Monday, March 2, 2009


Sunday class normally started at 10:00 a.m. I drove out alone since my friend Sharifah was feverish. The first stop was at the nasi lemak (rice cooked in coconut milk served with anchovies cooked with chillies) for a hefty breakfast. I am a regular at this food stall on Sundays. It is only half an hour's drive from home.

Prompt at ten, the ustaz (our honorable religious teacher, Dr.Abdullah Yasin ) as we called him by, started addressing the 500 of us with a "Prayer". He would normally take a few minutes to recap the last lesson before he continued with the day's lecture. It lasted until 11:30 a.m with barrels of questions and quiries pertaining to religious issues forwarded to him. Similar class is also conducted about 5 minutes drive from here on Mondays. But I have to skip classes eversince me and Harith have signed a pact to keep each other company while Mama and Papa go to work. But sometimes Mama took leave and that abled me to attend.

On this particular day, I did not feel like stopping by at Nora's house in Ampang. I drove staight home. I turned the ignition off. What's was that I hear?

Oh o! He woke up without anyone around him? OR what? Harith's fierce cries reached my ears from outside. Aunt Dee was seen struggling with the keys to let me in. I could see him crying through the glass panel ...

Once inside, I saw red tissues all over the floor, Papa was sitting on a single seater arm chair facing the yard. Harith was in his lap... crying, bleeding profusely. WHY? What had happened to my beloved grandson?

I took some oinment... it did not work. The blood did not stop. More tissues were required. I asked how long already? Just a few minutes ago... probably 20 minutes before I arrived. So, I rushed to where I was going and told Papa to get the car ready. We were only a few minutes away from the hospital. HA! Hospital again? YES why not.

Aunt Zaza who had earlier on rushed to 7-Eleven to get some handyplasts, arrived. By that time Mama also arrived from the public library. We all went to the emergency wing. Bandages were taken out, Harith was fed by Mama - a wiser attempt to get him relaxed and to stop crying. The nurse was discussing what best to do.

I heard the word capillary, pressure treatment, nail clipper (not a baby size mind you)...
OW! No wonder the strong-painful-endless cries from him.

After his Mr.Thumb was bandaged, Mama kept pressing to give pressure to stop bleeding. We kept talking and nursery rhymes were heard from the singing Grandma...ME of course!

Not forgetting:
"Hello, I am Miss Thumb. How are you, Mr.Thumb?
I am fine, thank you. and you?"
This made him smile... with little dimples in his cheeks.

That helped a bit. Papa took him around to look at animal pictures painted on the wall with some dull colors.... contrasting to colors on Mickey Mouse or Thomas programmes... something is seriously wrong with the color schemes ... no purple at all... that's my favourite color.

Despite the TV programmes, the wall paintings, children play house and everyting... guess what caught his attention the most? It was the leaking ceiling with water marksssssssssssssss right above the TV. He kept pointing up at it.

OW! Harith you look so pitiful today.


Alice said...

Oooooooh! I'm so sorry you have an "owie" (as we call them here in America). So much blood must have been very frightening. I hope you're all better now.

RoyalTLady said...

Ya Alice it was. His Papa turned pale at his loud cries, his pain and his blood.

But this week, he seems cooperative when slowly I finished cutting his nails...

I hope he gradually forgets the owie incident...