She cuddles and hugs her little son, whispering words of love and tenderness while he presses his biscuit-crumb smeared face to hers.
A typical mother-son scene in a humble home, but for 27-year-old Nelka Sanjeewani the future is uncertain and full of fear.
She and husband Asanka Priyadarshana Fonseka have overcome a marakaya with regard to their little one, Tharusha Malshan who will mark the three-year milestone in life’s journey on September 27.
But what of the future?
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| Tharusha |
Tharusha walking around, eating a biscuit and banana looks like any toddler. But both Asanka and Sanjeewani know better.
Two years ago, the boy underwent a major operation, testimony of which is a cut mark running across his stomach.
The operation was for a liver transplant carried out in Chennai, India, the donor being none other than his own mother Sanjeewani.
That over, Tharusha needs life-long medication to keep his body from rejecting his new liver. The medications given in tablet form cost nearly Rs. 10,000 every month, with money also being needed for the three-monthly expensive blood tests.The family of four, father, mother, five-year-old daughter Malki Hashinika and Tharusha simply cannot afford that kind of money.
Asanka is involved in wadu weda, getting timber from people and producing those cabinets that most Sri Lankans proudly display their glassware in, in their halls and sitting rooms.
“Now, however, the demand has dropped and even though he works very hard, the furniture shop owners don’t take the cabinets. Even when they do, it takes a long time to sell them, so that for Asanka the money doesn’t come easily,” says Sanjeewani, adding that unable to bear the heavy load of keeping starvation from the family’s door and also buying the little one’s medication, he went into depression and had to be hospitalized.
He is very upset, murmurs Sanjeewani, as Tharusha leaves his mother’s lap and wraps his arms around Asanka’s legs, giving an impish grin and wanting to be carried.
Going back to the time their son was born, Sanjeewani recalls how happy they were. They had a girl and Tharusha’s birth made their family complete. The happiness, however, was short-lived. Soon after birth, they realized that his eyes were yellow and he seemed to have a lot of phlegm.
They showed him to a doctor, who instructed that they do a battery of tests. It was then that they found out that his “akmawa narak wela kiyala” (liver was spoilt).
The family was devastated. Many tests and an operation at the Lady Ridgeway Hospital for Children followed. They then had to face the reality that there was no option but a liver transplant. They begged and borrowed the money.
“We were able to get a major donation from Ceylinco and a good sum from the President’s Fund. The balance of the Rs. 2.5 million we received by publishing appeals in the newspapers, going on television and also selling tickets with the plight of our boy to anyone who was willing to heed our tale of anguish,” says Sanjeewani.
The liver transplant was a success. Sanjeewani gives the momentous date without stopping to think. “It was June 4, 2007,” she says even though she too was in pain after the 18-hour operation. “But it was worth it,” she smiles.
Now the battle has begun to keep him alive and not let the new liver “get spoilt”.
Every single day, they have to give Tharusha 1.2 mg of the Tacrolimus capsule dissolved in water at 8 in the morning and another dose at 8 in the night. They need three tablets a day and each tablet costs Rs. 95.
A 60-tablet pack costs Rs. 5,700, that is not even adequate for a month, says Sanjeewani, adding that once in three months they have to do a special blood test that costs Rs. 8,500 to check the level of the medication along with a liver-function test that costs Rs. 1,900. Tharusha’s sister who has turned five has just started school, adding to more costs to the family budget. The family is also awaiting the right time to get Tharushara to “akuru kiyawanne”.
As the silent tears pour down her cheeks and Tharusha gently touches them with his tiny fingers, wondering why his beloved mother is crying, Sanjeewani pleads that they will somehow manage their food and other expenses.
While Asanka looks on with sorrow and frustration at his inability to do something about this pathetic situation, this distraught mother’s plea is: “We don’t want money. Please buy us the medication for Tharusha. Otherwise……”
Otherwise hangs ominously in the air, as Tharusha oblivious to the life-and-death situation waves goodbye to us.
Please help:
Generous donors may contact Asanka or Sanjeewani on phone: 0778047013 or 011-5619968 or at home: 3/20, Seva Patugama, Ihala Indibedda, Moratuwa. |
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