Unsung heroine

Of late, after the Sunday mass, I have been looking up on the church noticeboard the list of people celebrating birthdays and wedding anniversaries each week. And I felt particularly pleased that the 10th of May fell on a Sunday and I would see my name on the board too.

But in vain! While the names of every other husband and wife celebrating their anniversaries were listed, under the 10th of May the name of V alone was listed. Did the church office think he was man and wife rolled into one? Or it was probable that the V hasnt given any of our names - since my children's birthdays also dont find mention - to the office. Anyway, I shouldnt be having too many expectations on that front since the patriarchal society and churches of Kerala cannot be expected to respect women and children as entities worth their names.

I reach home and ask V why my name doesnt find mention. "I dont know. Dont bother me," he cuts the conversation short.

Anyway I should count myself lucky - I didnt end up getting a lecture from him for being late for mass. In fact I was ready and reading the papers while he shaved and bathed and got ready. It if had been the other way round, I would have had to hear an endless harangue until I entered church on how godless and devilish my ways were :) He just sighed and drove faster towards the parking lot (at the rear of the church) as we passed the church and the wandering eyes of the devotees nearer the door.

The celebration was confined to a call from my mom and an old college mate (I know... I havent forgotten the ones who emailed their wishes), a breakfast and lunch of partly leftovers (oops! need I say that?), a lunch treat of takeaway biriyanis for the watchman and his family of four and a dinner at a southern cuisine restaurant with another family. Hyderbadi/Nellore biryanis and kal dosais and naans later, we queued up at an icecream parlour breaking at the seams entertaining thirsty Chennaites trying to cool their systems with large helpings of softy icecreams with fancy names. I shared a bowl of delicious Chocolate Pop with V - and for once he didnt admonish me about the need to mind my blood sugar levels. :)

p.s. Cant say unsung actually ... V got me a pair of emerald studs from Tanishq a few days in advance.

A bone and back

If there is one thing that maddens me, it is people (read my hubby) who make me book doctor appointments (after waiting endlessly on the line listening to some recorded crap about what the hosp does to provide quality health care etc.) and then decide not to honour the appointment. He needed to see the orthopedician about removing the screws that kept his femur bone together after the accident, so I book an appointment for myself too regarding my post-partum gift of lower backache. In the end I meet Dr. Jaishankar while V skips saying he is too busy at work.
I do a week of physiotherapy for my aching back on the doctor's advice. Something called interferential therapy using a Vectrostim and then some exercises for the back. The Xrays say everything is normal save for something that look like gall stones to the Xray technician.
I manage to drag V along for the follow-up appointments, though 10 minutes late. He can have his screw removal surgery any time he fancies (which is January 2009). To our surprise it is a minor surgery and will require only a day's hospitalisation.
The doctor tells me to take a walk now and then, and mind my posture. I ask him if I should see the physician about the gall stones. "Dont invite trouble if you dont have any pain," the doctor advises.

The itch continues

Our 9th wedding anniversary today.
Forget dinner, I will be lucky if he decides to take me (and the kids) out tonight. He tells me that he is in no mood for hotel food after an office party yesterday night and an office training program (lunch included) today.
Ash's allergy test report shows positive to most allergents. V tells me the allergy towards many stuff tested (house dust, milk, chicken etc )are v. high. I need to go home and see the report.
Right now Ash keeps telling me often: "Amma, it is an allergy." He has heard us use that word often in the past two weeks.

The business of friendship

Today I do something, not sure if I should. I delete my photo on a social networking website, which had brought me many comments and unsolicited requests for friendship from males younger and older to me.
I had added my picture when I joined Tagged not realising that it would be viewed by many a stranger, since I was responding only to a request from a family member to join the club. I dont know if it was because the site took time to register me or what but the massive influx of friendship requests began coming only in the past 2 months. For a while it annoyed me especially when a guy kept making repeated efforts "to add me as a friend" but I didnt know how to delete my picture. I somehow managed to change my profile to the private domain and highlight the fact that I was married, but it didnt stop the requests.
I must admit that it boosted my ego a bit when my mail inbox kept flooding like that. But lately it made me sit up when I saw a couple of comments - such as "you have a rare and beautiful smile" (come on, I am not even smiling in the pic, just plonking on a chair sweating and tired after a hard day's work in the kitchen during one of our maidless days) or "U hv cute baby. R u housewife??? I liked ur Baby very much, she has familiar nose like u, may be taken colour of her Dad :)) ...God Bless her and make her future Bright like her colour".
Huh? Ha ha haaaaa.
So I decided I had enough of this nonsense and spent some time trying to figure out how to delete the pic. I succeeded, but it hasnt stopped the solicitors of friendship. Maybe they will soon when they see a faceless profile for long.
Like everyone else around, I have Orkut and Facebook accounts too but I hardly every open them. I am too old for scrapbooking and flagging and stuff. Maybe I will need to delete those accounts too soon.

Sugar n' spice

"So you have decided to live!" remarked my hubby when he saw me return from my morning walk around the colony. Mind you, that came from someone who was just waking up at 8 am. But he has an excuse. It is he who tends - massaging oils and ointments - to a very itchy Ash much of the night. I must have mentioned already that I make a bad mother. It is a boon for me that Ash prefers his dad to attend on him except on occasions when he takes a fancy to me.

Well, returning to the living part... It was a follow-up of an outburst I encountered yesterday when I told V that my GTT (glucose tolerance test) results showed an Impaired Glucose Tolerance. Simply put, I am in a pre-diabetic stage but if I am careful with my diet I can continue to be so until I am 60. It is ok to go diabetic at 60 and then live with it for 20 years, the doctor here told me yesterday. But he doesnt want me getting diabetic at my age and getting complications related to kidney, vision etc. And for this, I have to reduce weight, exercise (brisk walk) and follow a strict diet - starting with, no sugar in my tea. Ugh! Right now, I have reduced the sugar intake to 1/4 teaspoon from 1 tsp in the tea. And I dont like those sweetener pills.

Early onset of diabetes was an ominous prediction from my diabetologist Dr. Deepak, who I had taken an intense dislike to, during my gestational diabetes when I was expecting Mira. I hated him for putting me on insulin pens but now I worry I didnt do enough for my daughter then. For Ash, I was only on diet and never monitored my blood glucose levels on the glucometer like I did the 2nd time round, so I worry about him more.

The doctor here tells me that the post-partum Ayurvedic care I endured in Kerala could have triggered the IGT. And I had thrown all caution to the winds when I feasted on icecreams and 5-stars and all other sweets that came my children's way.

I hope I can maintain my resolve to go on a low-sugar, low-fat, low-salt diet. And I cant stomach the fact that V has everything within the normal limits. How I wish I wouldnt inherit diabetes mellitus as a family heirloom!

Forgetting myself

Sometimes I suspect that medical reimbursements are the reason why we visit the hospital so often. As my mother would say, for the flimsiest reasons. And coming from a family where we thrived on over-the-counter drugs for colds and minor food poisoning or homemade remedies, I find I am visiting the hospital too often. In my childhood, I was admitted to the hospital only once. Other than that, I would have seen the doctor only a dozen times in all those years.

For a while, V has been advising me to see a dr about my increasing forgetfulness. And I imagined myself drifting to a Mohanlal-like Alzheimer state (Tanmatra, though I havent seen the movie yet) in the near future. So I booked an appointment for the neurologist some time back - only, I forgot all about the appointment and didnt go the first time round! So I booked again and went (making a note of it in my mobile), and he asked me one major incident in which I forgot. I couldnt remember. So he prescribed an EEG and a scan.

I had the EEG today, and the technician tells me it is normal. One good thing that came of it was that I had a nice short nap while little nodes glued to my forehead and head mapped my brain. She asked me to close my eyes, then breathe in and breathe out and in a couple of minutes I was snoring away. The friendly, motherly technician smiled at me and asked me as I got up if I had a good sleep.

I guess what I need is good sleep, not chasing my shadows.

A woman's day

"Cant you wake up at least when the morning sun hits your bum?" the husband's voice cuts short my long slumber. Not even the diuretic spoils my sound sleep in the night, though the doctor had recommended that diuretics are best taken in the morning. But the hydrochlorothiazide tablets I take had been making me drowsy during work, so I have just changed the timings from before breakfast to after lunch.
I curse the sun and the room, which faces the east, and make a sign of the cross before going to the bathroom to wash the sleep off my face.
"Where is my tea?" demands the husband, who has been up early and reading. I brew it as carefully as I can - it cant be too strong or too light and the milk has to be just right, or he'll spoil the day for me first thing in the morning. The other men who spoil my mornings are autodrivers who haggle over the fare. Come to think of it, there is no haggling. They just quote double the actual fare. You take it or find your way to the bus stop.
"What is this puttu business in Onam time?" asks the hubby as he comes to leave the tea cup in the kitchen, which is not very often. He finds me applying Cutex (which is what we call nailpolish in Kerala, just as many in Kerala refer to diapers as Pampers) in between making dosas. It is not very often that I remember to do such beauty treatments.
"Today is International Women's Day. So why dont you make the breakfast for a change, while I dry my nails? Maybe your special egg-on-dosa?" I ask the hubby casually.
"I am going for a walk," he announces, and pushes off. So I make just dosa and bull's-eye for each of us.
The kids are up meanwhile. The girl insists on brushing her teeth herself. "Amma anna po (amma go stand there)". I watch from the sidelines. As she prepares to rinse the brush, I rush to make a last-minute cleansing. She carefully washes her hands, her brush and wipes her face with the towel. She is getting pretty meticulous and independent. (And she is as fastidious as Mohanlal in Aham the way she applies dettol liquid soap on her palms and washes them.)
The boy meanwhile just lies on the sofa glancing at the newspapers! He refuses to brush or eat until the father returns from his morning walk.
The big boy and the little boy are soon ready and raring to eat. A minute later, an explosion is heard from the dining room.
"Cant you get something as simple as a bull's eye right? Why do you have to put so much salt into it?"
I swallow my retort. Sometimes silence is prudence. Especially when you are on a salt-restricted diet.
So much for International Women's Day in India. I'd rather celebrate it by going on a shopping spree at Naidu Hall next week. They have a sale on to celebrate the women in us. :)

Artist mom

Most Indian mothers employ different tactics to get their fastidious
kids to eat. My effort today at making Ash take his plate of noodles
involved drawing various creatures and objects he suggested; towards
the end the demands went to drawing 'mary had a little lamb' and 'This
old man,... came rolling down'.
Unlike V, I am no artist with imagination - at the most I can copy a
picture like I did, with near perfection, for my zoology and botany
papers during my early college years.

Hi there!

To everyone in the webworld, I mean.

P.S. If you are wondering why I decided to call my blog URL what I call it, dosamma was one of my nicknames at home - between us cousins - since my name kind of rhymed with dosa (the south Indian breakfast item) and amma is a way of addressing a woman (though literally it means mother).