An angel in the book of life wrote down our baby’s birth,

and whispered as she closed the book, “too beautiful for earth.”


December 3, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

Why’d you have to go and leave me?

After all these years, I can’t believe we’re parting ways.

  • Was it that I never gave enough attention?
  • Was it the moment I de-ranked you in my ladder of importance?
  • Was it when I said you lived too far away?
  • Was it because I never visited your new apartment?

Either ways, I’m going outta my mind, that you would go and leave me.

ikea-logo

September 14, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

It’s 8 weeks.

I know I ought to stop counting, but I can’t. Exactly 2 months ago, I was sitting outside the AMD room, probably by the I end this post, I was already in the AMD room.

Exactly 4 months ago, you were the healthiest little baby.

I scanned this in to keep it safe, so when you grew up, you’d see how little you were in me. My gorgeous little baby gum. I still don’t know what went wrong.

June 8, 2009. Marie Muses, Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

They tell me I had an abortion – Part 1

So it turns out I had a baby boy. A gorgeous baby boy. I would know, I saw him. Tiny and dead, at the wee 5th month through my pregnancy. My new best friend, the only one I could surely say I would unconditionally love for eternity, the one who would love me back, I didn’t even know its gender. Not till he was dead anyway.

April 13th 2009
It was supposed to be a gorgeous day. A mind-bogglingly super happy one too. The Monday after Easter, we got up early in preparation for my 5th month check-up at the government hospital. Took my documents, wore my brand-new pregnant-skirt proudly and we set off to the train station. I kept rushing him, I knew I’d be made to wait at the hospital, but hey, I was about to take a close-up view of my baby. It’d last at least 20 minutes they said. The prospect of looking at my baby for such a long period thrilled me. We stood outside the deli, stuffed our faces with some food. I was always hungry then. Hurry, I wanna see my beautiful baby.

We hopped onto the escalator, and got to the train platform. Daddy kicked my toe, and most of my nail came off. It clung onto my flesh a little. No I didn’t snap, I was too anxious to see my baby. Slapped on a handiplast, and I was ready to go. How nice, Mommy got a seat despite the morning crowd.

Got off the station, ahhh the horrors, gotta take a bus now.

United Square’s so near, we’ll go baby shopping later.

We’d most likely found out its sex. How nice, we didn’t have to wait long for the bus.

At the hospital, how fascinating, we got to be on Level 2 this time. It’s that fancy scan everyone talks about, it’s finally my turn. Boy, Level 2 looks intimidatingly empty. ADC Room they said; not the usual AMC. We stepped in, and how disappointing, the huge crowd. It’s gonna be a long wait, I didn’t mind, I’d get to see my baby playing.

We finally got a seat, my back felt relieved.

Wondered if they’d say my baby’s fat. Text messaged my sister, “Huge crowd here, gonna be a long wait before we know if it’s a Phoebe or a Phoebo.” She was going shopping later in the same vicinity. Maybe we could meet. Maybe I could buy something for baby.

Was thrilled when they called me in, wasn’t such a drappy wait afterall.

“Do not ask me any questions, I will tell you what I see.” Boy, what a friendly doctor. I got settled, and she started the scan. I made out my baby’s spinal cord, heart- oh his lovely heart shaped truly in the shape of a heart, body, legs, hands, head- what’s that white spot near where I suppose his stomach ought to be ? Kidney, she said. What’s the kidney doing so high, and why was it bright and white? “Do not ask me any questions.”

The next 40 minutes, I watched blurry visions of my baby in that tiny monitor, only his abdomen was clearly visible. I start feeling uneasy, something’s wrong, I could tell. His legs were modestly shut, she said. Oh what the heck, long as he’s healthy. Ask no questions, I was instructed, but I had to ask – “The baby’s healthy yeah?” No replies, she can’t see his face she says, we’re going to need a second opinion. She tells me to clean up and wait outside for a different doctor to call me.

I leave the room, my heart’s heavy. She shuts the door behind me. Cleaning up I suppose. 2 minutes pass, she opens the door and calls in another couple. 20 minutes pass, they come out happy and smiling. Why about my baby?

25 minutes passes, I am summoned in a different room, by a different doctor. She scans my tummy, is something wrong? Baby’s heart is too big, she says, baby’s got no lips. I still couldn’t see his face. Why do they keep scanning his skull? What’s that white spot? Why’s his kidney so high? Where’s the other doctor? So many questions. Get cleaned up and we’ll explain she says.

Doc: Who’s your gynae?

Me: I go to clinic C, its subsidized.

Doc: Oh, they will explain then. Please wait outside to be called.

Again? Perhaps they’d bring me in for a detailed explanation. The nurses quickly calls me, she beckons me to follow her into a smaller room. She sits behind the desk, prints a receipt and asks, “Payment through cash or NETS?” She hands me some documents with the scan details. We make our payment, and head down to Level 1 for some explanation. I begin to tear, my baby’s gonna need some operations perhaps. My poor tiny baby.

For the 1st time, I was called into the consulation room on time. A chrippy young doctor greets me. How am I feeling, she asks with a huge smile. Not too  good I suppose, I hand her the documents.

Doc: Oh, and how are you feeling about this?

Me: I’m not too sure, they never explained anything, I believe you are supposed to?

Doc: Well, perhaps it was a faulty scan, or maybe you’d wanna consider trying again..

Me: Scan again? Can we do it today? They already did it twice though..

Doc: No, the scan’s alright, I meant try for another baby.

Me: *silence* Can you please tell me what’s wrong with my baby?

Doc: I don’t know. We will send in your documents to be check and analysed by someone, only after then can we tell what’s wrong.

Me: What time will I know?

Doc: Your next appointment will be in 5 weeks time

Me: You’re saying my baby might not survive, and I’m to wait 5 weeks before I find out what’s wrong with it???

Doc: I’m sorry but these are procedures.

Me: You just need someone to analyse these same documents right?

Doc: Yes.

Me: Can’t they do it today? It’s only 11am now.

Doc: Let me try ask the senior.

She comes back, and tells me how lucky I am, the senior agreed to let me have my next appointment in ONE WEEK’S TIME! Can’t they do anything to speed up the process? I literally begged, close to tears. She shook her head and wished me luck.

We queued to make our payment. My baby, you looked so healthy 4 weeks ago. What went wrong?

Desperate, we rushed to the Private Suite at the hospital itself. They’ve got fanciful gynaes here. These gynaes are expensive, the receptionist kept reminding us. You need me to flash my money in your face? Besides, you’re already 5 months pregnant, most of them won’t take you, she said before she went to check with them, and returned with a negative. Reception Centre’s got gynaes too she said.

I repeated my story to the receptionist, come back after 1:30pm, she says.

1:30pm

There’s no one here. There’s a sign that advices us to visit Clinic B instead. We head to Clinic B, I repeat my story. She tells me to wait and caters to the rest who walked in after us. She tells me to talk to a different nurse. I repeat my story, yet again. She tells me to wait. 10 minutes passes, she returns. If it’s an emergency, they would have acted immediately, she probably nothing wrong with your baby, just go home. IF THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH MY BABY WHY DID SHE SUGGEST IT MIGHT DIE YOU NITWIT.

We’ll take a cab to Mount A, the Daddy says. We rush down, the receptionist informs us they have no gynaes there at all, please refer to their list and call for appointment. We call every single gynae on the list, none are available. Really, how do they handle emergencies?

We give the next private hospital a ring. We don’t have gynaes here either, please refer to their own individual clinics, she advices me. Heck, we get in a cab to their clinic nearest to my home. Frustrated, heavy, swelled, and worried, I need to know what’s wrong.

We spend hours at the clinic, he sure is busy, it’s finally my turn. I relate the story, again. He takes a scan, baby might be a DS child, or could be wrong, he says. Head to their hospital for an immediate scan, he sends us off. We grab a cab again, to the private hospital. It’s 4:00pm, she tells me there’s a Q, come back about 5pm. It’s 5:30pm, we’re the last ones, and it’s finally my turn. The doctor now is gentle and nice. She starts her scan, says there’s something wrong with my baby’s brain. She goes to call the gynae. He tells her to send me back to his clinic, and he knows what’s wrong. Is my baby going to be okay? She smiles, the gynae would know better she says, and adds, your baby’s lips are not formed. I look at the screen, I see a skull on baby’s body. I see its fleshy bum, its arms and legs kicking, she’s shaking my stomach to move him, he’s moving alot. Is it normal to see a skull instead of a proper face? Is the scan supposedly so indepth, or is there something wrong with my baby’s face? My heart aches at the thought of losing him. Will I lose my baby? No, I can’t, medicine is SO advanced, surely something like this can be rectified.

We head back to the gynae’s. I’m being made to wait outside again. Daddy heads to the loo, the gynae calls me in. I’m gonna come to the point, he says. The baby is not forming well, it will either die before the 9 months is over, die soon as it is born, or you might get to keep it in ICU, but it will die within a few months too.

You can abort it now, or give birth to it, but it will die then too. What’s your decision? I remember looking at the wall clock, 8:45pm. Isn’t irony cruel? I left home at 8:45am to see my baby. Now twelve hours later I’m being asked how do I want him dead.

I can’t bear the thought of watching my baby die, but how am I supposed to abort my child? My child I loved so dearly for 5 months. My child whose kicks and nudges I grew to love and anticipate. My child who I sang and spoke to every few minutes. My child who made me vomit every few hours, who squashed up my organs, who’s sudden jabs of pain made me laugh with joy. My child, whose heartbeat I felt every waking moment within my very body and soul.

“Get some other gynae to do it, it’ll be too expensive if we did it,” the doctor says. Really, do I portray myself as a pauper just because I went to a government hospital?

Induced labour, my poor baby’s alive. Would I feel him moving on the way out? Would I have the strength to give birth to my baby to die? I needed a week. A week to hope, a week to pray, a week to plead for a miracle. A miracle which I was never granted. The only other thing I could hope was that my baby’d have gone up to heaven before he came out into this sick sick world. My sweet sweet baby.

Close to tears, unsure what to say, I simply nodded and walked out. After settling the payment (guess I sold my arm to settle that, being a pauper and all), we walked home from the clinic. That was when it hit me, my baby’s gonna die. Never before in my life have I wailed in agony, never have I felt such pain in my heart. All I could do was wrap my arms around my tummy and cry.

April 14th 2009

The next morning,we tried calling KK again. I explained I needed my records from them, which they declined to give.

We visited the private gynae yet again. After waiting around from 10am to 1pm, we finally got to see him. He agreed to take on my case, but refused to perform the operations, as it was against his principles. Can’t blame him, I won’t want to be the one killing young babies either. Instead, he agreed to prepare for a different gynae from the same hospital. I was to visit him at his clinic the following Tuesday.

I came home, and my mom said KK had called for me. Heck, why couldn’t they have rang my cell? i returned call, and the operator (pretty rudely) told me that if my case was important enough, they’d try calling back. I told her how important my case was. She simply said sorry and we hung up. Sweet.

We then went out for lunch, and mom called to say KK called yet again. I returned call again, this time Daddy and me called every number on the appointment book, till we got someone who agreed to transfer my call to the clinic I was visiting, clinic C. After being put on hold for a really reallly long time, the person hung up on me, TWICE. Sweet.

April 16th 2009

That evening, I finally received a call from KK. Interesting conversation.

*ring ring*

Me: Hello?

Phone: This Ann?

Me: Yes?

Phone: I calling from KK ah! You don’t know how to answer your phone ah? HP, don’t answer, and you’re never home!

Me: Excuse me? I never received any calls from KK, and I haven’t had any missed calls either.

Phone: ANYWAY, your appointment changed, urgent ah, make sure you come.

She then proceed to give me the appointment date and time, to which I paid no heed and hung up.

I think I never slept the next few days. I laid awake night after night, feeling my abdomen throb with my child’s heartbeat, feeling him kick and move within me. How could I kill him? Many thoughts were going through my mind.

  • How will my baby look? Do I want to see him?
  • Will he be alive or dead when he comes out? I read online that in some cases the baby is alive and moving, the doctor then smashes it’s skull to pull its brains out, so that it dies. That’s ALOT of information for a mother to handle.
  • Will I be able to do any form of last respect for my baby?

April 21st 2009

It’s our appointment date. I managed to pull myself together to visit the gynae. Having always been able to pull my act together infront of people in times of extreme crisis, I was pretty sure I could handle this too. We made our way to his clinic. I was informed that I had to attend a mandatory counselling session prior to .. that. I was sort of looking forward to it. Talking to a professional might help, I felt. I reached the clinic, and the nurse brought me into a cold sterile white room. She asked me to sit on the only chair in the room, facing the only other thing in the room; a television set.

I began to feel uneasy. Sometime didn’t feel right. She asked me for my personal particulars, and then:

Do you have any other children?
No.

Have you have any other abortions?
No, I had a miscarriage last year. Which I’ve told every gynae right from the start of this pregnancy.

That’s different, it’s a miscarriage. Did you use any protection when you conceived this child?
Yes, but that’s besides the point. I did not choose to abort my baby, please ensure you’re clear about my case before you ask me such questions.

Sorry miss, these are standard questions, and they are mandatory, issued from MOH. What kind of protection did you use?

And so the insensitive ***** went on and on and on, afterwhich she slipped a videotape into the ancient VCR and told me that I have to watch the tape on abortions as that is my counselling. So, I set there for the next few minutes, while this old woman on the TV explained to me how heartless I am to abort my child, and there are always alternative plans I can do, other than aborting. She also taught me on the various forms of contraceptives.

When I was finally through making MOH happy, I got to see the gynae. I walked into his room, and the first thing he asked, “So, you have some questions for me?”

Hmm.. I thought YOU were supposed to explain the procedure to me. But hey, I had the opinions of four doctors already, all who said that baby has to go asap, though none were willing to help. So I couldn’t be fussy. He gave me a few medications to take after the procedure, and 2 Cytotecs – which would induce labour; to be taken on the Thursday, 23rd April 2009.

The next few days went by blurry. My baby who seemed to be low lying, suddenly moved right up to my stomach. I was feeling uncomfortable, and was very very weary about the procedure. I had half the mind to keep the baby till I was due and then let him go. Though I knew if he died after that, I might never recover from the trauma, the emotional bonding grew tonnes stronger in a matter of 1 week after finding out I was gonna lose him, how much more stronger after 9 months?

23rd April 2009

The day was here. I told myself I would not cry today. I took a super long shower, I remember rubbing my huge belly, willing myself to say goodbye, but I couldn’t. Instead I kept telling him (didn’t know it’s gender then) that he/she was the love of my life. Never have I loved anyone this much, and I will always love him, even if we’re not together. He would always be my first child.

I crossed over to the coffeeshop across the road, and met my sister for an early dinner at 5:30pm. I had to take the medication at 6pm, and no food/drinks after that. As it’s my baby’s last meal, I had chicken rice, which I craved constantly throughout my pregnancy. In fact, I spent the last week eating all the food I craved for in the pregnancy. Hoping in some manner, I was making baby happy before baby left me. I popped the pills after dinner, and went back home waiting for 10:30pm when I would be going to the hospital.

May 7, 2009. Mummy Muses. 4 comments.

life flashes by like a 35 mm reel


No memory left that I had lived, or ever entered this life’s door.

April 9, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

Wireless Bras

Heard of mom-to-be’s who just can’t bring themselves to don on those gawd-awful maternity bras?

We innovate.

April 5, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

Shopping Goddess? My swollen ass..

For many years of my life, I was known as the shopping goddess. Give me a simple instruction as to how to cross a road, and I’d lose my way. Drop me off in a foreign land in the middle of an oversized mall, and I’d find my way through it.

Religiously, I shopped every weekend. On days I did early shift at work, I shopped after work. OverTime hours were often claimed for relaxing noons filled with shopping, followed by manicures, pedicures, and beauty sessions.

Somewhere in between puking my guts out, and feeling something erupt in my ass; I seem to have evolved.

Pa & Ma went shopping tonight. We bypassed the brand-new range of to-die-for shoes and bags; the perfumes department where I’ve spent countless hours nosing everyone of them; the lingerie department (well nothing nice fits anyway); the clothes department (I’m the new Hippo Jr); and made a bee-line for the Infant’s Department.

Pa drooled over the prams (I’m beginning to think he pacifies himself by fooling himself that they’ve got wheels = they can be cool) while Ma cooed over the breast pumps and baby cot. Whilst the baby cot might be acceptable, I can’t quite imagine why I got excited over an electronic gadget that would be attached to my breast! I mean seriously, if I wanted to peek into the BDSM department, I would have done so a LONG TIME AGO. -Sigh-

We spent the rest of the night gorgingnibbling through our pizza and contemplating on whether we ought to invest in the (in Pa’s words) pretty-looking-caged-bed. Final decision was the wait for the Motherhood Fair which would be at the Expo from 4th to the 7th of June 2009.

Oh, I’m terribly excited to be shoving my by then, even bigger tummy through all the big tummies then.

Free ride, anyone? I’m willing to jump in a lorry, should the need arise.

Also wondering if they would have those buggy rides. I mean they seriously can’t be expecting all us preggies to be walking through their fair?!

April 4, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

Diaper Bag Dilemma

I’m being constantly told that choosing the right diaper bag is one of the most important purchasing decision I’ll make. 10 years ago, I watched my sister and her husband lug around the most notorious looking “diaper bag” for a good period of their lives. In fact, it seemed like the “in” thing back then. All the mummies and daddies were strapping on this unsightly rectangular excuse for a bag. I tried googling an imaging of the bag, guess it’s so back in time I can’t seem to find one!

I’m assuming I’m gonna need a err..  non-gender stereotype looking bag. Afterall, it’s not just me who’s gonna be carrying it around. No, it is NOT.

So here it goes, the dilemma: A shoulder strap bag would be easier to ruffle through with baby in hand, but a hands-free backpack would be a load off the single-shoulder.
Either ways, there are a certain must-have features of the bag!

  • Stylish
    Like duh… can’t help it.
  • Easy-to-clean fabric
  • Light-coloured lining on the inside to make it easier to find what I’m looking for!
  • Insulated side pockets
    Not essential, but I could go without the thermos in this case.
  • Self-standing base
    So I’d not have to do a balancing act with the baby and the bag when I put it down.
  • Two-way zippers
  • Multiple compartments
    To keep things organized and easy to find.
  • Quality Construction
    Sturdy, durable, waterproof, and with padded straps.

*Peeks into bags department of the closet* butttt…. perhaps one of these might just fit the role.

Pfft.. I’m yet to find one that I adore anyway.

March 27, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

Choosing the privileged hospital

In an idealist situation, choosing a hospital would only rely on where you live, and whether your doctor has plentiful of privileges to your benefit.

That said, who’s bright idea was it to bear babies in this recessional period?

Needless to say, when it came to hospital shopping, $$$ was a huge consideration weighing upon the decision.
– Should I we he spend the $$$ on the gynae, OR
– keep the money aside of all the diapers we’d be discarding?

After much pondering, we decided on the second option.

Ideally, I’d want a hospital closest to my home. So off we went on our one hour road trip, to the nearest government subsidized hosptial for women and children. It wasn’t all that bad; really. So we spent some precious time stoning relaxing on the seats that came right out of some 18th century torture chamber.

1st Stop:
10 minutes at the registration counter. Ain’t that bad yea? So I had to stand and queue with my appointment card, but hey! the room was TWICE the size of my pantry.

2nd Stop:
Ahh I was finally invited to have a seat in the spacious pantry. Time to chat up some nurse in regards to my family medical history. Or so they said, so why didn’t she ask me any questions?? After printing a hell lotta duplicate forms (hello people, ever heard of saving the Earth?), she got my autograph on each one of them. Next stop, pee-room!

3rd Stop:
After hunting down the pee collection room, which by-the-way, is located in the pee-room itself. READ: This is also where they take your height, weight and BP. SO anyway, after doing that, and heaving a sigh of relieve that all was considered normal, I was instructed to head next door.

4th Stop:
Blood donation really wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. I was treated to a wonderful array of nurses who were all singing in praises of their selfless profession. How it robbed them off their good ol’ days of getting smashed over distilled spirits, and how they worked long hours and were often denied off their rightful annual leave, AND had to attend countless voluntary sessions.

N.B.: Sounds freaky. *wiping the nursing option off my list of possible job ventures*

So anyway, I’d spent about an hour or definitely more bouncing from room to room and it’s finally time to see the doctor. Hooray!

5th Stop:
Hmm wait… Gee.. now that’s a lot of people. Oh well, my appointment was at 1030am, and given that its already 1055am (CRAP I’m late for my 1st baby appointment) I ought to be ushered into those tiny rooms and see my baby gum real soon. I glanced up at the current Q number being served, 0835am. Wait, that can’t be right? I re-checked my appointment date, time, and room. Yup, yup, yup.. correct… I slumped onto an empty seat. Ahh.. how comfy, must be the work of an aspiring designer. It’s lovely that they’re encouraging them in government establishments, isn’t it?

Almost 2 hours later, they finally buzz my number. The doctor takes one look at my folder and says, “Well all looks good, please head down to the AMC (Antenatal Monitoring Centre, I think) and then we can talk,” WTF?

Oops.. Mommy’s gotta top voicing out those words.

6th Stop:
Fantastic. Same seats, shorter queue though. It was only a 25 minute wait. The doctor in there scanned my baby, printed a (JUST ONE?) picture, handed it to me, and “Thank you.”

Err.. geez.. you’re very much welcomed, but aren’t you gonna say something?

I made my way BACK to the original doctor’s office, room rather. He took a look at the folder again, and this time volia! the scanned report miraculously turned up in his hands.

Doc: How do you feel? Any pain/bleeding?

Me: Just nauseous everyday, otherwise fine. No pain/bleeding.

Doc: Great! We’ll see you next month then.

Me: Huh? We’re done?

Nurse (standing by the doctor): Please make your way to the cashier counter, make your payment. Afterwhich you go to the pharmacy and buy this vitamin.

7th Stop:
50 minutes, and $30.00 later, I was done with the cashier.

8th Stop:
15 minutes, and $4.95 later, I was done with the pharmacy.

4.5 hours later….
$34.95, who’s to complain?

March 27, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.

Tom, Dick, or Harry?

I’d be the first to admit, I’m the meanest, badddest aunt in the whole wide Universe. Having fell head-over-heels in love with the first newborn baby I (only) carried, I christened him with the lovely name of Stinky.

Stinky, happens to be a lovely, adorable, gorgeous little boy with the hair of a skunk. I really ought to watch my language and thoughts.. *crosses fingers*

Sooo.. anywayz.. having past the 1/2way mark into this JOYOUS journey of my life, I’m being constantly bombarded with the evergreen question: “What’ya gonna name ya kid?

Heck, how would I know?! I don’t even know the sex of the baby, yet. It’s gonna be a girl, really.

Sure I talk to my ever-growing fat tummy, I simply refer to the baby, as baby. Although in the deepest of my heart, I feel like calling it gum. Yes, GUM.

Why gum? I don’t know! But yes, gum. Thus, gum it self be, till we decide upon a name for Baby Bum Gum.

March 26, 2009. Mummy Muses. Leave a comment.