July 2007

A curious thing about life, from a fiction point of view, is that the main actor is also the number one audience. Incidentally, this is how blogging works, on the surface at least, as I see it.

I, the blogger, write stuffs and then read them once, twice, over and over again, that's my choice and my curse. Then people come in to my blog, just as they do in my life. Some stay for a while or for good. Others just pass by, or get out at once and swore never to be back. That's just how lives and blogs are.

Unlike blogging, however, you cannot edit your life. The least you can do is write about it, in your blog or private journal... write often, read often. Learn from yourself. Learn from that inner man, who tells you just what is it like to be you then, as Michael Jackson would say, make that change.

I'm a writer by profession, by choice, by accident, and most of all, by compulsion.

Just between you and me, writing is simply my way of life. No I'm not saying I'm a great writer, nor even a good one. Just ask the poor guys who have to endure editing my poor excuse for a draft. What I simply mean is, it's just me really. I write, because, I am. I offer no further excuse than that.

It's been more than three years this month since I cried out loud to God to beg for the life of my second child. She was five years old then.

The night before was uneventful except, that is, for the unusually loud and sudden cry my child blurted out while fast asleep. When I and my wife came by the bedroom to check, my child was perfectly normal. Having bad dreams perhaps and nothing more... but boy was I so wrong...

By morning it became evident she has diarreah. Still nothing atypical for any child her age. Trouble is she had fever and we didn't have a thermometer at home...
so it came without warning...
febrile convulsion!

Before I know it I was desperately trying to insert medicine through my child's mouth but it kept on closing anyway. Good thing I failed at this or else she would just have choked.Then I found myself desperately trying to open her mouth... then I opted desperately to remove my fingers...
Her eyes tell me she do not recognize me nor hear me shouting in panic.

Just then my wife arrived home and good thing she knows what to do.

It was almost too late, my wife tried to insert her fingers into my child's nearly closed mouth. She said the tongue must be pushed down to prevent it from blocking air into the lungs.

I hailed a tricycle outside to take us to the community clinic. When I got back home s
treaks of blood from my wife's fingers were all over my child's mouth... we were on the road when I cried out aloud to God in prayer. In Christ's name I did ask for child's safety. Just then my wife finally made it through pushing down my child's tounge to start breathing again... thanks to God she started breathing again!

I was medically unprepared to deal with the crisis. Being a parent I should have known better. Spiritually, however, I had all the help I could need. We were new members in the church of God then and we were never lacking in biblical teachings on the mysterious ways of the almighty...

To God be the glory...!

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