The prescient December clues

When birth is due

December speaks of dreams and beauty, the surprise of my nativity which for me as a person was not earlier than I expected, especially when others tend to stay longer than necessary. I can remember the many times I have never needed to fulfil a quota; when what needs getting done is done.

To many, I was preterm. However, I was ready when I arrived, just after Michaelmas. That they brought in cavalry to sustain my arrival was a responsibility placed on those who cater for such things. I simply rode the wave because it was there for my pleasure.

If I had chosen January, I would have slipped into another year for which I could lament the inexplicable. The Hilary Term would never have suited me. I could hardly be considered a spring baby, yet, as provenance would have it, one was conceived in the Trinity Term.

Silent in the light

In the advent of the diamond jubilee, I have scarcely prepared much. I hope to mark it without much fanfare; I am exhausted in crowds and flailing in the company of many. It is something to celebrate without trumpeting, but I would scarcely be afforded that luxury.

It is a time for contemplation, reminiscence, thankfulness, and gratitude. The journeys, the companions, the supporters, and friends that have made it auspicious leave me astounded at the wonder and the gift of living.

Ìrírí - How our brotherly love could have blossomed

Pre-term brothers

Just a few minutes ago, I ended a conversation with my father that took us down memory lane with comparisons of realities of life that left me in surprise and shock bordering on rage.

There were many stories but the one I never knew was about my half-brother who before he received a given name experienced the misfortune of being born into an avoidable situation exacerbated by systemic failures in Nigeria.

My half-brother and I were born over 40 years apart, in literally similar circumstances but in different lands. We were both prematurely born, he arrived at just over 7 months, I arrived in 6 and a half months, somehow, we were delivered in maternity homes without facilities to cater for the prematurely born that we had to be moved to better equipped hospitals and that is where our stories begin to diverge.

Our separate lives

On the cold morning in 1965, after I was born, arrangements were made to move me to a major city hospital where as my father recounted to me, I had all the hallmarks of royal treatment – spacious, well-ventilated room, with nurses and medical personnel at my beck and call, I did not lack for care, comfort or succour – I am 47.

My half-brother, let’s call him Ìrírí (Yoruba for experience) was born in Ibadan which at one time was famed to be the largest city in Africa along with many firsts.

He was rushed to University College Hospital (UCH), Ibadan the premier teaching hospital in Nigeria where a philanthropist had previously donated 6 incubators to the Paediatric Unit to cater for premature birth.

Five of six, down

Ìrírí arrived to find that five of the incubators were out of commission but was fortunate for a few hours to have the only functioning incubator temporarily vacated for him to at least have a fighting chance to lay claim on a Nigeria of our dreams.

However, alternative arrangements had to be made for Ìrírí, so when he had stabilised, the decision was made to transfer him to an incubator installed in the private practice of one of the UCH consultants, also in Ibadan.

Ìrírí made it to that practice but at the same time, he became an everyday Nigerian at the mercy of too many things out his control. The incubator was vacant and available but the public electricity supply was down and as if fate had colluded to deprive Ìrírí of an inalienable right, the backup electricity supply could not be provided because the generators will not start.

Ìrírí rests

So, Ìrírí mustered all the strength he had to survive, he wriggled and writhed, panted for breath, desperately hoped that his heart will hold out and many other organs that were not fully developed for earthly experience strained at the limits of their ability without the support they all needed – after trying so hard, they decided this earthly experience was not worth it.

There, Ìrírí drew his last breath bidding the earth farewell but leaving a most indelible mark on the lives he has touched for the short while of just about 36 hours that he was with us – over 40 years after Akin was born in England, Ìrírí could not survive similar circumstances in an independent Nigeria in its 6^th decade.

Time, manner and place

Then my father drew comparisons between Ìrírí and myself; as a poor student just about to take up a job in a sorting office for Christmas, I was born just 2 days after they had moved house, my mother’s labour probably brought on by the stress of moving house, I had the best of facilities provided at no cost at the behest of the government and here I stand.

Back in our home country of Nigeria, everything had to be paid for and it made no difference to the outcome, the experience was harrowing, the prognosis was dire and either as a microcosm or snapshot of the Nigerian experience, the short life of Ìrírí exemplifies so many things that are just not right with Nigeria.

The premier teaching hospital in the country had 5 out of 6 donated incubators out of commission, this does touch the matter of pre-existing incubators or what might have caused a philanthropist to make those donations.

Murder by proxy

Then the matter of usage and maintenance that led to the failure of the incubators that none of the management thought it prudent to either seek new funding from the donor or go on a fund-raising drive which contributed to the murder-by-proxy of Ìrírí.

I do wonder what the philanthropist would have felt if he learnt that the equipment he donated to the hospital had fallen into disrepair that the purposes for which the incubators were acquired could no more be served.

Then think of the many like my dear Ìrírí whose experience of this world was truncated by a system that serves nothing but rank incompetence, mismanagement, corruption, malfeasance and worse.

It ought not to be so, but that is one of the realities of Nigeria today.

Dear Ìrírí, Rest in peace, my half-brother, Nigeria did not deserve you.

The matter of tying the knot

We speak now

I was chatting to my father the other day, one of those New Year’s Considerations I had to get over with.

Sometimes, I wonder about why our relationship has been so estranged as a result of a process of growth from childhood to adulthood and independence rather than some particular seminal event.

I suppose up to a point, the patriarchal survey of my father had tried to envelope my sometimes antithetical views which at certain times of expression simply created conflict.

Now, though I have many years ago been in outright conflict with my father, it only lasted about 8 months during which my mother secluded from an outrage that was about to consume me because of my failures.

Eventually, we made up and he actively participated in my rehabilitation for which I am very grateful. When the successes came, he was the chief cheerleader and though he upbraided my mother for not making preparations for the celebrations, I really felt that duty was left to my mentoring auntie and uncle who took over the responsibility of seeing me through my toughest years.

Leaving from the chapel of love

One topic that has been dusted over and over again is that of marriage, he has the opinion, I am scared of the issue and hence, I have not settled down.

The fact is, I did once seriously consider marriage and that was just under 20 years ago, the lady and really the one lady that caught my attention then had me in dreamy spires – Oh! What could have been – but I did not pursue it far and time overtook everything else.

I am as settled down as I want to be, maybe not as happy as I would like to be but grateful for what I have and glad to be able to count my blessings.

Incy-wincy spider at 40-plus

Then, I saw that advertisement of a lady who instead of starting a family had a very successful career, but strikingly she noted that children of old school mates as she reminisced where now coming out of university and she and her child had only started on incy wincy spider [1].

I believe that advertisement was to encourage women to start families even if they have had fulfilling careers, because motherhood also had its fulfillments – I took from it that idea that I could be still raising children as an old man.

In the background someone was attending to the toilet requirements of a half-brother that was hardly three, nay, nay, three times nay – I have been sold completely on loving the kids of others and giving them back when I need my peace.

This, considering that by the time my parents were my age, at least two of their children were out of secondary school.

Premmies hardly procreate

No, the matter of marriage and children fell off the burner a long time ago and I have spent a lifetime encouraging my parents to accept the notion that I am settled with the encumbrance of happy families with little running feet.

I would not use the next issue to corroborate my situation, but it makes interesting reading about the lingering effects of premature birth predicated on the likelihood to drop out of school which I did not do and the unlikelihood that they would bare children [2].

Born at 26 and a half weeks, I do not think I had any serious developmental problems apart from growing my feet a lot faster than my age group and having an astigmatism that was not properly diagnosed till I was in my twenties.

I was a year below the average age of my class in primary school and was always in the top three apart from the last year when I was away for 4 months doing entrance examinations and still came out in the top half of the class.

In secondary school, I was just under 2 years below the class average and still held positions well above average amongst my peers. I do wonder if studies like this would dare to explore predispositions to particular traits including that of sexuality.

Accepting the situation as is

It does not bother me that much really, I told my father, we need to begin to appreciate that there are exceptions to the idea of marriage and kids for certain people and somehow that exception happens to be closer to home than is comfortable.

Besides, in what might sound rather cruel though not expressed, I cannot say that I have many role models who have attended to the institution and sacrament of marriage with the determination of a life-long inviolable partnership to one partner.

Marriage has its purposes and I am a supporter of the proponents of marriage to the extent that I care less about whatever sexual pairing that makes up that family unit of love, devotion, commitment and responsibility.

Indeed, one does crave companionship but in many ways those relationships have fallen somewhere between a soap opera of unmentionable antics to the shrill cacophony of an opera coming to its final crescendo.

I have probably become an onlooker and observer of the kisses and hugs that sometimes get expressed as hisses and shrugs – I look away from the worst parts of something really good that has turned too bitter for taste.

Citizens of different classes

The conversation then skirted other topics as my career and other activities and then that issue about living in the West and how that must affect me adversely.

I could understand that when my parents were in the UK in the 60s they came against a number of unpalatable issues with racial tension and war going on at home in Nigeria.

It lead my father to say at one time that living here left me in a position where I could be treated as a second-class citizen; an interesting view where in Nigeria being treated as a so-called first-class citizen security and safety were at a premium as well as the gauntlet of corruption I had to run through to get anything done.

Beyond the race to success

My memory served me well because my father passed his accountancy examinations winning the Faulks-Lynch prize in 1969 – Cannot find any record of it now, but it appeared in his listing for the Men of Achievement – he appeared on television and suddenly all his colleagues who were generally condescending grew in admiration and respect for him.

In some ways, achievement and success trumps the unsavoury rudiments of racism, I wish the situation were better but like I have written in another blog, see those situations as an opportunity to educate rather than be offended – hopefully, a quick wit would see you through it all.

In any event, it was a big first step, as we exchanged pleasantries and talked at length. I know that the matter of marriage would not die a natural death, but like I told him during our conversation, he gave me an education that allows me to speak my mind – I think our conversations would sharpen my ability to express myself better on matters I feel strongly about in a man-to-man and father-son heart-to-heart exchange.

Other matters of the heart that could unsettle him are not in the purvey of what I view of settling down.

Sources

[1] You Tube – Incy wincy spider

[2] Study: Premature birth has lingering effects - USATODAY.com

Time to learn to feel our pain

Early out and doing well

As I have said before, I have always wondered if enough research is being done about how early-term and premature babies grow up and thrive as adults.

I know a few years ago, the BBC showcased a number of babies who were born in 1995 at less than 25 weeks to see how they got on in their tenth year.

The results were almost depressing when it transpired that only one of that group had fully matured to expected development as would be observed in full-term births.

In my case, being born at 26 weeks 40 years ago in the West Midlands, I sometimes consider it a miracle that I not only survived but thrived. In 40 years of study and analysis it is considered that below 24 weeks it is difficult to offer any hope of thriving to births still within the second trimester.

Learning recently that an astigmatic condition could have been corrected in childhood is one of those things, but there is more to life than a lazy eye.

However, this topic reared its head when I commented on the topic of abortion on Naijablog and the writer opined about the feelings of foetuses and their ability to feel pain.

A commenting contributor suggested based on some study highlighted on the BBC web site that foetuses do not feel pain till at least the 29th week of gestation.

Naturally, I rubbished that report, bunkum!, I said; not because I could remember the circumstances and my feelings at birth, but because the medical personnel then took the duty of care to handle me with such fragility as I was transferred from Manor Maternity Home in Walsall to Marston Green Hospital in Birmingham for 2 months of incubation.

Feel my pain

If I had no feelings of pain or emotion at the time of birth, I could as well have been considered dead. Well, that was hardly two days ago.

Then this morning, I heard on the news that scientists now think foetuses can feel pain from about 24 weeks if not earlier. If only they could ask those emerging bundles of joy how they felt.

It might change the whole debate on abortion and the destruction of life in the womb, but that is not crux of my blog today.

Rather, it is about applying better study and research techniques to understanding how we are formed in the womb and why it is that some do come rather early and others very late.

Once again, the unnecessary dilemma might also be the question of passage of time. Does a pre-term baby have a shorter biorhythm cycle that a full term or fuller term baby?

I am still looking for reasons why an occupational therapist suggested I was suffering the classic symptoms of a mid-life crisis at 33. I am way past that now and enjoying the new things I am doing.

I do not know if this area of study is the bailiwick of obstetrics, paediatrics or some other branch of medicine or mechanics, for all I care, the claustrophobia of the womb is hard enough, find out about our pain better before you try those nasty tools on us.

I speak for all of us who came in early for one reason or the other.

Birthdays - A lot more people were involved

Escape the Claustrophobia

So many things make the day one was born rather unique and very interesting. Christmas came very early for one's parents but one did not spend Christmas with either of them.

As students in England then, mother had arrived to join her spouse just six and a half months before; the rest is history. One is no master of suspense, so here goes.

One was born at about 27 weeks, after a Caesarean Section, one was told. [Google, yes one did mean Caesarean Section and have never meant to search for Caesarean Section].

In 1965, 27 weeks was considered rather precarious and the borderline of viability, well one is now 38.

One's take on premature birth

• No birth is premature, especially if you are no more a foetus but a baby
• For some babies, 40 weeks is just over-indulgent [Absurd suggestions that gestation human gestation periods should be 21 months]; I will say, I was claustrophobic and wanted out
• OK, one only just fitted in one hand, but many saw the sense in making sure one realised one's intentions of living
• No further research is done on early babies once they begin to thrive
• It is possible the year-cycle of early birth babies is shorter than that of full term babies

Going on the last assumption, in full-term years, one would is 38 however on one's terms, one might really be rather sprightly 56 years and 3 months. The birthdates being a movable feast of recurring intervals.

Apart from the birth throes of mother, one was in incubation for another 2 months until February the 19th when one was allowed home.

One medical allusion to that day was when at eight the optometrist [compare with optician and ophthalmologist] in spite of the large amount of light shone in one's eyes at birth; one's sight should improve with age. One only found out about that kind of improvement 2 days ago.

One might not have been a bouncing baby boy, but one was still a bundle of joy tinged with anxiety, which prayerfully gave way to the life one has now lived.

Names

It is no surprise one's given name connotes heroism the gift of one's paternal grandpa. Eventually, one ended up with about 20 names. The Yoruba culture of Western Nigeria gives their children meaningful names based around the circumstances of birth.

The Yoruba given names supposedly have a psychological influence on the bearer; at times, certain observers have suggested people can exhibit characteristics of their names. The extensions to names are encouraging works of literary value recited by grandparents called Oriki.

On further research, it is interesting to see that quite a number of Japanese names look and sound very much like Yoruba names, considering we have no known historical or cultural links.

Aki in Japanese means autumn or Autumnal prefixes names like Akinobu, Akinori, Akiyuki and so on. There is a possibility that one possesses some the characteristics of the Turkish variant of Akin.

On a visit to Hungary a few years ago, the chauffeur from the airport had one's name card expecting to see a Japanese tourist, imagine his shock and surprise.

This presents an opportunity to thank the staff of Manor Maternity Home, Walsall [Vandalised by the Tory Health Deforms of the 1990s] and the Brooklands Hospital Marston Green, Birmingham for their hard work of love and care on that beautiful day in December 1965.

One will have a happy birthday.

The Dutch Experience

One is impelled to revisit an issue that came up earlier about stores and customer service. Having just spent nigh on €1,000 on equipment, which included the Dyson DCO8 Allergy+Carpetpro, one required the simple assistance calling a taxi and moving the goods to taxi rank.

In the typical nonchalant Dutch attitude, one was informed no such service existed and one had to do it all alone. Guess what happened when one asked for one's money back?

When one purchases to the tune of a €1,000 from a large electronics store like Media Markt, it should come with an implicit customer service and help offer; you never have to ask in the UK.

Postscript

Yoruba

Here are a number of websites pertaining to Yoruba names and culture.

Nigerian names and origins

Orisa Yoruba Names ISBN 0964424754

Learn Yoruba Names

Without Prejudice - The Manor Hospital

Rebuilt and renamed Manor Hospital as part of the first tranche of National Health Service reforms in 1991. Some of the stories are hardly what the people of Walsall were accustomed to in the 1960s.

The introduction does not include the history of a pre-existing hospital on the site.

Hospital from hell

The Guardian - The facts behind the figures that damn Walsall