God's special gift

Dr Tan beckoned me over. I hesitated but I knew I’d have to face the stark reality sooner or later. Was I to faint, I knew I’d be in safe hands and in safe surroundings – the Kings College Hospital no less. But I couldn’t faint because I was working and the woman on the operating table was the centre of attention, not me. I inched my way towards the table and from afar could see that they have cut her wide open. A sort of giant pincers held apart the two sides of her stomach waiting for the surgeon to remove her liver.

My camera man was right behind me but the sound man, a big hefty guy, remained in the background, turning whiter by the minute.

As I stood there, watching her insides, I wondered, what is it that made her special? What has she got inside her that gave her the steely determination, the courage and the strength to go through with the operation which had a 50/50 percent chance of success? Of course I knew the answer. I had been with her and the family for the past few weeks. I knew what she has. She has a child who was in need of a liver and she had decided to offer part of hers to save her daughter’s life.

She was wrought with guilt when both she and her husband discovered the condition of their second born. So, she decided that was the only course of action. She believed it was her fault that her daughter was born with such life threatening defect. There’s no persuading her to the contrary.

At that time, the only liver transplant was carried out with liver from a dead person. Dr Tan had just pioneered the sharing of liver and liver transplant from a live donor. I had reported his pioneering work and it was a coincidence that the mother, by then desperate, read about it. It was going to be done in London, she had decided, but it was going to be expensive. Very expensive. To the tune of £75,000. Many doors that she knocked on turned her away. “It’s expensive. She’s going to die,” they told her point blank.

The petite woman soldiered on and knocked on more doors until one finally opened – no questions asked, no blaze of publicity of kind donor holding up cheques or press conferences.

The few weeks I spent with the family before the operation taught me a lot. It taught me that a child, no matter how ill, no matter how handicapped, deserved a chance to live a normal life. It taught me that a mother with such a child, no matter how severe a condition, never gives up. But it was the weeks after the operation that taught me a lot more. I came to understand humility, I came to understand sacrifice and I came to appreciate what Allah has given me. Strong and healthy children.

Without going into the gory detail of the operation, suffice to say, the transplant on her 4 year old proceeded without a hitch. The child was wheeled out, a part of her mother’s in her, that will will her to live on.

The next day, I was at her bedside and as the morphine ceased to be effective, she squeezed my hand hard and for the first time I heard,”It’s painful, Kak Teh! But it must be worse for N. She must be in worse pain and I can’t be with her,” We both cried. Hospital regulations dictate that mother and child had to be separated because of obvious reasons. The child might wake up and want to be with mother, who could hardly move. Mother might want to cradle her baby and and take the pain away from her. They were put in two separate wings with the father rushing from wife to child, never a sulk and not a word of complain.

Years later, the child had more complications. She gave up work to take her to and from school. She still brings food cooked from home and makes sure N is free from any infections. Such dedication and such devotion.

Another mother I met was in Birmingham with her two year old suffering from a disorder whereby he was born without a rectum. As if that was not enough, the little toddler also had two holes in his heart. He needed operation very badly. The money that was promised was slow in coming but my story about his plight brought in £10,000 from a very generous donor to top up what they already had. And even then, I remember, they were short of £400.00. I wrote letters and made phone calls to various people and Alhamdulillah, a week before his operation, we were in my front room, counting coins from the Friday prayer collection at Malaysia Hall. That made up the £21,000 that was needed.

Throughout, the mother remained strong, optimistic and cheerful. She never gave up hope. Her boy was going to live. They were going to take the boy for umrah. But it was not to be. He died.

Another mother I met gave birth to a pair of Siamese twins – the most cheerful and clever pair of twins I have ever met. They were naughty times two and I say that with affection! They were brought here for an operation to give them a chance to live as separate individuals. Eventually, the twins were taken to Saudi Arabia where they were successfully operated on. The mother, A, never once complained about what Allah had given her. In fact, it never occured to her they were different. She and her husband were in fact prepared to raise the twins the way they were born - together, joined at the hips.

There are many mothers like these strong wonderful women that I had had the opportunity to meet in my line of duty. From their faces, I learnt to recognise the inner strength and the patience that shone through. They soldier on and fight for the survival of their children, to give them a quality of life that they deserve, like any other children.

So, if ever I complain and moan about my children, about their lack of this and that, I am reminded of these women, of their faces serene and full of acceptance of God's gifts. And now, I stand to salute these women, these mothers as I thank God Almighty for a precious gift delivered to me 24 years ago today.