STI: My baby is my bonus

Aug 26, 2004

My baby is my bonus
by Clarence Chang

IT'S past 2am on a Monday morning and I can't sleep.

My head's still spinning from the audacity of it all.

After an exhausting 15-hour workday covering Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong's maiden National Day Rally speech, sorry news is awaiting me at home.

'Would you believe it?' my wife said dejectedly as soon as I walked in. 'They cancelled our application for Jay-Jay's endowment policy.'

'Jay-Jay' refers to Jason, my five-year-old autistic son.

'They' refers to the insurance department of a local bank, the same agents who, just the week before, had tried every trick in the book to get us to sign on the dotted line. Before we furnished them with Jason's medical details.

The official reason given for the change of heart? Jason's 'pre-existing condition' which may one day, according to their flawed understanding, become 'life-threatening'.

Or at least, there's 'no guarantee' it won't.

I shook my head and sighed.

It's a developmental disability, you idiots, I screamed quietly. It doesn't kill you.

It's times like this that I glance at my sleeping child with envy, wishing I could retreat for just one minute into his world - pure, innocent and complete.

A world where no one else matters except those who can relate to you. Where ignorance and prejudice are as alien as disease and death, because your brain refuses to allow you to believe they exist.

As the Prime Minister himself had said on rally night, 'no society is perfect'. And how right he was.

Yet, as a young father of two, I'm heartened by Mr Lee's resolve to be a Prime Minister 'for all', in an 'open and inclusive' Singapore. Heck, he had even gone to the extent of calling the disabled 'our brothers and sisters'.

Indeed, I crave the day when my son can walk tall into the Istana grounds to witness the swearing in of the country's next PM. And at the end of it, shake the hand of the man (or woman) who inspires him to see his own ability, not disability.

I crave the day when the so-called intellectually inferior like him can claim their rightful place as proud citizens, contributing to society in baby steps. And not be shunned or treated as a nuisance, a basket case and a liability to the State.

I crave the day when the usual two-year waiting list for entry into special schools here becomes unheard of, because places, facilities, resources and support structures have multiplied and educational priorities realigned.

Most importantly, I crave the day when parents in a similar position can feel assured that their children won't be unfairly judged and labelled in their absence, by those who ought to know better.

Like insurance planners. Medical professionals. Teachers. And letter-writers.

Which brings me to the recent troubling episode where a Straits Times reader actually called for a further liberalisation of Singapore's abortion laws to allow 'on-demand' operations beyond the second trimester.

Why? On account of potential defects in the baby. And a possible lifetime of financial costs that await the parents, and yes, the wider community.

My first reaction? Disbelief.

With all the talk about plunging birth rates, isn't it sad enough that some 12,000 babies (or foetuses, to use a less emotive term) already go through this fate every year, with or without 'defects'?

A number that adds up to a staggering 32.4 per cent of the actual number of babies born last year, which was 37,000?

But hang on, a little voice reminds me. If I'm urging others not to judge children with special needs like my son, what right do I have to judge the personal decisions of other couples?

None, except to ask myself: Would my wife and I have considered aborting Jason if we had known he would develop autism by his second birthday?

The answer's a no-brainer.

Suffice to say I'd gladly trade 20 years of my life just to spend 20 minutes with him, if that was all the time we had.

So far, every second of his existence has confirmed to me that a child, however imperfect, however withdrawn, however incapable of verbally expressing his thoughts and emotions, is still a blessing from above without parallel.

Think skydiving or bungee jumping's the ultimate thrill? Try parenting. No parachutes, no bungee cords, no safety harnesses.

And if we're talking about a child with special needs, no risk-free return policies or warranty cards either.

For now, a more pertinent question in the present context should be this: is Jason the reason my wife and I are holding back from having a third child? Regrettably, yes.

But happily, the reason is purely financial (combined monthly bills for occupational therapy and early intervention classes easily run into the thousands). And therefore temporary.

And not because the experience of raising him, emotionally draining as it is, has put us off more children indefinitely.

In fact, nothing in this world - extended baby bonuses, longer maternity leave and lower maid levies included - could spur us more than the innocent wish of an older child who loves his far-from-perfect sibling, yet longs for a second brother or sister he can interact with completely and dote on as dearly.

'Maybe if I pray hard, Mummy and Daddy's next baby won't be autistic,' Joshua, who's a year older, has said on more than one occasion.

It doesn't matter, my boy, I would tell him. To us, either way, he or she would still be the most precious little being on the planet.

That's a guarantee.

The writer is a TV correspondent with Channel i News.