I'm Ok, You're Ok...We're Ok!

Selecting a subject matter for this post is getting me into a tizzy.

I could write about how Woog startled me off my seat the other night by reading three-letter words. All. By. Himself.

I know, I know. At his age, it's not that big a deal. I mean, he is five years old. And it is about time he's hurdled this milestone. After all, the rest of his class started reading a year ago, and I've let up on pressuring him about this. Woog does not respond well to stress, no sir. He flutters about in a panic like a chicken without a head. Not a pretty sight.

ADHD. Dyslexia. They came floating over our heads during homework nights when even tried-and-tested Mr. Phonics gave up on us. I despaired at his despair over my despair. Going round and round in a vicious circle. And then finally, out of the blue, while studying short letter e, he went and read four columns worth of words. Some hesitation, yes. But he got them all! And he beamed this wide wonderful smile that speared me right through the center. He reads! He reads!

(background sound: "...and the crowd goes wild!" Roaaarrrrr!)

And although I continue to float in the euphoria of that moment, I don't think I want to write about it just now. Too new and too precious, that.

Let's see. I could write about the dengue scare Eli gave us last week. He woke up with a fever and a half-dozen red spots on his dusky skin. Hasn't he been vaccinated against the measles? Checked his baby book. Yes he has. Gave him paracetamol drops and went to work.

But horrors! A client came by to transfer his memorial plan to his four-year-old daughter who succumbed to dengue the night before. The poor child! It was too late for transfusions. And the symptoms he described sounded terrifyingly familiar. I rushed to the phone forthwith. Shaken, Atch agreed for us to bring Eli to the hospital for blood tests over lunch. Oh please let his platelets be ok, please let his platelets be ok.

The epochal wait at the hospital frayed our nerves and pummeled at our growling tummies. Eli didn't help matters any by screaming his head off each time someone tried to take his temperature, or listen to his heartbeat. By that time, he was totally covered in small dull red dots. My poor spotted son!

Atch and I were nervous and irritable, mostly at each other. Not a good sign in a marriage trying to hurdle a frightening crisis (but that's another story). Finally, a hugely obese guy in a scrub suit approached with a syringe. The blood test. At the sight of him, Eli let out his horrendously grating wail, not letting up until Jabba-the-medical-technician actually left his field of vision. I doubt my anxious son even noticed he was pricked.

Two hours later I was on the phone again, begging the hospital for lab results (oh please let his platelets be ok, please let his platelets be ok.). And allelujah! It was a viral thing. Fever rashes, not dengue. Thank you, Papa God!

We're still recovering from our scare. Don't want to write about this, either.

Hmmm. What about Atch's improved response time at night whenever Eli cries out in his sleep. No more grumbling, no more whupping, no more "Eli, #$%&^ shut up!" These days, he sometimes manages to shove a bottle into his son's mouth. Viola. Instant silence. One time, he even got up and changed a leaky diaper. (Atch, is that you?)

Early morning mining expedition

But that isn't the point at all. Right this moment my family is doing great, and I don't know where to even begin. I could wax eloquent. Or I could just put up a smiley @:). Neither can describe my utmost gratefulness.

I know, I know. This can all change in an instant. But that doesn't alter the reality that right here, right now, we are truly blessed. And for this, I give thanks.