Non-resolution

So... I'm never ever  going to talk about blogging more.

Because we ALL know how that works out...

I love it when...

... she goes "brrrrrrrrrrrr" when being burped and blows milky bubbles

... it's feeding time and she gets all excited, starts kicking her legs and literally pants in anticipation

... she unlatches and then rests her cheek on my breast and looks at me (like, okie, thatz enuff miluk, I wantz to be wif my Ammi)

... she grasps my finger in her hand, even though I know it's a reflex

... she sucks on my pinkie, and then it slowly dawns on her that she has the wrong appendage

... she gurgles in the bath when I splash her

... she protests against a wet nappy by lifting her bottom off the cot and wriggling it

... she sleeps with her fists clenched over her ears (like, Shhhhh, I'z tryings to get some sleeps!)

I just love her... so SO much!

To C or not to C

So yeah, I had a C section. There were many reasons, and I won't be going into them here. It's not easy to decide between a normal vaginal delivery (NVD) and a C section (CS). NVD is the "natural" way to go... but also involves torn vaginal walls, a lot of pain, bleeding etc. Unless you plan on giving birth in a barn, it's not truly "natural" either... drugs such as oxytocin are given to kick start and maintain the contractions, and pethidine or even an epidural is given for the pain. This is because :

a) no woman should be in unnecessary pain (unless she wants to)

b) prolonged labour means loads of risks to both mother and baby

Almost always, an episiotomy cut is done, effectively widening the vaginal passage in a manner that will not affect the muscles controlling the bowel. So you end up with stitches, whether you like it or not.

CS is basically abdominal surgery... you get sliced open, there's a lot of blood and pain once the anaesthesia wears off.

NVD is safer for the mother, riskier for the baby. But it's better for the baby because the brain gets "moulded" and extra water is squeezed out of the baby lungs. CS is riskier for the mum, but the baby is born all pretty and rosy, not having gone through the trauma of being squeezed through a bony passage. NVD is unpredictable, you never know what might go wrong at a god-awful hour when no doctors are immediately available. CS offers a measure of comfort for the control freak.

I know a lot of people think that mothers going for C sections have it "easy". A couple of months ago, some of the Sinhala blogs on Kottu were discussing if mothers who deliver "normally" (NVD) love their children more. This offended me even then... how can pain be a measure of affection? I can't compare the two, since I didn't go through both*, but I can assure you that the C section is by no means easy.

The actual delivery is like the proverbial piece of cake, but afterwards, the mother has to deal with the contractions of the womb, since it is now going through the process of getting back to size (this happens naturally with NVD and is mostly complete by the time the baby is out). The process is helped by hormones that are secreted in response to feeding.

The difference? After a C section, the womb has a large surgical cut along the lower part... so with each contraction, the raw edges are squeezed tight against each other.... over and over again. For 2 days, every time I fed my child, I could feel the contractions one after the other, pain rippling through my insides in relentless waves. Sometimes it would make me moan with agony, tears dripping down onto the innocent little face nestling at my breast. The nice doctors offered me pethidine, but I refused, because I knew it would make the baby sleepy and make breast feeding more difficult to establish. And there's the pain from the surgical skin cut as well... a burning red gash across my lower belly.

I know it's not a competition, but on behalf of all the much maligned mums who go through a CS, I'd like to place on record that it's certainly not an easy piece of cake to eat!

______________________________

* I need to ask my Sis-in-law or my friend T who both went through hours of labour and then had to have emergency CS, yipes!

Yearnings

Le sigh...

So after the big "Three Oh" comes the big "Three One", not with a bang, but a fizzling realisation that the wonder years are really over. And I've got this awful bottomless-bottomful feeling at the pit of my stomach... where do I go from here? What next? Is this it?

My birthdays have almost always been low key... a few friends over for lunch, cake and tea... later on dinner out with friends. My family is so big that their numbers tend to dwarf any invited friends... and the whole thing resembles every other family gathering. I haven't invited relatives over for my birthday for a few years now, but they still drop by for cake and cutlets my mum prepares, "just in case".

I had an absolutely wonderful wedding, but it wasn't a party as such... and while I was the centre of attention (along with Darling) (yay!) I didn't really get to talk to my friends much... once more my relatives dominated the scene. I couldn't even invite some of my friends, even though I wanted to very much.

I've always wanted a big birthday party... lots of friends and balloons and flowers, yummylicious chocolate cake, or a host of cupcakes with fancy sparkling candles to blow out . Wearing a pweety dress and sparkly earrings, and getting compliments, just because I was the birthday girl! Lots of dance music and flashing lights and dancing with Darling and my friends like there'd be no tomorrow.

There are so many people I want to invite... school friends, campus friends, work friends, Bloggers (of course!!) and Darling's mates. I gave into temptation and drafted an invite list... which somehow made my "wanting" a party that much stronger.

Not every day or every year, but just once.

Call it an item on my bucket list, if you like. It's right up there, in big capital letters along with "be a mom", "lose weight" and "stop being a doormat".

Darling, being the total sweetheart that he is, is all set to organise a (belated) birthday bash for me. Does wanting it make me unrealistic, juvenile and a total material girl? Is it mutton acting like lamb? Is it a delayed quaterlife crisis or an early midlife crisis? Would anyone even bother to come?

Sigh... I dunno...

A moment in time

Today I descended into the bowels of medical history - i.e. into the subterranean archives of the Colombo Faculty library. Dimly lit stairs lead down to a seemingly vast cavern filled with row upon row of old books, the air thick with dust, mould and an undefined sense of years gone by. A mezzanine divided the space into two levels, the floor of the upper level made of thin strips of wood, interspersed by wider strips of nothing. I walked, cautious and barefoot on the dusty boards as a shoe or even an ankle could easily be wedged in those spaces.

I have always felt a sense of awe when I see old books. The fragile pages, bound together in leather, cracked with age, the faded gold lettering on the spines only faintly readable. I thumbed through a copy of the Lancet that was printed in 1927, holding the pages up to the muted light that filtered in through windows that were possibly last cleaned around the same year. My fingers traced words penned by long dead doctors; one detailing the invention of a particularly intricate pair of forceps, another speaking of haemorrhage during childbirth and yet another emphatically stating the "hereditary nature" of tuberculosis.

Almost at the end of my exploration, on the very last shelf, I came across a tome that left me entirely breathless... the "Manual of Tropical Medicine" written in 1910 by Albert J Chalmers and Aldo Castellani. Dr. Chlamers was 2nd Registrar of the Ceylon Medical College and during his period of service did much to streamline the teaching of medicine and improve facilities. The Anatomy block which stands to this day, was his brainchild. Sir Aldo Castellani was possibly the most outstanding medical researcher ever to come to Sri Lanka. He discovered the causative organisms for parangi and sleeping sickness, and was the first to use combined vaccines. The book was huge... nearly two thousand pages and as I reverently turned them, I imagined the two great men, discussing the contents and then painstakingly penning their knowledge by the light of smoky oil lamps. At one quiet moment, I felt their presence beside me, displacing the space like the shimmer above roads on a hot day.

Terry Pratchett once said that written words distort time and space. The theory of L space is such that

Those old books may not have the magical properties of those of the UU library, but they did leave me affected, as if I had opened the gateway to literary hyperspace.

I think I have found a new love.

To the true heroes...

Life was so crazy that V-day in May passed by without so much as a meh from yours truly. Therefore is came as a bit of a surprise to find out that the whole victory day parade and she-bang had been postponed to June 18th as the rain gods had expressed their displeasure regarding the timing. It was the very welcome public holiday and long weekend that triggered it alll! :)

On a very personal note, I can't even begin to find words to describe my relief when the conflict was finally over. Like so many many more, the bloody civil war was a part of my life... I grew up with it, went to school with it, felt the tremors of explosions, watched black columns of smoke climb heavenwards and felt the fear of those who wondered, day in, day out "will my loved ones come home in one piece".

Whatever his situation is now, we should never forget the role played by Gen. Sarath Fonseka in the brilliant tactics and sheer persistence that helped stomp the collective tiger asses. Whatever their failings now, we should acknowledge the political backing that supported the military. But, as so succinctly put by David Blacker, these are the true heroes. To he military strategy, to the political bulwark but most of all to those who fought long and hard, to the everyday men and women, burnt under the grilling sun and drenched by relentless rain, hungry, tired, lonely -who gave up their health, their limbs and their lives for us - to them I bow my head.

The following is adapted from the famous poem In Flanders Fields by John McCrae. It is dedicated to all who sacrificed their today for our tomorrow.

In quiet fields, wildflowers grow
Amongst row upon haphazard row
Of monuments, that mark where heroes lie;
And birds spread carefree wings and fly
For the guns are silent down below.

They are the Dead. Short days ago
They lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now they lie
In eternal sleep.

Oh ye who live, hold up high
The torch of mem'ries of those who died;
Let not conflict cause untold woe,
Let the guns be silent forever more;
Let them in peace at long last lie.

The many options....

So, Darling is rather miffed about one of my previous posts. Can't blame him really... actually I can, a bit, because I showed it to him before publishing. Proponent of free speech that he is, he said to go ahead. Now he says that with free speech comes the responsibility to deal with the consequences. Gah!

He is right, of course.

So anywez, I got quite a few comments on that post - on my blog, by mail, over the phone and to my face. Yeah, I'm popular. They have been summarised below.

1. You're attention whoring, WTF is wrong with you? Snap out of it!
2. The perfect couple isn't really perfect? (shock, horror, dismay)
3. Thou shalt not cheat!
4. Your situation is understandable - and I'm available!
5. Everyone goes through tough times, may I offer a shoulder to weep on?
6. Have a kid, things will work out.

But only one or two answered my fundemental question --> what is cheating? If I may qualify further --> where do you draw the line? I think PR and Knatolee gave the best responses... but I'd like an answer in the concrete rather than the upfront. So, please take the very long but seriously fun poll given below.

Oh, and one final question... is it "cheating" if you tell your partner about it first?

Idle thoughts....

It has been a very boring few days, the only highlight being arrival of monthly paycheck. Finding that I was paid almost entirely in our wonderful new currency notes only added to the - ahem - joy. Of course, boredom is purely beacuse the preceding few days were full of excitement, traveling etc. etc.

Still the idle mind is the workshop of the devil and so on... and I've found myself repeatedly wondering (in an idle and non specific way of course) about having an affair.

Of course, the whole romance, excitement and attention of said affair would be offset by distraction during crucial parts of work, mismanagement of finances, and general disapproval of society.

Not to mention Darling dumping my sorry ass...

But I still can't help wondering....

So tell me, gentle readers... what do you consider as "cheating"? How do you define it?

A mouse in the house

In my house.... in my piano, to be precise. It seems that the rainy weather has driven a little hikmeeya into the house. Barely the length of my little finger (not counting the tail) he scurries frantically behind the ornate carvings of the ancient instrument... and in the dark of the night, I hear little chitterings, and an occasional twang - and make a mental note to call the piano tuning chap.

The piano is over a hundred years old. My grandma bought it from her neighbour Phoebe, who had inherited it from a grand aunt. It's an upright model, made of carved ebony and once had an ivory keyboard. this was removed by an overzealous piano tuner who replaced it with cheap plastic keys because "the old keys are badly stained, madam". I'm sure he made a tidy profit from the whole deal... My mum says to look at the bright side - at least we're not playing baila on what is effectively a murdered elephant!

I have wrestled successfully with the urge to play a few crashing chords and scare the daylights out of the little guy who has made it his home... and that's the very thing that stops me... he's such a little guy. Unlike the Maradana rats that frequent the hospital, the ones that send the moggies running for cover.

Besides, he's a sociable little fellow... even in mid scurry he would turn and look at me with shiny, beady eyes. And when I shone a torch behind the piano, instead of cowering in the shadows, he stuck his little head out and stared at me, blinking owlishly in the glare.

Ah well... live and let live, I guess!

Of dress codes and ragging

I recently met a rather lovely young lady, a lecturer and student counselor at the Arts Faculty. During the course of our conversation, she brought up the fact that it was approaching "rag season" and how the seniors had dictated that they carry a file (presumably for identification) and that the girls wear only skirts and the boys wear "proper" trousers instead of jeans.

I guess this would amount to the ragging in its mildest form - I have read of, spoken to and treated students who have been victims to the more atrocious and horrifying facets of this sad aspect of university life. Thankfully, I have never been ragged, and my only exposure to it was when several batchmates were bucketed when we went to sit for an exam at the management faculty premises - and this in spite of protests that we were final year medical students!

Back to the topic, I listened with interest to her indignation at how students had no right to dictate to others as to what they should or should not wear. She pointed out how most students face economic hardships, could not afford trousers instead of jeans, usually have one or two pairs of pants which they match with different blouses and couldn't afford skirts, faced great difficulty traveling by bus wearing a skirt etc.

When we met, she was dressed in a gorgeous kurtha top and pants. I was looking slightly disheveled in a saree which I hadn't bothered to starch. She asked me if I had driven to the meeting... I said I had taken the bus, and that I travel home by bus, saree and all.

But what amused me the most was the difference between our two faculties. Medical students are expected to dress formally/professionally from day one. This means the guys wear "proper" trousers and shirts and the girls wear skirts/dresses/shalwar/ and sometimes even saree according to their preference. Jeans are not allowed. Slippers are not allowed. Of course, if it is vacation and there are no scheduled ward classes or lectures we dress much more casually. I guess this is because the patients and the public expect something from a doctor - a projected image of competence and professionalism as well as good knowledge and skills.

I'm not arguing the merits or demerits of either way of dressing, nor am I denying the fact that many students face great economic hardship especially during the first few years where sometimes they literally don't have enough to eat - those are for another post altogether. I just find it funny that in the same university, what is considered ragging/harassment in one faculty is more or less the dress code in another faculty!