ppprrrrrttttt.........! ( a naturally occurring biological gas explosion heard until the next room)
Me: "Oh, it's gone. It was just Oli's gas passing through me..."
Oli is such a convenient excuse :p
Friday, August 7, 2015
My multi-functional belly bump
"Hun, you gotta stop using your stomach as a table."
My husband's words woke me up to my habit of well, doing exactly that. I have been using my belly bump as my dining table, reading table, nail clippings' temporary repository, an arm rest ... you name it! I especially find it really convenient to place books and food on top. Might as well make my belly bump useful.
Recently, my belly makes for a rather rudimentary but functional entertainment center (changing sides while lying down and seeing how our baby shifts inside, then guessing which part of his body might be jutting out based on the changing protrusions). It mostly feels like there is an alien moving inside of me... sometimes I imagine it to be a baby dinosaur. (You know, like in the movie Jurassic Park. My belly looks exactly like the dinosaur eggs there now.) This kept me entertained for at least a minute before I looked for other, shall we say, modern entertainment options.
"The mysterious nether regions"
What used to be easily visible looks as if it has mysteriously disappeared... I'm referring to the entire area beyond my bump. Suddenly, I need help for even the most basic tasks..such as putting on socks, strapping on my sandals, washing my feet, clipping my toenails, the list goes on. Honestly, I don't even know what color of underwear I have on right now. I had a brief glimpse when I put them on this morning, but that's about it, and my short term memory isn't exactly stellar now with baby Oli eating my brain's battery cells. But no matter, I have a long dressing mirror to help me with that...mirrors are such an amazing invention.
"Three's a crowd"
Last year, we had the pleasure of visiting my aunt Isabel and uncle Alex in Cebu , Philippines. They are both doctors, my aunt is a pediatrician and uncle a renowned kidney and internal organs surgeon from Pennsylvania, currently gone back home to retire. They took us to see a crocodile farm/ zoo nearby, run by another one of my uncle's relatives in Cebu. We had an encounter with the biggest crocodile in the Philippines, said to be over 50 years old and measuring 15 feet in length, said to be the biggest croc in the Philippines and 2nd biggest in the world. More info can be found here: http://www.philstar.com/cebu-lifestyle/2015/02/21/1426064/crocolandia. Here's a photo of the amphibian celebrity:
All this talk about Lapu-lapu has a purpose. My husband has long joked since then that I have him living inside my tummy, as I am often hungry and have a voracious appetite. My stomach growls with a thunderous sound, one that reminds him of the giant croc's growl. Hence, whenever my stomach makes its usual loud sounds, or I eat heartily, we readily attest it to the imaginary croc's presence inside my belly.
Lately, the doctors have found a myoma (non-cancerous cyst) inside me, a phenomenon that affects 60% of women all over the world, nothing to be alarmed about, my doctors reassured me. We have come to accept that it is living side by side with Oli, and to make the situation more amusing we imagine he is using it for his soccer ball practices! Hence, the strong kicks around where it is located.
With Lapu-lapu, the soccer ball, and Oli co-existing in my belly, I wonder if three's a crowd? They certainly do seem to have become good friends during the long 9-month journey. When my husband told me one time, I got to use my abs and give it a work out every now and then, I replied, "What?! You don't think my belly is working hard enough???" Between housing three residents, nourishing and housing our little one, and adding extra functionalities as a table and entertainment center, you'd think my belly might be overworked, don't you?
My husband's words woke me up to my habit of well, doing exactly that. I have been using my belly bump as my dining table, reading table, nail clippings' temporary repository, an arm rest ... you name it! I especially find it really convenient to place books and food on top. Might as well make my belly bump useful.
Recently, my belly makes for a rather rudimentary but functional entertainment center (changing sides while lying down and seeing how our baby shifts inside, then guessing which part of his body might be jutting out based on the changing protrusions). It mostly feels like there is an alien moving inside of me... sometimes I imagine it to be a baby dinosaur. (You know, like in the movie Jurassic Park. My belly looks exactly like the dinosaur eggs there now.) This kept me entertained for at least a minute before I looked for other, shall we say, modern entertainment options.
"The mysterious nether regions"
What used to be easily visible looks as if it has mysteriously disappeared... I'm referring to the entire area beyond my bump. Suddenly, I need help for even the most basic tasks..such as putting on socks, strapping on my sandals, washing my feet, clipping my toenails, the list goes on. Honestly, I don't even know what color of underwear I have on right now. I had a brief glimpse when I put them on this morning, but that's about it, and my short term memory isn't exactly stellar now with baby Oli eating my brain's battery cells. But no matter, I have a long dressing mirror to help me with that...mirrors are such an amazing invention.
"Three's a crowd"
Last year, we had the pleasure of visiting my aunt Isabel and uncle Alex in Cebu , Philippines. They are both doctors, my aunt is a pediatrician and uncle a renowned kidney and internal organs surgeon from Pennsylvania, currently gone back home to retire. They took us to see a crocodile farm/ zoo nearby, run by another one of my uncle's relatives in Cebu. We had an encounter with the biggest crocodile in the Philippines, said to be over 50 years old and measuring 15 feet in length, said to be the biggest croc in the Philippines and 2nd biggest in the world. More info can be found here: http://www.philstar.com/cebu-lifestyle/2015/02/21/1426064/crocolandia. Here's a photo of the amphibian celebrity:
All this talk about Lapu-lapu has a purpose. My husband has long joked since then that I have him living inside my tummy, as I am often hungry and have a voracious appetite. My stomach growls with a thunderous sound, one that reminds him of the giant croc's growl. Hence, whenever my stomach makes its usual loud sounds, or I eat heartily, we readily attest it to the imaginary croc's presence inside my belly.
Lately, the doctors have found a myoma (non-cancerous cyst) inside me, a phenomenon that affects 60% of women all over the world, nothing to be alarmed about, my doctors reassured me. We have come to accept that it is living side by side with Oli, and to make the situation more amusing we imagine he is using it for his soccer ball practices! Hence, the strong kicks around where it is located.
With Lapu-lapu, the soccer ball, and Oli co-existing in my belly, I wonder if three's a crowd? They certainly do seem to have become good friends during the long 9-month journey. When my husband told me one time, I got to use my abs and give it a work out every now and then, I replied, "What?! You don't think my belly is working hard enough???" Between housing three residents, nourishing and housing our little one, and adding extra functionalities as a table and entertainment center, you'd think my belly might be overworked, don't you?
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