12 years a mum - My birth stories - 2

 

FYI: This is nothing like my last post; this actually was the easiest birthing experience for me.

Pregnancy with R2 wasn’t bad, all my pregnancies are actually fuss free, and cravings free. 

I was out of the country, while pregnant, I was juggling my Msc. Programme in London, came for internship in Nigeria, travelling to & fro Nigeria. I returned back to England, just as I entered my 3rd trimester. I was fine but felt like he zapped my brain juice because I remember getting my dearest Rele, to study for us both, and then do revision with me, at some point, I had to defer submission of my dissertation. Also, I had sciatica, a word I didn’t know till then. I often had this surging pain that shot down my leg; good thing it was nothing meds couldn’t take care of.  https://www.webmd.com/back-pain/guide/sciatica-symptoms#1

A LITTLE HUMOUR

Closer to my delivery, my MIL came to support. Just like my 1st pregnancy where she nicely made sure we took daily walks. The day she arrived, she suggested we should start our daily walk next day; in my head, I am like 🤔 in cold February weather? Okay, sure Mama 😁.

Next day, as evening drew close, she said oya let’s take a walk, we both grabbed our jackets, head warmers and gloves and headed out, of course we were welcomed by the cold as we left the building, no biggies, she said walking will warm us up, I didn’t argue. Anyways, we had barely walked 10 minutes, when she said “Wo, otutu eleyi ti poju, eyan o le rin irun irin yi nibi, 😂 (look this cold is unbearable, we can’t be taking random walks in this cold) and asked that we return home. Safe to say, that’s how we cancelled pregnancy walk, because London and Lagos weather are not mates 😂😂. 

Pregnancy was a cruise, so much so I didn’t visit the hospital, aside GP till about my 8^th month, during the check up, I had a 3D scan and it was surreal, I saw R2’s face all so clearly. I saw his face clearly and knew immediately he looked nothing like me (2:0 in favour of hubby)

PS: I am not too familiar with the terms used for medical personnel abroad, so I might use them wrongly.

 My next appointment, I was told I would be having another CS! Oh oh!  The doctor a white man told me, that based on my history, they will not be taking any chances, explaining XYZ, the consent I will be signing etc., he asked that I come prepared the next day for the “elective” section (I was thinking how is it elective, when they told me they can’t take chances of uterine rupture🙄 🤷🏼♀️).

Again, I asked if we could wait a little more. The man nicely told me to hold on, and handed me over to a midwife (dark skinned) to put me through the ropes 😂. I reckon in his mind, he felt, please come and talk to your people, the Jamaican woman was nice enough to explain again; but you see my coconut head still wanted to suffer labour pains; I begged her to let’s wait for another day. Mind you, my EDD was the next day. The woman came to a compromise, she decided to give me a membrane sweep, that if I am lucky enough it helps to trigger labour, cool but if nothing happens overnight, they expect me at the hospital by 8am for my surgery.  Membrane sweep done, I went back home, full of hopes, hoping and hoping; nothing happened 😟.

D-DAY

11th March, I woke up to the realization that again, I will not be experiencing what labour feels like. MIL wanted to come with, but someone had to mind R1 at home, so she stayed back while hubby and I went, to the hospital. Unlike in Nigeria, where hubby had to sign the consent form, I was made to read, understand and confirm clearly all I had been told before, about the risks involved etc. and then sign. 

Hubby was allowed in the operating theatre, though a screen was put around my chest which blocks his view of what’s going on, but there was some mirror like panel over the team that gave him a decent view. 

I was given the regular jab on the spine, and just as they were about proceeding, I started feeling dizzy and felt like I was slipping into oblivion. Luckily I spoke up immediately, and as I didn’t know what was being said, I heard some talk and movements, and next thing I was placed on oxygen, stabilized and they proceeded with it. I was on oxygen throughout the procedure. 

Hubby was right by my side through it all, holding my hand/shoulder, talking to me, giving me updates from the panel and most likely praying silently. 

I heard them say I had a beautiful scar (yay! to Dr. E back in Nigeria & my good skin); I also heard them say “oh he has a beautiful head of hair”, just before they brought R2 out. I don’t remember much again, till I was wheeled to recovery room. 

DELIGHTFUL SHOCK

After about 15 minutes or less in recovery, a lady asked me “care for some toast”? Me 😳🥱wait what? I can eat? Of course I care for some toast. That’s how barely hours after my surgery I ate toast. (Naija Drs. see your mates)

The Jamaican woman I spoke to pre-surgery told me, it’s a good thing they didn’t take a chance on delivery, she said my uterus wall was so thin, they could see the baby’s head before the uterus was cut open, or something along the line 😳.  (Thank God they didn’t listen to me). She also said, P.S I could only have no more than 1 more go at pregnancy. 

I don’t remember how long I stayed in recovery, before being moved to a ward but I remember MIL came visiting that day, having learnt that I am allowed to eat brought me a hot cooler of my favorite: Indomie. She said, left to her she would have made something else, but she knows how much I love Indomie, she also apologized incase it’s not the way I like it. Bless that gem for me God! 

ANOTHER SHOCK

Unlike in Nigeria, my ward wasn’t private; we were about 4/6 in the spacious ward, which meant family couldn’t stay 24-7. I saw some 2 ladies walking about and I was told they had their surgery the day before. In my head I was like yeah, that can’t be me.

All through the day, the baby (R2) was kept in a crib near me, he wasn’t allowed to sleep on my bed, so I had to use the call button for the staff to hand me the baby. R2 came with quite the large appetite, so this very lovely matronly lady had to make countless trips to my bedside to pick up and dropped. She named him “Hungry Henry” she was quite warm; came night time, her replacement was a young girl who wore her displeasure on her face every time she had to pick or drop him. At some point, I kuku kept R2 beside me and slept off. She complained about me keeping me by the bedside but I couldn’t be bothered. 

NEXT DAY

All was good, but I was told I had to walk to the bathroom and around. I said no way. Never mind that Stakike and Akands (my able support systems) had prepped me and told me all I needed to know about this experience. I thought I was going to die if I walked; but I guess that was the price to pay. “She who ate toast on day of surgery, must walk the next day & be discharged on day 3”. 

Somehow I walked, still don’t know how but I survived, and got discharged the next day. Back home and the health visitor came checking after some days. 

NAMING EVENT

Naming was quite a private affair, 

Imams came did their thing and left; then we had close family, some of my course-mates and hubby’s colleagues come over. Both held in our living room. It was good a simple affair and I enjoyed seeing everyone. That’s me, 100% a people person.

MY GEM

MIL was exceptional as usual. For weeks, she’d bath baby and myself; doing all we could to ensure my scar didn’t get infected. 

HEALTH VISITOR

Bless the UK health system; they were countless health checks from days after the birth to weeks and then periodic home checks on mother and child; and sibling too. I remember the 1st time the health visitor came, she asked R1 to show her his room and went with him to “interview” him to be sure he’s doing well and not being abused in any form. She noted in his report, the environment was conducive and he’s a happy child etc. The periodic visit went on for as long as I can remember before we relocated back to Nigeria. 

Well, that’s about all about the most peaceful, drama and complication-free delivery I ever had. 

As for R3!!!! You will need to grab your popcorn, and drinks; that is the real story to be told; hopefully I don’t get emotional and stop midway writing it. Until then, catch you soon. 

Thank you for reading this far, I look forward to your comments.

12 years a mum - My birth stories -1

Welcome to Neeollas corner, 

Yesterday, as I celebrated 12 years of being a mum (my first son's 12th birthday). I decided to return back to bloging, and it sure feels good to be back here after my hiatus 😊

Many times I wanted to share my birth stories, and then for some reason, I procrastinate or talk myself out of it. 

Some times, I want to do it, because I enjoy writing/ telling my stories, some times, it’s because I feel we all have our various struggles and challenges, and just knowing that we are not alone, sharing our experiences might help others understand themselves, and deal with situations better.  

I am blessed with 3 beautiful boys, who do my head in, as much as they warm my fuzzy heart. Each of their birth stories is different, yet memorable in its own way. 

 PREGNANCY WITH R1- my first-born child. 

This pregnancy was hassle-free, I presented none of the regular pregnancy symptoms apart from my protruding stomach, no sickness, cravings, no increased appetite or reduced energy level, nothing, relatively boring, I used to wish for cravings. Safe to say, everything was just right, until the 39th week. 

The details are fuzzy, but I remember landing in the hospital, got assigned a bed, only for the health team to decide minutes later it was false labour and I was released to go home. 

D-DAY

Two days after my false labour, I had just finished a walk with MIL, when I started having the urge to pee like, less than 10 minutes apart. Surely, that wasn’t labour 🤔? I mean aside from the usual Braxton hicks; I had read about 1 too many times. MIL was convinced it was pre-labour; she made some calls and started timing my visits to the toilet. The intervals became shorter and more frequent. 

Not to take chances, MIL insisted we leave for the hospital to avoid Lekki-Ikoyi traffic, and that decision turned to be a good one. Good thing my Mum, already made sure, since I hit month 5, I had a hospital bag permanently in the car, so there was nothing to pack, just to hop in the car. It took almost 2 hours to get to the hospital in Ikoyi, from Lekki Phase 1(those familiar with Lagos, you get the pic).

AT THE HOSPITAL

Right at the hospital entrance, I met my gynecologist, an elderly man, Dr. E stepping out of the hospital. “Asmau!! How are you?” he asked with concern, as he immediately walked back into the hospital with me. 

Turned out, it was his last day at that hospital, he was retiring and had clocked out officially, however, he had to stay back and attend to me. He took me in for a quick check and questioning, and it was then I told him, what I didn’t tell anyone before, I had “spotted” (had blood stains) earlier in the day, but I thought nothing of it; I didn’t want to make a fuss, after the false labour of days before. 

After some minutes of examination, & questioning, I could tell Dr. E was concerned, he called another Dr. for a second opinion, and together it was discovered I had “Placenta Abruptio”. Immediately, I was told I needed to go in for emergency surgery.

I was like, huh😕? He explained that the placenta carrying the baby was separated from the womb, cutting the baby’s support system, happens in about 1% of pregnancies.  

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/placental-abruption/symptoms-causes/syc-20376458

https://www.webmd.com/baby/what-is-placental-abruption#1

AWAY FROM MY PLAN 

This wasn’t the plan, I thought, I had read everything about pregnancy from Baby Centre, and the book “what to expect when you are expecting”: 

https://www.amazon.com/What-Expect-When-Youre-Expecting-dp-0761189246/dp/0761189246/ref=dp_ob_title_bk

 a loaned gift to me from my colleague & friend. (I am not sure if he stole, or borrowed it from his sister 😊).  Anyway, I read everything about pregnancy, except the last chapter on “CS and when things go wrong”. That wasn’t for me; I had no reason to read about stuff like that (😅😅🙈)

My plan was to go through all the stages of labour I had so much looked forward to, for my water to break and the all-famous labour pain, which I hoped will confirm my pain threshold ( please don't judge me 🙈). You know, all the things I considered the norm. 

PRE-SURGERY 

Forgive my naivety, but I cried and begged Dr. E to chill, I mean wait till tomorrow or something. I cried, not because of any religious belief, or that I thought lesser of CS, but because I was curious about childbirth, I wanted the whole process. I remember Dr. E’s face and words clearly till date: “Asmau, there are 3 things I would not jeopardize here, your life, baby’s life and my career”. He said this as he made calls for the anesthetist and other medical team to prep for surgery. My MIL was informed, Hubby was on his way, calls were being made while I was whining, and crying for being denied my “labour” (as per Queen of Sufferhead). The matron called me aside, short of spanking my silly head; she gave me the pep talk and added I shouldn’t waste time, as they needed to prep me for surgery. 

This was early evening, and when reality dawned on me, I became hungry, and especially thirsty lol. I begged for water but I wasn’t allowed.  Hubby was there as they wheeled me into theatre, who knows what must have gone through his head. I should ask him. Poor Man, he has had quite the experience through all 3-birth histories. 

INSIDE THE THEATRE 

Theatre was an experience; I was quite the entertainment for the team. I did a little drama before I took the spinal epidural injection on my back 

(Don’t blame me). I felt the first cut of the surgical blade, it felt just like a razor cut and I told the team exact that, the doctors worried about the efficacy of the given analgesic, but the anesthetist insisted I had the right dose, & convinced them I was numbed from the waist down when I couldn’t lift my legs.

I remember drifting on and off in between, passing side commentaries that made the team laugh, my sense of humor was on fleek , I felt the tug as they brought out the baby,  and I remember the nurse bringing R1 to me, just before taking him away for washing. I told the Gynecologist to hurry up with what he was doing, so I could leave the operating theatre (please don’t ask, where I was rushing to )

 

Lord be praised, all was fine, I was wheeled out a couple of hours later, saw hubby, everyone and slept off like a baby 😌

THE MORNING AFTER

The next day, at some point,  I felt my legs were cold or something, I asked hubby to massage them, and after what felt like an eternity, I complained that he didn’t give me a massage as requested and then everybody was like 😱ah! he has been massaging me for a long time, his hands were still on my legs. Apparently, my legs were still numb from the effects of the anesthetic. The doctor was asked and he assured us that all was well and it would wear off. 

 

FAMILY LOVE

By midday, I had a full house, including my mum from out of town. She definitely traveled at crack of dawn. For the next few days, it was interesting to see everyone, my family, in-laws, and colleagues. My father-in-law also traveled to Lagos and spent time in the hospital with us, throughout; I felt loved and was surrounded by love. Lots of activity in my hospital room, sometimes the nurses and doctors had to beg some to excuse them. My room was filled with food and fruits, none of which I could eat. Being a foodie, that for me, was torture. Hubby meanwhile, was hustling hospital, home, errands, and work all through; All the free time hubby had while I was pregnant and without craving, he made up for in plenty hospital visits and post CS care. I am totally pro Paternity leave. 

FEEDING 

Watching people eat, and drink when I couldn’t even drink water was tough. I was very thirsty and despite my pleas, it wasn’t until Dr. E gave the okay, it was evening time (24hours post-surgery) and I can swear they served me no more than 20mls of diluted juice. I probably gave the nurse a stinky eye as she handed it to me. By the 2nd or 3rd day post-surgery, I was introduced to pap and light meal, normally proper food isn’t introduced until you fart. Let’s not bother about the details. 

COUGHING

Your right of passage post-surgery isn’t complete without THE COUGH, coughing at this point is so hard, it is very painful and feels like your intestines are going to pop out. In actual fact, there’s a little chance the suture can rupture (I found that out years later). My mum, having had a CS herself, taught me to place a pillow or apply some sort of pressure on the CS site and gently cough or just clear my throat the Nigerian way. (Only an actual demonstration with sounds can do justice to it). These painful bouts of cough interestingly happen post-surgery, kind of a side effect of the meds. 

FIRST WALK

On the 4th day post-CS, the nurse told me to stand up and walk, all I had done before then was sat up, with support for eating or breastfeeding. I screamed at 1st attempt, I was convinced I couldn’t stand, but the nurse made sure she pulled me up and made me take a stroll outside my room. It was refreshing to walk around and see others aside from my family and the team attending to me. I got back to the room to face yet another hurdle, sitting back down was harder, and I told the nurse I didn’t want to sit again 😀. Yes, I guess I am a drama queen, I kept walking around till I could no more and somehow I landed back on my bed. I practiced standing and sitting for some time till I was able to walk and was discharged to go home. 

NAMING CEREMONY

Typical of Muslims, we had a naming event on the 8th day of birth, this was on a Monday, which meant only close relatives, and friends were in attendance with the clerics. It was a full house considering all the family that came. Once the child was named, and prayers were said, I was back to my room nursing, resting, receiving visitors and gifts in cash and baby items. Between my mum and MIL, and the many grandmas in attendance, they fed me like a frog, from Amala to all sorts. Family members got to bond as well, some only seeing after a long time. There was a lot to eat and drink.

That’s about all I remember about that day. Life continued with the support of the 2 grandmas till my mum had to leave back for work. We had a proper naming ceremony hosting for our actual friends, the weekend after and it was nice and fun, and young 😉, it was a relaxed indoor and outdoor affair. I still had a bandage attached to my tummy, but I didn’t mind moving around saying hello to mine and hubby’s friends and colleagues. I didn’t have to return to my room, I had expressed more than enough milk to last the day. I still look at some of the pictures from that day with nostalgia, seeing how much has changed of the people in the pictures. Some we are barely in touch with, and some have become family. 

OH NO!!!

Life returned to normal, or so I thought until I started noticing swelling and pain along the CS site, it got worse and we went back to the hospital. The wound site had been infected (oh oh!). What caused it? I don’t know, but the suspicion was the cotton wool I use for cleaning the site daily was not sterile. Who knew there was such a thing as sterile cotton wool? Well, that at the time was the worst time of my life, the pain was so much, I would walk hunched over, I was convinced in my mind, there was no way I would ever walk straight again, I would go to the hospital now and then for dressing, which included having the pus-filled CS site drained using a syringe. The pain, you bet is unimaginable. For someone that hates taking drugs, I took loads and loads of them, this was made easier with the help of faithful morsels of Amala or Eba in which I would wrap the pills, massage in draw soup for easy swallowing. 

THE GOOD STUFF

For some reason, I manage to do exclusive breastfeeding through it. I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted, I was producing more milk than my son could take, and often I poured them away with guilt. I could express 4 bottles at a go, and once that’s done, I would sleep like a baby, knowing no one will wake me to feed the little man. Before he is done finishing, I have expressed yet another batch. My MIL could never wrap her head around it, considering I ate mostly noodles and swallow because I had pills to take, and not the pap they recommend.  

FUNNY THING HAPPENED

One of my colleagues came visiting, and on noticing how very light-skinned R1 was, said: “Eniola, your son is Oyinbo oh, are you sure, he is for your husband” 😱😳my chest right! It was the funniest, most ridiculous thing to say, considering she said it right there in front of my MIL, mum, and other visitors. Good thing, there was no cause for doubt, good thing R1 came out looking a whiter version of his dad with his trademark “W” hairline. After she left, both mums abused her, saying “O go oro” - she was tactless. I don’t know if this counts, but she is not Yoruba. If she ever gets to read this: Hey Babes, you called that on yourself, next time ask me quietly or just say nothing lol. 

ABOUT R1 

I love every bit about parenting this little man, he was such a beautiful baby, still a cutie at 12years, he is quite a smarty-pants too, he learnt to wink at around 5 months, because I winked at him a lot, I remember the minders at the crèche nearly having a fit the 1st time they saw him wink, they thought something was wrong lol. We had the adventure, but this is about his birth and not about him.

Sorry, if this is not quite the read, you were expecting, but that’s the thing with non-fiction, it is what it is. It is my experience, one of my 3 birth stories. 

Sometimes, we have our expectations of life, and then life says, not quite my darling, this will be totally different from the norm. 

Now, when I hear there’s a 1% chance of something happening, I take it to mean, don’t knock it off, sometimes that 1% can be you or I. 

Also, I’ll say, there are no norms, only what we know of, or are used to. All childbirths are normal, all experiences are valid, if we all tell our stories, perhaps we will know that we are experiences are more “norm”, than we think they are. 

I hope you enjoyed reading this; if you would like to read about my other 2 birth stories, let me know so I can get writing. 

And if you don’t, well I will still write them, maybe just not right away. 

My favourites at the time: 

https://www.whattoexpect.com/

https://www.babycenter.com/

Thought to share some of the tons of pictures I harrassed someone to take 😁; kindly leave your comments or feedback on here, would love to have your thoughts, also; it will hopefully give me some ginger to keep up this page. Thank you.

Hi,

Thank you for visiting this page and reading this post, this will be a long read, but i will really really appreciate if you read through it all.

This post is about a former colleague and friend of mine, Tessy.  Tessy and I were colleagues at my first job. At the time, we weren't quite close perhaps due to our different personalities. Tessy is reserved while i can be quite the opposite. Over the years, most of my then colleagues, have gone beyond colleagues to friends, infact we have become some sort of family unit. A family unit to which Tessy belongs. Yes, Tessy is reserved, but she is very smart, strong, has a good sense of humour, and a lover of food, especially Amala like me.

Both our last pregnancies were about the same time, we used to compare notes on baby bump, weight gain, work-life balance etc. We used to jokingly refer to one another as inlaws because our babies are of opposite sex. Months after childbirth we resumed discussing weight loss plans that won't stop us eating Amala. From time to time we chat and catch up either on bbm or when we see.

Not to bore you, i realized one day that i hadn't seen or heard from Tessy in a while, and i was told the sad news that she was diagnosed of breast cancer and traveled to receive treatment in U.S. I was shocked beyond words, i remember crying as i drove home that day. I worried, cried and prayed for her recovery, but i was too scared to even talk to, or send her a message. It took another friend's intervention before Tessy and I got talking again. Tessy told me, she didn't say a word about it to me because she knew i couldn't handle it. And yes she was right, i was unlike Tough cookie Tessy. She is one of the strongest persons i know, her resilience is unbelievable. She was strong, she had hope, and to the glory of God she fought and defeated cancer. She was declared cancer free late last year and resumed work in December 2015 or sometime thereabout.

I remember vividly how i drove excitedly to her office on her first day back at work, the office had a kind of welcome do for her. Everyone was happy, pictures were taken etc. Life was back to normal, Tessy and i continued our irregular chats and talks, we planned to have an Amala date, and thereafter resume the weight loss journey when she was ready.  Office was the easy and lazy route for me, but, I kept planning to pay her a visit at home, but i didn't because of the crazy Lekki- Ajah traffic.

So there i was, still postponing my promise to visit, and our Amala date, when i got the shocking news that she had to return to the U.S because of cancer. The cancer was back, or got worse, whatever it is i don't even want to understand it. All i know is Tessy is battling cancer and needs money for treatment. If Tessy had her way, not a soul will know about her battles, but as it is, she needs help, huge help for that matter. She needs about $250,000 to cover surgery and associated treatment.

Friends and family have tried to support, but there is only so much we can do, without crowd funding. A gofundme account has been set up for her: https://www.gofundme.com/2wjg42as .
Direct payments can be made to her zenith bank account in Nigeria: 2020255462- Theresa Amadi-Obi.
This is a call to help, whatever you can do, will go a long way, no amount too little. This is not just an appeal for funds, but we need to reach a very large audience, don't stop at donating, help share Tessy's story.

To be honest, drafting this post made me cry, i had to pause on it for couple of days. I decided to share Tessy's story, hoping to reach a large crowd, and also because people are understandably wary about what or who they don't know. People have asked me if, and how i know Tessy. Tessy's story is as real as can be, to be honest, it is as close to home as can be for me and most of my then colleagues. I don't know anything about Tessy that ideally should put her at risk. But then i am not sure cancer is targeted at specific people. She didn't see this coming, and that is just the reality of life, sometime life just throws us curveballs. When that happens, it is always good to have support of friends and family. Please let's help Tessy as she deals with this curveball.

I pray that the Almighty heal Tessy and rid her permanently of cancer or any other ailment, and i pray for everyone reading this, may you be free of illness, and worries. Amen.

P. S:  To donate or share Tessy's appeal, kindly visit  https://www.gofundme.com/2wjg42as 

Thank you
Asmau Eniola Yusuf (Neeolla)

Hello, i am back

Hello,

You know that nervousness you feel when you see or about to see perhaps an old friend after loosing contact for years? When you are not sure if you will still "click", when you are wondering if he or she has changed, or perhaps, you are the one that has changed? Well, some may know this feeling and some may not.

What has that got to do with me? Well, i sort of feel that way right now. I have been away from Neeollas Corner for so long, i do not know how to stage my come back post. I do not know how to start or what to say, trust me whatever you are reading now is the aftermath of lots of typing and deleting. I think owe an apology to all the friends, loved ones and audience that have faith in me and looked forward to my posts. I am sorry, i really am. I was away for a reason or two, within, and beyond my power.

Okay one of the main reasons i didn't post anything at some point was because of PRESSURE. Yes you read it right, not pressure from anybody but from myself. I put undue pressure on myself and i stopped typing or writing. This medium brain (i presume it's medium sized) has processed a lot of  ideas, stories, etc but i kept telling myself: it's not good enough, its not the right post, it's not the right time for this post, would it be appropriate etc.? On Facebook, i used to post random thoughts, experience, one-liners etc without thinking twice about it. It was my page, i was free and i think based on that, a number of friends encouraged me to put pen to paper, or should i say fingers on keyboard.

With Neeollas Corner, subconsciously, i stifled myself, i have a larger audience, (hopefully) so i wanted perfection, i set standards for myself and refused to post anything that falls below my imaginary standards.

So what has changed, i asked myself recently? I am the same person, Neeollas corner is as much my space as any of my social media pages. I had to talk to, and remind myself, i am not in competition with anyone. I write, or scribble because i enjoy it, and also because i have been encouraged by close family and friends to keep at it. Would i write if no one was reading it? Yes i will and i do. I scribble on notepads, my phone. I can't help it, it is what i do. But just because of the exposure, i allowed myself to be intimidated into silence. However, i have decided to keep at it, some days i will have interesting posts, some days dull or no post, some days long post and other days, i might just post a smiley to say i am very much around.

The essence of this long post is to encourage myself and others alike to learn to let go of inhibitions. Whoever and wherever you are, don't be stifled by the desire to fit in, to compete with another or impress people. Sometimes, the people are not even looking, but busy dealing with their own inner battles.

In the words of India Arie.."Just do you". Whatever it is you love or are passionate about, go ahead and do it, as long as it does not involve hurting another soul, and it is not any form of civil, moral or religious crime. Quit worrying about society, and what the ifs. The only thing that does, is stifle you.

That dream you have been chasing, if resources permit go right ahead and live it. It may or may not work as planned, ovation may or may not come. But the good feeling you get cannot be taken from you.

Okay, so after all is said and done, i want ovations, sitting, standing, clapping name it all. Yes we all can do with a word of encouragement.

Please read my next post, it is a somewhat personal and emotional one for me.

A little some

Hello,

I haven't been here for some days now thanks to the little going-ons in my life.

As usual, i have like a lot of stuff, i want to write and to be honest i have written many of them right there in my head, but getting it down in e-ink has just not happened, due to one thing or the other.

Anyways, pending when i am able to transfer the write ups in my head to actual posts, here's a little something i like to share.

Times will come when you are going through that phase when you struggle to appreciate happenings in your life, and dwell instead on what can, what could etc? When the devil, or some force would have you moan about the one thing in your life that is going south, the one thing(s) missing in your life, or your one last step to happiness.

Here's some word of encouragement:

Don't give in to that negative feeling, take time and reflect instead on the many blessings you enjoy, look around you and appreciate all that is going well for you. Remind yourself that life is in phases, and whatever hardship you are going through will surely pass. Also think about how many people out there that would give almost anything to have what you have.

Medications

Hi, sorry it's been quiet out here.

I was very busy this past week, and when not busy, I was taking a chill to reduce my headaches. Yes, I do get headaches from time to time but I mostly don't take anything for them except to drink lots of water, get some shut eye or soak my head in water and if all that fails, grab a pair of scissors and cut off my hair so the scalp can get "air time". I do occasionally take medications if it gets consistent, or unbearable. However, I prefer to not take medications.

Okay, not dwelling on headaches, treatments and causes here. I want to talk about Medications, or drugs as we  like to call it in my part of the world- Nigeria that is.

You may relate with this, if like me, you have a thing or two against meds, or you just might not.

I have more than a thing against prescription or over the counter medications. To me, there's just something very unappealing about those little, and sometimes not so little devils in tablets, or caplets form. Not only does looking at them turn me off, the smell of some, and most especially the bitterness just kills me.

I asked this question once: is there an unwritten law that medications have to be bitter and unappealing?. I remember loving this vitamin syrup - Becombion as a growing child. We all loved it, simply because it tasted nice. I mean I would happily pop pills if they were like skittles, Maltesers or even our back in the day GOGO. But no, they have to be rectangular, chalk-like, big circular tablets, and mini cylinders. I wonder if the pharmacists just decide, lets put this bitter stuff in it so the recipients can understand no pain no gain. Is the bitterness a primary component that cannot be tampered with? or there just has not been any thought put into making the medications tongue, and gut friendly.

I have had quite some experiences, I will share a couple:

Back in Secondary/High School, I had Malaria fever and went to the school clinic. The nurse on duty decided they were running low on injections to treat malaria; so because I did not look like I was about to pass out, she decided I was to be given Chloro-quine tablets. For those that were not 'fortunate' to know about Chloroquine tablet, it came in the form of tiny pills with the worst possible taste ever.  I tried to argue my case that I could not take it, but they were not having it. Eventually, I made an attempt to swallow the pills under the supervision of the nursing assistant, but it was a futile attempt as everything came right back out from my mouth and even my nose. I think it splashed at the attendant who sent me off angrily.

Same thing repeated itself on another occasion when I was given the same Chloroquine. You would think that after the second episode,if there was no injection available, the nurse would have nicely told me to go back to the hostel or maybe assign me a bed in the clinic to rest. We had an understanding, no Chloroquine or other tablets for me.

Over time I realized that I could not continue to dodge or spit out medications like a baby, so I made friends with Eba or any available food that could be molded nicely to hold my medications and swallow conveniently after taking a swirl in draw soup.

Life was good until a time, back in England, when I was in the hospital.I can't remember my specific complaint, but the doctor handed me some pills and  assigned a bed for me to rest till the 'Meds' took effect. For those that are familiar with the foreign way, you may have an idea of the size of the 'cup'  of water I was given to take the Meds. I didn't know what to do, so I asked for more water. The nurse gave me a surprised look, but nicely got me more water. So here I was, stranded in a hospital abroad, in need of my faithful Eba and soup but how do I tell this Oyinbo nurse? I knew I could not attempt to swallow and spit it all over the place as that would be very embarrassing. So I pretended. Drank just water and managed to wrap my meds in tissue and laid in bed. After 30 minutes or more, when the meds should have taken effect, the nurse came back to check on me. I lied that I was feeling better while hoping there was no way to test if the meds were really working.

After what seemed like forever, I was released to go home, armed with my pain and wrapped up medications. It wasn't until I got home that I was able to take the meds with Eba. Hubby did not quite get it. He found it ridiculous that I snuck my meds out of the hospital rather than take it immediately. He still doesn't get, in fact I doubt he ever will. But good thing is that he does not hassle me over it. As a matter of fact, he encourages me to make a batch of Eba on standby anytime I have meds to use for a couple of days.

Yup, that is me, that's just the way I'm wired. I hate meds, never liked it, never will. I can barely tolerate it and the few times I have taken meds without Eba, I did with perhaps more than half a bottle of juice and then I felt it stuck right in my throat. My doctors know that unless it's absolutely necessary, they don't give me tablet, or caplet medications.

Okay, if you are wondering why I am sharing this story, lets just say I am hoping

1. Someone would read this and be inspired to make the greatest invention of  
    our time - yummy replacement for every bitter medication out there.

2. This link will be shared till it gets to the right people who can and will make that invention.

And also because I am planning to soon share some home remedies I have tested, and some really unusual ones I have heard or read about.

 Here goes an unpaid announcement: Miss Tee, thanks for introducing me to 4head and if you're reading this, please be informed that i am out of stock, and would really really appreciate your help with new stock. Thank you.

My Child

Some things don't change in life

No matter what happens

Just like a monkey will be same always

To the mother, a child remains dear to her heart. Always!

My child will always be dear to me.

Sometimes, i want to hug my child and keep just to myself and no one else

I want to protect and shield my child from unknown forces

Other times, i am more than happy to introduce my child to all that cares

Not because i am proud and boastful

But because seeing people admire my child

brings joy to my heart and makes me smile, inside and outside

To everyone that has shown appreciation of my BRAINCHILD, i say thank you.