hark! the herald angel didn’t sing

three events of note during the past 24 hours….

the bake exchange. i was admittedly concerned about the bake exchange going into it. i had calls from ladies the day before, asking

what is the money going towards?

i’m sorry?

(they speak up like i am deaf) YOUR BAKE SALE, what is the MONEY going towards?

my invite could not have been clearer. exchange. not sale. what about a bake exchange is so difficult to understand?

at the appointed hour…with about 14 women present and at least 14 varieties of squares, bars or biscuits on the table, those in attendance started getting excited.

"i can’t possibly take 48 home!"

me thinketh the lady protesteth too much. they certainly could.

i explained the rules, and the 14 laid down their mulled wine and flew into action, selecting and filling their plates, hiding full plates where no one could find them. quickly their quotas were achieved, and they sat back, wondering which ones they would eat first, and asking each other about recipes and life in general.

then richard arrived (you know richard, he is aloo gobi richard, one of my VBF’s). and he was carrying 20 dozen squares. lemon bars, toffee squares, massive oatmeal and raisin, and chocolate chip cookies.

oops! i miscalculated! he screamed.

and the ladies, who THOUGHT they had finished selecting their goods, went into a frenzy again. then another friend arrived late, bearing butter tarts (think canadian!) and those who had used up their quota begged richard if he could "lend" them a few of his.

"sure!" he exclaimed, suddenly the guest of honour. "i brought 20 dozen and i don’t even think i’ve eaten five dozen! help yourselves!"

and they did.

it was a great afternoon, magnificent charles made some wonderful mulled wine that went down a treat, and nearly everyone who attended asked if they could come again next year.

excellent! another tradition.

we went out to a party last night. magnificent left today for curry country, and we had a list of items we needed to discuss before his departure. we wouldn’t stay late, we promised ourselves.

but the food was so good, and there was a great group of people there, talk talk talk, eat, drink, chat, giggle, exclaim, look at magnificent’s watch.

ahhh!

we have to go, i explained to the hostess, and the couple we were chatting with. charles is leaving tomorrow, we really, really have to go. a list of things my arm long to talk about…..

and then we had to say goodbye to everyone, but they were all so cool, and there were little anecdotes to exchange…

15 minutes later the hostess said, "why don’t you try the mince pie?"

"we’re leaving, really, thank you. we need to talk. nothing urgent, just housekeeping items.lots of them"

"you were leaving 15 minutes ago! stay!"

to our credit, we didn’t. we made our second round of quick goodbyes and exited.

the lift was taking a VERY long time to arrive, and there didn’t seem much point in starting our talk there, so to pass the time, magnificent and i started snogging.

clothes on, hands above the waist, everything you’d expect from a married couple with four kids and a few glasses of Christmas cheer inside them.

but then the front door opened and the host and a the couple we had been chatting with RIGHT BEFORE we left walked into the hallway.

busted!

she smiled at us and said, "yes, it is good to get the talking done before he leaves."

today was sebastian’s christmas pageant. his age group, the 3-4’s had two songs to sing.

sebastian was pretty good during the practise run. he sang one of the songs, and for him, that is impressive. wearing a white shirt, tan pants and deck shoes, he looked angelic.

my friend sandi, who declined to attend the bake sale ("too stepford") and her friend gorgeous barbara, showed up to support sebastian. so did our helper lita and her husband.

sebastian was fine walking in to the church. he was sitting next to the pastor’s wife, who i might add was a huge hit at the bake sale yesterday.

sebastian in true style, refused to wear the tinsel halos the other 3-4’s were wearing. linda, the pastor’s wife who is a smart cookie (or biscuit, depending on your country of origin) didn’t press the matter.

the singing started, and he was okay.

then, according to sebastian and backed up by the mark on his arm, he got accidently pushed, or something. and that was enough. through the semi quiet, and from behind the 7-8 year olds, who infront of the other kids singing, i heard,

"where’s my mummy?"

and there was my wide eyed little man, pushing through the 7-8’s. i knew he would be terrified when he got to the front of the church, looking out at the packed pews filled with chuckling folks all smiling benevolently at him, so i rushed past the parents with their videocams and grabbed him.

"mummy" he said (or at least i think he did, he buried his head in my shoulder.) "oh mummy."

"oh sebastian."

i cuddled him through the next few numbers and when he lifted his head and started to fiddle with the screen next to him, i knew he was recovered.

"do you want to go back and sing twinkle twinkle little star?"

"yes, wif mummy."

i led him back to the choir, and i sat down and he plopped down beside me. he didn’t sing a word of twinkle twinkle, but he didn’t get overwhelmed and cry either. i was so proud of him.

after twinkle twinkle, i figured it was time to go, and so we exited. sandi and barbara were there, and we laughed and left.

i told sebastian how proud i was that he had gone back, and he smiled. then as a special treat, i told him we would take the bus home. he was very excited. he prefers buses to taxi’s.

we came home, and he was given a huge chocolate "puptet" (cupcake) after he finished his pasta and broccoli.

the youth director only asked that sebastian be cute for the pageant.

i can tell you, not only was he cute, he was heartbreaking. those huge eyes, his body hurtling towards my open arms. it is so amazing to experience the protectiveness, love and awareness of your power as a parent, when your arms around your child stops their tears, pushes away their fears. normally sebastian would have run towards his father, he so loves his dad. but magnificent wasn’t there today, and so sebbie chose me to make everything better. by simply holding him, i did.

wow.

it has been a great 24 hours.

power purging

today i did something i find myself doing quite often these days; i sorted through the babies clothes.

i have been quite ruthless in this task to date. i keep very little for the babies keepsake anne geddes boxes. cardigans trinie knitted for them, cards of prayer and encouragement, hospital tags, their first outfits,the birth announcement my parents had published, that sort of thing only. clothes are quickly given away with the instructions i don’t want to see them again, not even if they have sentimental value.

aww, this was the outfit carys wore the first time we went to church. remember how sweet she looked as she vomitted all over sela, the carpet and the hymnals? look, you can still see a little stain. i bet that was from the second really exorcist-inspired spew.

i can be the ruthless throwing away machine (just ask magnificent charles, who is, despite of his magnificence, a bit of a packrat) but in order for me to be at my optimum, here are a few rooting through children’s wardrobes guidelines:

have music playing. NOTHING sentimental. some endorphin pumping gym music is best. nothing that will make you look tenderly at the tyke sized clothes. music that will make you feel empowered and strong for making more room in the closets. for moving on with your life, if you will.

don’t hold clothes up to your child to see if they will fit. this will just make you sit down, cuddle child and lament at how they are growing. and suddenly as you realise how child has outgrown said outfit, you will see the outfit as precious and a tangible reminder that your babe was once that small. BE VERY CAREFUL.

discard when child is in another room, at school, asleep. if they are crawling in and out of the place, again you are going to get swept away by sentimental memories. RID YOURSELF OF CHILDREN TO ACHIEVE FULL RIDDING OF CLOTHES.

if you do get feelings of sentiment washing over you, then call someone and dwell in it for a few minutes. ideally, the person should be more sympathetic than you are, and have a child of their own older than yours. call them, explain what you are doing and how you cant believe they ever wore clothes this small, how big they are getting, you will never have your baby again…get it out of your system. and then they will gushingly respond, and you will have to listen about when they had to rid their own closets…and she will go on and on and on and on and soon you will be holding the phone away from your ear and be thinking, "get a life! they’re only clothes with carrot stains on them!" then you will take a deep breath, and say

"i knew you would understand, thank you so much! listen i better get back or i will never finish this."

hang up, and your purging will be more vehement than ever.

when the discarding is completed, tie the bag firmly, and put it somewhere where you cannot see it. preferably, have someone pick it up THAT AFTERNOON. if that can’t happen, a closet is where the clothes need to be.

for the remainder of martha stewart’s time in the clink, feel free to contact me with other household diva queries.

what you can do

when our babies were in the NICU, family, friends and strangers from all over the world were incredibly supportive. time and again we got emails, calls and visits with the recurring theme, "we wish there was more we could do than just pray for you". although praying was actually the BEST thing they could do for us, i know what they mean. when friends are spending large amounts of time watching parents, siblings, or children fight for their lives, you wish there was a casserole you could bake, babies you could sit, laundry you could do.

there is something you can do. but first here is a wee anecdote, a teaser for the full story which i will post in a few months as soon as i finish it.

before i knew i was having triplets and right after my blood tests proved i was indeed pregnant, i was hospitalised. in five weeks, i had gained 80 pounds. i was suffering from something called ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS). women like me, who are polycystic, are especially prone to OHSS. what happens is, during an IVF cycle, you are taking a gonadtrophin that promote your egg production. your ovaries get larger and larger, housing these follicles. they dragged 37 follicles from me. and instead of my now empty ovaries shrinking, they continued to grow, and fluid from the bloodstream leaked into the abdominal cavity. causing it to swell, put me in extreme pain. the day i was admitted to hospital, my lungs were beginning to fill as well.

my stomach had to be drained multiple times. and my albumin, a protein produced by the liver, was dangerously low. albumin performs many functions including maintaining the "osmotic pressure" that causes fluid to remain within the blood stream instead of leaking out into the tissues.

my body was too ill to make more albumin, i needed transfusions of human albumin, which is derived from blood transfusions, twice a day for ten days. those transfusions saved my life, and the babies’ lives as well.

months (not nearly enough months) later, the wee three were born. and i remember walking into the NICU one day and seeing a big red hot water bottle on top of sela’s incubator.

oh how sweet, it is chilly today and they are making sela cosy by giving her a hot water bottle.

i smiled to myself thinking how caring the staff were, until upon closer inspection, i realised the hot water bottle was really a bag of blood. sela was getting a tranfusion. to help raise her white platelet count. to "perk her up". over the next weeks, all our babies had complete and partial blood transfusions. without a doubt, their lives were saved by the strangers who gave blood.

if you want to do something tangible to show your support for a preemie baby, a wonderful way is to give blood. jasper, sela and carys had complete transfusions, where the blood in their system was removed and the blood of strangers soon coursed through my children’s bodies. their blood became part of my children, strengthened them and saved their delicate lives. a stranger saved my child.

if you can, please give blood. you could be that stranger.

 

wappy days

Christmas fever has hit stroller city central. (our flat).

we went out to buy a Christmas tree the other night. in previous years, whenever magnificent charles and i were in hong kong for Christmas, we did not buy a tree. we didn’t even contemplate it. but on monday, i was helping out at sebastian’s school and saw his reaction when he saw the decorated douglas fir sitting in the school’s reception area.

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

and although my sister in law’s reasoning in favour of getting a tree had been persuasive and excellent, that wowwwwwwwwww sold me on the tree. or maybe it was the awed tone, or the exhale that accompanied the wow. or maybe, it was the look on his face. how he stopped short. wonderment.

we went shopping that night, got totally ripped off, and the tree was delivered the next day. sebastian and magnificent charles set up the lights after i declared the theme colours for the tree (blue and silver). while i made nanaimo bars in preparation for saturday’s bake exchange, sebastian managed to break two lights. however, his mother, who had tramped around town shopping for decorations had bought two sets of lights, just in case. i also bought some very endearing ornaments that remind us of our canadian origins…little blue and white two inch knitted sweaters that hang from the tree. some identical mittens as well. magnificent and i purchase one new ornament per child per year, and one day, they will head off with about 20 ornaments, and start their own tree, and their little ones will hang them carefully from the boughs…

where did that come from?

when all was seemingly ready, we dimmed the lights and turned on the Christmas tree. it took about five minutes to achieve those tasks, but the look on sebastian’s face was worth it. we let him look at it for three minutes, and took that opportunity to reinforce the DON"T TOUCH aspect of the tree.

sebastian looked, smiled, laughed and turned on the cd playing Christmas carols. knowing he was going to be hustled off to bed VERY QUICKLY, he started dancing. no luck. bed it was.

the little man was on a high though, and 20 mintues later called out, "mummy, i did a wee wee".

of all the things to say, this was the one that would get my attention.

i swished into his room without turning on the light, because the babies are asleep in there as well. the light from the hallway reflected sebastian’s nappy, which had somehow removed itself from his wretched little body and landed poomp on the floor.

"mummy, i did a wee wee" again announced my little boy.

"in your nappy?" i asked hopefully.

even through the dim i could see the questioning look this question brought about. "no mummy, my wappy on floor." (he pronounces nappy "wappy" and it is very, i repeat, incredibly endearing.)

in what is now an expert manner, i assessed the damage, by first feeling around the sides of the bed, then moving my hands inward to see where the damp started. when my hands met, i realised i had been HAD by this tiny blonde con artist.

"sebastian, where is your wees?" (even the guilty deserve a fair trial).

"here" and he pointed to his wappy-free crotch.

and sure enough, there was a centimetre of moisture. i asked if he needed to finish his wees, and he said yes. settled himself on the toilet, and started weeing. requested a book. request denied.

i was washing my hands when he finished weeing, and usually he waits for help in getting off the toilet if the bench isn’t around. but tonight, he leaned to one side and slid off the toilet, his buttocks making a high sqqqquuuiiick sound as they resisted sliding.

when he hit the ground, he galloped down the hallway, yelping, "fismis tee! me see fismis tee!" he stopped short of the tree, and stared until i scooped him up and deposited him back in bed.

i am so grateful my family tree has survived and thrived, and this year we will rejoice and be a family around the Christmas tree.

recreational not competitive leagues

no, this is not an announcement of a monthly visitor, but certainly that time of month (TTOM) will be mentioned today.

although magnificent and i have decided that our relations from now on are to be stricly recreational, and i certainly have no desire for more children, i am stunned to realise every month i get a little pang of regret when i realise i am not pregnant.

possibly it is an old habit die hard emotion. for so many months, the red badge of discouragement signalled failure, and i still relate it to that. those months when my year was divided into 12 opportunities to get pregnant. the carefully casual attitude when january and february were a bust, the faint panic when may rolled round and i realised the year was almost half over, the despair of december.

but it is so unreasonable to feel disappointed NOW.

frankly, if our recreational activities turned pro-creational, i would be humiliated beyond belief. imagine having to listen to all the people out there who would be saying, "you see! you didn’t need that fertility stuff, you just had to relax!" or various versions of, which would inevitably include a retelling of how the same thing happened to their relative/friend/teacher. i would become a casestudy statistic for the misinformed cheeries that i so dislike. the people who think infertility can be solved with time, when really, its almost the exact opposite. the fear of having to listen to their slightly condescending i told you so’s is an excellent reason not to get pregnant. (my sanity has to enter in somewhere as well.)

so what’s with the disappointment? reminders of inadequacy, i suppose.

the other day, while visiting the "epilepsy clinic" at the hospital, doogie howser goes asia averted eye contact and said,

i must ask you something

sure

are you sexually active

i thought the conversation was going to be heading as to whether the increased levels of anticonvulsants decreased/increased sex drive. you get a lot of questions like that.

not bad, considering. and i gave him a figure that is above, i might say, the FHM average.

i thought he would ask about before the medication was increased, but instead, his hand jumped to his prescription pad.

i am going to have to prescribe you some folic acid because in case of pregnancy you really need to protect your baby…dangerous drug….high increases of spina bifida….

excuse me, i barged in….have you read my file?

well, not recently.

did you read how many children i have?

well, not really.

well you should. i have four. one and triplets. i am not having any more children. put down your pen. immediately.

he did, but i dont think he’s read the file yet.

i really don’t want any more children. it sounds ungrateful given the road we have travelled to be able to have children, and i hope i don’t offend anyone with that statement.  i need to get over this loss feeling. i don’t like feeling sad 12 times a year for something i need to be happy about. or on another angle, an email friend of mine who recently had a baby, when i shared this TTOM sorrow with her, said that apon TTOM i should  be feeling PROUD that (infertility stuff removed) there was even the possibility i might be pregnant because that indicates that recreational activities were had.

note to self: accept that recreation is fun and just leave it there. fun for fun’s sake. concept not really known to couples struggling with IF. accept that the age old sport of pro-creation can be played in competitive and recreational leagues. 

but what about the rookies who play smarter than experienced pros? an acquaintance of mine just completed her first IVF and is waiting results. i see her, and she is so cool. is accepting that the entire matter is out of her control, and is serenely waiting out the last two days of her two week wait. has purchased a HPT which IS IN HER HOUSE and has been for the past three days, and she hasn’t even opened it, much less ripped off the celophane covering. she will test the day of the beta blood test. who are these incredible people? i wish i was like that, but i am NOT. i cheerlead from the benches, or even from the field.

i hope i reach acceptance before it is time to play in the old-timer’s league.

silent heads???

one of the greatest casualties magnificent charles and i have had to adjust to this year is the massive loss of communication. i have a list of things i am aching to tell him, and i never seem to find the time. we used to sit in bed talking, or take the long way home (sebastian loves driving in the blue car) just to catch up and share what was happening in our lives.

these days we are rarely in bed at the same time. if he is sleeping, i am certainly not going to waken him. he is working REALLY hard and i have to say, not being appreciated much at work. we just had visitors, and although they were really low-maintenance, we were busy catching up with them and didn’t get a chance to really talk between ourselves, unless you include:

so, do you think they are having a good time?

i do, but they are so polite they probably wouldn’t tell us if they were bored.

you’re right.

i miss his input into my daily experiences.

i miss hearing his thoughts.

but even worse than the omitted conversations, are the half finished ones. things are not getting accomplished. we start a discussion regarding getting the towngas people in to install a new heater into the back lavatory, and someone or something interrupts us. or we change the topic to something more pressing. and then a couple of days/weeks later, the topic comes up again.

what ever happened to the back heater?

well, when we talked about it, you said that you would call

no, i think you said you said you would call

no, i said i would get the number for you

well did you?

no, but how difficult is it to call directory inquiries and get the number for yourself?

you get the picture.

i am also tres guilty of forgetting the things i need to tell him. i have started writing them down on my hands, but this stupid habit of washing my hands in an attempt not to pass germs from cat to child to child (ha ha ha, i feed them from one bowl, and that is covered in cat hair…who am i kidding??) causes the ink to fade. so i forget.

we went to church today. it was stressful, as jasper was apparently feeling very agnostic (or southern baptist, because he was very vehement!!!) and so i was jiggling him around for most of the sermon. the youth pastor, who is adorable, was keeping an eye on the baby i couldn’t be holding, and for the majority of the sermon, sela enchanted him by lifting her legs and putting her feet into her mouth. then she got a bit worn thin and started wimpering in a sela-like matter. the visual is: mouth straight, mouth down, mouth straight, mouth down, increasing in speed…breathing through nose becomes audible, eyebrows begin quirking, now puffing through open mouth during downturn, and wail from back of throat.

we threw jasper in the creche and he was much adored by the ladies there. sebastian burst into tears during the practice for the sunday school pageant, and cora, the GREAT coordinator, said to me, "all i need him to do is look cute. i don’t care if he knows the words. have him look cute." she’s right, the little kids can get away with murder. please, though, don’t let him be the kid that clutches and massages his crotch the entire time. however, i would MUCH rather own that kid than the one whose finger makes repeated voyages from nose to mouth.

both girls are throwing up tonight, not much sleep anticipated. tomorrow is a pretty big day too, mondays i go with sebastian to school, and carys has an UGH physio appointment.

magnificent has gone to bed, and i think i will join him there. a bonne nuit.

i wish this trend of pump nozzles was over. you know what i mean by pump nozzles, just think of shampoo’s, cosmetic products, soaps…they are all dispensed from irritating nozzles.

a lot of people are pro-nozzle, i am not. i simply cannot stand the crusty bits that cling to the nozzle, that create a clump on my face/in my hair/on my smokie.  crusty bits cannot be reabsorbed into their previous form and are doomed to remain crusty. even if by some chance i don’t get a crusty bit, i am always expecting it, which is irritating as well.

my distaste for crust goes back a fair number of years. when i was in high school, in preparation for college money i got a job waitressing. one of the grossest jobs there was, and one i always tried to avoid, was cleaning the ketchup bottles at the end of the day. the crust clinging to the glass was dis-goss-ting.

however, i am nothing if not fickle, and if i were to see a piece of crusted gruyere cheese clinging to an earthenware bowl with steaming hot french onion soup contained within, i would painstakingly peel aforementioned cheese and savour every moment that i wrapped it around my teeth and tongue, before reluctantly swallowing it. ditto for little crustie cheetos.

i guess if we had to categorise it, crusty is welcomed if it is an independent food, but not okay if it is a product meant to be in a liquid form.

today’s blog has been sponsored by four children with snotty noses and all their friends who sport the same crust and tap like nasal originated fluids.

sela ballerina

the other evening we arrived home from dinner and upon asking (more out of habit) how the kids were, our helper said, "sela is ill."

sela?

no mistake, sela was ill. had vomitted. all over. everything.

instant flashback to june, july, august, and september, when sela had TERRIBLE reflux and was vomitting everywhere. 2/7 feeds a day MINIMUM played deja vu.

it was so incredibly frustrating to feed her in those days. gently and patiently force feeding her 70mls over a 65 minute period, only to have her vomit up the entire contents of her stomach in 20 seconds. the smell of slighly sour formula in between my fingers, rings, in my hair, on my collar. permeating from the sofa and carpets.

we beat the reflux by giving the girls MYLANTA. it worked a treat. i was so convinced that vomitting was over that i bought new sofa covers.

mistake. sela had vomitted over two covers (she can still projectile, our girl!) and had even managed an obligatory splash on to her sheepskin blanket.

i cringed, remembering the smell and the frustration. remembered to be slightly thankful that at least i don’t have to worry about her vomitting up medication.

i left my inlaws in the living room and crawled into bed. i knew it was going to be a long night.

unfortunately, i was right.

sela’s unmistakable cries started at around 1.15. magnificent charles took care of her the first time round, he rubbed her tummy until she dropped off to sleep.

at 1.45 she was up again, and again magnificent took care of her. and got her back to sleep, i might add.

at 2.20am it was my turn and i walked into her room. she had a fever, and was giving her usual cry: a quick quiet intake of breath, a swift pause and then a raw bellow from the back of her throat.

but unlike most other times when sela cries, attention didn’t take care of her discord. her little limbs were shaking with pain?/fear?/anger? and although i could tell that she appreciated being held, being held alone couldn’t take care of her sorrow. (poor little poppet).

i could hear some weird noises coming from her tummy, but her nappy was clean. but she obviously had some pain. so i practiced the five S’s, which have always helped calm our babies:

swaddle – swaddling is comforting for distressed babeolas

shhhhhhh – make the shhhh sound…reminds them of the sounds they heard while in the uterus (this is not my theory, someone wrote a book on this)

swing – rock them back and forth

side – put the babies on their side, their tummy against yours

suck – offer them their thumb or a soother

it did work, but a sleep deprived woman can only swing for a certain amount of time before tiredness begs her to sit down. and whenever i did, within five minutes, sela’s little rosebud mouth would turn downwards and wahhhhhhhhh! the pained angry cry would begin again. second scenario, if her eyes were shut and her long lashes making patterns against her beautiful skin, within minutes of settling my weary bottom on to the sofa, her little eyes would pop open, and after the few seconds of disorientation, the recognition that she was in pain would hit, and then the cries would begin anew.

it was a fricking long night.

but it wasn’t so bad. unlike their NICU days and stays, i could hold sela throughout the night and throughout her pain, and i think it helped. as long and as tiring as that night was, it helped heal a lot of the sorrow and guilt that i have over the babies early birth and my inability to carry them into the third trimester.

i sang to her all our old NICU songs, wonderful tonight you already know is a favourite, show tunes from guys and dolls & hello dolly!, and a very sweet song known by most people, eidleweiss. yes, the corny song from the sound of music. children are no critics…she loved it.

the song always seemed appropriate to the NICU. i can remember getting up each morning, kissing sebastian goodbye (our friend libby had an excellent playgroup and had agreed to take sebastian on for four days a week), throwing my hair into a ponytail, grabbing some sweatpants and running to the hospital. i never wore makeup and never brushed my hair. walking quickly down the white corridors, getting clearance into the ward, and while signing in my name checking out the attendant to see if he was looking at me oddly, or was unwilling to meet my glance which could suggest that one of the babies wasn’t doing well…..

moving down the hallway, turning left at the second door, and bursting into the room, apprehensively yet swiftly moving from one isolette to another. triplet one, alive, triplet two alive, triplet three alive. knowing all three were alive i would exhale what felt like my first breath of the day and then get down to really examining their oxygen levels, heartrates and charts.

then i would start reading, praying, singing (even with my terrible voice, they didn’t mind), and talking to them. telling them what i had done the night before. who had called, who had emailed.

after the first couple of weeks, when the babies eyes were open, they all started acknowledging me. they would make the effort to turn their tiny tangerine sized heads toward me when i spoke. some times, when the babies were tired, had had a bad night, or when carys was really sick, i was discouraged from talking or standing too close, because it got the babies too "active". that was painful, i felt rejected and that my presence was harming them, but i always was thrilled that they knew i was there.

eidleweiss was a song i loved because it seemed so appropriate. there my wee three were, waiting for me in that pristine cheerless room every day, while i came to see them, hoping for a new sign, any indication that they were thriving. wondering what their faces looked like, if ever i would see them smile.

eidlewiess, eidleweiss

every morning you greet me

strong and white, clean and bright

you look happy to me

blossom of snow may you bloom and grow

bloom and grow forever

eidleweiss, eidleweiss

bless my homeland forever

have no idea of the importance of the last line, but at the time, it seemed to fit.

explaining government hospitals

i have just returned from a neuro appointment.

when i lived in canada, thanks to taxes and the health system, all my appointments and the majority of my anti-convulsants were paid for. the pharmacists used to grimace as they filled my prescriptions, and apologise that i had to pay an extra $30CAN to cover the costs.

what a rude awakening to come to hong kong, where i had no medical assistance that covered "neurological assessments", not to mention the crippling costly meds. (looking back, it was good preparation for IVF and infertility). over here, a neurologists appointment cost $800, which is over $100USD. a four month supply of drugs was at least $2000, or about $250usd. could i try changing drugs? i have, a few times, before getting married (these drugs cause me to gain weight and i wanted to be thin and beautiful on my wedding day) and when magnificent and i started TTC (these anticonvulsants increase chances of spina bifida and cleft palate and club feet by about 30 per cent). i have tried alternative drugs less harmful to my liver, metabolism and potential children, but they weren’t as effective. i reasoned it was best to be on a drug that worked for me and stayed on this valproate.

soo, after seven years or so of financially draining neuro appointments, i managed a wonderful thing: to get an appointment with the queen mary hospital system. i had been trying to get on the queen mary system FOR YEARS. however, it is difficult, because you have to be referred to the queen mary system, and only doctors working within the hospital system can refer you. and there is no general clinic where you can go to get a referral. see how tricky it is? but when i got pregnant with the triplets, i was referred to the HIGH RISK CLINIC at the queen mary. (loophole!!! i could get referred to the queen mary high risk clinic by an outside doctor because the government hospital, the queen mary, has the only high risk unit in the city…does that make sense?)

a lightbulb went off in my head, and a devious smile across my face.

at virtually my first appointment i said to the doctor, "umm, would it be possible to get a referral to the neurologist here?"

she clicked away at the computer and DONE, i had an appointment for four months time. whee!

why the exaultation from a woman who could barely control her bladder ?

the government clinics have a set rate. they charge $60 per visit, (about $8USD) and an additional $20 (not even $4USD) for drugs. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY I WOULD BE SAVING?

(i admit to being a frugal person.)

let me tell you, because i worked it out: in a year, i would be saving about $1000USD. that was almost a flight to vancouver!

i loved the local health system!

admittedly, there are a few blips, which turn many people off the system.

when you arrive for your appointment, you first have to pay for your visit on the first floor. the lineup is usually about 20 deep, but moves quickly. there are sick people in the lineup, and lots of spitting into hankies and prolonged clearing of throats, etc. and another irritant: queueing is not something that most appointees excel at. queue jumping however, is an art. just today, i was in the lineup waiting, when it snaked forward a little, and i didn’t notice. i was deep in a book (the road to nab end…taking a book is essential to these appointments) and suddenly the lady behind me started easing infront of me.

as a virgin in the local hospital system, this might have thrown me, and i would have meekly allowed the lady to take my place. but these days, i don’t think so.

without lifting my eyes off the page, i shot out one arm (mercifully not holding a diaper bag, otherwise this would have been impossible), therefore blocking her pathetic attempt to sidle infront of me. she hissed, but wasn’t too upset.

so i paid my $60 (HA HA, $60!!), whew! first trial over. the next was the elevator.

the "epilepsy clinic" is on the seventh floor of the hospital. positioning is impararive when you get on these very narrow and deep elevators. after months of observation and practice i can tell you:

the best location for getting off first (that’s what it is all about in asia), is in front, on the side of the elevator that opens up first.

if you can’t obtain this position, don’t make the mistake of taking the other front corner.

today, there was a person in a wheelchair getting on the elevator the same time as i was, and although i am competitive and dreadful, i do have some compassion. cursing my fellow riders for their lack of the aforementioned, i manouevered the person into the elevator, then stood behind them.

someone else had pressed the seventh floor button. someone had an appointment time the same time as me. i might have had to wait until their appointment was over if they got in line at the clinic ahead of me. THAT MUST NOT HAPPEN.

so, i surreptitiously pressed 6. when the elevator reached the sixth floor, i said, "excuse me" and walked off, turned a sharp right to the staircase and ran up one flight of stairs. i reached the seventh floor just before the elevator and raced into the clinic lineup.

(another tact i might have employed had there been other people getting off on the sixth, would have been to head to the front of the elevator, and stop before getting out. (this puts you in prime position).)

now, there may be raised eyebrows at why tess was so manic about being first in line, and i don’t blame you. read why, and then tell me you wouldn’t do the same: say the clinic opens at 2pm. the clinic gives 15 people appointments for 2pm. then 8 more get appointments for 2.15pm, another 8 for 2.30pm, and another 8 for every 15 minute segment until one hour before the clinic is meant to close. there are maybe three, more likely two doctors.

obviously, they do not see anywhere near 15 people in the first 15 minutes. at 3pm, you still have people whose appointment was at 2pm that need to be seen. you have to come at the time of your appointment, because they go in order of arrival, yet you cannot see a doctor before all the people in the time frame’s prior to you have been seen. so, when you are in the elevator with three other people who are getting out at the same floor you are, you want to be first. otherwise, you might be waiting for another 30 minutes.

(and yes, the same rules and attitudes apply to the government oby/gyn clinics. add the collective desire NOT to wait to the hormones and you have some pretty  serious battles in the quest to be first).

i sat, and waited. bought a bottle of water, and waited. my appointment was for 2.30pm, i arrived at 2.15, and waited. got up, did wees, waited. mentally thanked father in law for bringing me good book. mentally thanked magnificent charles for recommending nab end to his father as a book i might enjoy. waited, waited waited.

and finally at 4.15, the doctor called …"teresa…room 22". bang i was up and in there so swfitly i heard my own voice coming over the PA system which the doctor hadn’t had time to turn off.

"hihowareyou".

getting right down to business, the dr said,
"any fits"

which is very un-pc in canada but apparently acceptable here. and as i am paying less than $8usd for the appointment i am not going to argue.

"no".

"you seem to be doing well"

"thankyou"

and then he said the magic words

"i don’t need to see you as often"

"excellent."

"i am going to give you a prescription and you need to get your liver levels checked in two months time, but i don’t need to see you for six months."

SIX MONTHS.

i have been seeing this little pup every six weeks! and now, six months! this is very very good news. i will not get nearly as much reading accomplished, but i am uncaring.

i nearly kissed his pre-pubescent face, but grabbed the rx instead and raced out of the room before he could change his mind.

back to the first floor, queue in the line i was in earlier to pay for my prescription, and take the rx and queue in the line to hand my prescription in. again, much shuffling and attempts to jump the queue, but no one was successful.

most people then have to wait about while their prescription gets filled, but i am not one of those. i simply handed it to the lady, and she gave me my number, 487. i checked the board, they had only filled to 414. definitely not a good situation. so i came home, and will collect the prescription later on. sebastian loves a walk to the hospital and racing around the pharmacy area. it will be a little treat for him.

government hospitals are slow, bring out our competitive and narky natures, but really, are excellent. and cheap. i hate going to appointments, but at $8usd per appointment, i can tolerate it. especially when i am only going in every six months. yay!

remembering november 30 2001

Sunday we held sebastian’s third birthday party in our playground. it was a large, riotous occasion, made magnificent by the three dimensional NEMO cake that magnificent charles made.

sebastian just kept saying "oh wow" and my friends kept rolling their eyes in amazement of yet another facet of magnificence that charles had displayed. i shared that m.c had been up until the wee sma’ hours creating this masterpiece, and jokes as off colour as the sea NEMO was flapping in were exchanged as people debated what charles will be doing tonight as payment for the wonderful birthday cake.

lots of friends, you never get to stop and chat properly, but it was still very good. sebastian had a wonderful time. he really did.

birthdays are an obvious time to get sentimental, so here i go. we were singing happy birthday to him, and i saw friends of mine, of his, relatives of ours, who REALLY care for him. this precious person who i partially created. (lab embryologists, doctors, nurses and ultrasound techs can also take credit.) if i died, he would still be surrounded in love. that familiar happy birthday tune, being sung for my son. can’t help it, i got weepy. three years is his lifetime. but it has been a lifetime for me too. his birth was the most profound experience of my life. if you dare….read on.