This has been the longest year.
Let me tell you how Peanut’s life started. One night I started having stomach pains after having a cheeky glass of red wine and my favourite Arrabiata Pasta. I didn’t think anything of it because I figured maybe it was a reaction to what I ate, so I diagnosed myself with food poisoning.
The next morning the pain continued and I remember telling my Dad on the phone that I wasn’t feeling well so I was planning on spending the weekend in bed. After the call, the pain shifted to my lower back, so I figured I better go get it checked up in case it was Braxton Hicks contractions. Well, I was wrong! Star Care hospital told me that the pains were in fact contractions, and that I had to stop the contractions otherwise my baby would only have 5% chance of survival. They proceeded to tell me they didn’t have the drug, so we had to make our own way to Muscat Private Hospital. Now, in Oman, directions are vague. We’re talking about ‘Get on the Muscat Express, and when you see two trees next to each other, exit the Express, drive past the beige buildings, and turn right at the roundabout.’ Between these directions, Google maps, and me clutching onto the dashboard in pain, we made it to the Emergency Department.
When we arrived they determined that the pains in fact were not contractions, and that I was correct in thinking I had food poisoning. As I continued to lie there in pain, I was in tears. Not because of the pain, but because I was scared that no one seemed to know what they were doing, and the nurses just stood there watching me in pain. Finally my body started to push as a natural reaction to the pain. With one of the pushes, my water broke. The Emergency doctor simple said, ‘Oh, I guess you have to deliver now.’ At this point my husband went mad. For a minute I was distracted from the pain because the doctor started shoving my husband around the room, swearing at him and demanding that he calmed down. While I was amused by this prompt Mexican drama, the next contraction soon brought me back to reality. They wheeled me up to the delivery room, but then no one had the key, so we were waiting in the corridor for the length of my next contractions. Finally we reached the delivery room and everyone left the room to search for a doctor, except for a nurse who was connecting the wires for the machines. I said to my husband, ‘I’m telling you, something is there!!!’ So my husband checked me down south, lo and behold, the head was already crowning. My husband asked the nurse in the room to come check. She had no idea what to do because she was a junior nurse, but she tried her hardest to remain calm and she managed to deliver Peanut. At this point the doctor arrived to cut the cord. Her explanation for her tardiness was, ‘It’s Friday, prayer day.’ Next, the pediatrician wouldn’t come in to check on Peanut because ‘I wasn’t covered.’ So the doctor had to cover me with a sheet, and then he came in to check Peanut’s vitals.
At 1.5kg, 29 weeks gestation and delivery within 20 minutes, Peanut was the youngest preemie to be born at Muscat Private Hospital.
Unfortunately the drama didn’t end here. Private hospitals in Oman do not have the equipment or the expertise to handle preemies. So for the first 4 days, Muscat Private allocated two nurses to watch over Peanut. Peanut’s main issue was apnea. They would tap on his hands and feet whenever he forgot to breathe, and the only thing the pediatrician could tell us was, ‘Inschallah he will live.’ On the fourth night, the hospital called and said they managed to get Peanut a transfer to Royal Hospital. On the ambulance ride, the machines were not hooked up properly so all I heard were flat lines and the ER doctor in the ambulance had idea what he was doing there so the nurse had to tell him Peanut’s medical history. To top things off, the ambulance got lost. Yes, lost. Royal Hospital is huge and we had to run around for 20 minutes asking for directions to SCABU (Special Baby Care Unit). When we arrived, my face turned white. The difference was immense. The doctors and nurses were professional, they knew what to do, and they got to it straight away. One month later, Peanut reached 1.7kg, and was discharged.
It was this moment that I said to myself, ‘we cannot raise Peanut in Oman’. As lovely as the people are, and as amazing and beautiful the country is, I cannot allow my son to grow up in a country where in case of emergency, everything is down to luck and ‘God’s will’. Peanut has both UK and Hong Kong SAR passports; it doesn’t make sense not to live in first world and developed countries when you have the means to.
Well, that’s the end of the story, for now. Why has this been a long year? Well, with a preemie, everything takes a little longer. His diet grows slower, he’s always a little tinier, and his mental and physical development advances a little slower compared to his peers. I know many mothers wished their babies could stay babies forever; and in Peanut’s case, I really felt like he was a baby for the longest time. Now at 12 months, he is stronger than ever and catching up quickly. I can’t tell you how proud I am of Peanut, for being the fighter that he is, and for being just the most perfect thing you could ever dream of.
For Peanut’s First Birthday, we kept it intimate with only the closest friends and family. I designed the menu so that I could prepare everything in advance. I didn’t cook anything I wasn’t familiar with, so I didn’t have to worry about the food not turning out right. I wanted to enjoy his birthday as much as everyone else! No stress for me thanks!
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