for Omeir

February 14, 2007

I had wanted to write you a letter before you were even born. But the procrastinator that I am, I never got around to doing so. Perhaps deep inside, I must have known all along that I would have to revise that letter had I actually put it down to paper.

I visited you last month but I did not stay long. I left as soon as tears began to well in my eyes. Your grandfather had accompanied me and I didn’t want him to see a grown man crying.

You would have turned three today. Your untimely departure had been very difficult, but we have come to terms with the reality that you are no longer with us. It still pains us a lot but at least now, your mother no longer sheds tears and worries about you out there all alone everytime it rains.

You were our first child. When your mother and I learned that she was pregnant, we were overwhelmed with joy. You see, we had been in a vehicular accident three years before we had you. With a combined stay of five months in the hospital, prolonged antibiotic therapy and several x-ray exposures between us, we had doubts if we could ever have children. Thus, we saw your arrival as an affirmation that we were still in the graces of the Almighty.

When we learned that you were a boy during an ultrasound on your fifth month, we went on a shopping spree. In preparation for your arrival, we stocked up, nay, hoarded baby clothes, feeding bottles, utensils and other baby stuff. And we were not alone -- your uncles and aunts were equally excited and joined in the buying. This was expected because you were not just our first child, you were also the first grandchild on your paternal side.

Everything was ready. We found a crib that your mother said you would be able to use as a bed beyond your infant years. The stuffed toys which would adorn it had also been bought. We even started decorating our room with posters of cartoon characters which, I found out, were very hard to find. Through all these, I also learned that the lead canine in Blue’s Clues was female. I made a mental note to teach you this, and that Tweety Bird was male, when you were older.

We debated for a long time as to your name. I had long been enamored by my own name spelled backwards and was bent on giving our firstborn male that as a name. But we also wanted you to have a name that would indicate your roots. Thus, we scoured the net for countless hours searching for an appropriate name. After several objections, your mother relented and agreed that we give you Omeir as a second name. It meant first son.

When you were gone, I hesitated to give you that name. I did not want you to be an irony since Omeir also meant long-living. Certainly, thirty-six hours could not be considered a long life. I thought of saving it for your kid brother when he came along. But then I realized that you were irreplaceable.

We were at a loss as to what really happened. Your mother did not have a difficult pregnancy and she did not even experience the usual discomforts associated with it. I excused myself from work to accompany her and make sure that she did not miss a single pre-natal check up. I even nagged her about her vitamins just to make sure that you were getting the proper nutrition.

We came so close. You were healthy during the eight and a half months that you were inside your mother’s womb. Then, all of a sudden, you just stopped moving. An ultrasound revealed that you had fluid in the brain and you had to be delivered immediately by caesarian section. We were worried but I tried to reassure your mother that hydrocephalus was reversible and many babies had survived it. But worse news was to come. I was told later that it was no ordinary fluid that had been seen earlier. It was blood -- you had intracranial hemorrhage.

Your mother was still groggy from the anesthesia when the doctor broke the news to me. I did not want her to be depressed further so I kept this to myself. When she regained consciousness, she wanted to see you immediately at the nursery. I told her she needed to rest. There was no need to rush, I said, you were doing fine and feeding quite well already. I cannot recall more difficult circumstances when I had to lie while keeping a straight face.

When your condition started to deteriorate, I knew I had to tell your mother already. She had sensed that I was keeping something from her. She asked for a wheelchair and requested that I take her to the nursery. What followed next was the most heartbreaking scene I had ever witnessed in my entire life as your mother held you while you slowly slipped away from her.

Later, we turned to the doctor for an explanation but she was unable to give us a definite answer. All she could offer were theories. We have read up on the possible causes she mentioned, and we were a bit enlightened. We were eventually convinced that it was all for the better because had you survived, there was a very strong likelihood of brain damage and you would have been subjected to further suffering.

During your interment, the imam spoke words that provided some comfort. He said that since you came into this world without sin, you were to go directly to heaven. But on your own volition, you would choose not to enter yet. You would wait at the pearly gates, only to enter hand-in-hand with your parents.

I had wanted to teach you the ways of this world and a lot of other things. But it turned out that you would be setting the bar for me and your mother instead. You have set a very tough challenge for us, kiddo. But we will not fail you, for we do not want you to spend eternity waiting in vain.

Happy birthday, son. Someday soon, we shall be together again, inshaAllah.

hope

Tomorrow, Khaleel Imran Sadain Sajili will turn four. The following was written about a month after his birth.

* * * * * 

 

Ever since I got married, I have reduced my goals in life to what I call the 3 Bs -- baby, bar exams, and bahay -- in that particular order.

For a very brief moment, I became a father back in 2004 but our baby left us after only 36 hours. My wife's second pregnancy ended abruptly after two months. Her doctor here in Zamboanga found no underlying cause and said it was all coincidence. She told us to just try again. Yeah right.

I was devastated. But I saw how my wife had suffered so much more after each of those two losses. Though I have long known of her courage and resilience, I did not want her to go through the same ordeal ever again. Thus, we decided to seek help in the polluted urban jungle that is Manila.

The new doctor disagreed with the first. After a battery of tests, my wife was diagnosed with Anti-Phospholipid Antibody Syndrome (APAS). It was explained to us how her blood clotted more quickly which, in turn, caused the placenta to detach prematurely. The doctor recommended a treatment regimen before we tried conceiving again. We were also told that a few other celebrities had this very same condition. Thanks, as if that bit of info made us feel any better.

A week after her diagnosis and even before her treatment could begin, we learned that she was pregnant already. The doctor prescribed aspirin once a day and told her to return to Manila as soon as possible. When she did see the doctor again, she was instructed to inject heparin twice a day into her abdomen. Being a nurse, she did not fear needles. Despite the painful purple bruise left by each injection, she complied diligently -- all for the sake of our unborn child.

On the third month of her pregnancy, there was spotting and she was at risk of losing the baby. We were informed of an option, but it was a very expensive one. The doctor could administer immunoglobulin but there was no guarantee that it would work. We did not want this pregnancy to go the way of the second one so we took a gamble. Fortunately, it produced the desired results and the signs of placental bleeding disappeared. We heaved a collective sigh of relief.

When she reached five months, there arose a new cause for concern. The amniotic fluid surrounding the baby dropped inexplicably below normal levels. The doctor recommended hydration -- 3 dextrose bottles to be infused within 24 hours. The fluid level rose and she was discharged form the hospital after a day. But two weeks later, the fluid level decreased once more. This time, she did not go to the hospital. She stayed home and connected the intravenous line herself! Again, the amniotic fluid increased.

By the sixth month, the fluid level fell yet again and hydration was no longer effective. We resorted to immunoglobulin for the second time and the problem went away once more. We hoped that the remaining three months would be without incident.

But at seven and a half months, the fluid problem re-emerged with a vengeance. She was informed that the only option left was to deliver the baby. After she had told me this over the phone, I immediately booked the next available flight. I remember this as the longest plane ride of my life, all one hour and fifteen minutes of it.

On January 29, 2006 at exactly 11:20 PM, or four hours after my arrival, I became a father once again. Aside from the fact that our baby was premature, he was relatively okay. He had to stay in an incubator for a month though before we were able to take him home to my brother-in-law's house in Quezon City.

I have since returned to Zamboanga by myself as I have nearly exhausted my leave credits. Much as I wanted my family to come with me, I have to wait for two more months before our baby will be allowed to board that plane home.

As I await our reunion, I have tried to re-examine my goals. I now see a check mark on goal number one but I still have 3 Bs to go. The bar exams would have to wait another year. Construction of our dream house shall not begin anytime soon since we have also sold the land where it was supposed to rise, just so that we could support the pregnancy. Taking top priority now is the new B -- bayad utang.

But we try not to think of the debts that we have accumulated. Thanks to very kind relatives, these are all payable when we're able. Instead, we thank the Almighty each and every single day for blessing us with our baby. We never lost faith. We continued to believe that someday, He would grant us a child to call our very own.

* * * * * 

Update : We have our house already and though there is the mortgage, we have paid off our previous debts. Life is good. 

The bar exams is still on the list and possibly a new B -- Khim's request for a baby brother/sister.

Surrender

Yes, its me - nadzmier aras sajili. I have given in and hopped on the social networking bandwagon.

Finally.

I know, the world wide web doesn’t really care but for the well-meaning family, friends and colleagues who have sent me countless invites online and in real life over the years (and to whom I never responded), this could be, well, a surprise.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not a snob or anything. Nor am I a technophobe. I am also no noob to the internet as I have been a netizen for close to 15 years now. In fact, I had been chatting over telnet then mirc long before yahoo messenger or skype became the norm. I love the internet and I do believe that you can find almost everything over the web. It’s a treasure trove of information (and garbage) just waiting to be found.

Why, then, the aversion to social networking?

The simple truth is I was just too damn lazy I just did not have the time back then. I had seen how my siblings (especially my fashionista sister) used to spend countless hours updating their friendster pages and I decided it was all just too much for me. There were far simpler means of communication, I told myself. We could still get in touch through e-mail and SMS.

But why the change of heart?

I realised that my family was expanding and drifting apart slowly. Out of the eight Sajili children born to Ahadulla and Sitti Rahsa, three are now out of the country and two are in different cities of the Philippines. There was even a time earlier this year when only two of us remained in Zamboanga City. Texting and e-mail would not do anymore. While webcam chat was an option, setting chat dates between different time zones was quite difficult and required both parties to be online at the same time.

I recognised the need for something more visual. I wanted to see, literally, how my family looked, to be reassured that they were indeed doing okay. I’m sure my siblings would also want to see how their nephew is growing up so fast.

Plus, I missed writing. I certainly don’t claim to be a writer and I do not entertain thoughts of being published. But I had always found putting down my thoughts to paper, er, on the hard disk, to be cathartic. I have been feeling rusty and I know that I must exercise whatever knowledge on subject-verb agreement I have left before I lose it completely.

Thus, I have seen the light. It took some time but I have converted and embraced the cult that is facebook. Bring it on.

What’s that you say, FarmVille? Uhm, no thanks.

Not yet anyway.