Introducing Amirah Aiesyah

Sunday, 7 Oct 2007 -

I took Nuaim's hand as we crossed One Utama's car park. Hubby had Nu'man in his arms. As we took the escalator down to the shops, I felt another contraction and noted the time. It was 11.15 a.m. That's 15 minutes since the last one.

Hubby had just arrived home from Sudan the day before, and we were buying for clothes for the boys. The plan was that all the walking about would help me deliver the baby easily - no induction or C-section required. Nuaim, of course, had his own agenda, which was to add an ambulance to his burgeoning toy collection. In between mild contractions, I managed to get him focused enough to at least pick out two shirts and a pair of trousers.

A last minute addition on our shopping list was a lightweight umbrella-folding stroller for Nu'man. We were in Toys'R'Us, where Hubby and Nu'man were each checking out their own preferences - Nu'man somehow zooming in on the more expensive, high-end brands (kids these days, eh?) when I felt my contractions growing stronger that I was almost bent double. It was 1 pm.

We decided to call it a break and go home for prayers, feed the boys, maybe put Nu'man to sleep and hit the shops again to search for Nuaim's elusive ambulance. However, after Zuhur prayers, the cramps in my abdomen were coming quicker and stronger.

"I think we should go to the hospital instead, Bang," I calmly said to Hubby. On hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been so calm as he seemed to take it almost too lightly and was still reading the papers 30 minutes later.

After a bit of glaring and hmmphing on my part, we finally made it to the hospital's A&E section at 3 pm. I was taken to the maternity wards, where they took a CTG to monitor the contractions and the baby's heartbeat. Having to lie on my back made it more painful. At 4 pm, the midwife inspected me and said I was already 3-4 cm dilated. I was to go straight to the labour room.

The midwife also told me that my gynae had specifically ordered only Pethadine for this delivery. What, no Epidural?! The last time I took Pethadine it made me so drowsy but it didn't kill the pain at all. I'm going to have to rely on gas this time.

The hours passed by. The contractions were getting stronger, but strangely enough also further apart. As I was more comfortable lying on my side, the CTG somehow didn't pick up the intensity of the cramps, so the midwife allowed me to take it off to do my Maghrib and Isyak prayers. I still felt them though, and twice they struck just as I was about to sujud (prostrate). Oh God, the pain! It stopped me so that I just sat there on my knees for a full minute before I could properly bend over.

By 10 pm, my contractions were still only 10 minutes apart, so the midwife had me wheeled to the ward and have some supper. Funnily enough, the moment I entered the door, they started coming quickly. I was in the room barely 20 minutes before they wheeled me in again. And that's when the real business started.

CTG - on.

Pethadine - administered.

Doctor - finally I see her.

And the pain keeps coming. GAS!!!

Through the drug-induced haze, I see the midwives and doctor bustling about. Mak had told me to fight the urge to push until I was fully dilated, but there was no one there to really tell me how far along I was. Or maybe they did say but I just didn't register anything.

At one point, though, I just couldn't hold it in anymore. My mind was brought sharply into focus by the pain. Heck, where's the doctor? I panicked and started asking for the doctor, worried that the baby would suddenly fall right out of me with no one to catch her.

The doctor and nurses rushed in. I felt a sharp pain as the doctor cut me open, but my mind had started drifiting again. The contractions however, were coming quick and fast, almost without a break in between. On the crest of each one I took a deep breath of gas, and concentrated on pushing.

First push - nothing happened.

Second push - I felt a sharp pain in the most unlikely area and told my doctor, who seemed surprised for a split second.

11.32 pm - Third push (I think, but Hubby says at least 7 - whateverlah!) - and with such pain I thought I'd die, and cries of Allahu Akbar and Subhanallah and god knows what else (I so hope it wasn't gibberish) - I felt the baby's head bear down and break through, followed by her plump body.

I heaved back with a sigh of relief.

Earlier that afternoon, my husband and I had decided to store our baby's cord blood and had arranged for its collection at the very last minute. The blood was to be collected immediately after the umbilical cord was cut. The collection kit was ready since 6 pm, but I totally forgot about it now and didn't even witness how they did the collection. I was drfiting in and out of consciousness again, only gasping for gas as the doctor sutured me up.

After they'd weighed and relatively cleaned up the baby, I got to breastfeed her in the labour room, which funnily enough I never got to do with both Nuaim and Nu'man. There she was, all 3.25 kg of her, borne and delivered with grit and determination. Alhamdulillah.

Tick Tock, Listen to the Clock

In 4 hours, I will be leaving the office and not be back till two months later.

In just over 24 hours, Hubby will step foot on Malaysian soil.

In less than 48 hours, I'll be doing some last minute shopping, hoping all that exercise will induce contractions and progress into natural labour a day or two later without drugs. Hopefully, I'll still be able to make it for iftar at my in-laws that night.

In about 70 hours, my last pre-natal check-up will determine whether I'm actually in a position to go into natural labour or my baby's grown too big and I'll have to resort to another C-section. Must remember not to eat too much during iftar the night before.

Am excited? Of course.

Nervous? You bet.

Having a place of my own

I know it sounds freaky, that at 31 and with a 3rd kid on the way, I'm still living with my mum. Guess I'm just used to the convenience. I tell myself that it's the only workable solution when my house is a condo, it takes five minutes (fifteen if I'm pregnant) to walk from the lift to my designated parking space, I've got two toddlers in tow and my husband is out of the country. It puts my in-laws' and Hubby's mind at ease that there's always someone else around who can drive me off to the hospital at a moment's notice - although in reality, when there's no car available this is not quite true.

It does have its perks, of course. Someone else does the cooking, the laundry and even keeping the kids occupied. The downside though, is that I have less space to keep my own stuff and do my own thing. And I can't say Hello/Goodbye to my mum and siblings whenever I like (strangely enough I have a very low tolerance level when it comes to my own flesh and blood - and it's reciprocal).

So I really can't wait for the renovations on my house in TTDI Jaya to be finished, move in and start afresh. The only problem is my work might atually take me elsewhere - as in OUT of the West Coast. Let's just hope for the best, okay?

Selamba Party

Throughout the month of Ramadhan, so far, I've had the privilege of being chauffeured to and from the office. In the morning, normally Mak would send me to Dayabumi before attending her tadarus sessions or religious classes. My brother the Eternal Nocturnal would pick me up after work, sometimes with Nuaim in tow.

Last Friday, as usual brother dear met me in front of the Dayabumi entrance. I had my laptop with me, and a Strawberry Chocolate Kek Lapis that I intended to sample this weekend (you know, just in case I can't make it till Raya), but I put everything at my feet instead of the backseat as we had to go pick up my youngest sister from the UIA matriculation campus in PJ.

Unlike the previous trips I made to the campus, the security guard insisted that my brother pick up an entry pass before letting him drive in. When sis finally made her appearance, she announced that she wasn't going home that day as she had a test the next morning, but could we please drop her and her friends off in SS14 for a buka puasa meal. As Eternal Nocturnal was planning to detour in the same direction, we said okay. We spent another 15 minutes waiting for her friend to turn up, and picked up another one on the way out.

At the guard house, as my brother was returning the entry pass, the security guard remarked that we spent a long time in campus premises and proceeded to interrogate my brother. He duly informed that students who were not spending the night away from campus had to return to the grounds by 7 pm. That would put a damper on my sister's buka puasa plans, wouldn't it? I overheard the three of them hatching up some half-baked plan of sneaking in via the mosque after prayers to elude the security guard, so left it at that. Besides, they're 18, practically adults, so they should be able to take care of themselves, right?

So I was a bit more than surprised when my sister SMSed Mak, just before she left for terawih prayers, to say that she and her friends would be sleeping over. From what I managed to recall of their conversation in the car, the group consisted of two girls (my sister included) and three boys. The SMS didn't exactly specify how many (and also which of them) would be coming over, only my sister's assurance that 'they are nice people.'

At 10, my sister arrived with her friends in tow - one girl and FIVE boys. I sat there, trying to figure out the logistics of the situation. Where exactly are we going to put up the boys, seeing as we had no guest room available? They assured us they'd be comfortable enough in the living room. My next question was what if they need to use the bathroom, as the house was built in such a way that you could only access a bathroom via a bedroom, which, of course, were all occupied. Fortunately, when Mak finally arrived home from the mosque she took it all in her stride, and arranged for them to use the toilet attached to the maid's room. The maid didn't seem to mind. As she said to Mak, "Alah, budak-budak saja, Ibu. (Not to worry, they're only kids)."

Well, obviously they didn't get up to anything 'unbecoming', but I was just surprised that everyone else (except Ain and me) didn't feel awkward about the whole situation. I mean, at that age, aren't you supposed to be all raging hormones and feeling rebellious? Or does it only happen to those who've been released into the big bad world after being cooped up in single-sex boarding schools for five years? Well, THIS bunch certainly look tame and 'budak-budak' compared to our lot 13 years ago.

The Blind Beggar

Someone emailed me this story today. Although I've read several versions of it already in the past, it never fails to move me to tears.

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In the days of the prophet Muhammad S.A.W., there lived a blind Jewish beggar in the market of Madinah. Everyday he would tell those who cared to listen that Muhammad was a crazy man, a liar and a magician, and warned them against approaching the prophet for fear of being influenced by him.

Each morning, however, Muhammad would bring some food to the blind beggar and feed him without ever speaking a word to his critic. This happened without fail until Muhammad passed away.

One day, Muhammad's companion and father-in-law, Abu Bakar R.A. went to visit his daughter, Aishah R.A., who was Muhammad's widow. He asked her, "My daughter, are there any of my beloved (Muhammad's) habits that I have not yet performed?"

Aishah replied, "My father, you are a faithful follower who has done almost everything except one."

"What is that?"

"Every morning Muhammad would go to the market and take food to a blind Jewish beggar there."

So the next morning, Abu Bakar R.A. went to the market with some food. As he approached the beggar and started to feed him, the beggar scowled angrily and said, "Who are you?"

Abu Bakar replied, "I am the one who normally comes t0 visit you."

The blind man retorted, "No, you are not he. When he comes here, I do not have difficulty in handling and chewing the food. That man feeds me, but not until he has softened the food considerably does he bring it to my mouth."

At this, Abu Bakar could no longer hold back his tears and confessed to the blind man, "You are right, I am not that man. I am one of his companions. That noble person is no longer with us. He was Muhammad S.A.W."

The blind beggar, shocked to to the core, started to sob, "Is this true? All this while I have been insulting and spreading slanders against him, but he has never hurt me, instead he provides me with food every day. He is indeed pure and noble."

The beggar then repented and pronounced the Syahadah, witnessed by Abu Bakar. From that day forth he became a Muslim.

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How easy it is for us to get angry and retaliate at the slightest provocation! How many of us can truly say that we are as forgiving and generous as Rasulullah?

Nurin Jazlin - Negligence or Just Sick Criminals?

There've been so many opinions and newsbites about Nurin Jazlin's case in the papers and other blogs. Lately, of course, is the much-debated statements by our esteemed leaders that the parents can be charged for negligence. I only have this to say to Mr Minister:
There's a kidnapper/rapist/killer still out there on the loose, so till that guy is captured and brought to justice, can I charge the government or police for negligence too?
Haven't the parents already suffered more than enough? I'm a parent myself, so I know what the parents are going through. They're probably spending many sleepless nights blaming themselves for not being able to do more, wishing that somehow they'd be able to turn back time and stop her from going off on her own that fateful night. If it's negligence, losing their child is the ultimate punishment.
When I was in primary school, I used to walk to and back from school all on my own. The only thing I had to worry about then was a neighbour's dog barking at me from behind the gates. My mum used to tell stories of how she had to walk through overgrown thickets to get to school, and no one gave two hoots about it. It was safe then for kids to go off on their own, we see images of it on TV all the time in commercials or movies set in yesteryears. Having the times of their lives, exploring the great outdoors and taking risks. And if those kids grew up to become educated, law-abiding, well-mannered yet highly professional and motivated citizens of today, why should I raise my children differently?
But what's happened to the world today? Why is it not safe anymore? Why are child kidnappings and murders so rampant? Why is crime on the increase? Where did we go wrong? How did those criminals turn out the way they are? Are they just bad seeds, is it the environment that's turned them into what they are, what happened to affect them in such a way?

"Gajah bertarung lawan gajah, pelanduk mati di tengah-tengah."

Translation: Elephant wages war against elephant, deer dies in the
midst.

Meaning: When prominent persons fight, the commoner
would suffer.

In this case, when your superiors don't get along, the subordinate gets into a difficult situation. And what a situation it is.


Initially it was a case of 'The Right Person not getting the Right Job,' but that was resolved by the time I arrived on the scene. (BTW, the person in question isn't me but one of my bosses).

But somehow matters have not yet been laid to rest. It's an ongoing saga, one in which I am unwillingly drawn into, because one of them is someone I've shared quite a productive working and unofficial coaching relationship with for 7 years, and the other, although a slightly more recent acquaintance, has been officially appointed to provide technical guidance in my career. It's even more difficult when the former and I are currently doing some projects together, and he doesn't want the latter to know the details of what we're up to.

Personally, I don't have a problem with either of them, although I don't really know the latter that well, so I can't tell whether the accusations and conspiracy theories against him are true. So far I believe his comments about me have been fair, albeit not entirely glowing, but I admit I've still got a long way to go. As for the former, he's not entirely without faults, and sometimes I suspect that he'll champion something or someone, me included, knowing that some of the glory will reflect off him, that it's got more to do with personal ego rather than a 'fight for a just cause'.

Like one his previous proteges said to me (and that protege is now in quite a venerable position in his own right), it makes for a 'very unhealthy environment to work in.'

The irony of it all, is that these elephants used to get along quite well. Of course this was before the whole reorganisation thing ended up putting us all into the same department. Now they hardly even talk to each other, and even if they both come up with a similar idea, there's no way of getting them to cooperate as each believes he has the ear of the big boss, and each person wants to claim credit for it (at least that's the perception I get).
This deer is in for a very tough ride.