D-Day

Over lunch, my colleagues and I discussed childbirth. Well, it may not be the best of topic for a lunch discussion, but who cares, right? The discussion did not help pacify my fears for the D-day. Not at all. If anything, the discussion we had confirmed this – that pain of giving birth is the grandmother of all mother of all pain.

The discussion confirmed my theory too: that it is very human to boast. And when I say ‘boast’, the things we boast about may not necessarily be the good things that happen to us or that we have. We boast about pain too.

Example, you say your son is naughty.

Then, your friend will begin with something like this, ‘My son laaaaaaagi teruk! And then continue by telling you how unbearably naughty her son is. Tak nak kalah punya.

Like that lah.

‘Delivering my first baby, the doctor later had to put 50 stitches down there.’
“Iya? My experience was worse. The doctor had to sit down there sewing me up for 6 hours! It was that bad.’
‘6-hours is nothing, my friend. I kena laaaaaagi teruk. They had to use sewing machine, even then it took the team of doctors 3 shifts to complete sewing me up.’

Really. It happens all the time.

We humans are one proud lot. We boast about anything, everything, about our gains and pain, physical or even emotional.

Berlagak. Tayming. Jobo. Ek. Sombong. Proud. Angkuh. Riak. Arrogance. Princely-state.

They are all the same. It helps sometimes, I guess, to distract you from pain, to help alleviate fears, to mask nervousness.

But more often than not, it could be your downfall. It could also make you lose your voters.

Voters? Geez…. I have strayed so far away from what I wanted to write about. Pain of childbirth.

Okay. Pain of delivering a baby, either via the natural channel or a C-section is very real. Very painful. Worse than not being made Menteri, I promise you.

D-Day is just a few days away! For me, at least. And I hope my D means ‘Delivery’ and not ‘Doom’.

For some businessman/contractors/benefactors though, their D-Day arrived the day the new cabinet line-up was announced. And their D might jolly well means ‘Doom’ or ‘Die-Die’.

I hope they are loaded up the wazoo with painkillers. I hope my doctor drug me good too.

Not Straight

I am not straight. Having said that, I need to tell you that I am not gay either. How to be gay when I am crooked, I ask you?

Just that, I have been coughing for 3 months now. What with me being allergic to penicillin-group of antibiotics plus being pregnant leave the doctor limited choices of medications to prescribe to me. The cough has gotten so bad that the chest, back and stomach hurt like nobody’s business. Yesterday morning, a huge cough came and I could hear/feel something in my back went pop. I kid you not. Pop like a champagne cork. And this time, i am not exaggerating at all. Cough till my back exploded. The pain? Excruciating. For a good few minutes, I was paralysed. Couldn’t move. White searing pain. Breathing hurts. Moving hurts.

And so today, I am not straight. I am crooked. Bent. I am the hunchback from gua hantu!

Went for check-up just now and looks like the baby will be delivered early. Instead of 27 March, doctor said let’s do it on 24 March. Sorry Kak Jasmin, doctor refused to do it on 7th. Anedra told me that 24 March is Kak Teh’s birthday. Then, may my kid be as good a writer as Kak Teh is!

Dot wants to name the baby Maria Barbie. Sun wants the baby be called Maria Tiga (as in Ultraman Tiga). Tough choices!

Princess's Secret Garden

I am currently reading ‘The Secret Garden’ by Frances Hodgson Burnett. And I have just finished reading ‘A Little Princess’ by the same author.

Before you start wondering whether I am really just a twelve year old kid, pretending to be 38, let me qualify myself. I have read both books when I was at a suitable age to read them – when I was a kid. The Princess book not only made me cry, it made me sob. And how I sobbed too. I fell asleep still sobbing. My dorm-mates thought I had a fight with the girl-next-bed because I cried like my heart was really breaking in pieces. I woke up later in the day with a terrible headache and I was gloomy for days! I couldn’t forgive the writer for killing Captain Craven. That was how carried away I could get when reading good books.

We went Midvalley last weekend and dropped by at MPH. I saw the two books, published complete and unabridged, and curiosity took over my better judgement. I wanted to know if I would still be affected by the book now that I am all grown up. I told Dot that the books are for her (untuk cover line).

I read Princess again, and it made me cry just the same. Okay, it didn’t make me sob into the pillow till sleep comes, but it made me cry.

I cried back then for the death of Captain Craven. As a kid, the idea of losing a parent was terrible, the worst kind of calamity! But reading the book again as a mother, the ordeal that little Sara had to go through on her own was just as catastrophic to me.

Dang!

Will try to read the books again when I turn 70, Insya-Allah and see whether they still have that effect on me.

The writer.