It was in January, a day before my daughter's school's annual field trip, when I rushed her to the hospital. Her tummy ached so crazy, she said that it was as if there were little people sliding through her insides. The toilet were her saving grace and her face looked pallid after 7 sessions at the throne. It alarmed me and I knew it wasn't a simple diarrhea that porridge and banana can cure. After half a day of waiting for fecal and urine samples and a dramatic bloody scene for more laboratory tests, the doctor proclaimed she had Amoebiasis.
I'm sure you have already heard of it but allow me to Google it for you. According to KidsHealth.org, "Amoebiasis is an intestinal illness that's typically transmitted when someone eats or drinks something that's contaminated with a microscopic parasite, which is an amoeba, a single-celled organism. That's how the illness got its name — amoebiasis."
Why the hell would she have that and I didn't? We ate the same food, drank the same water! What went wrong that I did not notice?
Oh wait, I actually did notice what exactly went wrong! She ate the chemically-produced ice in the freezer, which was melting at that time (I defrost the refrigerator for cleaning). Can't blame her, it looks fun! Perhaps, she felt like she was in Arandelle while scooping all the murky ice into her mouth. I raised my voice twice before she stopped. I didn't get mad at her because I did that, too when I was a kid, except that I have stronger immunity. My tummy was okay with dirty stuff, we were used to it! I once swam in the flood with roaches. Hahaha, too funny! Or not.
Drugged and dehydrated, she was mostly in the couch in front of TV, entertaining herself with whatever her fave cartoon channels can serve her. She was having her afternoon snooze when I thought of how this 6-year-old motherhood already got the best of me, especially that I have to do it alone most of the time. I was sleepy, too and I can sneak an hour of nap but I decided not to, she might suddenly wake up. I wanted to be right there immediately as soon as she opened her eyes. My back was aching, laundry was multiplying like gremlins and our washer's busted. Business was slow and we need money like you all do. Even if my husband texts and calls me whenever he can, I felt so alone. I felt jealous of my military wife friends who have families to support them. I was expecting our family (mine and R's) to be involved in this military set-up. I was waiting (and still am) for them to ask how we are.
My thoughts were depressing and my body wanted to get sick, too but my soul was strong. It fought back the hopelessness that were starting to build in my heart. Influenced by typical Filipino films and TV series I watched, I gave myself a personal "flashback". I saw in my reveries a young free-spirited college girl, who loves her nephews and dreamed one day of having her own kids. Pregnant, unmarried and craving for love, I almost lost my little popstar. I prayed to God that I'll do whatever I can to have her, hold her, raise her. I promised Him that I'll be the best and perfect mom for this wonderful creation He lent me. He gave me the chance that I asked and here I was, complaining and welcoming my defeat because of a poop fest.
I arose from a self-caused mental drowning and went back to my house chores. As if I patted myself at the back as my conscience scolded me, I just thought of all the blessings that came our way for not easily giving up on whatever problems we faced in the past.
Four days of medication, sterilizing everything, building a relationship with Lysol, alcohol and water, she was finally well and back to her normal self. Thin and fragile-looking, yes, but I'm glad I heard her animated, funny antics again. Cliché-ing because it's true... "Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn't know you had and dealing with fears you didn't know existed."
So, what's up with my fellow queen mothers here?