My earliest ever recollection of myself was when my mother carried me from the middle of the house to the kitchen. She was crying softly to herself and wiping her tears with her baju Kedah sleeve. I just stared at her.
There were people visiting. Must be her friends. It was about me. I was sick. I was a sickly little boy. She cried because she thought I would not survive my ailment. Visiting friends more or less confirm it.
Life was hard then. In the late 1940's I was about 4 years old in rural Kedah.Our health and medical services were not what it is now. Now, to me we have one of the best public health and medical services in the world! Where do a large majority of population get medical treatment and medicines. And the medicines given to patients are really good as compared to those given by some private medical practitioners.
During those times sickness could lead to eventual demise. Three of her children and a stepson had died earlier.Four have survived. And then there's me - 50:50 probability either way.
Of those who died one was at early infancy, the others were 1 year old, 2 year old and 10 years died of fever ( maybe some kind of viral attack ). I don't envy her phobia of death ( of her children ). And the circumstances. When I was brought to the world I was the tiniest baby ever!