The Room Of Pain

It's 4am plus now on 6 July 2018. I could not sleep after my son woke me up earlier. It took me awhile to calm him down. As usual, I tried to calm him by offering my nipple as a pacifier. Sometimes, I would gently rocked him in my arms. Sometimes I sang to him.

Finally, his whole body relaxed and into a deep sleep he entered. In the silence of the night, small droplets of thoughts came into my mind. Like an occasional lullaby.

How this has been affecting my son until today.The earlier day's experiences before the night feeding returned to my mind once more. As if I am holding a remote control, my thoughts paused. My eyes gazed upon my son's sleeping face.

Suddenly, his face lighted up with a smile. And another. When my eyes saw that, my smiles were not only in my heart but also reflected upon my lips.

Earlier, he was in that dreaded room, where  many babies feared. If they can talk, they would call it "The Room of Pain."

Major and minor procedures conducted by doctors and nurses onto the young ones.

This time, it was my son's turn.

When it was time, I brought my sleeping son with a slight sinking heart, knowing that he would be traumatised again

My son's eyes opened up suddenly. With a look of recognition of his whereabouts, he immediately cried.

Babies crying in fear and discomfort over medical procedures done on them
More blood needed to be extracted this time for testing. An hour earlier, the doctor had sprayed on both of my son's hands, claiming that it would act as a pain desensitiser. By right, the doctor insisted, my son should not feel the pain. Yet I knew, it is his fear that would cause the most unimaginable suffering.

This time, I knew what I had to do. As I had done it before, which successfully calmed down my son during a painful medical procedure a week earlier.

With a deep breath, I tried to attract the doctor's eyes.

"Would you mind if I use my breast to calm down my son while you take his blood?"

His face remained expressionless, his fingers in preparation for the procedure.

His eyes however, had a small reaction.

"Sure, no problem."

Like an exhibitionist, I quickly removed part of my clothing and coaxed my son to my nipple.

He was already crying by then. Before the needle even touch him.

Immediately, he latched upon my nipple as if his life was dependent upon it. His entire face became relaxed, his body no longer as tensed. His eyes closed, and his mouth acted as if it was the sweetest candy he ever sucked.

Occasionally, his eyes twitched a little, although they were closed during the medical procedure.

Midway, his eyes opened. Staring into my eyes. If his eyes could smile, I am seeing it now. Then he unlatched himself, turned his head towards the doctor. With curiousity instead of usual fear this time.

A week ago, he was not this way. The doctor had pricked through my son's skin on his foot with a needle. He constantly pressed the open wound hard, droplets of blood falling into the vials.

Before this procedure commenced, I was asked by the nurse to stay outside the room and to allow them to do the procedure on Patrick. Her tone was not a polite request. It was more of a stern disciplinarian teacher instructed me to stay out. Instead my steely eyes back to hers and insisted no, I wanted to be with my son. For a short moment, we both strongly insisted our way. In the end, she gave in. 

Seeing my son reacted hysterically and the slowness in extracting blood through a small wound on his foot, luckily I stood my ground for Patrick. He would even be more fearful if I am not near him. Moreover, I am to uphold my promise to him that I would be with him no matter what, especially in scary situations.

My ears almost deafen with his scream, cries and wails. My heart broke when my son's voice started to sound hoarse.

Remembering this incident encouraged me strongly to make an impulsive request.

However, I still needed to ask permission. Otherwise what would the doctor think of a sudden and daring bare breasted mama. I had been misunderstood before due to lack of explanation. The last thing I wanted for the doctor to think of was sexual harassment. 

Immediately, my son crying face became a blissful rest although the discomforting and painful procedure continued.

We will soon be home, my son. Please be patient. I am learning Patience together with you as well. I will try to be with you every step of the way especially in moments when you needed me the most. I cannot take away your pain. I will try to be your angel of comfort instead.

Hopefully I can be an angel of comfort for Patrick.
To have faith also that all shall be fine soon.


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